‘And Mademoiselle Della?’
‘She dances and sings. She’s wonderful. The audiences love her.’
He grinned at Della. His teeth were cleaner now, as was his hair, and although his skin looked pale and there were lines of exhaustion around his eyes, it was possible to see the handsome man he’d been. ‘I’m sure they do,’ he said. ‘And Mademoiselle Catherine?’
‘Oh, she sings too. She’s awfully good.’
Della poured herself more coffee. ‘What’s he saying?’ she asked. ‘I heard my name and Catherine’s.’
‘He wanted to know what you did. I said you sing and dance.’
‘Oh.’ Della grinned at him and Guy smiled back. ‘Tell him he looks better this morning and that I’ve got some ointment for those sores on his arms. I’ll put it on for him, and for any other patches he’s got on his body.’
When Frances gave her the raised-eyebrow treatment, Della laughed. ‘It’s all part of our job,’ she said. ‘Bringing comfort to the troops.’
Frances was translating this when Robert came in, slowly followed by Catherine and Beau. ‘Monsieur le Compte,’ he said, saluting and then putting out his hand, ‘I’m Major Lennox, liaison officer for this group.’ His French was perfect. ‘Perhaps, if you’ve finished your breakfast, we could go into the small salon for a little chat.’ He turned to Catherine and reverting to English, added, ‘We won’t need you this time for translation, Mrs Fletcher. Major Bennett and I can manage quite well.’ He handed her a bundle of letters. ‘Perhaps you’d like to distribute the mail?’
It was all said very formally, and although Robert smiled politely, Catherine gave him a bleak stare. She had been dismissed and didn’t much like it.
‘That was a bit cheeky,’ said Della, when the men had left the room. ‘Leaving you out like that.’
‘I suppose they’re going to discuss something top secret,’ said Catherine, undoing the string on the bundle, ‘that they don’t want me to hear.’
‘With Beau?’ said Frances. ‘I do hope not. If he’s anything like the rest of his family, it won’t be a secret for long. All the Bennetts are dreadful gossips.’ She looked at the letter Catherine had put in her hand. ‘Oh goody,’ she beamed. ‘Another one from Felix.’
‘Anything for me?’ Della eagerly looked at the letters as Catherine riffled through them.
‘Mm, yes.’ Catherine held up a flimsy airmail envelope. ‘This is for you.’
Della grabbed it and tore it open. ‘It’s from Tim,’ she said excitedly.
Catherine wandered through to where the boys were practising. ‘Post,’ she called, and put the letters down on the table. She was keen to open her mail. There was one from Maman – she recognised the writing, but the other one she didn’t recognise.
Sitting on the second step of the grand staircase, she opened the envelope. A single sheet of paper was inside with one line of writing: Find Father Gautier somewhere south of Amiens. He’ll tell you about your husband.
She flipped the sheet over and back again. There was nothing on the back, and no signature. I’ll show it to Robert, she thought. He’ll be able to explain. But then, would he? Looking at it again, she began to have doubts. This brief note was for her only. Not to be shared.
The door to the small salon suddenly opened and the men came out, smiling and shaking hands. Catherine hastily folded the sheet of paper and put it in her pocket, and then opened the one from Maman.
Robert was watching her, and taking a deep breath, she smiled at him. ‘Lili is well and growing,’ she said, holding up Maman’s letter.
‘And your other one?’
Had he been checking up on the post? On all the mail that came to the Bennett Players, or just on hers?
She swallowed. ‘It’s from Bobby Crewe,’ she lied. ‘The band leader. He wants to know if I’m interested in a show going on at Christmas. If we’ll be home then.’
‘Oh.’ Robert stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing, and then gave her a brief nod. Somehow, she thought, he knows I’m lying, and she put a hand in her pocket where the flimsy envelope, with the note inside, lay crumpled. Her fingers were slightly damp and stuck to the paper, and she felt a little sick. I ought to tell him now. Admit I’ve been telling a fib. But she looked at Guy, who’d been a Resistance fighter and suffered for it, and a wave of anger came over her. How dare Robert look at her letters, as well as everything else? she thought. I won’t let him stop me searching for Christopher, no matter how hard he tries. She stood up, and refusing to look at him, she walked down the single stair and went into the large salon, where her friends had gathered.
Della was breathlessly reading out bits of Tim O’Brien’s long letter. ‘He can’t say where he is, but I’m sure he’s at the front,’ she said. ‘Listen to this: We are hectic, here. Wounded arriving constantly, many of them in a bad way. And what about this bit?’ She turned the page and ran her red-painted fingernail down the close-written script until she found the place she wanted. ‘I have a house in the west of Ireland, and after the war we could live there. They need a doctor in that town.’ She put the letter down and looked at Frances and Catherine. ‘Did you hear that?’ she whispered, her eyes round. ‘He said “we”.’
‘He can’t mean it,’ said Frances. ‘After all, you barely know him, and more than that, he barely knows you.’
‘I know that,’ Della said crossly. ‘Still …’ She didn’t finish the sentence, but half turned away and started to read the letter again.
Godfrey had three letters, all from his wife. After he read each one, he crumpled it up and threw it in the fireplace.
‘What’s she say?’ asked Tommy.
‘Oh, just rubbish, dear boy. Complaining that I’ve been away too long.’ He gave a loud, barking laugh. ‘Not long enough for me.’
‘Do you have children, Godfrey?’ Catherine asked.
He shook his head. ‘Sadly no. But’ – he smiled gently – ‘it’s maybe for the best. A child could have taken after me and she would have nagged it senseless, or, God forbid, it would have been like her and I’d have two harpies after me.’
Robert, Beau and Guy came into the room, and Beau rapped his hand on the table. ‘Listen up, everybody. The count has very generously allowed us to stay here.’ He nodded his thanks to the young man, and the company murmured, ‘Hear, hear.’
‘So, we still have a busy tour in this area, but in a couple of weeks we’ll be going further afield. As you know, several towns north-east of here have fallen to the Allies, and we’ll be touring up there. Robert has been liaising with the army and has picked out some venues. Field hospitals again and camps similar to the ones we’ve already been in. So you’ll know the drill. Tin hats at all times!’ Everyone laughed and grinned excitedly at each other, before Beau held up his hand again for silence.
‘We’re taking our bus,’ he said. ‘It’s more convenient, as we know, and, Frances, you will drive – they seem to trust us not to get in any trouble. But here comes the best news. We’re going home in the middle of December. So you can have Christmas with your families.’
‘Wow!’ said Della, and Catherine and Frances gave each other a hug. Colin and Tommy shook hands. Only Godfrey looked miserable.
‘Don’t tell her, laddie,’ said Colin. ‘Come away with me up to Glasgow. Ma wife and bairns will welcome you and we’ll have a grand time.’
Later, when everyone was chatting excitedly and planning to write home, Robert asked Catherine to walk in the overgrown garden with him.
‘You’ll be happy with that news,’ he said. ‘Going home to see your mother and your little girl.’
‘Oh yes,’ Catherine nodded. ‘It is so wonderful.’
‘And you might be able to join your old band leader for his show. Bobby Crewe, is it? Wasn’t that what he asked you in his letter?’
She stopped walking and turned to stare at him. ‘Stop questioning me, Robert. I don’t like it. Nor do I like you telling me what to do.’
; His face flushed. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s become a habit. I exist in a strange world where I’m never sure of … But,’ he said quickly, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you when I excluded you from the discussion with de Montjoy. The thing is, it might have been something that we needed to keep secure.’
Catherine shrugged. ‘I wasn’t hurt,’ she said coolly. ‘It meant nothing to me. Although, including Beau in your discussion might have been a mistake. Frances says he’s a terrible gossip.’
‘Just as well, then, that there was nothing secret in what the count had to say.’ Robert gazed at the sky. Grey clouds were rolling in from the west, threatening that rain would soon ruin what had been a perfectly sunny morning. ‘I’m paranoid, I think. Too long in my job.’
He reached to take her hand, but before he could touch it, she pushed it into her pocket and started walking back to the chateau. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Tommy’s waiting for me. We have to rehearse a new number.’
Catherine could feel his eyes on her back as she hurried to the house. I don’t believe him, she thought, her stomach churning, that him questioning me was just a habit. He meant it, and despite all the kissing and pretence of love, he doesn’t trust me.
I know that there’s something very wrong about Christopher’s disappearance, and he’s determined I won’t find out about it. But then, another part of her brain questioned, why was he so keen for me to come to France? He arranged the tour; I know he did. And why was I taken to that country house for a few stupid lessons? After all, nothing more has been mentioned about them, or of me doing anything undercover. Then another thought struck her and she paused at the studded oak door and looked back to Robert, who had reached his Jeep and was climbing into the driver’s seat. Was that letter she’d received this morning a fake? Some sort of test of her loyalty?
That’s it, she determined, as she watched him drive away. Any suggestion of a romance, wartime or no, is over. And I will carry on looking for Christopher. Robert just won’t know about it.
Tommy was waiting for her in the hall. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked, waving pages of sheet music at her. ‘I haven’t got all day, you know. Colin and I are going fishing after lunch. Old man Farcy is taking us to a new place. Come on.’
‘Sorry,’ she smiled. ‘On my way,’ and the normality of rehearsal calmed her fears. This is who I am, she thought, and allowed her voice to rise in the air and fill the grand but dilapidated rooms with glorious melody.
Madame Farcy, listening with Guy in the reception hall, smiled. ‘That girl is wonderful,’ she whispered. ‘And half French.’
For the next several weeks, the Bennett Players toured Normandy, performing in many different venues, large and small. They played to British, American and all sorts of colonial troops, as well as men of other nationalities.
‘Who are these blokes?’ asked Della, at one camp, as they looked at the audience who were eagerly awaiting the show. ‘They’re wearing funny uniforms.’
‘They’re Polish, I think,’ said Frances. ‘They might not understand English. That’s why Baxter hasn’t come with us today.’
‘Good,’ said Della. ‘I already love them. Here goes,’ and Della stepped onto the makeshift stage and started to sing.
The reception she – and indeed, all of them – got was tremendous and they came away clutching bottles of Polish spirit that had been thrust at them as they left.
‘Find us some more Poles, Beau, dear boy,’ boomed Godfrey, working on the screw top of a bottle. ‘This is what I call gratitude.’
On some occasions, Guy came with them. He was keen to know the people who were living in his house, and even when he didn’t understand the jokes that Baxter and Colin made, he clapped enthusiastically.
‘You didn’t get a word of that,’ laughed Frances, shaking her head at him when Colin came off stage to ringing cheers.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Guy said. ‘You are my friends; it is good that you are successful.’ He had put on weight, and the sores that had covered his body had healed, leaving only the reddened marks from where they’d been. In time, those would fade too. But the lines around his eyes remained.
‘I have seen too much,’ he told Frances, one day, when she remarked about how tired he looked. ‘These lines are not from lack of sleep, not now. They are from memory.’
‘Of the prison?’ she asked, her voice full of sympathy.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That and other things. Acts of war, acts of cruelty. Mine as well as others’.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘You should,’ he sighed, massaging his fingers. Some of them were bent and were obviously painful. His interrogators had broken them. ‘There will come a time when I tell it all. But not yet. The war isn’t over.’
He and Frances talked often. She told him about her home in Wiltshire. ‘My father’s title means nothing now. We have a huge house, bigger than your lovely chateau, but no money, and it’s falling to pieces. My brother had plans, but he’s a POW in the Far East and we haven’t heard from him for over a year. So I don’t know what’s going to happen.’
‘You have farms?’ Guy asked.
‘Yes,’ Frances nodded. ‘But since the war, no one to work them, until I got in a land girl. Besides which, my father has made some bad decisions.’
‘I have farms,’ said Guy, ‘but I’m planning to concentrate on orchards. Normandy is famous, is it not, for apples? And Calvados. That is where money can be found. Cider and Calvados.’
‘Mm.’ Frances thought about it. Could that work at Parnell Hall? She thought not: her father needed money now, not in the ten years that it would take to establish such a business.
Guy changed the subject. ‘Tell me about Catherine. She is married, yes?’
‘She is,’ Frances said. ‘But her husband has been declared missing in action. He was, she says, a para.’
‘He was lost during the invasion?’
‘Well, no, and that’s the strange thing. He has been missing since the spring, and apparently somewhere in France. Perhaps near here. She talks about him but doesn’t give any details. I don’t think she knows. She has a little girl too, at home with her mother …’ Frances stopped, noticing the frown on Guy’s face. He’d been listening attentively, but now he was staring at her. ‘What?’ she said. ‘What is it?’
Guy’s face cleared. ‘Nothing. I was just interested, that’s all.’
As the weeks went on, the weather became cooler. Autumn storms whipped across the country, stripping the trees of their remaining leaves. It rained heavily, so that driving in and out of the camps became difficult, and often it required a troop of men and, once, a tank to push the bus out of the mud.
‘I’m freezing,’ Della grumbled. ‘I need different clothes.’
Robert arranged for them to be supplied with army greatcoats, but the girls hated them.
‘They’re horrible,’ Della said. ‘Surely you can find something better.’
‘No, I can’t,’ snapped Robert. ‘Take them or leave them.’ He was angry all the time these days. Catherine would barely speak to him, and every time he tried to get her on her own, she found an excuse. She was convinced that he was keeping something from her and that she was, in some way, being used.
‘What’s the matter with you two?’ Della asked, one night after a show when Catherine had ignored his offer of a drink. ‘I thought you fancied him.’
‘Well, you were wrong. I’m a married woman.’ Catherine glowered at her friend and marched off to where Beau was leaning against the bar of the hotel where they’d stopped.
‘When are we going to Amiens?’ she demanded, not bothering with any niceties. ‘It’s been liberated for months now and I want to see if my grandparents are alright.’
‘Calm down,’ he said, swallowing his drink with one gulp. ‘We’re going the day after tomorrow. Robert has arranged it.’
‘What?’ she said, shocked.
‘He knew you
were anxious and he’s been working on the schedule. I was going to tell you all when we got back to the chateau.’
‘Oh.’ Now she felt a little foolish. ‘Good.’ She glanced around and noticed Robert was looking at her, but she turned away from him. ‘I’ll tell the girls, if you don’t mind,’ she said.
‘I don’t mind.’ Beau clicked his fingers at the barman for another drink. ‘Anything to stop you shouting at me. Tell them all.’
Chapter 18
Guy came to sit beside Catherine on the journey to Amiens. Frances was driving, and Della was sitting behind her, with another letter from Tim O’Brien, which she was going over and over. ‘Listen to this,’ she was saying, and reading out bits and pieces of the letter. Catherine had moved to another seat on the pretence that she wanted to read her book, but in reality she needed to think. Della’s overwhelming excitement over Dr Tim was getting in the way.
Catherine had had a letter too, from Maman. In it, she’d written that there was no news of the grandparents in Amiens. Father Clement tried to get information for me about Papa and Maman but to no avail, she wrote. They seem to have disappeared from the face of the earth. I feel so sad.
I took Lili to the clinic for her check-up. The nurse was kind and helped me. They gave us orange juice, which you know she likes, and now cod liver oil. I didn’t understand what it was for, but I give her a teaspoon every day.
‘You have bad news from home?’ asked Guy, watching Catherine sigh as she put her letter back in its envelope.
‘Yes, I suppose,’ she said, dropping into French, which was easier for Guy. ‘My mother says that there has been no news about my grandparents in Amiens. They have a farm to the south of the city, but they aren’t there. Maman writes that they have disappeared from the face of the earth.’
‘People have been displaced,’ Guy said. ‘And, of course, the postal service can be difficult. I expect they’re still at home, wondering why they haven’t heard from you.’ He smiled. ‘Will you try to see them when we reach Amiens?’
The Very Thought of You Page 22