Opaline nodded and, getting up, went to the door. ‘I’m going to my boudoir,’ she said. ‘I’ll have my supper on a tray there.’
‘Oh Lord,’ Frances said, picking up her son for a hug and then taking him to look out of the window onto the parkland. ‘Things are worse than I thought.’
‘I know,’ Maggie sighed. ‘I think the petrol business was the last straw.’
In the five days that followed, Frances saw her mother only a few times. Lady Parnell stayed in her room, reading and smoking, and whenever Frances passed her room, she could hear her talking on the telephone. Once, when it rang and Frances picked it up in the hall, a man’s voice, said, ‘Opaline, honey, Mabel said you were coming up to town next week. Great. We’ll do the shows.’
‘Er … it’s not Opaline,’ Frances said, and would have gone on to explain that she was the daughter, but her mother came on the line.
‘Put the phone down, Frances. This is my call.’
The coldness in her mother’s voice was chilling. She sounded like a stranger. Frances tackled her father about it when they were together leaning over the pigsty wall, looking at the big Tamworth sow that had recently farrowed. Ten piglets were attached to her teats, grunting and squealing over the abundant milk, and the old sow had a dreamy expression of contentment on her brown, whiskery face.
‘By God, those are healthy-looking pigs,’ Lord Parnell said with a grin. ‘They’ll bring in a few bob.’
‘Mm,’ Frances nodded. ‘That’s good.’ Then she looked up at him and took a deep breath. ‘Mummy is talking about leaving,’ she said. ‘I think she means it.’
‘She won’t go,’ he said. ‘She’s just restless, that’s all.’
‘Not this time,’ said Frances. ‘It’s different. She’s different.’
It was if he didn’t care. ‘Well,’ he said, turning away from the pigsty, ‘it’s up to her, isn’t it? I can’t stop her.’
The phone call Frances got that evening from Beau was a welcome relief from the strained atmosphere at the hall. ‘Fran, darling, you have to come back to London,’ he said excitedly. ‘Our plans have been altered. We’re going to France earlier than we thought and I need you here to organise the gang.’
When she went back into the library, her father was on his hands and knees playing with Johnny and his cars. He had accepted the little boy absolutely, even if her mother hadn’t. Only this morning he’d been talking about buying him his first pony.
‘I have to go back to London tomorrow morning, Pa. Beau needs me,’ Frances said, coming to sit on the arm of the sofa.
He sat back on his heels. ‘Must you, dear girl? You’re such a help on the farm. The land girl isn’t bad, but she needs telling what to do all the time. Not like you.’
‘I must,’ she said. ‘We need the money. It’s not much, I know, but it’s something. Besides, what I’m doing is helping the war effort. You’ve no idea how much the servicemen and the factory people appreciate us.’
He sighed. ‘I’ll miss you, and so will Johnny.’
Frances sat on the rug beside them and gathered the child into her arms. ‘I’ll miss him too, but I know that you and Maggie will take care of him.’
‘We will,’ he said, and gave her a kiss on her cheek.
She went up to see her mother. Opaline was sitting at her dressing table painting scarlet varnish onto her fingernails.
‘What d’you want?’ her mother asked. ‘If you’ve come to try and persuade me to make up with your father, you’re wasting your time.’
‘I hadn’t, actually,’ said Frances, ‘but that would be good. I wish you would.’
‘I won’t.’ Opaline looked at Frances through the mirror. Her elegant face was as hard as stone when she said, ‘The bastard’s cooked his goose this time.’
Frances felt sick. This was horrible, and not for the first time, she wished that Hugo was here. He’d always got on better with Opaline than she had. But he wasn’t and she would have to deal with it on her own. Growing up, she’d always known that her parents had a rocky relationship, but something had tipped her mother over the edge. Surely it couldn’t only be the black-market petrol; it had to be more. For a moment, she considered asking her, but what would be the point? Instead, she said, ‘I’m going back to London in the morning, so I’ve come to say goodbye.’
Opaline looked up from her nails. ‘Are you still staying with Beau Bennett?’
Frances nodded. ‘I’ve got a room in his flat.’
‘I wouldn’t hold out any hopes there, honey.’ Opaline gave a short, sour laugh. ‘He sure ain’t a lady’s man, you know. Not like his father.’
Frances thought about that last remark as she sat on the train back to London. She had guessed that Beau preferred men, but that was beside the point. Had her mother had an affair with Rolly Bennett, Beau’s father? That brought further thoughts about the reason her mother appeared to be leaving Parnell Hall. Could it be that she had a boyfriend in London, a lover?
‘God, I’m glad to see you,’ said Beau, when she walked into the flat.
‘That’s nice,’ she grinned, taking off her coat.
‘Here’ – he went to the sideboard – ‘have a drink.’ He poured a large measure of gin into a glass and a minuscule amount of Angostura bitters. ‘How were the folks?’
For a moment, Frances was tempted to tell him, but only for a moment. ‘Alright,’ she said lightly. ‘The same as ever.’
‘Good. Now, let’s get down to business.’
The Bennett Players’ travel plans had been finalised. ‘We get a troop transport ferry from Gosport,’ Beau said. ‘That’ll take us to Arromanches, and then you’ll drive the bus to our first venue. It’s a field hospital and transit camp near Bayeux. They’ll be glad to see us; at least, I hope they will.’
‘Have you told everybody?’ Frances asked. ‘They all think they’ve got another four or five days off.’
‘Not all of them. I sent a telegram to Colin Brown in Glasgow and he’s coming to London tomorrow. I phoned Godfrey and had to speak to that dreadful wife for five agonising minutes before she let him on the line.’
Frances laughed. ‘What about the girls?’ she asked.
‘I’m leaving that up to you. I’ve got their addresses. I did phone Catherine’s house, but her mother answered and we didn’t understand each other at all. She seemed to think that Catherine was away performing with the Players. So perhaps you can go round there first thing in the morning. As for Della, she hasn’t answered my phone calls either.’
‘She did say once that the phone was in the hallway of her digs and that she didn’t always hear it. I’ll go round.’ Frances took a gulp of her drink. ‘And Tommy?’
‘Got him. I went to the Criterion the other night and he was playing with the band, so he knows.’
‘And that leaves the hateful Eric Baxter,’ sighed Frances. ‘Can’t we just forget to tell him and go to France without him? Everyone would thank you.’
‘No, we can’t.’ Beau’s face lost its normal pleasant expression. ‘Don’t worry about him. I’ll do it.’ He cleared his throat and then said, ‘By the way, we’re having a liaison officer. He’ll be meeting us in France. It’s someone you know.’
‘Who?’ asked Frances.
‘Robert Lennox.’
Chapter 7
She could hear the rain beating against the window as she lay in bed with her eyes closed. It was time to get up, she supposed, but a few more minutes wouldn’t matter, and she needed time to think about the last three days. About the new people she’d met and the things she’d been told.
It had started when Robert Lennox had met her at the station at Sevenoaks and had driven her the few miles out of that little town and into the lush Kent countryside. He had an open-top roadster and Catherine, surprised, because she’d imagined he would have something more sober, found herself enjoying the sensation of the wind blowing through her hair. It made her feel young and carefree, although considering the c
ircumstances, carefree was the last thing she should have felt.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind this?’ Robert asked again. He’d offered to put the top up when he’d led her out of the station to where the car was parked. ‘It’ll take us about twenty minutes to get to our destination, and it’s a lovely day. I thought you’d quite like it.’
‘Yes,’ she’d said, staring at the well-polished red car with its big headlamps and shiny bumper. ‘Leave the top down.’ And now, with her hair streaming out behind her, he’d flicked a look at her and asked again.
‘It’s alright,’ she assured him. ‘It’s fun.’
‘Good,’ said Robert, and grinned.
Catherine immediately felt uncomfortable. Should she be having fun when Christopher was missing or – she forced herself to think it – dead? And this outing to the Kent countryside was certainly not for fun. It was deadly serious. She swallowed the nervous lump that kept forcing its way into her throat and looked up to the blue summer sky. She could see vapour trails criss-crossing the heavens and wondered if they were enemy fighters.
Robert caught her looking. ‘They’re ours,’ he said, glancing up briefly. ‘The German bomber force is just about finished, but it’s the doodlebugs we have to worry about now.’ He frowned. ‘We’re struggling to counter them and the people in south London are paying a terrible price.’
‘I know,’ said Catherine. ‘My mother has friends in Croydon who escaped from France in a fishing boat at the beginning of the war. They attend the Church of Nôtre-Dame in Leicester Square, where Maman goes. Last week, the priest told her that her friends were injured in a rocket attack two weeks ago.’ She shrugged. ‘Their neighbours were killed, so I suppose they were lucky. But I think life is very cruel: they thought they would be safe in England.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Robert. ‘Life is cruel. But we’re coming close to the end of the war and we’ll be able to go home and get on with our lives.’ He was quiet for a moment, concentrating on the narrow, winding roads, shaded with heavily leafed overhanging trees. Then he added, ‘If there’s a life worth getting on with.’
Catherine glanced round at him. He was looking straight ahead at the road, his face expressionless. Did he mean something by that? Something personal?
He cleared his throat. ‘This place we’re going to is a training school for our agents. You won’t be doing the full course, as it takes months, but you will be given an idea of what you might be able to do for us.’
Catherine bit her lip. She phoned him a week ago and told him that she would consider doing something in France. He’d sounded surprised but pleased at the same time. The next day, he’d phoned her back and asked her if she could get away for two days.
‘Alright,’ she’d said. ‘I can tell Maman that I’m working.’
‘Good.’ He sounded relieved and then gave her the time of the train she was to catch and where she was to get off. ‘I’ll be there to meet you.’
At Victoria Station, she’d been tempted to walk off the platform and go home to Maman and Lili, but, almost without noticing it, she’d found herself on the train. Now her doubts returned and she looked about wildly. If she decided to leave, would there be a bus or a taxi that could take her back to Sevenoaks?
Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, Robert smiled. ‘They’re a nice crowd,’ he said. ‘The evenings are quite jolly.’
‘Will you be staying?’ she asked.
Robert shook his head. ‘No, I have to get back to London. But I’ll hang on to introduce you. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.’
She was fine. The woman who met them at the studded oak door gave Robert a broad smile. ‘Major Lennox,’ she said. ‘How very nice to see you again.’
Catherine looked up quickly. Major Lennox, she thought. So he isn’t a civilian after all. There was no time to reflect on this for the woman was holding out her hand. ‘Mrs Fletcher,’ she beamed. ‘I’m Veronica Bishop. How very nice to meet you. Come in, do, and I’ll find you a cup of coffee. Only Camp, I’m afraid, but we do have biscuits.’
The coffee was served in a large sitting room, where she and Robert sat side by side on a deep, squashy sofa. The cover was worn out and torn in places, and it looked as if somebody had been picking at the threads and making it worse. Maman would be scandalised, Catherine thought, looking around at the other furniture. It was all in much the same state, old and rather tattered. The legs on the oak coffee table in front of her were chewed, the wood scarred and splintered. Miss Bishop, a heavy-breasted woman in her forties, caught sight of the dismay on Catherine’s face. ‘The brigadier’s dog, I’m afraid,’ she sighed, handing round the coffee cups. ‘So very badly trained.’
Robert grinned. ‘It makes it more homely, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘Less military.’
‘If you say so,’ Miss Bishop replied rather glumly, obviously not agreeing with him.
She turned to Catherine. ‘We have our lessons during the day, but we do relax in the evening.’ She nodded towards a grand piano, which filled a corner of the room. ‘Sometimes we have a sing-song, which should suit you.’
The brigadier and his young Labrador, Belter, came in then and more introductions were made. The dog immediately galloped over to the coffee table, but Miss Bishop slapped her hand loudly on it and Belter retreated to the seat in the huge bow window and, leaping on the cushions, proceeded to gnaw at one of the tassels that held back the curtain.
‘He’s a young devil,’ the brigadier smiled fondly. ‘He does love to chew, but’ – he looked nervously at Miss Bishop – ‘he will grow out of it.’ He turned to Catherine, who had stood up to shake hands. ‘Now, my dear, we’ve only got two days with you, so we’d better get to it.’
Catherine’s heart started pounding again and her face must have shown it because Robert touched her arm. His hand was cool and comforting. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’ll be nothing much. Just a recognition course, German Army insignia and suchlike, so you’ll know who’s who, if you ever come across them.’ He smiled at her and then shook her hand. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said. ‘Good luck.’
She was taken through the house and out of the back door to the yard, where beside the brick coal houses and carriage house were a couple of Nissen huts. ‘In here, Mrs Fletcher,’ said the brigadier, holding open the door to the closest hut. ‘Captain Jaeger is waiting for you.’
He was a short, older man with a ring of white close-cropped hair round a bald pate. Like the brigadier and Robert, he didn’t wear uniform, but was dressed in a neat grey suit and well-polished brown shoes. In fact, in the two days Catherine was at the house, she only saw people in mufti, although they were always introduced by their military titles.
‘How d’you do?’ said Catherine, when the brigadier introduced her, and had a quick look around the hut. It was laid out like a classroom, with a blackboard at one end and wooden desks arranged in a row in front of it. Maps were pinned to the walls, rustling slightly in the breeze that crept under the door and through the half-open window. Captain Jaeger wasted no time. After briefly shaking her hand and showing her to a wooden desk, he went to the blackboard.
‘You are here to learn German insignia, Mrs Fletcher, which, I think, is not a difficult task, but there are many variations, so we start … now.’ He turned the blackboard over and Catherine saw that there was a coloured chart on the back. She leant forward to examine the pictures of cap badges and shoulder boards, and the names beside them.
‘You have the German language?’ Captain Jaeger asked. Catherine realised that he had an accent; could it be German?
‘No. I don’t.’ It was hard to keep the hostility out of her voice. The captain’s countrymen were holding Christopher in a hell that she didn’t even want to imagine.
If he noticed it, Jaeger gave no indication, but took a pointer from the ledge beneath the blackboard and pointed at the first badge. It was an embroidered white eagle with outstretched wings on a grey background. ‘All German soldiers wear
this emblem on their uniform blouses,’ Jaeger said, ‘but different ranks and different divisions have, as you will expect, slight variations.’ He moved the pointer to another badge. ‘I show you this as an example.’ It was the same eagle but now in silver on a black background. ‘It is the emblem of the Panzer Division.’
Catherine gazed at the blackboard. There must have been about fifty different badges and emblems pictured on the chart. Surely she wouldn’t be required to learn all of them. It was impossible. Nobody could stop me if I got up and left, she thought, and put her hand down to her handbag, which she’d tucked in beside her feet.
Suddenly Captain Jaeger gave a short, barking laugh. ‘Do not despair, dear Mrs Fletcher. You will understand very quickly. The German Army does everything in order. One step will follow on from the next.’
By the time Miss Bishop came to collect her, just before six o’clock, Catherine’s mind was bursting with the information that Captain Jaeger had imparted. The sound of his pointer rapping on the board as he drilled the significance of the different insignia into her was still ringing in her head when she was led through the house and up the wide oak staircase.
‘This is your room,’ Miss Bishop said, showing her into a small, somewhat bleak, servant’s room on the second floor. ‘It isn’t awfully nice, I’m afraid; we are rather strapped for accommodation at the moment. But,’ she added brightly, and nodded towards a green-painted door, ‘that’s the bathroom next door to you, so it’s very convenient. When you’re ready, come downstairs. We gather in the drawing room for drinks before dinner.’
Standing uncertainly in the hall half an hour later, wondering which of the closed doors opened into the drawing room, Catherine was startled by a greeting called from the half-landing.
‘Hello.’ A woman of about Catherine’s age skipped lightly down the stairs until she was in the hall. ‘Are you Mrs Fletcher?’ she asked, and her red-painted lips parted in a wide smile.
The Very Thought of You Page 8