Her dark hair was rolled and curled and piled on top of her head with a green ribbon threaded through the curls, which matched her glamorous green-beaded dress. It seemed remarkably over the top and Catherine wondered if her grey day dress and short-sleeved cardigan was too plain for a dinner at this house. The woman took Catherine’s arm and led her across the floor.
‘I’m Chantal. How d’you do? We heard we were having a temporary guest.’ She opened a door. ‘Come on in and meet the gang.’
The gang consisted of eight men and five women, who all turned their heads to look at her when Catherine followed Chantal into the room. ‘I’ll do the introductions,’ Chantal laughed, ‘but you’ll probably forget all the names.’
Catherine did forget the names, shyly shaking hand after hand, until one man in a brown corduroy jacket with a livid scar on his face that stretched from the corner of his eye to his mouth stood in front of her and stared. ‘I know you,’ he said after a moment, and gave her a lopsided grin. ‘I saw you sing at the Criterion. You have a terrific voice.’
‘Thank you,’ Catherine smiled.
‘Mon Dieu, you’re a famous person,’ Chantal said loudly, so that everyone turned round to stare. ‘How exciting.’
‘Not that famous,’ said Catherine, blushing.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ said the man who recognised her. ‘Gin?’
‘Thanks,’ Catherine nodded, and after he’d moved towards the drinks tray on the sideboard, she turned to Chantal. ‘What was his name again?’ she asked.
‘Larry Best. Major Larry Best. Nice man.’ Chantal grinned and adjusted the neckline of her dress, which was in danger of exposing her breasts. ‘Sorry,’ she said in a stage whisper. ‘I’ve lost weight in the last few weeks and this frock doesn’t really fit me any more.’
‘I didn’t bring any formal dresses with me,’ Catherine said. ‘I didn’t think it would be necessary.’
‘It isn’t.’ Chantal jerked her head towards the others. ‘Look at them. It’s only me. I like to dress up. Nobody else bothers.’
Catherine sat next to Larry at the table when they went into the dining room for supper. They were served at a long table by silent ATS girls, who handed round dishes of unidentifiable stew and boiled potatoes. The food was demolished eagerly, without anyone examining what was on their plate; it seemed as though everyone was hungry. Catherine only picked at her meal, and even when the next course, a sponge pudding, arrived, she still couldn’t eat much.
‘Not hungry?’ Larry leant towards her, and in a lowered voice said, ‘If you don’t want the rest of that pudding, can I have it?’
‘Of course.’ Catherine smiled and pushed the bowl to his place. He only took minutes to finish and then leant back and took out his packet of cigarettes.
‘Smoke?’ he asked, offering the packet of Woodbines.
‘No, thank you,’ Catherine said. ‘I don’t smoke. My voice is my living, so I look after it.’
‘Are you still at the Criterion?’
‘Well, I did a couple of nights there some weeks ago, but I’ve joined a group now and we entertain the troops and factory workers. I’m loving it.’
‘Are you all singers?’
‘Oh no. Not all of us. We have a conjurer, a pianist, a ventriloquist, a tenor, and my friend Della Stafford does songs from the shows and dances brilliantly. Even Frances, who’s our administrator, sings. We’re a good troupe and the audiences seem to like us.’
‘I’m sure they do,’ Larry grinned. ‘Perhaps you’ll sing for us one evening, while you’re here.’
‘Maybe,’ Catherine said, as they got up. The ATS girls were collecting the dishes and Miss Bishop was directing people out of the dining room and back into the drawing room.
‘Coffee is being served as usual,’ she called out, as Catherine followed the others.
The evening sun was going down and shone through the great bow window, lighting up the large room in a rosy glow. It picked out the dusty Edwardian carvings on the mahogany panelling above the fireplace and gleamed through the stained-glass half-windows around the bow, sending shafts of colour onto the faded carpet.
‘How lovely,’ Catherine breathed.
‘It is,’ said Major Best, handing her a coffee. ‘This place must have been magnificent once.’
She was going to reply, but suddenly the room was filled with music, as one of the younger men had sat down at the piano and was thumping out a Noël Coward number. Some of the others were singing along with gusto. Catherine smiled. The pianist was dreadful and the singing pretty poor, but they were enjoying themselves. The man who was playing had a black eye and a cut on his cheek, and looked as if he’d been in a fight. One of the women had her arm in a sling and looked tired, but she was singing along happily, her good arm linked in Chantal’s.
‘Not up to your standard,’ Larry grinned.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Catherine said. ‘They’re having a good time.’ She looked at the group again. ‘A lot of them seem to have been injured. Why’s that?’
‘Oh, the training is quite hard,’ Larry grunted. ‘They’re always getting bumps and scrapes.’
For the first time, Catherine thought about what these people were doing. Robert and his boss hadn’t actually said what this house was for, but you didn’t have to be a genius to guess. The men and women who were gathered round the over-strung piano were training to be agents. Some of them would be smuggled into France and Holland to send back information to the War Office. Others would be required to fight, blow up buildings, railway lines and bridges. Dangerous assignments. It was a sickening thought and she nervously sat forward on the shabby armchair ready to jump up and leave the room.
‘I see you’re married,’ Larry Best broke into her anxious thoughts.
‘What?’
He nodded towards her wedding ring, which she had been winding fretfully round her finger. ‘Is he in the forces?’
‘Yes, Christopher is a para. At least …’ She was going to say more but remembered that she’d signed the Official Secrets Act. Robert had said that Chris was an agent. God, he might even have been here, but she couldn’t tell anyone that. Even here. Even to Larry Best.
‘At least what?’
Catherine swallowed the lump in her throat and then said in a rush, ‘He’s been posted missing. I don’t know whether he’s still alive. I don’t even know where he is.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Larry said. ‘War is God-awful hell.’ He narrowed his eyes and stared again at her hand, where she was once again twisting her wedding ring round her slim finger. ‘Christopher, you said? In the Parachute Regiment?’
‘Yes,’ Catherine nodded. ‘Before the war, he was a lecturer, and we were convinced the army would post him to some sort of office job. But they didn’t.’
Larry narrowed his eyes. ‘When did you last hear from him?’ he asked.
‘I haven’t heard from him,’ she answered, trying to think back. ‘Not since he left that last time. I assume he is abroad.’
‘But you’ve been told he’s missing.’
‘Yes.’ Catherine nodded her head slowly.
‘And nothing more?’
She frowned and glanced up at him. He was asking questions about something that she knew she mustn’t divulge, and from the change in his face and the quick crooked smile he gave it was obvious he recognised that.
‘How about another drink?’ he said, moving to get up.
‘Thanks, but no.’ Catherine stood up. ‘I’m rather tired, so if you won’t think me too rude, I’ll go to my room.’
Larry Best stood up too and shook her hand. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said.
The next morning after breakfast, she was directed again to the Nissen hut classroom. To her surprise, it was Larry standing behind the teacher’s desk.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m going to give you a quick rundown of military hardware.’
Catherine could feel her face falling. This is mad, she thought, but Larr
y must have noticed how miserable she looked because he grinned.
‘Don’t worry,’ he laughed. ‘We’re just going to look at some pictures of tanks and armoured cars. If you can sort them out in your head and remember them, it will be useful.’
He reached up and pulled down a chart that had pictures of tanks on it. Catherine sat at her desk and stared at them. They looked all the same to her. Tanks? She could distinguish a tank from a lorry or a car, but from each other?
‘Oh God,’ she muttered, but if Larry heard her, he ignored it.
‘This is the Panzer VI,’ he said, rapping his pointer on one of the pictures. ‘I’m showing you this first because this is the vehicle that is the most used now, but there are others in service.’
The lesson dragged on through the morning, and after a quick lunch of soup and cheese on toast, she was straight back into the Nissen hut to learn about the different identifying markings that might be found on the military hardware.
‘Are you taking any of this in?’ asked Larry after an hour in the afternoon.
Catherine, who was sitting with her eyes turned towards the small window, shook her head. She’d been watching the activity outside on the large back garden. Several members of the group were having what looked to her like wrestling practice; others were practising fighting with knives.
‘Not much,’ she said, dragging her face away from the window. ‘I think, for me, this is a total waste of my time and yours. I will never be in a situation where it will be useful.’ She looked back to the window. ‘And I’m certainly not going to do any of that.’
‘Mm,’ Larry murmured. ‘I agree. But the powers that be sometimes have odd ideas. And we have to go along with them.’ He followed her eyes to the activities in the garden. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Fletcher. Nobody is going to ask you to fight or even learn self-defence.’ He sighed. ‘I think we’ve done enough today. If only a little of what I’ve said sticks, it could be useful.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? I believe your mother is French. Where does she come from?’
In no time Catherine found herself talking about her grandfather’s farm south of Amiens and how much she had loved her holidays there. ‘We haven’t heard from them since Dunkirk, really. Maman and I are so worried.’
‘Did you go there for your honeymoon?’
‘Oh no,’ she laughed. ‘Chris and I married after the war had started. It was impossible to get there. No, we went to Brighton for a couple of days. Then his leave ended.’
‘And he went back to war.’
‘Yes.’
Larry lit another cigarette and drew in a deep lungful of smoke. ‘It’s surprising that he wasn’t posted to the Education Corps. After all, he was proficient in French and German.’
Catherine nodded. It had been surprising. He should have been in the Education Corps.
They walked together back to the house, skirting the garden, where Catherine’s companions from yesterday evening trampled the neglected and overgrown flower-beds. The sun was shining brightly, and beyond the house and garden, a bucolic scene of farms and cottages covered the low rolling hills. ‘On a day like this,’ Catherine said quietly, ‘you’d never guess that …’
‘No, you wouldn’t. It seems too peaceful out there, and almost wrong, when you think of what’s happening across the Channel.’ Larry’s voice was halting, and when Catherine looked up, she saw that his damaged face was set in a bitter expression. What must he have gone through? she wondered.
He noticed that she was looking at him and he gave her his lopsided grin. ‘Ignore me, Mrs Fletcher. I’m turning into a curmudgeon. But take it from me – things aren’t always what they seem. Now, will you sing for us tonight? We’d love it.’
‘Alright. I’d like to.’
She had one last conversation with the brigadier before supper. He and Belter were in the corridor when she walked inside and he beckoned her into the empty dining room.
‘I realise that you think that these two days have been a waste of time, Mrs Fletcher, and you could be right. There might not be any opportunity for you to help us when you go to France’ – he put a fond hand on Belter’s head and scratched the young dog behind the ears – ‘but in case there is, I hope you’ve understood just a few of the things you’ve learnt.’
‘I have, Brigadier, and if the occasion arises, I will try to discover something that might be useful.’ Even as she said these words, Catherine knew that the occasion would never arise and her promises were meaningless. So she smiled at him, and when Belter came snuffling around her knee, she bent and stroked his golden head, which caused the lively dog to jump around in excitement.
‘Down, sir,’ shouted the brigadier, and then with an indulgent smile confided, ‘He will learn, but he’s really not much more than a pup.’
That evening, after supper, when they were all in the drawing room, Larry stood up and clapped his hands. ‘We have a treat in store now. Catherine Fletcher, who is well known in the West End, is going to sing for us. George is going to play the piano for her, but has promised not to drown her out with too much hard pedal.’
Catherine handed George the score and he softly played the introduction. She sang ‘The Very Thought of You’, which was one of her favourites, and judging by the rapt attention of the group, who were lolling about on the battered sofas and chairs, they were enjoying it too. Veronica Bishop was sitting on a hard chair by the door and Catherine caught a glimpse of her surreptitiously dabbing her eyes with a lace-edged hanky. The brigadier, who was in an armchair, with Belter at his feet, led the applause when she’d finished.
‘Wonderful,’ he shouted. ‘More, please.’
She followed up with a medley from Show Boat and then a couple of Ivor Novello songs. Miss Bishop got up and went out at one point and Catherine worried that she’d upset her; maybe she was not quite the martinet that she affected and had someone special that she was thinking about. But as Catherine was starting her last number, the door opened and Miss Bishop reappeared, followed by Robert.
‘I’m going to finish with a song that means a lot to me,’ Catherine announced, her eyes on Robert, and then, nodding to George, started ‘I Will Wait’.
‘Mon Dieu,’ one of the men breathed, and when she sang it in French, several of them were looking lost, as though this was taking them home to a comforting place where there was no war.
Cheers erupted when she’d finished and Larry Best gave her a swift hug. ‘You’re just terrific,’ he said.
Robert came to stand beside her. ‘Hello, Catherine,’ he said.
‘What are you doing here?’ She was strangely pleased to see him.
‘I thought I’d drive you home. What d’you think?’
‘I’d like that,’ she said, looking into his eyes. Then she was surrounded by the group, and Veronica Bishop brought her another cup of the execrable coffee.
When everyone had calmed down, she sat on a sofa with Robert.
‘Shall we go now?’ he said. ‘We’ll be in London before midnight. You’ll be able to see your little girl.’
‘Yes, oh yes,’ she answered, with an excited smile, and jumped to her feet. ‘You arrange it with the brigadier while I get my things.’
It took less than ten minutes to pack her few belongings and put on her coat. Larry was at the bottom of the stairs when she came down with her small suitcase.
‘You’re leaving us tonight?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘Major Lennox is driving me home. I’m longing to see my baby daughter.’
‘A child? I didn’t know that. So, all I can do is to wish you good luck.’ He stretched out his hand, and over his shoulder, Catherine could see Robert standing impatiently by the front door.
‘Thank you, Larry.’
He moved aside to let her pass him and then quickly caught her arm and bent his head to her ear. ‘Remember what I said. Things aren’t always what they seem.’
‘What was that about?
’ asked Robert, as they drove through the dark country lanes. ‘You and Larry Best.’
‘Nothing,’ Catherine dismissed the question. ‘He was wishing me luck, I suppose.’
‘Mm,’ Robert grunted. ‘You just seemed very close.’
What a strange thing to say, Catherine thought. It’s almost as if he’s jealous. ‘He’s a nice man,’ she said. ‘We chatted a lot.’
‘What about?’
‘Oh, Christopher and about my grandparents’ farm. He said he was surprised that Chris wasn’t posted to the Education Corps, what with his French and German.’ As she spoke, a new realisation dawned on her. How on earth did Larry know that Chris was fluent in German as well as French, and for that matter, what else did he know? She thought back to the two conversations she’d had with him and was positive that she hadn’t mentioned that Chris lectured in modern languages. She turned her head and stared at Robert.
‘Larry Best knew all about me,’ she said. ‘I think they all did.’
‘Not all of them,’ Robert grinned.
She wanted to be angry, to be furious about being tricked into going to the spy school, but glancing again at Robert, found that he was smiling unconcernedly and she knew anything she said would be useless. So she settled down for the two-hour drive through unlit roads and was almost asleep when Robert drew up in front of her house.
‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to him and giving him a sweet smile.
‘It’s alright,’ he nodded, looking straight ahead. ‘I was glad to give you a lift.’ Then suddenly he turned and, grabbing her shoulders, pulled her towards him. His mouth found hers and for the longest moment she relaxed into the embrace, loving to be held and only remembering the pleasure of intimacy. Then, opening her eyes, she pulled away sharply.
‘Sorry,’ Robert groaned. ‘I don’t know what came over me,’ and he opened the car door and went round to her side. She had already alighted and pulled her suitcase from the back seat and was standing in front of her door.
‘Let me,’ said Robert, as she struggled to put her key into the lock, but the key turned and the door swung open. ‘Forgive me,’ he said again, as she stepped inside, and she looked down into his eyes when she turned back to him.
The Very Thought of You Page 9