The Very Thought of You

by Mary Fitzgerald

  ‘You are thinking about him,’ Guy murmured. ‘I hope it brings happy memories as well as sad.’

  ‘It does.’ Frances turned her head to look at him and wondered, then thought, What the hell – I might never see him again. ‘And I have more than memories,’ she said slowly. ‘I have a son.’

  ‘But,’ Guy frowned, ‘you said lover, not husband.’

  ‘I did. We were never married. But he left me a beautiful boy. And so my lover will never be forgotten.’

  Guy sat up and gave her a searching look. ‘You dedicate your life to his memory?’

  Frances laughed. ‘No, I don’t. I remember him, and how we were together, but that longing I used to have has gone. Other thoughts fill my life now: my son, my house, the Bennett Players. I am not the sort of person who dwells on sad memories; there isn’t time for that.’

  ‘Yes,’ Guy said. ‘Sad memories take up too much time. So, now, I put all that behind me and I will use my gun only to shoot rabbits and pigeons.’

  ‘Then Gautier was the last human?’

  He frowned. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that you set him up. Catherine told me that you made a phone call after she asked you to take her to the farm. I think that you were able to contact him. And you meant to kill him.’

  He was silent, then said, ‘That is quite a charge.’

  ‘It is,’ Frances said, knowing that she was treading on dangerous ground but almost not caring. ‘And I’m saying it because I know that was what I would have done. The man had to die. The only pity is that you missed.’

  He shook his head slowly, and then, when she thought he was going to deny it, he said, ‘Mon Dieu, but you are ruthless. We could have used you in the Resistance.’ Then he laughed and said, ‘We are very alike, you and I.’

  She let out the breath she’d been holding and said, ‘Yes, we are. But now I must get up, and so must you.’

  He scrambled out of bed, half naked and unembarrassed as he wandered around the room picking up his clothes. ‘But, Frances, have you time before you go to shoot a few rabbits?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she grinned, getting out of the tumbled bed and dragging on her pants. ‘Now you’re talking.’

  Later, standing on the swaying landing craft, holding on to the sides while the grey sea raced them home, Frances nodded slowly. So much has happened. And what next?

  ‘Frances!’ Beau was calling from the bus and she turned away from looking out to sea. ‘What now?’ she said to Catherine, and the two of them climbed down the metal stair and got into the bus. Everyone was staring at the locked suitcase that was Captain Fortescue’s home.

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Frances. ‘How the hell did this get in here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Beau. He looked as bewildered as the rest of the company, including Béatrice, who was obviously wondering why everyone was staring at a suitcase. ‘Colin dropped a franc and it rolled behind the wicker baskets. The suitcase was jammed in beside them.’

  ‘Baxter never went anywhere without that bloody doll,’ Tommy said, and he fingered the lock.

  ‘You said he flew home earlier in the week,’ said Catherine. ‘Did you see him go?’

  ‘I didn’t. Robert told me. It was on the day he went. The last time I saw Baxter was the night after we came back from the field hospital; he was having a meal in the officers’ mess. But that was it.’

  Catherine thought back. Robert had arrived at the chateau on that morning and had parked his Jeep beside the bus. Was it possible that he had put the case on board? ‘I think we should open it,’ she said.

  ‘We can’t,’ Beau objected. ‘It’s his private property.’

  ‘I don’t think it is any more. D’you know, I’m pretty sure Robert left it for us to find.’

  ‘But why?’ said Frances.

  ‘Because I think Baxter went back to England in handcuffs.’

  ‘Handcuffs?’ Beau gave a sick little laugh. ‘That’s a wild accusation, and one I wouldn’t expect from you of all people, Catherine.’

  ‘Come off it, Beau.’ Frances gave him an irritated look. ‘We all knew what he was doing to you. He should have been arrested months ago.’

  Beau sat down heavily on one of the seats. ‘You all knew?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure, boss,’ Colin laughed, and Tommy nodded.

  ‘The man was a cad, sir,’ roared Godfrey. ‘Not fit to draw breath.’

  ‘So,’ Frances said. ‘We’ll open it, and if that horrible doll is still inside, I think we’ll bury him at sea.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Catherine laughed. ‘What a pity Della isn’t here.’

  Frances lifted a trapdoor in the floor of the bus where there was a compartment for tools and pulled out a tyre iron. ‘Give it here,’ growled Colin, and slotting it behind the lock, he gave a heave.

  Snap! the lock burst open and Captain Fortescue’s painted eyes gazed up at them from his velvet pillow. They stared at it, almost waiting for it to speak, but knowing that of course it couldn’t. Nobody really wanted to touch it, but Frances, brave as ever, put her hand inside the case and grabbed it. ‘Out you come, you little bastard,’ she said, and pulled it away from the pillow. A crackling noise came from beneath the purple velvet and Tommy, curious, lifted it up.

  ‘Wow!’ There was a collective intake of breath as the crackling sound was revealed to be that of hundreds of notes: pounds, francs and dollars. The proceeds of Eric Baxter’s blackmail and black-market activities during the tour. ‘Bloody hell,’ said Tommy. ‘There’s a small fortune here.’

  ‘Yes, well, we’ll have that,’ said Frances. ‘It’ll compensate us for all the nastiness that he’s put us through.’

  ‘D’you think we should?’ said Beau nervously. ‘Suppose he comes looking for it?’

  ‘He won’t.’ Catherine was sure now. Robert had done this deliberately. ‘And you, Beau, more than any of us, deserve a reward.’

  So while the boys divided the money into seven equal piles, Catherine and Frances took Captain Fortescue and his suitcase on deck. Curious sailors watched as the suitcase went overboard and bobbed away behind the boat. ‘Now for you,’ said Frances to Captain Fortescue, and held him up over the grey, rippling waves.

  ‘Wait,’ said Catherine. ‘There’s something sticking out of his back. Like the edge of a piece of paper. Can you see?’ The two girls squatted down and opened the back of the doll, where all the mechanisms that moved its eyes and ears were housed. Inside, there was a small notebook and an envelope. Catherine opened it. ‘Mon Dieu,’ she said, as she withdrew two small black-and-white photographs.

  ‘What are they?’ Frances asked. ‘Let me see.’ She held up the photographs. ‘Oh Lord,’ she whistled. ‘That’s Beau,’ she whispered, ‘and d’you see who he’s with? Whom he’s kissing?’

  Catherine nodded. The two men in the snaps were semi-naked and there was no doubt that they were in a loving embrace. ‘There’s a signed photo of him at Beau’s flat,’ Frances whispered. ‘You’ve seen it, along with all the other celebrity pictures. If this got out, he’d be ruined. Even his fame wouldn’t save him.’

  ‘That’s why Beau kept paying Baxter. Not only to save himself, but’ – she pointed to the famous face – ‘for him as well. He must really love him.’

  ‘And the notebook? What’s in that?’

  ‘It’s names, dates and phone numbers,’ said Catherine. ‘I recognise some of the names.’

  ‘Alright,’ said Frances, standing up. ‘We’ll give the snaps to Beau and the book to Robert, next time we see him. And this creature’ – she held up Captain Fortescue – ‘is going for a long swim.’

  The coast of England was in sight as the girls heaved the wooden doll over the side. It fell into the sea with a satisfying splash and then floated away.

  ‘It’s a pity we couldn’t chop it up,’ sighed Frances. ‘Della would have loved that.’

  Two days later, they went to see her in St Thomas’ Hospital. She was still very ill,
but more awake and aware of her surroundings. Ma Flanagan, looking unbelievably smart in a fox-fur coat and a black felt hat, was sitting by her bedside when the girls came into the side room where she was being nursed.

  ‘Oh Jesus and Mary,’ cried Ma, ‘isn’t it grand to see you.’ And she fell upon the pair of them with hugs and kisses.

  ‘Get off them, Ma,’ said Della. ‘They’ve come to visit me.’

  She was ash pale, her eyes huge in her thin face, but she was breathing easier and didn’t seem to be in as much pain. ‘Tell me everything,’ she demanded after they’d kissed her.

  ‘Where to start?’ said Frances. ‘There’s so much.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Ma, ‘I’m going to find a decent cup of tea. You girls can keep my Delia company for a while. They won’t throw you out. This is a private room.’ She gave Della a kiss and said, ‘See you later, darling.’

  It took quite a time to tell Della all that had happened. ‘I knew that bloody doll was haunted,’ she said, and squealed with laughter. ‘Poor Beau, but what a silly bugger.’

  ‘This is for you,’ Catherine said, handing her a brown envelope with her share of the money. ‘Everyone has had the same. It’s quite a lot.’

  ‘Yes,’ Frances grinned. ‘It’ll help at home.’ She frowned. ‘Della, did you know that your friend Jerry Costigan has been down to Parnell Hall? He’s trying to buy some of the paintings, and probably that’s not all. My father’s already sold him the Meissen tea set.’

  ‘Oh Christ,’ Della groaned. ‘I think he’s after the house. Ma said that he was looking to buy himself a country estate, and he knows that your father is strapped for cash.’

  ‘How the hell does he know that?’ said Frances with a scowl.

  ‘It might have been me,’ Della said apologetically. ‘You told me that you didn’t have two pennies to rub together and I told Ma when she asked after you.’

  ‘Well, I have to stop him. I’m going home tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Della. ‘I hope you’re in time.’ She turned her head to Catherine. ‘And what about you and the sex god Robert?’

  Catherine blushed. ‘He’s here in London,’ she said. ‘I’m seeing him the day after tomorrow. We’re meeting for lunch at the Savoy.’

  ‘No word on Christopher, I suppose?’

  ‘No, but Robert did say that he had something to tell me. Maybe conformation that my husband is’ – she heaved a sigh – ‘dead.’

  ‘Fancy you and me both meeting men.’ Della gave a weak laugh. ‘Who’d have thought it?’

  ‘I would,’ Frances smiled. ‘’Specially you, Dell.’

  ‘You should talk,’ said Catherine, leaning across the bed. ‘I saw you coming out of Guy’s bedroom the other day. The pair of you were quite flushed, and I bet you weren’t talking about cows.’

  Frances shrugged. ‘It was fantastic,’ she grinned. ‘And that’s all I’m prepared to say.’

  ‘What a pair of trollops you two are,’ Della giggled. ‘Tim and I have only exchanged a couple of chaste kisses. Not even so much as a fumble.’ She leant back on her pillows and smiled. ‘That’s to come.’

  Chapter 25

  Lord Parnell was waiting in the old car when Frances got off the train. Johnny was on the back seat, with the red setters, who each had a head out of a window.

  ‘Mummy’s home,’ he cried, as she walked round to sling her bag in the boot, and his grandfather replied, ‘Yes, my boy, she is. Now we’re in for ructions.’

  Frances got in the front seat and, leaning over, gave Johnny a hug and a kiss before pecking her father on the cheek.

  ‘So good to see you, Fran, darling,’ said Lord Parnell. There was a hint of nervousness in his voice, which Frances picked up on immediately.

  ‘Hello, Pa,’ she said, as he put the car in gear and it rattled way from the station and down the lane. ‘Is there anything left in the house, or have you sold it all?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ he said, and looked in the driving mirror to Johnny. ‘Mummy is being silly, isn’t she?’ He glanced quickly at Frances. ‘What’s that scab on your lip? You look as if you’ve been in a fight.’

  ‘It’s bomb damage,’ she answered shortly. ‘Remember, there’s a war on. And as for being in a fight, well, I think that’s to come.’

  ‘Wait till we get home,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to upset the child, do we?’

  Frances nodded and leant over to the back again. ‘Have you been a good boy?’ she asked.

  ‘I have been a best boy,’ he said eagerly. ‘Have you brought me a present? Grandpa said you would.’ His little face fell. ‘Maggie said those who expects don’t get.’

  ‘I think there might be a little something in my bag,’ Frances smiled. ‘But I’ll need lots of hugs and kisses first, when we get home.’

  Her father turned the car into the drive and ahead she could see Parnell Hall, dim lights still showing in the downstairs rooms because it was too early for the blackout. She’d always loved the first sighting of her home, its red-brick exterior and the perfectly placed twelve-paned windows. When she was a girl and there was money, the house had glowed. It had been the place in the county, and her mother the perfect hostess. That had all gone years ago, and now her mother had gone too. God knows, I don’t want her back, thought Frances, but the house? It will come back, she thought fiercely. I’ll make it.

  Lord Parnell drove round to the rear and parked beside the back offices. As she got out, Frances looked up. Scaffolding had been erected, and there was evidence of building work: stacked roof slates and beams lay about in the yard.

  ‘Where are the builders?’ she asked. ‘Have they finished for the day?’

  ‘They weren’t here today,’ her father said. ‘But I suppose they’ll come tomorrow. They have a lot on, you know.’

  ‘A lot on?’ Frances asked. ‘Doing what?’ Then a thought occurred to her. ‘Who are they? Fred Stone’s men, from the town?’

  ‘Come on inside.’ Her father opened the boot and took out Frances’s case. ‘The child is getting cold.’

  Johnny was clinging on to his mother’s hand, jumping up and down and pushing the eager dogs away. ‘Naughty dogs,’ he shouted, and then in imitation of his grandfather, roared as loud as his little voice could manage, ‘Down, sirs.’

  Amazingly, the setters obeyed him and bounded away past the stables and into the woodland beyond.

  Lord John chuckled. ‘My God,’ he said, ‘that boy’s got such a way with the dogs, and you should see him on Achilles – he’s fearless.’

  ‘Achilles?’

  ‘Ah yes’ – her father ducked his head as they went through into the kitchens – ‘you haven’t met him. It’s the pony. Fine little beast. Just the right size.’

  Maggie came bustling through and beamed when she saw Frances. ‘Lady Fran,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. There’s been so much going on these last few weeks.’

  Lord Parnell cleared his throat. ‘Never mind that now, Maggie. I think we could do with a cup of tea. Come on, Frances. We’ll go on up.’

  Frances raised her eyebrows, and when her father had gone up the stairs to the hall, she whispered, ‘I’ll see you in a bit, Maggie. You can tell me what’s been going on.’

  ‘I will,’ the housekeeper said, shaking her head slowly. ‘There’s a lot to tell.’

  It was later, after Frances had handed out the presents she’d brought home: a carton of cigarettes and a bottle of Calvados for her father, a pretty piece of lace to trim her Sunday frock for Maggie, and for Johnny, a collection of pre-war toy cars that Guy had given her just before she left.

  ‘I played with them a lot,’ he said, giving her the box of rather battered vehicles. ‘But I think your son should have them now.’

  Dear Guy, she thought, watching Johnny’s little face light up with joy when she put the box on the rug in front of the fire. I do hope I see him again.

  ‘Cars,’ the child shouted. ‘Grandpa,
look!’

  Her father grunted as he got down on his hands and knees beside the boy and helped to arrange the cars in a line. ‘I’m getting too old for this,’ he said.

  ‘Play, Grandpa, please,’ Johnny demanded.

  ‘Yes, son. Now, let’s put the biggest car at the front. Can you find which one that is?’

  Frances watched them. Their friendship was wonderful to see and she never stopped being grateful to her father for accepting Johnny as his grandson. He was a decent man, but now, she had to find out exactly what he and Jerry Costigan had been up to.

  She looked around the room, a perfectly square Georgian drawing room, with its dusty full-length damask curtains and the silk-covered sofa, so dreadfully torn on the arms but where the two setters lay, blissfully happy and snoring. All this was in danger of being lost.

  ‘Pa,’ she asked, ‘who’s doing the roof?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ he sighed. ‘I wondered when you’d get on to that. I’m not sure of their names, but they came here with Mr Costigan. He found them.’

  I might have known, she thought. ‘And how much have they done?’

  ‘You can see,’ her father blustered. ‘The scaffolding is up, and they brought in slates and beams. They just haven’t had time to be here in the last few days.’

  ‘Few days?’

  He picked up a little tin Citroën and ran the wheels round with his fingers. ‘I suppose it’s about three weeks.’

  ‘My God,’ Frances cried. ‘Have you given him money?’

  ‘Not exactly. It’s a loan, as I said. I’m paying the interest. Don’t worry, darling. He’s a friend of yours, so everything will be alright.’

  ‘It won’t,’ said Frances sharply, her face twisted with anger. ‘First, Mr Costigan isn’t a friend of mine – I’ve met him briefly twice, but I do know all about him. He is a crook. He is a profiteer, a black-market dealer, a moneylender and loan shark, and he also buys and sells illegal booze. I have heard that he wants to buy a country estate and I think he has his eye on this one. He’s going to fleece you first, and then when you’re desperate, he’ll have it off you, lock, stock and barrel at a knock-down price.’