“Books? What sort of books?”
“Wildlife books would be ideal. In addition, some paper, I run an English language class. It would be good to have more paper and pencils. And a blackboard.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Günter.”
Hunloke had already made up his mind about his next move. His one change of plan was to make use of Corporal Baldwin. Brian Conway was clearly not impressed by Captain Hunloke stealing away ‘his’ corporal and at least Hunloke gained some mischievous satisfaction from Conway’s evident disappointment, being deprived of his objet d’amour.
“So where are we going?” asked Christine.
“Where are we going ‘sir’?” sighed Hunloke, correcting the corporal.
“That’s what I said...,” replied Christine in a way that implied Hunloke was either deaf, stupid, or both. She fired up the Austin, hoping the battery had retained its charge. The engine caught the second time of asking and she slipped the gearlever into first gear. Hunloke chose to sit beside her in the front passenger seat.
“We, corporal, are going to visit Mrs Maxfield at Flash Farm,” he stated grimly.
“Why me?” she asked, gunning the car from the camp apron.
“Because I’d like some female company.”
“I’d have thought Mrs Gladwin met those needs..., sir.”
“I mean when we visit Mrs Maxfield. It might put her a little more at ease. And you don’t have to drive quite so fast, corporal. This is still not a bloody race!”
“Sorry, my ATS instructor said I drive too fast. I’ve tried to be on my best behaviour, I just forget sometimes. And I’m not that way inclined, by the way.”
“What way inclined?” asked a puzzled Hunloke.
“I’m not into women.”
“Did I say you were?”
“You said you wanted female company to relax Mrs Maxfield.”
Hunloke sighed deeply as was his want in the company of the irascible corporal. “I simply want you as a calming influence, quite why I thought that, I have no idea...”
“What are you trying to say?” snapped Christine.
“Nothing, corporal, just drive...”
The village of Flash was far more fog bound than the environs of the camp. Visibility fell to less than twenty-five yards and assuming that the fog had lifted since the morning, he could understand why Carey Gladwin had been late for her duties at Flash House.
It was with difficulty that Christine found the lane leading to the farm and she cursed volubly whilst negotiating the rutted lane. From Hunloke’s perspective, the fog at least disguised much of the desolate looking farm. After days spent in the countryside, he was missing the congestion of the capital.
“Watch where you put your feet, corporal and give a couple of toots on the horn. I want to announce our presence,” stated Hunloke when finally they arrived. He could just make out the farmstead door through the heavy fog.
The last blast on the horn and the silence that followed was swiftly interposed by the sharp retort of barking hounds. The snarling took on a baleful quality in the whiteout engulfing the vehicle. Christine gave Hunloke an accusatory, ‘what the hell did you bring me here for?’ look.
He heard the challenge from the house and discerned a shadowy figure standing on the doorstep. He opened the window and hailed a greeting. After a period of apparent indecision, the passengers heard the circling dogs called off and the world once again fell portentously hushed when the canines, Flanagan and Allen retreated to the farmhouse.
As Hunloke and Christine picked their way towards the building, it became apparent the figure on the step was brandishing a shotgun. The weapon pointed vaguely off to their right but could be levelled at them in an instant. Hunloke was from the school that hated the military use of trench guns.
Initially, he assumed the woman to be Cathy Maxfield. However, the shotgun wielder was much slighter, of a similar frame to Christine. He guessed her to be Daisy, wife of George, the tenant farmer.
“You the bloke Cathy was talking about?” challenged the woman.
“I don’t know about that. I’m Captain Hunloke from Flash Camp. I’d be grateful if you’d put that gun down. In my trade you become a bit paranoid when people point guns at you.” He gave a broad smile, which he quickly nipped in the bud before it drew attention to his disfigurement.
He was too slow. Daisy Burrows frowned when she noticed his scar and the shotgun twitched in her hand. “This is Christine. She’s come along with me,” he added.
Daisy Burrows looked down from the step at the uniformed woman, whose smile was disarmingly pretty and persuasive enough to prompt the lowering of the twelve bore. “Better come in... Wipe your boots first,” insisted the farmer’s wife. Hunloke observed that it was a request not issued by Cathy when he had first visited the farm.
Cathy Maxfield was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of stew and dumplings. The aroma from the warm cauldron of stew steaming on top of the range salivated Hunloke’s tastes buds. The kitchen was perceptibly warm. After only a few minutes, he appreciated how chilly the camp and Flash House truly were. Daisy turned her attention to her own bowl.
“I just thought I’d let you know the latest, I assume you heard about the escaped POW’s?” said Hunloke. He and Christine stood side by side and he noticed Christine staring covetously at the food upon the table.
“What about them?” It was Daisy who spoke between mouthfuls.
“Three of the five men, four of whom I believe were regular workers here, are dead.” He waited for a response. He may have been wrong, but he thought he noticed Cathy’s spoon hesitate for the briefest instant before it sank into a suet dumpling. “One of the dead men is the man mentioned when I was last here. Hans-Georg Bonhof.”
This time neither woman appreciably responded to his announcement. Nonetheless, it was Cathy Maxfield who spoke for the first time. “So? You expect us to be upset that three Germans are dead?”
“Well, they did work for you a lot. It’s only natural that you might have built up some rapport with them.”
“What are you saying?” Cathy raised her head defiantly and stared condemningly at Hunloke, then Christine. She appeared to notice the corporal for the first time.
“Nothing at all. I just thought it only polite to let you know. I thought you might miss someone who clearly understood your business.”
“Hans was no farmer,” stated Daisy, “he was a city boy at heart. But he could speak English and he knew how to work the others.” She flicked a glance at the unmoved Cathy, perhaps inviting her to corroborate the statement. Cathy remained stubbornly silent. “Was there anything else you wanted?”
“Only to say that two of the men are still missing. We found the lorry twenty or so miles away so they are more than likely well away from here. But it’s as well you check your out buildings, a farm is the type of place where they might try and hide.”
“What, with Flanagan and Allen on the prowl?” scoffed Daisy.
“Well, maybe not...,” smiled Hunloke. Flash Farm once again did not lend itself to out-staying one’s welcome.
Chapter 15 - Confessions.
Tuesday, 28th November 1944.
Major Henry Mills returned to the camp late that afternoon. He was typically understated in his opinions regarding the two missing prisoners. His conversation with Hunloke yielded little. Mills conceded that there was a remote possibility that if the POW’s were reluctant escapees, they may have a homing instinct to return to the vicinity of the camp. He agreed that the environs of the estate should be searched. One thing was for certain, if they were on the run, they should at least be hungry by now and more likely to be captured or give themselves up.
Hunloke suggested a full day’s sweep of the estate by all available staff, as and when Major Beevor showed up. It would be a token effort but at least they could offer themselves some sort of reassurance before setting the POW’s back to work.
The intelligence major informed the
camp that he was to return to London for a few days. In the absence of the camp adjutant, Major Beevor, Captain Hunloke was to be in charge. Hunloke protested, stating that he knew nothing about running a POW camp but was silenced by Mills. The reality of the situation was that Sergeant Donovan would be the man in charge of the day-to-day running of Flash Camp, irrespective of Mills’ orders.
The word ‘scapegoat’ disquietingly kept cropping up in Hunloke’s thoughts.
Thaddeus Hunloke sank into a gloomy state of introspection at the thought of returning to Flash House. He had felt fine all day when Sergeant Donovan briefed him on the running of the camp and in quieter moments, he enjoyed mulling over the possible whereabouts and intentions of the two German soldiers on the run. It reminded him of his time serving with Scotland Yard and it occurred to him that despite his yearning to return to uniform, he actually missed the cerebral challenges of police work.
His desire to rejoin the Army was a chance to turn back the clock to a time when he wasn’t a disfigured veteran with a gammy leg. However, Flash House appeared to play upon his doubts and fears. Within the confines of the property, he felt continually nagged by guilt. It was an illogical guilt, the culpability of the survivor. He had returned from France having left so many of his company behind.
He had easily put to rest the surreal experience of the previous night but with the prospect of returning to Flash House, he found the memories invading his consciousness. The ghostly assignation with Thomas Gray had unsettled him far more than he cared to admit. It hadn’t been a frightening dream. It had been similar to meeting an old friend who had pointed out some unpalatable home truth that one would rather not hear.
Poppy Gray disconcerted him no end. She possessed a Bohemian soul that felt alien to his reserved ways. He found her attractive physically and spiritually. He felt no desire to acquire her bodily but recognised her compelling nature that easily seduced the mind. She was best kept at arm’s length. Carey Gladwin similarly played upon his thoughts. She seemed so much more uncomplicated than Poppy. She may have had issues, but then who didn’t?
Hunloke sensed that Brian Conway too felt the presence of the Gothic house. He had no idea what dark recesses of the lieutenant’s mind the house played upon but he sensed there was clearly something there to be teased and tormented. Only Christine Baldwin appeared unconcerned at the prospect of returning to the mansion.
The fog persisted into the evening as the high pressure that had stolen in showed little signs of shifting. Despite Poppy’s attempt to lighten the mood, neither of the two officers seemed willing to let go and embrace any mood of joviality. Each man appeared to be on his guard, none more so than Thaddeus Hunloke after his experiences of the previous evening. Fortunately, Artie Shaw was kept in abeyance.
Even Christine appeared to succumb to a state of introspection during dinner in the refectory and the ensuing contemplative evening in the drawing room. It was approaching nine thirty when Hunloke made his proposition to Poppy Gray.
“Mrs Gray, I was wondering if I might borrow a book or two from your library? None of the expensive ones, just a few of the more recent wildlife reference books I noticed.”
“Why major, I never had you down as a wildlife enthusiast?” Poppy was delighted that Hunloke had broken his self-imposed state of seclusion.
“I don’t know why you should think that, we are in the countryside. Thought it might offer a little bedside reading... I fancy an early night.”
“Feel free. Just remember where they came from. I suspect any wildlife books belonged to Eddie’s father,” replied Poppy. She looked at Hunloke and he felt as if she could read the lies he was telling her. For some reason, he could not bring himself to say he wanted to lend the books to Günter Grass.
Poppy sat next to Christine on the long sofa facing the fire. It was unusual for Brian Conway not to be sitting next to the corporal. For whatever reason, he seemed content to immerse himself in his paperback copy of ‘Pride and Prejudice’.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll think I’ll find the books and turn in,” declared Hunloke, “busy day tomorrow...”
“I’ll think I’ll join you, sir. Bit bushed myself,” said Conway unexpectedly.
The two men said their goodnights leaving Poppy alone with Christine. The corporal thought she ought to follow the example set by the officers but before she could speak, she felt Poppy’s hand alight upon her left thigh. The fingers squeezed lightly through her khaki skirt and thick stockings.
“What do you make of our Captain Hunloke then, Christine?” asked Poppy.
“I don’t make anything of him, he’s a captain. You’re not supposed to make anything of a captain,” replied Christine cagily. “Why do you call him major?”
“Just to annoy and unsettle him. You don’t appear to be afraid of him.”
“Of course not. Should I be?”
“I mean in terms of his rank. You appear to slip from due deference to common familiarity at times.”
“I know, it’s not intentional, it just happens. The Army can be a bit stuffy, bit like the captain.”
“Then why did you enlist in the Army?”
“To do my bit. My big brother Jimmy is in Italy. I felt I should make the effort.”
“By chauffeuring around two officers?”
“It releases a man from doing the job,” replied Christine assertively.
Poppy nodded sagely. “Do you smoke, Christine?”
Christine look around her for her mother’s prying eyes. “Yes, but only on the QT, you know...”
Poppy giggled, stood up, and offered Christine her hand. “Come on, we’ll have one together. The boys won’t know.”
Christine accepted Poppy’s cool grasp and allowed herself to be drawn towards the sideboard where the Deco silver cigarette case and matching lighter lay hidden in a closed drawer. “I’ve smoked with Captain Hunloke, but not Brian, I mean Lieutenant Conway,” confessed Christine.
Poppy held the lighter up to Christine’s tipped cigarette. “Does he not approve, Brian I mean...?” asked Poppy whilst lighting her own cigarette.
“No, he hasn’t said so, I just don’t like to.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want him to get the wrong impression.”
“Lots of girls smoke, why should it worry him?”
“I know..., I just don’t want him to think that I do.”
“Ah, you want to appear the demure lady,” laughed Poppy.
“Why are you laughing at me?” snapped Christine defensively. Poppy may have been a year younger than the corporal but in so many ways she acted a good deal older in the mind of Christine. The lady of the house possessed a disconcerting confidence. The ATS girl turned her back on Poppy.
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” said Poppy softly.
“You don’t understand...,” Christine voice trembled.
“I understand. You like him and want him to like you, which he clearly does. Nevertheless, you don’t want to give him any excuse not to like you. Is the problem because he is an officer and you are not?”
Tears rolled down Christine’s cheeks whilst she stared absently at the blazing log fire. “I have a fiancé fighting in Europe.”
“I see...,” said Poppy sympathetically.
“No, you don’t. I missed my last period...”
“Ah...”
“It’s worse than that. My fiancé has been in France since August. I met a Yank...”
“My goodness girl, you have been leading a merry dance,” declared Poppy. Her mischievous laughter seemed without malice and Christine turned to face Poppy with a penitent smile, her eyes moist with running tears. Poppy advanced upon the taller woman and took her in her arms. The comforting act released the floodgates and Christine sobbed unrepentantly. She had not dared to speak to anyone else about her shameful secret.
After an incalculable age, the two women returned to the sofa. Christine’s tears were spent. She reposed resignedly upon the c
ouch.
“Do you have children, Poppy?” asked Christine absently.
“No... Eddie and I have tried but nothing has happen yet.”
“Why is God so cruel?” asked Christine in a moment of bitter reflection.
“He’s not cruel. He presents us with challenges, to test our faith and resolve.” She was perhaps referring to more than the barren state of the marriage.
“How the hell am I supposed to deal with this... challenge?” Christine asked bitterly.
“I don’t know, but there is usually a way. Can I ask you? Do you love your American boyfriend?”
“He wasn’t a boyfriend, he was just a...”
“Do you love your fiancé?” Christine shook her head in reply. “How about Brian?”
“He could never love me, not now...”
“That wasn’t my question. Do you love Brian?” pressed Poppy.
Christine nodded her head, ushering a fresh bout of tears. “I want him to want me..., love me if he can....”
“I think I’d better get you to bed, young lady,” muttered Poppy. “Don’t worry, we’ll work something out.”
Brian Conway gave up on the Jane Austin novel. He slowly fell asleep in the unfamiliar bedroom, his mind awash with names and regiments of the German Armed Forces. Thoughts swirled, tormenting and teasing his brain even as the subconscious asserted itself. He viewed an image of Christine Baldwin surrounded by sheets of papers bearing the names that bombarded him. She was dressed in only a white shift that fluttered under its own volition, briefly clinging to her body to reveal its tantalising outline before shimmying away. She seemed oblivious to her state of dress as she read aloud the names of German servicemen.
He found himself in a corridor in Flash House that bore no trace of familiarity and yet he walked with an accustomed surety to the plain white door. The door opened silently and he edged nervously into the room. The windowless chamber was circular and dominated by a large reflecting telescope centrally positioned. A desk and chair lay awkwardly against one wall beside a large standing bookcase stuffed untidily with tomes of an astronomical nature.
Dancing with Artie (Thaddeus Hunloke Book 1) Page 16