‘Ma’am,’ said one of them to her, tipping his helmet, and then went to the back of the Jeep and loaded the box. The other one did the same, while Robert got out his wallet and handed over what looked like quite a lot of cash.
‘Say nothing,’ Robert grinned, glancing at Catherine’s astonished face as they drove away. ‘It’s all in a good cause.’
A fresh side of beef came out of the first box, much to everyone’s, including Madame Farcy’s, delight, and in the second they found eggs, flour, butter and chocolate.
‘You have done well, madame,’ cooed the old lady, examining Catherine’s purchases. ‘I will start the cooking.’
In the days that followed, the company settled into the chateau. Tommy and Colin went out fishing with the caretaker, coming home with a catch more often than not. One afternoon, Tommy arrived back with a couple of live chickens, which he’d bought from a farmer. ‘You don’t speak French,’ said Frances. ‘How did you do it?’
‘I speak barter,’ laughed Tommy. ‘I swapped my watch for them.’
‘Oh.’ Frances was impressed. ‘But don’t you need your watch?’
‘Nah.’ Tommy shook his head. ‘It was junk. I bought it off a stall in Lambeth. It only goes now and then.’
In the mornings, they rehearsed, slotting in new numbers, and Beau and Colin worked up a comedy act. At first, Colin wasn’t keen, but Beau insisted, and after a few tries at making his tricks go wrong and knocking his wig askew, it started to come together.
‘I thought the appalling Baxter was supposed to be the comedy act,’ said Godfrey, watching Colin hide a glass of water under a series of tall black cups and then not be able to find it. It was quite funny and the Players clapped enthusiastically.
‘Baxter isn’t a comedian,’ snorted Della. ‘He’s just a creep.’
‘And he’s disappeared again,’ said Catherine.
The ventriloquist had begged a lift into town with Robert and Beau a couple of days ago and hadn’t come back. ‘He’s requested permission to stay in the officers’ quarters in town,’ Beau said. ‘I couldn’t stop him, really. I couldn’t stop any of you.’
‘Good riddance,’ laughed Della. ‘Hope he never comes back.’
They wondered about Davey Jones and if his killer had been found. ‘It seems wrong that we’re here enjoying ourselves when he’s six feet under,’ said Della. ‘I liked him.’
‘Beau hasn’t been able to find anything out,’ Frances said. ‘At least, that’s what he told me when I asked him.’
That was not quite what he said. He’d been quite irritated when she mentioned him. ‘For God’s sake, let it go,’ he’d said with a frown. ‘These things happen in war.’
‘Alright,’ Frances said, surprised, and remembered Robert warning her not to mention that Davey had spoken to her on the evening that he’d been murdered.
They had ten days’ rest and recreation, and then it was back to performing again. They played at camps and field hospitals, and once back at the theatre in Bayeux. Eric Baxter turned up ready with Captain Fortescue at the first venue and subsequently rejoined the company as they toured in the bus. Frances was driving again with Beau giving her directions from the map. As they weren’t at the front, they didn’t need their military escort, and even Robert had stayed behind in Caen. After each of the shows, they made their weary way back to the chateau, to be greeted by Madame with a handshake for the men and a kiss on both cheeks for the girls. No matter how late they arrived, she was there with coffee and some little titbit.
They had all become used to buying what they could at every place they performed. Once, they went to an American camp, where their version of the NAAFI was like a wonderland.
‘God,’ said Frances, wandering into the PX along with the others before the show. ‘Bacon, bananas. I haven’t seen a banana for years.’
The audience was good too. Della went down a storm, cartwheeling and somersaulting all over the large stage. She had worked on a new dance routine, tap as well as show dancing, which the audience cheered.
‘Those guys are fantastic,’ she panted, coming off after blowing kisses to the crowd.
‘Guys?’ queried Frances, one eyebrow raised.
‘You have to get into the swing of things. Use the lingo,’ laughed Della. ‘Don’t be so stuffy.’
Only Baxter and Captain Fortescue bombed. None of his remarks or jokes had any resonance with the American audience, and they started talking and getting up and walking about. Beau hovered anxiously in the wings, beckoning him to come off. ‘I’m leaving you out of the second half,’ he said, as Baxter left the stage to desultory clapping.
‘Thank God,’ Baxter brayed in the captain’s voice. ‘I’m not used to playing to lower-class colonials.’
The American corporal who was working the curtain scowled and bunched his fists, but Della put a hand on his sleeve. ‘Ignore the bastard,’ she said loudly. ‘That’s what we all do.’
The audience was a little restless after that, but when Catherine stepped on stage and started to sing ‘As Time Goes By’, they quietened down and listened attentively.
‘She’s got them back,’ breathed Beau with a sigh of relief, as cheers rang out and there were cries of ‘More, more!’
‘This next song is for my husband, who is missing in action,’ Catherine said, when the audience had resumed their seats, and she sang the opening bars of ‘J’attendrai’ in English before going on to the French words. Even though most of the men didn’t understand the language, they understood the sentiment and loved it. The place rocked with cheers and continued on when the three girls sang a medley of Andrews Sisters numbers.
‘Gee,’ said the American colonel, when they were treated to drinks afterwards. ‘Who’d have thought a bunch of Limeys could put on such a good show?’
‘Not you, obviously,’ said Frances.
Beau frowned and hurried to stand in front of her, but Catherine giggled and took her hand. Della broke off from flirting with the young officers and laughed out loud.
‘Aw, shit.’ The colonel blushed and ducked his head. ‘I guess that didn’t come out right. I truly thought you were all pretty damn good. Honest Injun.’
‘It’s alright,’ said Frances, smiling at him. ‘I was only kidding.’
On the way back to the chateau, Beau said, ‘You nearly caused a diplomatic incident there, Frances.’
‘Hardly,’ she answered, her eyes on the dark road. They’d reached the turn-off that led up to the chateau. ‘That colonel knew he’d made a mistake. He was fine afterwards. We even got presents.’
‘Scent,’ grinned Della, holding up the square Chanel No.5 bottle. ‘Such big bottles, and where the hell did they get them from? Must have been pinched.’
‘One of the officers told me that they’d been confiscated from a German HQ,’ Catherine added from her seat beside Della. ‘Apparently, one of the generals had been getting the perfume from manufacturers in the south and was selling it in Paris. A good little business.’
‘I’d say,’ Frances started, but then gasped and swerved the bus to one side.
‘Watch out,’ grunted Beau, looking out of the window. ‘What was it? A rabbit?’
‘No.’ Frances looked swiftly in the driving mirror. ‘It was a man, walking up the drive towards the chateau.’
She looked again, wondering if she’d imagined it, but the road behind was very dark. How strange, she thought, and then decided that if she really did see someone, he would be a friend of the Farcys and going to visit them. But at nearly midnight?
Madame was waiting for them as usual, with a tray of coffee and an apple pastry cut into little squares.
Tommy struggled in carrying an orange box full of food from the American PX. ‘For you, madame,’ he said. ‘I’ll take it through to the kitchen.’
‘Oh là, là,’ she squealed with joy, hurrying after him, while the others flopped onto the couches in the salon with cups of coffee and plates of pastry.
‘It was a good house,’ Godfrey said, pouring a dram of whisky from his hip flask into his coffee.
‘Aye,’ agreed Colin, and held out his hand for the flask, which was readily passed. ‘I like those Yanks. Very appreciative.’ He turned to grin at Della. ‘You were a fine assistant, lassie. You really looked surprised when ma tricks went awa. You know, boss’ – his eyes turned to Beau, who was lying back on a couch looking exhausted – ‘I’ve thought of something else we can put in. I’ll tell you in the morning, though.’
‘I think that would be better,’ Beau yawned. ‘I’ve had it for today.’ He started to get up, but stopped when Madame Farcy bustled into the room, looking back over her shoulder.
She went over to Catherine, her face full of joy and excitement. ‘Madame,’ she said excitedly, ‘he has come home.’
‘Who?’ asked Catherine, smiling at her. ‘Who has come home? Your son, perhaps?’
‘No, madame, not my son, but someone I love like a son.’
Catherine looked past her into the grand reception hall. A man was standing there. A man dressed in a blue workman’s jacket and crumpled black trousers. His dark, untidy hair flopped over an unsmiling face, and while Catherine stared, he started to enter the room.
Madame Farcy turned and, rushing back to him, took his elbow and ushered him in. ‘I present to you the owner of the chateau,’ she said, and as everyone started to get to their feet, she continued, ‘I introduce Monsieur Guy. Monsieur le Compte de Montjoy. You are his guests.’
Chapter 17
There was a stunned silence as the company stared at the man, who shifted his feet impatiently and stared back. Beau was the first to move. ‘Monsieur de Montjoy,’ he said, thrusting out his hand. ‘I’m Beau Bennett, the leader of this company. How do you do?’
Guy de Montjoy took Beau’s hand and answered in French that he was well and what the hell were they doing in his house? Frances understood his words and knew that Beau did too, but he turned his head to Catherine and beckoned her forward to explain.
‘Monsieur le Compte,’ she said, shaking hands with him. ‘I am Catherine Fletcher, and I’m so sorry to have to tell you that the army have commandeered the chateau for extra accommodation for the military. Although, we’ – she gestured towards the Players, who were all standing up now, looking concerned and confused – ‘aren’t exactly soldiers. We are entertainers in uniform.’
Guy was silent, slowly taking it in. He twitched, and scratched his chest, then raising a grubby hand, raked his nails through his dusty, untidy hair. Catherine took an involuntary step back. He’s got fleas, she thought.
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Della from where she stood with Frances beside the fireplace. ‘He’s alive.’
Guy de Montjoy briefly flicked his eyes to Della before returning them to Catherine.
‘We were told,’ she said quickly, ‘that the owners of the chateau couldn’t be found. And Madame Farcy could tell us nothing of the family’s whereabouts.’
‘That is true, monsieur,’ Madame Farcy cried. ‘I knew that your father had died and that your dear mama was in Switzerland, but you? I had no knowledge. Not for two years. And I would not say because …’ She looked at the group of Players, who were watching, and then lowered her voice. ‘Well, you know why.’
Catherine turned her head to Beau to see what his reaction would be and was alarmed to see that he looked nervous and rather upset. Oh hell, she thought, we’re going to be turned out of here, and she looked back at the dusty stranger and tried to think of something else to say.
But for the first time since his rather dramatic entrance, Guy de Montjoy had allowed his face to relax. ‘It is alright now, Manon,’ he said to Madame Farcy. ‘We are no longer so secret.’ And turning back to Catherine, he explained, ‘Madame Farcy would not tell you about me because I have been working with the Resistance. She, of course, did not know where I was, nor did she know that for the last four months I have been in prison.’
‘Oh! Mon Dieu!’ The old lady gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘The Germans? They caught you?’
Guy sighed. ‘They caught me,’ he confirmed. ‘But I was lucky. The Americans overran the prison before the Gestapo shot me. Now I have come home.’
Catherine’s mind whirled with a thousand questions. Guy had been imprisoned by the Gestapo. Was it possible that he had known Christopher? Was this her opportunity?
‘Monsieur—’ she started.
‘For Christ’s sake, Catherine,’ Della called. ‘Give us a bit of translation. Who the hell is he?’
‘He’s … the owner of this place. He’s called Guy de Montjoy, and he’s a count.’
‘A count?’ Della asked impatiently. ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’
‘A sort of lord, like my father,’ Frances hissed.
‘Bloody hell. Not another toff,’ Della groaned.
‘What else did he say?’ begged Tommy, and Colin and Godfrey nodded.
‘He said he’d been working for the Resistance and that for the last four months he’s been in prison,’ Catherine translated.
‘No wonder he’s crawling,’ Della laughed. ‘I’d tell Madame F. to get the water boiling and dump him in the bath before he infests the rest of us.’
Guy, who had seen and heard Della’s mocking laughter, scowled. ‘What did she say?’ he asked Catherine.
Beau rolled his eyes and looked daggers at Della, and was about to tell her off when Catherine said quickly, ‘She said she thought you should have a bath. She thinks you might have fleas.’
The grin that widened Guy’s lips and showed up dirty yellow teeth broke the moment. ‘Yes, the lady is right. I do have fleas, and many sore places on my body, which are, I think, infected. Perhaps I smell? In the prison, everyone was the same – you stop noticing.’ He smiled at Madame Farcy. ‘Lead me away, Manon. I need food and hot water.’
He looked at Beau. ‘In the morning, monsieur, we will discuss this further,’ and nodding to the rest of the company, he turned and followed Madame Farcy out of the room.
‘Crikey,’ said Tommy. ‘That’s a turn up.’
‘Yes,’ said Beau, looking worried. ‘Now I’m going to bed. We’ll see what he says in the morning.’
As the girls climbed into their beds in the large room that overlooked the parkland at the front of the chateau, Frances said, ‘I bet this was the main bedroom. I bet his parents slept in here and now he’ll want to do the same.’
‘He’s welcome to join us,’ giggled Della sleepily. ‘He’s quite a looker under all that filthy hair.’
Robert drove in the next morning with more mail. Catherine, who was strolling in the neglected grounds, spotted him and waved. He hurried over to where she was standing beside a big oak tree and, dropping his briefcase, took her in his arms.
‘I’ve wanted to do this for days now,’ he said, and passionately kissed her mouth and face, making her gasp with pleasure. She wound her arms about his neck, as anxious as him for this intimacy, and it was only when she began to feel her knees buckle and knew that at any moment they would be rolling on the grass that she stopped him.
‘It’s too public,’ she whispered.
‘We’ll find somewhere quiet,’ Robert said. ‘Come on.’
‘No.’ Catherine gazed up at him, longing to be kissed again. ‘I have to tell you. The owner of the chateau has turned up. I don’t know what his plans are, but he wasn’t too happy last night when he found us here.’
‘Good Lord.’ Robert looked quite surprised. ‘We were told he was dead.’
‘The father’s dead. This is the son, Guy de Montjoy. It seems that he was in the Resistance and that he was captured. The Americans opened the prison some days ago.’
‘Interesting,’ said Robert, all passion now forgotten. ‘I can’t wait to meet him.’ He started to walk back to the house, but Catherine grabbed his arm.
‘I’m going to ask him about Christopher,’ she said. ‘He was captured by the Gestapo, and so was
Chris. He might have met him.’
For a moment she hoped he would agree. Say, ‘What a good idea,’ and that he would question Guy de Montjoy with her, but the words were hardly out of her mouth before he said with a voice hard as steel, ‘No, Catherine. Absolutely not.’
‘Why not?’ She could hear the whine in her voice but didn’t care.
‘Because your husband was on a secret mission. It must not be mentioned. Remember you signed the Official Secrets Act. There is a penalty to pay for breaking your promise.’
‘But—’
‘No “but”s,’ he said, and took her arm to urge her along. ‘Come on, let’s meet the new arrival.’ He was smiling again now, as though nothing had happened, and she, confused, walked with him.
Strangely, and even after that cold and swift rebuttal of her suggestion, Christopher and his whereabouts were not uppermost in her mind. It was of Robert she pondered. How could he turn off his desire so abruptly?
Guy was in the dining room with Della and Frances. The boys had eaten and were in the large salon rehearsing new numbers. The rousing chorus of the drinking song from The Student Prince suddenly resounded through the rooms and Guy looked up in astonishment.
‘They are rehearsing,’ smiled Frances. ‘We have to keep adding new things to our acts to keep them vibrant, alive.’
‘You can speak French,’ said Della accusingly, spreading some of the American PX butter on one of Madame Farcy’s bread rolls. ‘You didn’t say so before.’
‘Nobody asked me,’ said Frances.
‘What act do you do?’ Guy asked her. He was wearing a clean shirt, one of Monsieur Farcy’s, and a pair of blue trousers, courtesy of Tommy, who had offered them when the count had first appeared downstairs with a blanket wrapped round his waist. He looked clean, but was terribly thin and covered with small sores and scabs. Frances guessed that he was in his late twenties or early thirties.
‘I’m the administrator, really, and I drive the bus, which you will see at the back of the chateau,’ said Frances, ‘although I do sing with the other girls at the end of the show.’
The Very Thought of You Page 21