The Very Thought of You

by Mary Fitzgerald

  The nun gazed at the floor with horror.

  ‘Yes,’ said Della. ‘A bit more cleaning to do.’

  ‘We must get your grandmother out of here,’ said Frances urgently. ‘I’m sure Mother Paul was about to telephone Father Gautier. He’ll be here any minute, and unless you want a stand-up row with him, we have to go.’

  ‘I know,’ said Catherine, and hooking an arm under her grandmother’s, she said, ‘Can you walk, Grandmère?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Then you’re coming with me and my friends. Is your room close by, with your clothes?’

  Béatrice nodded towards a door at the side of the room and Frances and Della ran to it. It was a small cell with a little cupboard that contained a few underclothes and her rosary beads. Behind the door was a hook carrying another dress and a coat. Della looked for a bag to carry them in and, finding none, emptied the feather pillow out of its case and used that. They helped the old lady into the coat, and then with Della on one side and Catherine on the other, they walked to the door.

  ‘This is wrong,’ shouted the nun, trying to bar the way. ‘Madame Albert must stay here. Father Gautier says so.’

  ‘And is he the one who told you to drug her?’ asked Frances.

  ‘But it is a kindness,’ she wailed. ‘So that she doesn’t suffer mental torment at the end of her life.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Frances curtly. ‘Now get out of the way.’

  They were in the hall when Mother Paul, alerted by the cries of alarm from the medicine nun, came out of her office.

  ‘You cannot remove Madame Albert from this house,’ she said, moving to stand in front of them. ‘I insist that she stays.’

  ‘No, Mother Paul.’ Catherine spoke with her newly found determination. ‘You have no authority to insist, and I’m taking her to her family, where she’ll be loved and properly looked after, so if you will step aside, we’ll be on our way.’

  ‘I’ve telephoned Father Gautier.’

  ‘I’ll bet you have,’ said Frances, ‘but it’s none of his business. And if you try to stop Madame Albert leaving, I’ll bring the police and the whole British Army into this convent. I don’t think you’d like that.’

  For the first time, Mother Paul looked alarmed, and as she stepped aside, the girls helped Béatrice to the door. Opening it, a blast a fresh air hit them and Béatrice breathed in deeply. ‘Oh, how I’ve missed the outside,’ she said, tears coming again to her old eyes. ‘I’ve been in prison for so long.’

  Della turned at the door and looked back. Mother Paul stood in the corridor, and in the background, several nuns, who had come to see what excitement had disturbed their endlessly peaceful days, hovered anxiously.

  Della bobbed a curtsey and shouted, ‘Goodbye, you old cow,’ and with a final rude gesture with her fingers ran to the car, where Catherine and Guy were waiting for her.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ said Frances crossly, getting into the front.

  ‘Something I’ve wanted to do for ten years,’ laughed Della, getting into the back seat beside Catherine and Béatrice.

  As he put the car in gear, Guy asked, ‘Did you have trouble in there?’

  ‘We did,’ said Frances. ‘At first, they weren’t keen to let us see her, and getting her out was worse. Anyway, we’d better get moving. Mother Paul has phoned for backup.’

  ‘Who’d she call?’

  Frances looked ahead as they pulled away from the pavement and sped along the road. She pointed towards a tall, athletic priest who was walking swiftly towards the convent. ‘I rather think she called him.’

  ‘Father Gautier,’ breathed Guy, and he pulled down the brim of his navy-blue cap.

  The first person Catherine saw as they walked into the hotel was Robert. He was sitting at one of the little round tables in the lobby, deep in conversation with Beau. Papers were scattered on the table, and Robert’s holdall was on the floor beside him. Catherine guessed that he’d just arrived back from England. I wonder what he’s been doing, she thought, and what he’ll say when he notices that Grandmère is on my arm?

  ‘We’re going to have to get another room,’ said Frances, going to the reception desk. ‘Grandmère Béatrice needs pampering.’

  ‘God, yes,’ said Della. ‘Who wouldn’t after spending time in that lunatic asylum?’ She banged her fist on the bell. ‘Let’s get the manager.’

  The clang of the bell made Robert and Beau look up. Robert glanced at Frances and Della; then, knowing that the girls would be together, he looked around for Catherine. When he spotted her, his eyes, behind the tortoiseshell glasses, softened. Catherine, looking back at him, found herself giving him a defensive smile because she knew that his expression would change within the next few seconds.

  ‘Good God,’ he said, standing up so suddenly that Beau, who was still studying the papers, looked up in alarm.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, and then when he saw Catherine with Madame Albert, the colour drained out of his face.

  Robert walked across to Catherine and, taking off his cap, bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Who have we here?’

  She was utterly disconcerted by that kiss, as she knew he had intended her to be. It was his way of getting back at her. Bastard, she thought, having picked up one of Della’s favourite words, and turning to Grandmère, she explained, ‘This is a friend, Major Robert Lennox.

  ‘Robert,’ she said slowly, ‘let me introduce my grandmother, Madame Béatrice Albert.’

  His surprise was so obvious that Catherine’s frown turned into a small, triumphant smile, but he took no time to collect his wits and thrust out his hand. ‘How d’you do, madame,’ he said, giving Béatrice a slight bow, and she, casting a careful look at him, shook his hand and replied that she was well.

  He turned to Catherine. ‘Clever you,’ he said. ‘You found her. And … your grandfather?’

  ‘He’s dead. The Gestapo shot him.’ Her voice was sharp, and at the mention of the Gestapo, several people in the lobby turned to look at her.

  Robert said nothing for a moment, and then he turned back to Béatrice. ‘My condolences, madame,’ he murmured.

  For all her previous anger with him, Catherine thought his sentiment sounded sincere. Perhaps he did already know about Grandpère, and by refusing to tell her was trying to save her the added heartbreak of losing both her husband and her grandparents. But he seemed genuinely surprised at seeing Béatrice. He’d thought she was dead. So that meant that his intelligence network had broken down somewhere.

  ‘When you’ve settled her,’ Robert muttered, ‘I need a debrief. Where was she? Who was keeping her?’

  Before Catherine could reply, Beau had joined them and was staring at the old lady. ‘This is your grandmother?’ he asked.

  His hand trembled as he was introduced and Béatrice asked if he was in pain. ‘I see you have been injured, young man,’ she said kindly. ‘Sit, do. Standing can’t be good for you.’

  ‘Oh, he’s alright, Grandmère,’ said Catherine. ‘He’s just surprised to see you. After all, it was only this morning that he told me that you had disappeared. How wrong he was.’

  Robert’s face hardened and he slid a sideways glance at Beau. Catherine felt like laughing out loud. Both of them were now in trouble.

  Frances called from the desk, where the sweating manager was shrugging and waving his arms about in exaggerated despair. ‘He says that there aren’t any vacant rooms. But Della and I have decided that we’ll sleep in the bus and you and Madame Albert can have the room to yourselves.’

  Della nodded her head vigorously. ‘Just let us use it to change, but otherwise, OK, as the Yanks would say.’

  ‘No,’ Robert intervened, and looked at Catherine. ‘You can have my room. I’ll put up at the officers’ mess. No need for the girls to sleep in the bus. It’s far too cold.’

  Beau cleared his throat. He’d got over whatever it was that had frightened him. ‘If you don’t mind me butting in
,’ he said. ‘We do have a show tonight, so we need to get a shift on. It’s at the NAAFI and not too far from here, but nevertheless …’

  ‘Alright.’ Frances had joined them. ‘We’ll be ready.’ She smiled at Béatrice and then said to Catherine, ‘What about Madame Albert? I’m sure she’s tired. Will she stay here?’

  But after Catherine had explained to her grandmother what was about to happen, the old lady was adamant that she wanted to see the show. ‘It’s been so many years since I heard you sing, ma chérie. Jean so loved the sound of your voice when you came to visit that it will bring back some happy memories.’

  Chapter 20

  The NAAFI was crowded that evening with soldiers and airmen, as well as some patients and nurses from the military hospital, who’d all come to see the show. There was no stage, but a large space at the far end of the room had been cleared and a piano brought in. Tommy and the other boys carried in the hampers and set up the microphones.

  ‘I’ll do the comedy stuff first, boss,’ Colin said to Beau. He was looking in the hamper for his magic wand. ‘And then finish with some of the better tricks.’

  ‘Alright,’ said Beau absently. ‘Whatever you want.’ He seemed distracted this evening and was constantly looking at the door. ‘Has Eric arrived yet?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him, boss,’ Colin said, arranging the curls on his luxuriant black wig and brushing down his velvet, star-studded cape.

  ‘He’ll hang on until the last minute,’ sighed Tommy. ‘Thinks it makes him more important.’ He blew his nose hard and coughed. He had caught a cold in the last couple of days and now his chest rattled and two spots of colour brightened his cheeks.

  Beau looked round at him. ‘You alright, Tommy?’ he asked.

  ‘Mm,’ he wheezed. ‘I’ll go to bed with a whisky after the show. That’ll cure it.’

  ‘Good man.’

  ‘Don’t be generous with your infection, dear boy,’ said Godfrey. ‘None of us want a cold. I think we should have a dram now as a precaution.’

  ‘After the show,’ warned Beau. ‘Not now. I’ve told you before.’

  Godfrey heaved a sigh and raised his eyebrows to Colin.

  ‘Your wee man’s at the door,’ Colin called to Beau, and watched the boss limp away to the entrance before getting out his hip flask and handing it round.

  The girls were in their room changing into their show clothes. Catherine had left her grandmother asleep in the bed that Robert had given up for them. The excitement had been too much for the old lady and Catherine had wondered if she would be fit enough to come with them to the NAAFI.

  ‘I think I’ll have to let her sleep,’ she said to Della. ‘And that could be a problem. Should I stay with her?’

  ‘She seems like a tough old bird,’ said Della, who was attacking her hair with a curling iron. ‘Leave her a note telling her that you’ll be back later. Damn!’ The iron had got tangled up in Della’s fringe and wisps of smoke and the smell of burning filled the air. ‘Bloody hell, I’m doing a Joan of Arc here.’

  ‘You can’t miss the show,’ Frances said. ‘One of the officers downstairs said that they were all looking forward to it.’

  ‘My grandmother’s more important than that,’ snapped Catherine. ‘I’ll go and see her now.’

  ‘Oh Lord,’ Frances groaned when Catherine had left. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to manage this new situation.’

  ‘It’ll be OK,’ said Della. ‘She won’t let us down.’

  And fifteen minutes later, Della was proved right. Catherine and Madame Albert were waiting in the lobby when she and Frances came downstairs.

  ‘I thought you might be too tired to join us tonight,’ said Frances, taking the old lady’s hand. ‘You’ve had such an ordeal.’

  ‘It has been very hard,’ Béatrice conceded, ‘but I must get back to work now. My Jean would want that. Tonight, I will hear my granddaughter sing,’ she smiled at Frances and Della, ‘and you two dear girls as well. Tomorrow, I return to the farm. There is much to be done.’

  ‘But, Grandmère,’ Catherine said, alarmed by the outlined plan, ‘you can’t. I want to take you to England, so you’ll be safe and looked after by Maman.’

  ‘Looked after?’ Béatrice growled. ‘You want to treat me like the nuns did? Wrapped in cotton wool, fed medicine to make me drowsy, while all the time waiting for me to die? No. No, chérie. I’m not ready for that.’

  ‘But …’

  Béatrice held up an imperious hand and Catherine knew she was defeated. She couldn’t find an argument against her grandmother’s decision, so she tucked her arm into the old lady’s and they all walked outside.

  ‘She’s one feisty old girl,’ grinned Della when Frances explained what Béatrice had said, and when they got to the NAAFI, Della gave her a big hug and a kiss on both cheeks, before showing her to a seat in the front row.

  ‘Will you be alright, Grandmère?’ Catherine asked, still doubtful. ‘The show lasts about an hour and a half.’

  ‘Of course. Off you go.’

  As Catherine walked back to the performance area, she remembered something else, which hit her like an express train. Grandmère had mentioned Lili. How could she have possibly known about her? Unless …

  Tommy was playing the opening music, and Della was stretching her legs behind the curtain, which the NAAFI staff had rigged up for them. ‘OK, kid?’ she said when Catherine came to join her.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she smiled. ‘But there’s still something to think about. Do you remember when we were in that day room and Grandmère said—’

  ‘Later,’ Della grinned, and taking a deep breath, leapt through the curtain.

  When Catherine came to sing, she opened with ‘Blue Moon’, and then ‘The Very Thought of You’, which entranced the audience and left some of them, both male and female, in tears. ‘Bravo!’ they shouted after, and cries of ‘More!’ rang around the room. She glanced down to Béatrice, who was sitting, her hands clutched together on her chest, with tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Catherine went over to Tommy and whispered what he was to play, and then going back to the microphone, she held up her hand for silence.

  ‘Oh hell,’ muttered Beau. ‘She’s going to sing something new.’

  ‘She knows what she’s doing,’ said Robert, who was standing beside him against the back wall. ‘Why can’t you just trust her? I do.’

  Catherine gazed at the audience, who were looking back at her and grinning in anticipation. ‘I am half French,’ she said. ‘My mother’s family had a farm just south of this city. Earlier this year, the Gestapo raided the farm, looking for the Allied airmen and the Resistance fighters that my grandparents hid. They found no one, but …’ her voice faltered a little before she carried on, ‘but their courage had been exposed by a traitor.’ She paused again and swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘My dear grandfather was shot dead, and my grandmother was put in prison, and we didn’t know where she was, until today. We found her; she is sitting here, in the front row.’ The audience craned their necks to see her, and encouraged by Frances, who had gone to sit beside her and was whispering a translation, Béatrice stood up and gave a little wave. Soldiers, airmen and civilians of all nationalities broke into respectful applause and Béatrice, overcome, sat down and fanned herself with one of little printed programme sheets that Beau had placed around the room.

  ‘Now,’ said Catherine, ‘for her, for my own happy memories of days gone by, I will sing one of my grandfather’s favourite songs, “Parlez-Moi d’Amour”.’

  As soon as Tommy played the opening bars, the audience recognised the familiar English version, ‘Speak to Me of Love’, and clapped in anticipation. Two hundred voices joined in the chorus, and Catherine walked along the aisle singing and shaking hands with men who stretched out to grab at hers. Still singing, she walked back and, reaching Béatrice, took her hand and led her onto the makeshift stage.

  The cheers that rang around the room were probabl
y heard out in the street, and as Catherine acknowledged them, Béatrice held on to her arm tightly, overwhelmed by the noise. Catherine held up her hand once more, and when the cheers had died down, she said, ‘I present to you Madame Béatrice Albert. She is living proof that most of the French people do love their country and are prepared to fight and to die for it.’

  Some Free French soldiers who were in the audience stood up and began to sing ‘La Marseillaise’, the French national anthem, and Tommy struck up to accompany them. In the end, Catherine and Béatrice and all those who knew the words were joined by the company, who hummed and lah-lahed along to the tune. Catherine was close to tears again when the whole audience scrambled to their feet and drove their fists in the air in time to the music.

  Nothing could have bettered that moment and Beau signalled to the company that it was the end of the show; the audience filtered out, exhausted by cheering and quite ready to carry on with the war.

  Catherine, Frances and Della, with Béatrice stumbling along between them, walked back to the hotel. Robert, who had gone on ahead, was waiting for them.

  ‘Your grandmother should rest until the morning,’ he said to Catherine, ‘but tomorrow, if she is able, we have to ask her some questions. I’m sorry – I know she’s had a hellish time – but it must be done.’

  ‘I do know,’ said Catherine. ‘And she will be ready. Besides, there is something I need to ask her myself.’

  She waited until Béatrice was gently snoring in the double bed they shared before going down to the bar. Adrenaline was still surging through her and although she was tired, she found sleep impossible. It was after midnight and only a few of the guests were still wandering about. The bar was almost empty. There was no sign of her friends, and although she was tempted to go to their room, to see if they were awake, she resisted and ordered a brandy instead.

  Robert was at a table, on his own, nursing a glass of Calvados; she went to sit beside him.

  ‘How do you do it, night after night,’ he asked, ‘with the same intensity?’