Timeslip

  ‘That’s better, Liz,’ he said. ‘That’s my girl.’

  Then she really did cry. As he hurried away into the corridor the tears poured down her face.

  Simon moved towards her to try and comfort her. Sarah was still sobbing on the sofa and he suddenly felt helpless. He turned away to the window and slipped behind the heavy black curtain that covered it. Outside it was dark and far away a light was blinking steadily. A prod in his back and then Liz spoke to him through the blanket.

  ‘You can come out. I’m all right now. That man Frank is my father,’ she said in a level voice. ‘My dad when young.’

  ‘I know,’ Simon said. ‘He hasn’t changed all that much.’

  ‘Well, where are we?’

  ‘When are we, is the question, Liz. I make it around midnight early in May 1940.’

  ‘How do you know? How?’

  ‘I had a look at the schedules and daily orders pinned up in the CO’s office. There wasn’t one dated later than May the fourth. And look at all these mags.’ He riffled through a pile of ragged weekly papers.

  ‘Nothing later than 1939. And look at these. Who’s Vera Lynn?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Liz tightly.

  ‘Well, I do. My dad’s always on about her singing to the troops in World War II.’

  ‘World War II?’ said Liz. ‘It can’t be true. 1940 was bad enough but World War II — atom bombs! ’

  ‘Liz — for Pete’s sake. We’re at the front end of it. 1939 and ’40 — the phoney bit. The atom bombs come at the finish, in Japan 1945.’

  ‘I still don’t want to stay for it,’ Liz groaned. ‘How did we get into this?’

  ‘Dunno. But that invisible wall is the dividing line. It has a hole in it that some people can get through. Like us and poor Sarah. On the other side is 1970 — on this side it’s ...’

  ‘1940! Simon, what do you think of my dad? I mean this one in here?’

  ‘He’s all right,’ grudging words came from Simon.

  ‘All right? He’s fantastic.’

  ‘It’s the uniform I suppose,’ Simon grumbled. ‘Anyway,’ he added, ‘he’s not your father — yet.’

  5

  Herr Kapitan Gottfried looked at his watch, reached out towards Graz and touched his arm. Three deliberate pressures.

  They had been lucky. Apart from the main block the Naval Station was under the control of his small unit. No alarm; no shots, and the sailors who had provided so ineffectual a guard lay gagged and bound in their billets. Graz reached for his neighbour and passed the signal. There was a slight stir as the men drew pistols. They grouped themselves round Gottfried.

  ‘Beeilen Sie sich. Machen Sie nichts anderes und widmen Sie sich ausschliesslich meinem Befehl. Seid vorsichtig,’ he said.

  * * *

  When Commander Traynor entered the Operations room the five people in it were bent over their work. Fordyce looked up briefly.

  'Be with you in a moment, Commander,’ he said. ‘We’re having saturation trouble.’

  The Commander strolled towards a door beyond the benches. A cardboard sheet pinned on it read ‘admittance reserved to officer commanding’. When Fordyce joined him both men went through and the lock clicked shut behind them.

  * * *

  Graz opened the door of the main block and stepped into a box blackout, Gottfried beside him.

  Graz pulled aside the cloth and peered into the corridor. It was empty. The light dazzled him.

  ‘Moment,’ he whispered, signalled the raiders through and drew the curtain aside. They all stared ahead until their eyes accommodated. Like black cats they passed down the

  corridor. Gottfried, covered by Graz, opened the Commander’s office.

  ‘No one,’ he muttered. He beckoned the men and moved cautiously to the Operations room, slowly turned the handle and grinned back over his shoulder.

  A woman and three men were bent over the benches working at apparatus and notebooks. The woman looked up and screamed. The men stood.

  ‘Don’t move, please,’ Gottfried said. ‘Absolutely still.’ The pistols emphasized his orders. The door beyond the benches opened quickly and Fordyce stepped out. He hesitated an instant and then flung himself to his desk. Graz shot. Just once. Fordyce fell, thrown by the force of the heavy bullet. He slid to the floor as Alice sprang towards him.

  ‘Dr Fordyce,’ she screamed.

  The raiders moved forward and Graz raised his pistol.

  ‘No,’ barked Gottfried. ‘I warned you not to shoot. Why, you damn fool. Why did you shoot?’

  As Fordyce had moved, the Commander, still in the shadows behind him, fell to his knees. With luck, he thought, I may get out behind the bank of filing cabinets. He grabbed the notice and ripped it off, pulling the door to. Crouching, he made it, to his amazement, to the corridor. He saw Frank Skinner and bundled him into his office.

  ‘Sir, I thought I heard a shot,’ Frank said.

  ‘You did. Those kids were right. There’s a mob of Germans in the Operations room.’

  He riffled through a bundle of files, picked out a thin packet of papers and snapped at Frank.

  ‘The skirting board slides along and there’s a space behind it. Let’s get this lot lost.’

  The papers hidden, he spoke intently. ‘Skinner. In the room off the Operations room — here’s the key — there’s a secret panel in the rear wall. Switch is above the notice-board — very tiny. The equipment there must be dismantled. Must — at all costs, Skinner. I’ll be under close watch in seconds from now. You stand a better chance. God knows what’s become of the rest...’

  The door was kicked open. The Commander reached for a drawer in his desk. A Luger barked and he snatched back his hand, spattered-with splintered glass and wood chips. Little rills of blood appeared and dripped on the floor.

  ‘Herr Kapitan,’ shouted the raiders. ‘Der Kommandant.’ Gottfried came running.

  ‘Warum haben Sie auf diesen Offizier geschossen?’ he growled. The soldier edged round the desk warily and opened the drawer. A Webley-45 lay inside. He passed it over to Gottfried who broke it to shake out the bullets. But it had not been loaded.

  ‘Dumkopf,’ he snapped, but it was not clear whether he meant his man or the Commander.

  ‘Have you a field dressing?’ he asked.

  A little nervously Frank bound up the Commander’s hand after taking out a few splinters. The soldier left after a brief search for weapons. ‘Souvenir,’ he said as he took the Webley, grinning at Gottfried who stared coldly back.

  ‘So,’ he said to the Commander. ‘Is this more comfortable for you?’ Both men were sitting on opposite sides of the shattered desk. Frank stood back, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. ‘How,’ he kept thinking to himself, ‘do I get into that small back room?’

  The Commander examined his hand. ‘It was hardly necessary,’ he said.

  ‘Your pistol might have been loaded. Commander Traynor,’ Gottfried said.

  ‘How the devil do you know my name?’

  ‘Let me introduce myself. I am Kapitan Helmut Gottfried of the Luftwaffe. I deeply regret the death of a member of your staff.’

  ‘Deeply regret?’ countered the Commander.

  ‘I have not come here to kill or destroy. Commander. I came to carry out a duty assigned to me. Give me your promise to cooperate and there will be no more incidents. We will be gone in a few hours.’

  ‘You’re a cool one. Good with the English too.’

  ‘I was at Cambridge in the early thirties.’

  ‘What did you read?’

  ‘Physics — with Blackett.’

  The Commander looked blankly across the desk. ‘A real problem,’ he thought.

  ‘May I have your promise of cooperation?’

  ‘Not so fast, Kapitan. You’ve taken over an establishment where I’m in command. Whatever your reasons I find myself obliged to resent that.’

  Gottfried drew himself up and said primly: ‘As you wish. Then I must i
nform you that your staff will be placed under close arrest.’

  The Commander picked up a book and swept the broken glass from the top of his desk. It fell clattering to the carpet around Frank’s feet. He leant forward, looking hard into Gottfried’s eyes.

  ‘Let’s drop the officers and gentlemen stuff,’ he said quietly. ‘Tell me what it’s all about.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Gottfried was puzzled.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve come to the right place? We’re very small beer here in the grand scheme — just a maintenance and records depot.’

  ‘No. A research centre. Commander. Please don’t shake your head like that. We have excellent information. And it is the research that interests me.’

  ‘I'd like to know where you get your excellent information.’

  Gottfried stood up and waved his Luger towards the door.

  ‘If you please. Commander.’

  All three moved out.

  ‘And I’d like to know who helped you to reach a village over twenty miles from the coast.’

  ‘I think it will be better. Commander,’ said Gottfried coldly, ‘if we try to preserve what you call the officers and gentlemen stuff.’ As they entered the Operations room they heard Graz shouting.

  ‘Willage? Willage? Was heisst das? Willage.’

  ‘We come from it. Kleine dorf.’ Simon was shouting back. ‘Wir haben nix to do with this Naval Station.’

  ‘Commander,’ said Gottfried. ‘Who is this boy? And these girls?’ Sarah was crouching tearfully against a worried Liz.

  The Commander shrugged. ‘You must believe me, Gottfried, if I tell you that we simply don’t know. They got in here as mysteriously as you did.’

  ‘Impossible,’ muttered Gottfried as he moved towards the children and gestured Graz away.

  ‘What are your names, please?’

  ‘Simon Randall.’

  ‘Liz Skinner — and this is Sarah.’

  ‘Can’t she talk?’

  ‘She’s too upset. Please don’t be hard on her.’

  ‘Who said anything about being hard on you? Where did the soldiers find you?’

  ‘In the Recreation room.’

  ‘So. Graz, send a guard for these prisoners.’ He waved towards Alice and the three technicians.

  ‘See that they are secured in the billets. Take the children and the Commander back to the Recreation room and stay with them.’

  He looked around as the technicians left. ‘You,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Skinner, sir.’

  ‘Like the little girl. A relative?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Is this so?’ Gottfried asked Liz, watching her steadily.

  ‘That’s right. He’s never seen me before in his life.’

  ‘All right, Skinner, my men want a snack. You will get us food and drink.’

  Frank looked uncomfortable at this and began: ‘Well, sir...’

  ‘Skinner,’ the Commander said. ‘We don’t have much choice. See what you can knock up for the guests. You’ve got the key to the supply cupboard.’

  ‘Thank you. Commander,’ said Gottfried, ‘and now you will retire to the Recreation room. Graz, detail a man as guard with me. I may be a little preoccupied with my investigation.’

  6

  Traynor, back from his fruitless search at the Station, had come softly into the lounge and was about to leave when he noticed a youngish woman asleep before the dying fire. She woke quickly.

  Tm sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,’ he said.

  ‘I’m glad you did. I was having a nightmare.’ She passed her hands over her face as if to wipe it away.

  ‘I hope it’s gone?’

  ‘Yes. Well almost,’ she sighed. ‘My mind was full of radio signals and atmospherics and bits of strange talk. Nothing much really but I feel terribly scared.

  ‘What’s the time?’ She stood up. ‘My husband is putting our caravan in order. I’d better find him.’

  ‘There wasn’t anyone out there when I came in,’ Traynor said. ‘You must be Mrs Skinner. My name is Traynor and I've brought Simon Randall’s book back. I found it near the Naval Station.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. Yes, I am Jean Skinner. Thanks.’ She took the book and went to the window. The bowlshaped hill with its cluster of ruins had filled with hazy shadow.

  ‘My nightmare noises haven’t quite gone.’ She turned a puzzled face to Traynor. ‘Do you hear anything? A sort of electronic jangle?’

  Traynor shook his head.

  ‘Odd,’ she said. ‘Are you staying here, Mr Traynor?’

  ‘I’m here for a few days. Pleasant spot.’

  ‘I suppose so. It’s pretty but I find it depressing. Frank likes it though. I must go and find him,’ she concluded abruptly and left the lounge.

  ‘Well?’ Jean Skinner turned abruptly to her husband as he came into the lounge.

  ‘No sign,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you think we ought to tell the police?’

  ‘You know what kids are like. They’re not really late yet.’

  ‘That village girl disappeared in broad daylight.’

  ‘She’s a bit dotty. Gets lost easily.’

  ‘Frank, I’m worried. She was lost by the old Naval Station and that’s where that Mr Traynor found Simon’s book. Let’s go and look for them.’

  ‘It isn’t dark yet. We’ll wait a bit.’

  Jean turned suddenly towards the window and the shadowy ruins of the Station. She pressed her hands to her ears, cried out and fell to her knees.

  ‘Jean, Jean,’ Frank murmured as his arms went round her. He picked her up and carried her to their room.

  He pulled up a chair at the bedside and watched her strained face. Her lips moved. Whispers at first. Frank bent closer. She began to gasp, tried to sit up.

  ‘... unsere Zeit ... unsere Zeit ist vorbei ... sobald wir damit...’

  The voice was not Jean’s though the words came from her lips. Frank leant towards her, surprised and scared. He seized her shoulder, shook her violently. She woke, enormous eyes fixed on the wall behind him.

  Her glance strayed vaguely to Frank.

  ‘Liz?’ she whispered. ‘Where’s Liz?’

  Frank dodged the question.

  ‘You were talking German in your sleep.’

  'I don’t speak German.’

  ‘It sounded like German, but not like you.’

  ‘Frank, I’m so scared. Where’s Liz?’

  ‘I’m going to look for her now.’

  ‘I’m coming too. She needs me.’

  ‘Jean, it’s not that late and, anyway, Simon would look after her. But I’ll go and look round. You stay here and rest.’

  * * *

  Frank Skinner, wrapped in thought, wondered where he could best begin to look for Liz and Simon. As he passed the lounge he saw Traynor.

  ‘I say, you haven’t seen our two kids, have you?’

  ‘No. But I found Simon’s book near the Naval Station. I gave it to your wife. Are they late for supper?’

  ‘Enough to worry us. Don’t know their way about this place. Do you know it well?’

  ‘Pretty well.’ Traynor examined Skinner calculatingly.

  ‘I was here during the war too,’ he said.

  ‘At the Naval Station?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What went on there?’ Skinner asked, nodding towards the window.

  ‘We were working on the development of radar. Highly secret. I’m a physicist but work in a specialized field now.’ He paused. ‘I came to St Oswald today because a girl disappeared near the Station.’

  ‘I heard about her.’

  ‘Now your daughter and Simon are late back. I think there could be a connexion. But,’ he added as Skinner rose in alarm, ‘they are unlikely to be in grave danger.’

  ‘Who are you? What do you know about my daughter and Simon?’

  Surprise, doubt, disbelief chased across Skinner’s rather amiable face as Traynor rep
lied:

  ‘I was your Commanding Officer in 1940. Here. At the Station. I ran the place.’

  ‘My CO,’ Skinner muttered. ‘I remember something now. But not at the Station.’ His face brightened.

  ‘You came to see me in hospital.’

  ‘Several times,’ said Traynor.

  ‘I’ve only vague memories of those days. Was it you got me out of the place?’

  ‘I helped. It was doing you more harm than good.’ Skinner was grinding a fist into the palm of his other hand, struggling to fit this information into his mind when Jean appeared in the doorway, pale and shaken. Traynor moved swiftly towards her, led her to an armchair and rang for service. Bradley appeared and he said curtly:

  ‘A brandy and soda for Mrs Skinner.’

  When Bradley returned with the drink Jean gratefully sipped from the glass. Traynor, Bradley and her husband stood watching her. Suddenly in a husky firm voice she said, ‘Machen Sie nichts anderes ... geben Sie acht..

  Traynor looked at Skinner who looked bewildered, and then at Bradley. The landlord’s face was pallid — terrified. He looked at Traynor.

  ‘Shall I — should we — I mean — the lady’s ill. Does she need a doctor?’

  ‘No. No doctors,’ Traynor said.

  ‘There’s a very good one in the village. Just down the road.’

  ‘No, Bradley! We don’t need doctors to solve this mystery.’ He had spoken sharply to the landlord who backed away.

  ‘As you say, sir,’ he said nervously, and left.

  Traynor turned to Skinner.

  ‘Is she often like this?’

  ‘No. Never before, that I remember.’

  ‘But lately?’

  ‘Only since we came to St Oswald. Headaches and bad dreams and dropping into a sort of dozy sleep in the daytime.’

  ‘Does she speak German?’

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘I don’t think you need to worry about the children. Not seriously.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I can’t explain this simply. You’ll have to take a lot on trust. We’re in the presence of a set of unknown quantities. First a village girl disappears before the eyes of an only slightly drunk farm labourer. Then two more children fail to return from a short ramble, and one of them has left his book near the place where the first disappearance happened.’