The Diamond Waterfall

by Pamela Haines

  “You are among friends, you can speak freely. We’re more used to men, you see—airmen especially—but we have a password for women too. Hence the ‘sewing work.’”

  Teddy told her only the bare essentials, giving away nothing that could connect her to code name Lucienne. “I need to get out,” she said simply.

  “We’ll do what we can. You’ll have to lie low until we’ve got something arranged, some papers together. I think you will go down the line to Switzerland.” She knew she must have nothing to do with Jean Luc or Vincent, or any of her group. She could not risk even trying to contact them—however much she might wish to radio London. What “safe house” might not have become a death trap in the months of her absence? That she should not harm them was her prayer.

  Over the next few weeks she was moved slowly, uncomfortably, across France. She who had once been a courier was now escorted herself. She had lost her nerve. Armed with the password, she could have gone from one “cutout” to another, but she could no longer give a cover story. She shook even at the thought of answering simple questions. She traveled usually as someone’s middle-aged aunt—hard of hearing, and rather slow. “She’s stupid, “ her escort would say, “come on, Auntie, pull your hat over your face and go to sleep.”

  Switzerland drew nearer. Although she trembled still, had not yet recovered her nerve, physically she was much better. She had lost the look, feel, and smell of prison. She even believed that she would arrive safely over the frontier.

  But there was still, over and over, the mauvais quart d’heure, as it was known—when, left by one contact, she must wait for another. The cutout. Each unknown to the one before. And she must hold in her head the password. The code. A simple question, a simple answer. The password.

  The sun shone in the park. She had been left on a bench to wait. To appear natural, normal, and to pass the time, she read: a well-thumbed copy of Guilloux’s Le Pain de Rêves. She could not take in one word of it.

  I am to hear “Do you know somewhere near I can get my shoes heeled?” I shall answer “M. Andre is the only person still offering this service.”

  Today, when her contact came, she would be driven to the village of Bossey, near Annemasse. From there, if all went well, she would be able later this evening to cross the frontier into Switzerland.

  Un mauvais quart d’heure. Yet another long, worrying quarter of an hour. And how slowly it passed. A small black terrier came running by, tripping up, rolling over. She went back to her book.

  A voice said, “Excuse me, madame—do you know somewhere near I can get my shoes heeled?”

  It was the hand she saw first. There was a finger, the fourth, missing on the right hand.

  “M. Andre is the only person still offering this service.”

  She looked up. He was looking down at her. Afterward, she was never sure who had been the more surprised.

  “Our appointment,” he said, eyebrows raised. Amused. “I rather thought we had an appointment. You are almost five years late, Teddee.”

  30

  The Diamond Waterfall lay on its bed of ivory velvet. Willow stared at it. In the subdued setting of the bank vault, its beauty seemed unreal, out of time.

  Two bank officials stood by. Jay said, “You were going to try it on.”

  She put out a fearful finger to touch it, then he lifted it out for her, placed it around her neck—over her cotton shirt and slacks and zipper top. How incongruous it looked! She turned her head, looking around at him. She felt that as she moved the waterfall of diamonds moved with her—and it was heavy, so heavy. There was no looking glass. She was glad of that.

  Because she felt that she ought to, she kept it on a few moments. But she would rather not have—its place was back in its box.

  “Do you like it, Willow?”

  “Jay, it’s not a liking or not liking sort of thing. You just … it’s beautiful.”

  “It’s yours.”

  “Yes,” she said sadly. “It’s mine—now.”

  They walked out of the bank and into the streets of York. The sun shone. For April, it was unusually warm. Near the station, above the Roman Wall, daffodils moved in a slight breeze.

  “They say 1945’s going to be a wonderful summer. The old style weather prophets, that is. After a winter like last one, we need it.”

  The war news was good now. Troops had crossed the Rhine, they were advancing daily. Victory Day, in Europe at least, couldn’t be far away.

  Jay, who had been wounded quite severely last September at Epinal, was convalescent now, although still not at all strong. He was allowed to go out and about a little, and Willow, who had a week’s leave due to her, had arranged for them both to board at a farmhouse in Wensleydale. Before setting out for it, they had arranged this visit to York—for Willow to see the Diamond Waterfall.

  She had not really wanted to, but she had a nagging sense of compulsion that she could not explain. She told herself that she ought to see it—and with Jay there, it would be all right.

  With Jay, everything was all right, always. Except—lately she was not so sure. There was this new awkwardness with him. And she was awkward too.

  He said now, “Wisp, I’m going to take you out. How about a cup of British tea?”

  “At the station?”

  “Goof. No, I’ll take you to Terry’s. Hot margarined toast. Wartime afternoon tea—but one of the best.”

  “Your ankle, your side—they’re not bothering you? You can walk that far?”

  “Fine, fine. I’m just fine, Willow.”

  Their conversation, once so easy, now seemed to her suddenly stiff, considered. I’m upset by the Waterfall, she thought.

  The tea shop wasn’t full, it was still quite early. Sitting at a table against the wall, he asked her:

  “O.K.?”

  It was her turn. “Fine,” she said, “I’m fine.”

  They were both silent. Then: “Well,” he said, “you’ve worn it at last. The famous Waterfall. You’d truly never seen it?”

  “I might have, but not to remember. I—tried not to think about it. You see, I heard Reggie say once … It was always If we’d had the Waterfall, you lost the Waterfall!’ I don’t want to remember. He was drunk, and he’s dead. Mike never spoke of it. I can only recall him mentioning it once, when he was talking about Jilly. And then of course the war came. Diamond necklaces and war don’t go together somehow, although my grandfather nearly gave it to the war effort in 1917. The great gesture that was to elevate him to —I don’t know what—hereditary peerage? Bought from Lloyd George, R.I.P.”

  “You’re not about to do the same? Give it away, I mean.”

  “Jay, I might, I just might. I must do something with it.”

  Tears filled her eyes suddenly. “All that had to happen, for me to own it! Mike, Jilly, their baby. I don’t want it. All those refugee children. Flotsam of war. Imagine what one could do with the money.”

  When they’d given their order for tea, she said, “I wouldn’t ever ever ever want to wear it. I don’t think that after the war it’s going to be that sort of world.”

  “You show a touching faith, Willow. It’ll be much the same old world, I guess, just rearranged a little, reshuffled.”

  “Problem is, in that reshuffled world, who’d wear such a thing? It doesn’t seem to belong, Jay. If I sell it?”

  “If you sell it, maybe an eastern potentate’ll buy it for his queen, or a movie star for his paramour of the moment. I agree it’s not appropriate for afternoon tea.”

  “My great-grandmother wore it then. Or so they say. I suppose, really, it’s very Empress Eugénie. She was a great one for diamonds. Teddy told me this story once …”

  “I want to hear it, O.K., but are you going to pour the tea?”

  “What happened was that Eugénie saw some actress on stage wearing this magnificent diamond parure from her waist to her ankles. Paste, naturally. But you know how theatrical stuff glitters. Apparently nothing would satisfy Eugénie b
ut she must have one just the same. So she commissioned it, using diamonds left over from her imperial crown. She was in a great hurry about it, wanting to wear it for some particular function. She badgered the poor workers, who had to stay up all night. Finally, it was ready five minutes before the ball.”

  “Don’t tell me. It all fell apart.”

  “Worse. When it was put on her, because the diamonds weren’t paste, their weight raised the back of her crinoline so high she showed several inches of leg.”

  “And we weren’t amused?”

  “We weren’t. And she never wore it again, ever.”

  She realized she was still holding the teapot over the strainer. Half of Jay’s cup poured. None of her own.

  “I’m a pretty patient guy,” he said.

  “Jay, I’m sorry. Teddy told it jolly well. She heard it from Henri.”

  “Sure. Henri. And how are they?”

  “Married. I feel goofy again, I’d meant to say—I heard just last week. Although one’s hardly surprised. But it’s been good, the authorities letting her go back to Paris, though it’s the least she deserves. Now It Can Be Told, and all that. Teddy, a secret agent. She had a dreadful time—”

  “And a wonderful escape.”

  “Yes, so wonderful. When she was over here at Christmas and told me about it, I couldn’t believe … I mean, and knowing Henri before the war and everything. Though he wasn’t anyone she’d ever mentioned. “ She stirred her tea thoughtfully. “I’ve always wanted Teddy to be happy. Now she is.”

  “Will they live in Paris?”

  “For the moment, yes. But they want to work with refugee children. He’s very rich, evidently. Anyway, that’s what they plan. He’ll stop his business—and then they’ll devote themselves to refugee children. She always did love children.”

  “Right. That’s Teddy settled and happy. What about you? That’s the one set of plans that doesn’t get mentioned in letters. What Willow Gilmartin’s going to do when the Ministry of Aircraft Production’s finished with her.”

  She picked up a finger of toast. “Oh, me. Oh well …” She got margarine on her thumb and rubbed it off. She said, “We haven’t decided. The Waterfall. What I’m to do with it.”

  “You don’t think if you sell it, your children might ask after it? Why you didn’t keep it for them?”

  “That could be.”

  “I had a thought,” he said.

  “That’s not very remarkable, thoughts are not rationed, you know.”

  “You’re very acid suddenly. O.K., second try. I’ve been thinking—we’ve got this week together. Maybe we should do some talking.”

  “Sure, what about?” Her voice was sharp again. She felt herself suddenly threatened, edgy. The sun gone in. Don’t go away and leave me, Jay.

  “About Christopher. The Eighth Army’s liberated a lot of camps already. He’ll be appearing before long. By the summer surely.”

  “I’m going to—I’ll tell him. No. Even if he’s been hoping, it’d be only fair. I feel terrible, but that’s not important, how I feel. For him, it’s awful. After being a POW. But it’s been really difficult to decide.”

  “You know why it’s been so difficult?”

  “Yes. No.”

  “Because you love me.”

  “You’ve got a nerve.”

  “Well, if it’s not true—why do you look like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Open your bag and get out your mirror. … Like that. See? Say it’s true. It’s true, isn’t it? I used to think maybe how you are with me it’s because you’re grateful—like—I found your father, and all that. But that isn’t it, is it? I watched you all today. I thought … For Chrissake, I thought, I’ll say something over the tea cakes.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean—”

  “I’ve just loved you—rather a long while I reckon. … I’m not sure it didn’t start way back when I saw you in Mike’s sweater with coal dust on your face.”

  “Jay, it couldn’t—”

  “It could.”

  “Anyway I’d have to think. I don’t know if … You might organize me. You know—‘You do what you want, Willow, so long as it’s what I want.’”

  “You could say no if you don’t like something. You always did before.”

  She saw his teacup was empty, and she leaned over and tossed the dregs into the slop basin, then refilled his cup without asking.

  “Willow, just tell me. What were you going to do when peace breaks out—if not marry me?”

  She didn’t answer, feeling suddenly panicky amid the teacups. Panicky with happiness. (Of course I shall say yes, of course it’s what I wanted and hadn’t even dared to think of.)

  She said obstinately, “If I did—marry you, would everything happen here, or the States? I know you’ll want to get back. You propped up Britain in her Darkest Hour. But now—”

  “I guess I will want to get back, for a while at least.”

  “Well, I’d love to see America. And I’d really really love to meet all your family—who are my family too. Harry and Esther and Lily, and then your mother, and Great-aunt Daisy. Oh, everybody! It would be absolutely wonderful. Only well, I’m not so sure, just like that, that I want to live over there. I mean I don’t just want it assumed we go where you want to go.”

  “O.K. So maybe I haven’t decided yet. Look, it’s only a problem if we make it one. We’ve got a week to talk it all through—and other things. Like how much I want to kiss you. And more … and more …”

  “I do love you a lot, Jay. And the Diamond Waterfall not at all” She saw it suddenly in her mind’s eye. Who had ever spoken of it with love? To whom had it ever brought happiness? She could not wait to be rid of it. “Oh but what shall I do with it?” she cried. “What does Jay say?”

  “I say the hell with it. Where there’s a Willow there’s a way.”

  “You do make the most terrible puns,” she said happily. She had this sudden picture—it was so lovely—of Aunt Alice’s face when she heard the news. Aunt Alice would understand best of all. Aunt Alice, who had not wanted to be an alone child. Who too had loved and lost her mother. Who had hated the Waterfall (what must it have cost her to tell me of those photographs?). She said:

  “I know it’s a bit soon and there’s no hurry, darling, but you weren’t planning—we won’t have an alone child?”

  “There you go again. Problems.” He smiled. “That one … well, I guess that one won’t be very difficult.”

  In loving memory of my father HARRY BURROWS 1898–1978

  This electronic edition published in July 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader

  Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP

  Copyright © Pamela Haines

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  ISBN: 9781448203154

  eISBN: 9781448202829

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