Broken Rainbows

by Catrin Collier

  ‘You sent for me, Colonel Ford?’

  ‘Sent is a strong word.’ He turned to Ronnie. ‘But please, sit down, Mr Ronconi.’

  ‘When someone calls me “Mr” it usually means they want something I’m reluctant to give.’

  ‘I have no power to make you give me anything, Mr Ronconi.’ Sitting behind his desk, David opened a file. Ronnie started in surprise when he saw his photograph pinned to the right-hand corner of the topmost sheet. ‘Correct me if any of this is wrong. You were born in a small village outside the town of Bardi in northern Italy. You lived there with your mother and paternal grandparents until you left with your mother at the age of six to join your father who had opened a café in Pontypridd. Until then, Italian was your first language?’ He looked up, and when Ronnie gave no indication either way, he returned to the file. ‘You worked alongside your father, building up his businesses in the town until 1936 when you married Maud Powell. She was suffering from tuberculosis, so you took her to Italy in the hope that the climate would improve her condition, and there she made a partial recovery. You worked on your grandfather’s farm until Mussolini conscripted all able-bodied men, at which point you and your wife took to the hills and joined the partisans. After her death you agreed to guide two downed RAF pilots through the Alps into Switzerland, suffering severe injuries as a result of a skirmish with German troops you encountered on the way.’

  ‘I’d argue the severe. I’ve made a full recovery.’

  ‘Back in Britain you drew maps for the RAF before returning to Pontypridd. Last year you took a job in a munitions factory. You married your first wife’s cousin eight months ago, you have a two-year-old stepson, and your wife is expecting your first child any day.’

  ‘And you’re a damned snoop.’

  ‘That’s part of my job, Mr Ronconi.’ He closed the file. ‘I have to remind you that everything said between us is covered by the Official Secrets Act.’

  ‘I’ve signed it.’

  ‘On March the first, 1941.’

  ‘Do you know how many times I visit the ty bach in a day?’

  ‘How would you like to go back to Italy, Mr Ronconi?’

  ‘You can’t find any other targets for the Germans to shoot at?’

  ‘We need interpreters and guides who know the country and the people. Who can tell us who to trust and who to arrest.’

  ‘That’s a tall order, given what’s happened and is happening there.’

  ‘Are you interested?’

  ‘On spying for the Allies after they interned my father, and drowned him on a ship heading for Canada?’

  ‘That was unfortunate.’

  ‘Damned right it was. I have a brother fighting in North Africa, another stuck in a German prison camp since Dunkirk, three British brothers-in-law, two conscripted into the army, the third in the pits and my mother and younger brothers and sisters are still not allowed to visit Pontypridd. They have to remain in exile in, and I quote, “an area more than a hundred miles from the sea”.’

  ‘I might be able to do something about that.’

  ‘Bribery, Colonel Ford?’

  ‘The Allies need you.’

  ‘I lost everything once in Italy. It wasn’t easy to rebuild my life and I’ve no intention of throwing it away on any false heroics now.’

  ‘There’ll be no false heroics, Mr Ronconi, not this time. The invading Allied troops will need interpreters and guides. You fit the bill. I can’t promise that you will come out alive if you do decide to join us. But I can promise you a chance to strike a blow against the Nazis.’

  ‘The Allies are invading Italy in force? How soon?’

  ‘You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you?’

  ‘Do I have to give you my answer now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Supposing I agree to this proposal of yours, when would I have to leave?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘And my wife?’

  ‘We would give you an hour to say goodbye, but only on condition you didn’t tell her where you were going. What’s it to be, Mr Ronconi? Yes, or no?’

  Tomas D’Este stood in the foyer of the hospital waiting for Jane, as he did every time she visited the wards. And Jane’s heart gave the same somersault it always did whenever she saw him. She couldn’t help herself. She only had to gaze into the depths of his black eyes for her emotions to spiral out of control. It made no difference that he had a fiancée, or she a husband, albeit an unfaithful one she’d rather not think about.

  Her relationship with Tomas was nothing to do with Haydn or anyone else. He was simply there. A fantasy lover come miraculously to life. A daydream she could actually live for a few short hours once a week.

  She had assumed that their meetings were accidental. She had no idea that he worked late every other day of the week just so he could steal a few hours with her whenever she visited. Or how she had begun to monopolise his waking thoughts as well as his dreams.

  ‘Would the lady like a ride home?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘I visited Gaynor in the kitchens, and guess what?’

  ‘You’ve finally discovered what goes into the savoury rolls?’

  ‘I persuaded her to give us the ingredients for a picnic.’

  ‘Woolton pie sandwiches?’

  ‘Very possibly, I haven’t investigated what’s in the bag.’

  ‘I guarantee whatever it is, it will give us indigestion.’

  ‘And I guarantee half an hour’s fresh air, birdsong and peace and quiet. Sometimes I think the countryside exists only in memory.’

  ‘You too?’ She took the bag from him as she climbed on to the back of his bike. It was hard to believe that she had once been terrified of riding behind him. Now, as they raced along the road past trees and bushes, and the wind snarled and twisted in her hair, she tightened her grip on his chest, taking a secret delight in the warmth radiating from beneath his jacket. Her imagination conjured images that brought hot, shameful colour to her cheeks.

  Tomas kissing her … Tomas undressing … she knew from a day when one of his shirt buttons had been missing that his chest was covered in thick, black hair. She imagined both of them naked, rolling around on a bed, and hastily tried to supplant it with a vision of her and Haydn. But try as she might she couldn’t. Every time she had pictured Haydn since his last leave, he’d been in bed with a peroxide blonde, and there’d been no room for her.

  ‘We’re here.’

  Tomas’s voice intruded on her thoughts as he slowed the bike to a halt. Ahead was a gate, and beyond it a field of waist-high grass dotted with poppies. ‘I found this spot the other day. I was coming back from work tired, late and grouchy …’

  ‘Grouchy?’

  ‘Angry, irritable …’

  ‘I know what it means, I just can’t imagine you angry.’

  ‘I have a foul temper.’

  ‘Thank you for the warning.’

  ‘But never with beautiful young girls.’

  ‘Or older married women?’

  Taking the bag from her, he walked ahead. He jumped over the gate, then helped her to climb over before turning to the right. Shrugging off his jacket he spread it beneath an oak tree. ‘Your couch, madam.’

  She fell in with his mood, play-acting princess to his courtier but there was an undercurrent between them that prevented her from meeting his eye. Turning away, she opened the paper bag.

  ‘Do you want the broken sandwich or the squashed one?’

  ‘Ladies should have first choice.’ His hand closed over hers as she handed him the broken one. She leaned towards him, and both sandwiches fell to the ground as they kissed. Her lips parted beneath the pressure from his, her hands went to his face as he pulled her closer, gently lowering her on to his coat as he continued to kiss her. An American truck roaring past out of sight but not out of hearing, brought her abruptly to her senses.

  ‘No!’ She pushed him away.

  ‘Jane, I’m sorry. Oh, H
oly Mother of God, I didn’t mean for that to happen!’ Sitting up, he buried his head in his hands.

  ‘It was as much my fault as yours.’ She straightened her skirt and busied herself with scooping the remains of the food into the bag. ‘It was only a kiss. There’s no harm done.’

  ‘No harm?’ Kneeling beside her, he stroked the side of her face with the tips of his fingers. ‘Even you can’t be that innocent, my love.’

  ‘I am not your love, I’m married, you are engaged …’

  ‘And absolutely, hopelessly in love with you.’

  ‘You can’t mean that?’

  ‘Oh, but I do. When I told you that one glimpse of your smile, the night we met, suggested that I’d reached civilisation, it was much more than that. I knew then. I know now. I’ve just been fighting it, and so have you.’

  ‘I won’t listen to this. There’s Haydn and Anne …’

  ‘And us?’

  ‘Tomas, I’m married. I can’t offer you anything more than friendship.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We shouldn’t see one another again, at least not like this.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  When she didn’t answer he slipped his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to look at him. ‘I’m glad, because I couldn’t bear that either.’ He tried to imagine living and working in Pontypridd and not seeing her, and shuddered at the bleak thought.

  ‘But you must never, never kiss me again. And when I visit the hospital you must take me straight home. If you want to talk to me, it must be in front of Bethan or Maisie.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed hollowly.

  ‘Do you understand what I said?’

  ‘Everything. But that’s next time. Can’t we stay together for now? I’ll tell you about Cuba, and America and my family and we’ll pretend -’

  ‘That I’m not married and you’re not engaged?’

  ‘Yes – no – and that there isn’t a war and we’re just two compadres – comrades, friends, who meet once a week to talk.’

  ‘Only if we go somewhere where there are other people.’

  ‘The New Inn?’

  ‘The café,’ she said, thinking of their bank balances.

  ‘I think we should go to the New Inn. A little luxury would help me to forget the hospital for a while, and you the factory.’

  ‘And that we kissed.’ But as she grasped the bag of crumbs and followed him back to his bike she knew that she would never forget that kiss. Not as long as she lived.

  Anthea made an excuse to go to the door of the bank at five minutes to six. When she couldn’t see Richard waiting for her, she returned to her cashier’s station, and took her time over clearing her drawer of money and papers. When she’d finished all her essential work, she began to layout her pencils and pens in neat, symmetrical order.

  ‘Aren’t you ready yet, Miss Llewellyn-Jones?’ her father barked as he walked out of his office to oversee the staff filing into the cloakroom to fetch their coats and bags.

  ‘I saw Richard at lunchtime, he asked me to have dinner with him.’

  ‘Tonight! You could have given your mother more warning.’

  ‘He said it’s a special occasion.’

  ‘Perhaps permission’s finally come through?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  He gave her a tight smile. His wife had become so obsessed by wedding etiquette, dress patterns and trousseau collections that he’d already resolved to have a few words with Richard to see if there was anything he could do to expedite permission from the American army.

  He hadn’t needed his wife to warn him that a wartime wedding wouldn’t bring Anthea anything like the quality or quantity of gifts they’d received when they had married back in 1910, but rather than delay the ceremony and risk Anthea reaching the landmark age of thirty a spinster, he’d resolved to suggest to their closest friends, like the Johns, that war bonds that could be cashed after hostilities had ceased might make suitably patriotic presents for the happy couple. That way Anthea wouldn’t miss out too much on what should be the most profitable day in a girl’s life.

  The one thing he was concerned about was the lack of communication from America. Richard had made excuses about the mail, but he still felt that his parents should have written to welcome Anthea into their family by now. He had a presentiment it wasn’t entirely down to the mail. Kurt Schaffer was forever walking in from headquarters with letters and parcels, the contents of which he often shared with them. Was Richard keeping something from them? Had his parents expected him to marry an American girl? He looked down at his daughter. Richard would only have to introduce Anthea to his family for them to see she was far superior to any contender for the position of daughter-in-law that they might have had in mind.

  ‘Special occasion or not. No later than twelve. It’s a working day tomorrow,’ he said, noticing that Anthea wasn’t looking as well as she might. He hoped she wasn’t losing her bloom. Richard might be hooked, but he wasn’t landed. Not yet.

  ‘We might be going to Cardiff.’

  ‘Have a good time.’ Pecking her cheek, he lifted his hat and coat from the stand in his private office and walked out of the door. She saw him talking to the security guard, then he left. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Checking her hair and make-up in the staff room, she picked up her cardigan, lightweight jacket and handbag and followed him out. But there was still no sign of Richard.

  ‘Looks like he can’t make it.’ He father appeared beside her.

  ‘Something must have held him up. You know how hard he works.’

  ‘I don’t want you standing on the street, not with the town full of American soldiers. If you insist on waiting I’ll wait with you.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, Daddy, it’s light for hours yet.’ She looked around anxiously. An American officer was walking down Taff Street. His shoulders were broad, but not broad enough. And as he drew closer she could see that the hair beneath his cap was blond, not brown.

  ‘Lieutenant Schaffer? Just the man we want to see.’

  ‘Really, sir?’ Kurt looked at Mr Llewellyn-Jones not knowing what to expect.

  ‘Anthea’s waiting for Richard. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?’

  ‘Richard?’

  ‘Yes, Richard Reide,’ Mr Llewellyn-Jones repeated testily.

  ‘He promised to meet me here at six o’clock,’ Anthea interposed. ‘There must have been a hold-up …’

  ‘You don’t know?’ Kurt looked from Anthea to her father. There was no way he could soften the blow, so he didn’t even try. ‘Captain Reide and Major Reynolds shipped out two hours ago with most of the regiment, sir. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you where they were going. It’s classified.’

  Anthea stared at him as though he’d gone stark, raving mad. Then as the full import of his words sank in, she swayed on her feet, registering the feel of Kurt’s strong arms around her just before she fell.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kurt stopped a passing enlisted man and sent him to get a car. Maurice arrived with a Jeep a few moments later. After helping Anthea and her father in, and giving Maurice strict instructions to drive slowly, he headed back to HQ where he found George Rivers sitting behind a desk covered in papers.

  ‘I need to see the old man.’

  ‘And I’d like a date with Princess Elizabeth,’ George retorted flippantly.

  ‘Move it. It’s important.’

  ‘He doesn’t want to be disturbed.’

  Kurt stepped towards the door.

  ‘Walk in if you want to lose your commission. He’s on the telephone to Command.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so?’ Kurt demanded irritably.

  ‘Because the boss is not the only one who’s up to his neck in work. Look at it.’ He picked up a handful of forms and scattered them over the mess on his desk.

  ‘I see chaos, not work.’

  ‘We’ve got over a thousand men coming in tomorrow. There’s billets to sort, feeding a
rrangements to be made …’

  ‘Chuck Reynolds sorted the accommodation and canteen facilities for the incoming troops last week.’

  ‘That was before we were tipped off as to what exactly was coming in.’

  ‘Northerners?’

  ‘Worse.’

  ‘There isn’t anything worse.’

  ‘Try niggers.’

  ‘Here, in Pontypridd?’

  Rivers nodded. ‘And with a quarter of the white boys left behind, that means trouble. The colonel’s trying to sort it now.’

  ‘I’ll wait.’ Picking up a copy of the Stars and Stripes, Kurt sat at Chuck’s abandoned desk.

  ‘He’ll be in a foul mood when he’s through.’

  ‘And he’ll be in a fouler one when he’s heard what I have to tell him,’ Kurt predicted gloomily.

  After twenty minutes David Ford appeared in the outer office.

  ‘I didn’t see your name on the duty roster, Schaffer.’

  Kurt jumped to his feet and saluted. ‘It isn’t, sir. I was hoping for a private word.’

  Ford glanced at his watch. ‘Will it take long?’

  ‘Five minutes, sir.’

  ‘Then you’d better come into the office. At ease,’ he ordered as he walked in behind him and closed the door. ‘I hope this isn’t going to be a request for permission to marry a local girl, Schaffer,’ he warned him abruptly. ‘Officially we’re processing all such requests. Unofficially, marriages between American military personnel and British civilians are being severely discouraged.’

  ‘It’s not my personal affair, sir. It’s Captain Reide’s.’

  ‘Carry on, Lieutenant.’

  ‘He got engaged to a local girl at Christmas, sir.’

  ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘Most of the officers knew. He gave her a ring.’

  ‘Very generous of him,’ David Ford commented sardonically, wishing Schaffer would hurry up and come out with whatever he wanted to say.

  ‘I just saw her and her father in town, sir. Captain Reide had arranged to meet them. I had to tell them that he shipped out this afternoon. Apparently he didn’t even leave her a forwarding address. Her father asked if I could find one. I thought perhaps you could …’

  ‘Captain Reide’s personal affairs are his own concern, Lieutenant Schaffer. If he’d wanted the girl to have a forwarding address, he would have given her one.’