The Very Thought of You

by Mary Fitzgerald

  When they finally went downstairs, they found that Agathe had made a breakfast for them with fresh warm rolls and apricot jam. She’d put slices of ham and cheese on the table and hard-boiled eggs.

  ‘I won’t ask where you got the ham,’ said Robert, ‘because it’s probably black market.’

  Agathe wagged her finger at him. ‘Still the cheeky boy,’ she said.

  ‘How is your mother?’ asked Catherine.

  ‘She is no better and no worse. Not as bad as she thinks she is, but prepared to let me in her house as long as I wash her linen and make a few meals. The neighbours were surprised to see me,’ she laughed. ‘The priest’s mouth fell so wide open when he saw me that if it had been summer, he would have swallowed a quantity of flies!’

  They left soon after, with hugs for Robert and a kiss on both cheeks for Catherine. ‘Come back, very soon,’ Agathe told them. ‘I can see that it has done you good. Oh’ – she looked beyond the veranda to the sea, smiling – ‘I remember so many wonderful nights in this house. The days were good, but the nights, magnificent.’

  Catherine laughed all the way to Bayeux. ‘I do like Agathe,’ she said.

  ‘I’m glad,’ Robert nodded. ‘My wife hated her. She thought she was a trollop.’

  It was the first time he’d talked about his wife since all those weeks ago, when she’d asked him whether he was married. Now the mention of her was like a little stone dropping into her stomach and her laugh faded away. He’d said that they’d been drifting apart before she’d gone to Berlin and she guessed that he would divorce her, if she was still alive. But there is a child, Catherine thought. And I have a child too. Darling Lili who needs a father.

  ‘What was she called?’ Catherine hoped the question sounded casual.

  ‘Ulrike,’ he said. ‘She was the daughter of the professor who taught me languages in Berlin. We were happy at first, but she loathed England. Couldn’t settle at all, and in the end she went home. She said it was for a holiday, but I think I knew she wasn’t coming back.’

  ‘Did you miss her?’

  ‘Not really. No, not at all. We’d argued constantly in those last two years. But’ – his face dropped into sadness – ‘I miss my son. I wonder about him all the time. He would be about eight now, if he’s still alive.’

  Catherine put her hand on his shoulder. ‘There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be,’ she said softly.

  ‘We’ve bombed the hell out of Berlin. Thousands have been killed.’

  ‘And thousands haven’t,’ she argued. ‘They’ve got shelters like we have.’

  He drove on for a while and then took his hand off the steering wheel and put it on hers. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘Robert, can I ask you something else?’

  ‘Of course. Anything.’

  ‘Why won’t you get rid of Eric Baxter?’

  There was silence and Catherine thought that for some reason she’d overstepped a mark, that she’d strayed into territory that was somehow denied to her. But then how could it be? she thought angrily. The Bennett Players were all as important as each other, and if one of them was upsetting the others and hadn’t been sacked, then she needed to know why.

  She was just about to say all this when he said, ‘I can’t. Baxter has to stay. I can only tell you this, Catherine. He is useful to us.’

  ‘Who’s us?’ she replied crossly. ‘Certainly not anyone in the company. And, Robert, admit it. He’s blackmailing Beau; we all know that. We’ve seen what he’s doing, and God knows he’d probably blackmail the lot of us if he could.’ She stopped speaking then, realising what she’d just said. He could have easily blackmailed Della over her mother’s moonshine business, and what if he’d got wind of Frances’s little boy? And then there were the others, Tommy and Colin and Godfrey. Why hadn’t he had a go at them? Or had he?

  ‘He won’t touch you,’ Robert said. ‘I promise you that. He won’t blackmail you or any of the rest of the company.’

  ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘I know. Leave it, Catherine.’ His voice was hard and clipped. He was back in Major Lennox mode and she knew that it would be useless to argue. And that was a pity, because she wanted to know about Davey Jones and his mysterious death. The more she thought about it, the more strange it seemed. He turned up, out of the blue, did a couple of shows and then he was killed. She shot a sideways glance at Robert. Did she dare mention that?

  ‘You’re quiet,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘What d’you expect?’ she sighed. ‘I have a lot to think about.’

  ‘Good thoughts, I hope?’

  ‘About last night?’ she smiled. ‘Of course. It was wonderful. It’ll show all over my face and everyone will know and I don’t care.’ She laughed. ‘Such a slut.’

  ‘You are,’ he agreed cheerfully. ‘But you’re my slut.’ Then his smile faded and he turned his head to look at her. ‘You are mine, Catherine, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I love you.’

  When Robert dropped her back to the chateau with a swift kiss and a promise to see her soon, Della greeted her with joy. ‘Thank God you’re back,’ she grinned. ‘I’m bored to death.’

  ‘Where is everybody?’ asked Catherine, taking off her coat and going into the salon to warm herself by the fire.

  ‘The boys are off with old man Farcy,’ grumbled Della. ‘They’ve gone to some bloody local horse race. I ask you, a horse race in the middle of the war. They’ve only gone for the betting.’

  ‘Well, where’s Frances?’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about her.’ Della was really furious. ‘She and Guy are messing about in the fields.’

  ‘Messing about?’ Catherine was astonished. ‘Surely you can’t mean …’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ She shot an amused look at Catherine. ‘I think you’re the one who’s been messing about, and don’t deny it. It’s written all over you.’

  ‘Alright, I won’t deny it. But where’s Frances?’

  ‘Yesterday, she and Guy were pulling out old fruit trees with chains and the tractor. Frances was driving that tractor like she’d been born at the wheel. And early this morning, they went to buy some cattle. They’re in the field with them now.’

  Catherine laughed. ‘We knew she was a farmer. She told us.’

  ‘That’s at home,’ Della growled. ‘She’s a performer here.’

  ‘Well, I’m back now, and when I’ve said hello to Grandmère, we can have a good chat.’ Catherine grinned as she left the room. ‘And no. I won’t tell you the details.’

  They were a jolly group that evening. The boys had returned from the races flush with money and in high spirits.

  ‘It was a local thing,’ explained Tommy, ‘but we enjoyed it, didn’t we, lads?’

  ‘We liked the free drinks,’ Colin said, ‘especially Godfrey.’ It seemed that after the point-to-point finished, the participants had retired to a hotel, where Tommy played the piano in exchange for a few beers. Godfrey, who’d been dozing on his chair, woke up and said, ‘Did I hear someone offering a beer?’

  Frances was happy too. She’d been doing something she loved and her face had an outdoors glow that suited her. ‘I wish my father had money like Guy,’ she confided to Catherine and Della. ‘I could really boost up the stock and make the place into a going concern. But he hasn’t, so we can’t.’

  ‘Oh, something will turn up,’ said Catherine. ‘It always does.’

  ‘Oh, isn’t she the happy one,’ Della whispered so that the boys wouldn’t hear. ‘There’s nothing like a bit of “how’s your father” to buck you up. Come on, Catherine, tell us. Was he any good?’

  She didn’t answer. Her smile told them all they wanted to know.

  Two days later, she had a visitor. They were in the salon, rehearsing, when Madame Farcy came to tell her that there was a man waiting for her in the hall. ‘I thought he had come for Monsieur le Compte,’ she said. ‘He looks like an official. But I told him that Monsieur is in Paris
for a few days. He asked for you. Take him to the small salon. I’ll bring some coffee.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Catherine, and walked into the hall. Her heart was doing somersaults. Had someone come with news of Christopher? Standing there in the gloom of another November day was Larry Best.

  ‘Good heavens,’ Catherine said, trying to calm her breathing. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see. Whatever are you doing in France?’

  ‘I’ve been here for a few days,’ he said, and gave her a lopsided grin. ‘I thought I’d come and see how you are.’

  ‘Have you come to tell me about my husband?’ Half of her wanted to know, but the memory of lying in Robert’s arms clouded out Christopher’s face and she could feel a flush rising up her neck and into her cheeks. Fortunately Madame Farcy arrived then with a tray of coffee and some little cakes, followed by Béatrice, who had come to see who her granddaughter’s visitor turned out to be.

  Catherine introduced him as a colleague of Robert’s and left it at that, allowing the two old ladies to believe that he was some sort of entertainments officer.

  When they’d gone, Catherine turned back to Larry. ‘Those two days in the country,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t really there for you to teach me, was I? You wanted to see what I knew about Chris. Have you found him?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Sadly, not a trace of him. I’m so very sorry. We did think that Father Gautier might be able to help us, but he died last night without regaining consciousness.’

  She didn’t know what to say or even to think. The one person who might have told her was dead and she was still in limbo.

  ‘He told me he was sorry,’ she said bleakly. ‘In the car, when we were taking him to hospital. I called him a traitor and a murderer. He said, “Not a murderer.”’

  ‘I suppose it depends on how you define murder.’ Larry Best took a gulp of the coffee and nodded his appreciation of it. ‘He was certainly a traitor, but his motives for giving away our agents are blurred. We don’t know what happened, and we lost track of him for a while. But you found him.’ He grinned again. ‘I thought you would.’

  ‘It was you,’ she said, realisation dawning. ‘You sent that note.’

  ‘Mm,’ he nodded. ‘Lennox wasn’t keen, but I knew you’d go after him.’

  ‘I might have been killed,’ Catherine said.

  ‘You might have, indeed. But we are at war and it’s what agents do.’

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ Catherine said. ‘You are very ruthless, and I am not an agent.’

  ‘No, and that’s a pity. I wish we had found you sooner, because I’m sure there’s an element of ruthlessness about you too. You sing like an angel, but underneath you’re as hard as I am.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ smiled Catherine, getting up. ‘I have a heart.’

  The next morning, Robert turned up, with Beau limping along beside him.

  ‘Good news,’ said Beau, when everyone was gathered in the salon. ‘We’re off tomorrow to some camps at the front.’ He looked at a piece of paper. ‘Yes, a forward camp first and then to a field hospital. So, a bit of rehearsing today, I suggest, and packing. And don’t forget your tin hats.’

  Della beamed. ‘Maybe the field hospital is where Tim is. Oh, I do hope so.’

  Frances was the only one who didn’t look particularly pleased. ‘Guy wanted to get in some ploughing,’ she moaned. ‘He’s way behind this year. I hoped we would be staying here a bit longer.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ snorted Della. ‘You’re supposed to be an entertainer and an administrator, not a bloody farm labourer. He can get on with it by himself.’ She stretched her legs and did a couple of squats. ‘I do need exercise,’ she groaned. ‘Or I’ll never be able to do the splits again. That’s what the men like and I intend to give it to them.’ And using the back of the sofa as a barre, she bent and pliéd, while Frances discussed the tour with Beau and attached his piece of paper to her clipboard.

  Catherine followed Robert back into the hall, where after a swift look round, he took her in his arms. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said.

  ‘It’s only been a day,’ Catherine whispered.

  ‘And a night, my darling.’

  They were still kissing when Frances and Della came to find them. ‘Oops,’ laughed Della, hands on hips and enjoying the scene. Frances pulled her back out of the hall, saying, ‘Sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb you. Er … carry on.’

  When they’d gone, Catherine asked, ‘Are you coming with us tomorrow? To the front.’

  He nodded. ‘I am, tomorrow and the day after, at the field hospital, but then I have to go back to England with Major Best. He didn’t get anything out of Gautier, so although we know who blew all our agents in the area, we don’t know why.’

  ‘He was a collaborator. Isn’t that enough?’

  He twisted his uniform cap round in his hands, taking his time to answer. ‘Possibly,’ he said. ‘But I can’t tell you more. Now’ – he put on his cap and straightened his jacket – ‘I have to get back to Caen. I’ll see you tomorrow, darling girl.’ And with another kiss on her willing lips he walked out and into his Jeep.

  Chapter 23

  They drove into the camp in the early afternoon of a day where the weather had closed in and the rain had changed to sleet. The bus had been left at the chateau and they were in the lorry, driven by the same two soldiers as before, who had willingly volunteered for this assignment.

  ‘Hey up, Walter,’ called Della, when she saw him, and when Corporal Trevor went to climb into the cabin, she blew him a kiss and yelled, ‘Hello, Trevor, darling.’ He ducked his head in embarrassment and grinned before starting up the engine.

  Robert, Beau and Eric Baxter were in Robert’s Jeep and set off before them, with an armed soldier sitting beside Robert in the front passenger seat. The Players watched them drive on ahead, and Godfrey grumbled about Eric having a comfortable ride again while he and the rest of them had to be tossed around in a ten-ton truck.

  ‘I’d rather he was with them, any day,’ said Frances. ‘He just poisons the atmosphere. So let’s settle down and try and enjoy the ride.’

  Nobody enjoyed the ride. The road was threaded with potholes so that the lorry jerked and swayed around, making Catherine feel a little seasick. Because of the driving rain and sleet, they had to keep the canvas back flap closed, so that the only light came from a couple of storm lanterns that the drivers had fixed up for them. It was enough for the boys and now Della to continue with the poker school.

  ‘She’s really got into it,’ smiled Frances. ‘So quickly.’

  ‘Not that quickly,’ Catherine whispered. ‘She’s been playing it for years – she just didn’t let on.’

  Frances laughed. She was examining a bruise on the back of her hand, which was gradually changing from purple to yellow.

  ‘That looks nasty,’ said Catherine. ‘How on earth did you get that?’

  ‘From the tractor,’ Frances sighed. ‘I had the bonnet up to look at the carburettor and the damn thing fell on me.’ She laughed. ‘Guy was most concerned.’

  ‘Worried that you’d broken your hand?’

  ‘God, no. He was worried that I’d damaged his beloved tractor. Mind you, he’s not half as clever as he thinks when it comes to an engine. Ours at home is always breaking down and we can’t afford to replace it, so I’m quite au fait with the innards of farm machinery.’

  ‘But despite that, you enjoyed yourself with him on the farm,’ said Catherine. ‘And you were out with him last night too.’

  ‘Yes, we were discussing the cattle. He wants to build up a beef herd, to keep the place going while the new orchards grow. I didn’t really know about the breeds they have over here and it was fascinating to hear about them.’ Frances leant back against the canvas cover. ‘Yes, fascinating.’

  ‘And what about him?’ asked Catherine with a twinkle. ‘Is Guy fascinating too?’

  Frances lowered her voice and looked across to the card school. ‘He is ra
ther,’ she grinned. ‘But don’t tell Della. She’ll only rag me about it.’

  ‘I heard that,’ called Della, ‘and yes, he is, and I will. You saucy minx.’

  Trevor opened the partition window from the cab. ‘We’re going to be about another hour, folks. The road is shit – begging your pardon, ladies – so we’ll have to take it slow. Sorry.’

  ‘Leave that partition open, then, please,’ called Frances. ‘So at least we’ll have something to look at.’

  ‘Will do.’

  It did take an hour, and by the time they reached the large clearing, which was carved out of dense pine woodland, the company felt exhausted. Walter drew the truck to a halt in front of a large, hastily erected hut that was the officers’ quarters and they stumbled out of the back, stepping onto cartridge boxes, which the soldiers had hastily arranged to help them down, and then across duckboards to the open door of the hut. Soldiers, scruffy and tired-looking, gathered around to greet them, whistling their appreciation when Della posed and blew kisses to them.

  ‘Welcome, welcome,’ said the young colonel in charge. ‘We are so looking forward to this show. The weather is beastly, so we’ve put up a canvas cover for you over the stage. You shouldn’t get too wet.’

  The company looked at each other, but nobody said anything. They’d done plenty of outdoor shows before. They were used to roughing it.

  Beau and Robert joined them and Catherine had to work hard not to run over to Robert’s side. He looked at her with eyes softened by love, but said nothing while Beau discussed with the colonel how much of their show they could do, considering the weather and what the camp could provide as a stage.

  ‘We’ve commandeered a piano,’ said the colonel triumphantly. ‘It was in the village school, just down the road, and the school mistress said we could borrow it. Not a Steinway, of course, ha, ha, but I’m sure it will do.’

  ‘It will, and thank you,’ said Beau.

  ‘I can offer tea,’ said the colonel, ‘or perhaps something stronger? We captured a Jerry position a week ago and found a few cases of schnapps. It’s not bad … a little hard on the gullet, going down, but’ – he looked at his fellow officers – ‘we think it does the trick.’