‘In the end Gisela didn’t come to London. Sally’s mother had a change of heart and decided the marriage would get off to a better start unencumbered by a child Sally barely knew and Theo had not seen at all. Of course, Geneviève was quite pleased by the marriage. By that stage almost any marriage of Sally’s would have soothed her mother and the marriage to Theo was better than she could have hoped for. Theo, though he had no money, had a career on The Times and was of quite good family.
‘The wedding took place at a register office on a cold January day in nineteen forty-four. It was supposed to be quiet, but by the time Pontifex Street turned out and Sally’s anarchist friends from Kennington, her workmates from the Post Office, Vi and her brothers and quite a lot of the clientele from La Vie, including Cora, of course, it became rather noisy.
‘Sally’s sister was quite cross, actually, and she and her husband made unpleasant faces in the wedding pictures. They were still annoyed about the money. The pictures were a little odd because they were taken by an aircraftsman more accustomed to taking reconnaissance pictures from a plane. But I still have a photogragh somewhere of Sally, looking very happy and excited, in a silly hat with a veil, arm in arm with Theo and flanked by Adrian Pym and Geoffrey Forbes. An historic photograph, for ten years later Pym and Forbes were running like hell for Moscow with the British authorities behind them.
‘Briggs, Pym, Charles Denham and Forbes organised a sweepstake on how long the marriage would last. I joined in and drew three months.’
Chapter 50
‘Is there nothing at all to eat?’ Theo Fitzpatrick was demanding of his wife on a gloomy winter’s afternoon a month after the wedding. They were standing in the depressing sitting room of the house Sally had bought. The original lino was still on the floor. A small fire, made mostly of coal dust, smouldered in the grate. The view of the houses on the other side of the street was masked by grimy net curtains and the Edwardian wallpaper was coming off in patches.
Sally was lying on the sofa. Her friends Ricardo and Antonia were crouched in a wool rug near the fire. Antonia held a guitar but had stopped playing when Theo came in. Beyond the sofa stood a big table, with a typewriter and many papers and books. In a corner some shirts were drying on a wooden airer.
The Fitzpatricks were living on only two floors of the house. Downstairs, the basement was cold and damp; aloft, the roof leaked into the upper rooms.
‘There’s a saucepan of beetroot soup on the stove,’ Sally said. ‘The butcher gave me some bones. Wasn’t that nice of him?’
‘Is there anything else?’ he asked.
‘We’ve eaten all our rations.’
‘God, Sally. Other people make them last. Or couldn’t you have got something under the counter?’
‘Vi’s brother’s promised me a tin of ham,’ she said. ‘I can’t do any more, Theo. You know I don’t like getting things other people can’t have.’
‘How very high-minded. Especially as Simcox’s donations are knocked off at the docks. Well, I’m going out for a meal. You coming?’
She shook her head and he went out. He had not taken off his overcoat. This caused an awkward silence. Sally said to Ricardo, ‘Marriage is rather amazing. I never realised it involved so much housekeeping. It’s like some contract you sign thinking it’s one thing and it turns out to be another.’
‘With a person who turns out to be another,’ Antonia remarked. ‘But perhaps, as you would say, Theo only needs some re-education?’
‘Only!’ exclaimed Sally. ‘I’ve spoken to him again and again. I think he believes there’s an invisible servant living here and doing everything. My responsibility is to make sure this servant does her work. He feels better living in his imaginary world, with the imaginary servant, because that way he doesn’t have to admit there’s no one here but me to wash his clothes or cook. I’m fed up with it. It isn’t fair. He’s only been sitting in Baker Street, turning over a few secret documents, and I’ve been at work since seven thirty.’
Sally had given up her Post Office job when she moved away from Pontifex Street and had found employment in a small factory half a mile away. This produced cartridge cases, as it had since 1915.
The doorbell rang and Sally ran to answer it. She found Vi on the step in a headscarf, trousers and a mac holding the hand of her young brother. ‘Ted turned up with a tin of ham and four cans of fruit for you,’ she said. ‘I rushed straight round with it.’
‘Goodie – let’s eat,’ said Sally. The war-time bread was grey, and Vi said she’d kill for a tomato, but they all enjoyed the soup and ham, except Jack, who said it tasted horrible and he’d rather have Spam.
‘Fancy – he’s forgotten what ham tastes like!’ Vi exclaimed. ‘And he’s never seen a banana – well, it’s only food,’ she added bravely. Nevertheless, she looked thin and pale. They all did.
‘What a pity Theo went off like that,’ Sally reflected, as she made tea. ‘But I suppose you can’t blame him. I can’t manage properly. The meals, the laundry, the dust – there’s always something to do. I’m beginning to see why my mother was always so agitated. And she had maids and a cook.’
‘You should tell him he’s lucky not to be dead,’ Vi announced. Archie, her pre-war fiance, was now presumed dead. Poor Mrs Hedges’s husband had been killed the year before at El Alamein. It seemed likely, though, that Ted would marry her, but she had yet to get over the guilt of having fallen in love with Ted before her husband’s death.
‘I don’t think Theo really understands about queues and things,’ Sally said mournfully.
‘He must see them,’ Vi remarked bluntly. ‘He’s got eyes in his head. His mind’s on higher things, I suppose. Mind you, Sally, if I had any choice I’d never have moved into this old-fashioned dirt-trap. I think I’m going to marry this Yank I’m going around with. His parents have got an Italian delicatessen in New York. It’s like a grocer’s. They’ve got fridges and proper kitchens and modern bathrooms – I wake up at night thinking about it.’
‘Be careful of an Italian son and his mother,’ Antonia warned. ‘No woman is good enough for an Italian son.’
But Vi, who had stolen a glance at Sally’s face, dropped the subject of her American boyfriend. She suspected that Sally had suddenly thought of Eugene. Small wonder, thought Vi, now that Theo Fitzpatrick had turned out to be just as bad a husband as she, Vi, had always suspected he would.
She changed the subject and said pleadingly, ‘Sally, Vic’s got a forty-eight-hour pass and we want to get down to Brighton. Ted and Lou Hedges can look after Jack, but I need someone to do my turn at La Vie tonight. Will you? Cora said she’d love to see you again.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind,’ said Sally. ‘But I don’t think Theo would like it.’
‘He doesn’t seem to mind you doing nine-hour shifts at the ammunition works,’ retorted Vi.
‘That’s for the war effort,’ Sally said diffidently.
Vi could feel the approval of Sally’s Spanish friends, who might have been bomb-throwing anarchists with no decent standards and not even married, but seemed quite nice anyway and were certainly loyal friends. ‘Part of the effort is cheering people up,’ she said. ‘Come on, Sally. Please. You’d be doing me a big favour. You can have the pay, for what it’s worth.’
‘Oh, all right,’ Sally said. ‘It’s only once. I’ll dig out my dress. Are you coming?’ she asked the other two, but they said they would stay behind to finish an urgent pamphlet. So Sally ran upstairs, changed, and they left together. Sally, Vi and Jack got a bus into the centre of London.
‘You still haven’t sent for Gisela, then?’ Vi asked.
‘No, it’s the bombing. And I don’t really want her here.’
Vi took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to be rude, Sally, but you don’t act like Gisela’s your child at all.’
‘She’s not,’ Sally told her. They were going down Bayswater Road, past the park.
‘She’s not?’ Vi repeated, hardly able to believe wha
t she was hearing.
‘Gisela’s Jewish,’ Sally said flatly. ‘Half Jewish, actually. I had to bring her here from Germany, but at first I didn’t dare say who she was in case the Germans invaded. I was afraid of what would happen to her if they did and they found out her father was Jewish. I let everybody assume she was mine. That way, if we were beaten she’d stand the same chance of survival as anybody else. Of course, with me being a Communist, Gisela was better off away from me with my parents. Not that I wanted to take care of her, anyway. It was bad enough getting her here.’
‘Well, I’m damned,’ said Vi. ‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Sally. You’re full of surprises. Poor little thing. Where are her parents?’
‘Still in Germany. I wish I knew where. Listen,’ she said, ‘I’m only telling you this because there won’t be an invasion now. But I don’t want it to go any further. I don’t suppose you could ask Vic to get me some nylons, could you? I haven’t got any stockings left.’
‘Course I will,’ Vi told her. ‘But I can’t guarantee anything. Whoops! Come on, Jack, it’s our stop.’ She and her brother got up. ‘Cheerio. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
‘Just ask about the stockings.’
When Sally got to the Bessemer she was surprised by the warmth of Cora’s welcome. ‘Sing us some of those German songs – people won’t mind so much now we’re winning. And we need a bit of class, foreign languages and so forth. Vi’s all right but she hasn’t got your touch.’
A second surprise, less pleasant, came when she ran down the stairs of La Vie and found Theo sitting at a table with Charles Denham and Geoffrey Forbes.
‘I’m just helping Vi out, darling,’ she said, swooping past him to the rostrum, where the musicians were tiredly playing ‘The St Louis Blues’. Yet another new saxophonist didn’t help much, but Vincent Tubman was accustomed to Sally’s repertoire and she managed a Kurt Weill song, a couple of cabaret numbers and the finale, ‘Lilli Marlene’, in which everybody joined. Sally felt energetic again, admired in her red dress, interesting once more. Bowing to the applause, she reflected that another surprising aspect of her marriage was that it made her feel unlovable and unattractive. No one warned you that could happen. Or was it just her?
She had noticed Theo rising half-way through her turn but, concentrating on her performance, assumed he’d gone off to the lavatory. When she came off the stage, Cora was in Theo’s seat, talking to Charles, Geoffrey and a naval officer.
‘Where’s Theo?’ Sally asked Charles. ‘Has he gone?’
Charles nodded but said nothing else and Sally, despondent, asked no further questions.
‘That was very nice, Sally. Have a gin,’ said Cora.
‘I won’t say no.’
She got back to the house at one, driven by the sailor. Outside, he put his arm round her. ‘I’m married,’ she said.
‘Oh, I see,’ he replied, and took away his arm.
Sally went in, but Theo wasn’t at home. She went miserably to bed and next morning, when she got up early to go to work, felt even worse for Theo had still not returned.
He came in next evening at eight. Sally jumped up from her chair and said, ‘Guess what, Theo? We can have a ham omelette. Ted gave me some ham and the boss’s daughter came up from Kent with some eggs and he gave me two.’
But Theo just put down a paper bag on the cluttered sideboard, took out a bottle of whisky and poured himself a drink – not the first he had had that evening, Sally thought.
‘Do you want it now?’
‘I can’t think of anything I want less,’ he replied.
‘Why are you always in such a bad mood?’
‘Look round you at this place and ask yourself if you need an answer to that question.’
‘If you wanted a housekeeper you should have married one.’
‘God, Sally, that’s a bit banal, isn’t it? When all I ask is the minimum of comfort, a little order, the odd meal. Look here, we can’t go on like this. If you can’t make the place comfortable why can’t we get someone in?’
‘Who?’
‘Well, can’t you find a woman? It’s not impossible.’
‘Where were you last night?’
‘I don’t think I have to account for my movements when I see you turning up out of the blue at La Vie.’
‘I told you, I was just standing in for Vi. Anyway, why shouldn’t I? I enjoyed it – Cora paid me. I think I’ll go back if she’ll have me. The money would be handy.’
‘That’s the other thing, Sally, this money. Can’t you ask your father how long it’ll be before he can get it transferred?’
‘He’s put some in the bank,’ she said.
‘What? It’s here? What bank? Why didn’t you tell me? Let’s get hold of some of it, for God’s sake. We could get out of this place for a start.’
‘It’s in his bank,’ she told him.
‘What the hell’s it doing there? It should be in yours.’
‘I’ve given it to him,’ Sally said.
‘You’ve what? You’ve given your money to your father? Why, for Christ’s sake?’
‘I said I’d give it away and he persuaded me not to. He made such a fuss that I said, “You keep it, then.”’
‘Oh, God,’ Theo said. ‘Well, look, darling. Get in touch with him, tell him you’ve changed your mind and ask him to hand it over. Ring him up. Do it now.’ They had a telephone as Theo was on government work.
‘I don’t want to. I don’t believe in inherited wealth. It perpetuates inequality. And I think I’ve heard you say that quite a lot over the years.’
‘I certainly believe that in principle, in a proper society, inherited wealth should be abolished,’ Theo told her. ‘But that society has not yet come about. So in the meantime we’re stuck with the old one. That being the case, I can’t see any argument against your accepting your legacy.’
‘Oh,’ said Sally, thinking. Then she said, ‘But how can we get to a perfect state of society if people go on acting in the same old way?’
‘By the democratic will of the people,’ Theo said, ‘which they haven’t yet expressed, not having had the chance to do so. You know perfectly well that individual actions are pointless and only collective action is of any use.’
‘All right,’ said Sally. ‘If individual acts are pointless I won’t do anything at all.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked sharply.
‘I won’t ring up my father.’
‘You will, Sally,’ he said, with assurance. ‘You will.’
‘You said—’
‘Look, you little nitwit, when I said individual actions were unimportant, that was a general statement. Theoretical.’ He began to lose his temper. ‘Theory, Sally. You know what that is, don’t you? Abstract ideas, impersonal thoughts, guidelines, philosophy – products of the human intellect, nothing to do with ourselves. Theories,’ he crossed the room, took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly, ‘theories. Now do you know what I mean by theories?’
Sally looked him in the eye. ‘I know you want Aunt Clothilde’s money.’
He raised his arm as if to strike her, then pushed her away with his other arm and smote himself on the brow instead. He groaned. ‘I’m sorry, Sally. Do what you like. Shall we have that omelette?’
Chapter 51
Bruno said, ‘Things were better between Theo and Sally for a few weeks. Perhaps Theo hoped to bring her round about the money. And Sally came back, a couple of nights a week, to La Vie. But Cora said, and Cora was always right, that Sally wouldn’t ask her father for her share of Aunt Clothilde’s money.
‘So gradually it came about that on the nights Sally was at the club Theo wasn’t, and on the nights she wasn’t there, Theo frequently was, with other women, and later with just one, a girl called Penelope Forrester. She was in the ATS and working as a driver to some general. She came from a rich old family. Her father was a peer. Sally didn’t know about Theo and Penelope, of course. No one told her. But y
ou could see she was unhappy sometimes.
‘The Allies had invaded Italy early in nineteen forty-four and Germany was being bombed heavily.
‘Sally struggled on with her housekeeping. Sometimes she’d arrive at La Vie with a string bag containing some pathetic little items she’d managed to get – cabbages and a few potatoes, a little bit of fish and a tin of Vim for the bath, but the truth is, Theo didn’t like the house and he didn’t like Sally enough to try to make things work. And he was still angry about the money, too.
‘Cora said to me one night, which was a surprise, “She might have been better off with the Yank. I don’t like these black men going out with white girls, but Eugene was intelligent and respectable and he made her happy.” Then she said a very surprising thing. “He wrote to me recently, you know. Said he had the idea he was going into action soon and asked me as a favour to tell him how Sally was, if she was well and happy. He asked me not to let her know he’d been in touch. He’d heard she was married to Theo.”
‘She told me she’d written back to tell Eugene Sally was alive and well and still in London. But she added, “I didn’t say anything about her marriage. I couldn’t bring myself to say she was happy, when anyone can see she isn’t. I don’t know what he’ll have made of that. There was another thing, too. He said he’d asked his commanding officer to let me know if he was killed. He’d enclosed a letter to Sally, to be given to her in the event of his death.”
‘I asked was it sealed, and she said of course it was, and then I asked, “So, Cora, what did it say?”
‘She told me, “He said he loved her, he regretted the quarrel, would she forgive him? Rather touching,” said Cora. She’d resealed the envelope after she’d steamed it open and read it.
‘Then she said, “I was tempted to tell him she wasn’t getting on with Theo, and invite him to come back and try again, but it’s not my business to interfere. Theo and Sally might be perfectly all right when the war’s over. It puts a strain on everyone. In my opinion she ought to get her money from her father so that the marriage would stand a chance. A man like Theo needs money the way a plant needs water. You can’t blame the plant, can you?”
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