Stark Realities

by Stark Realities (retail) (epub)

  Taking a breath: heartbeat quickening.

  ‘Von Mettendorff.’

  ‘Otto! It’s Helena! Just got in and I had your message. Such a lovely surprise! How long have you been in Wilhelmshaven, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘When I first tried to call you – at your place of work – I’d been here about five minutes. That was yesterday. Oh, Helena – you beautiful, sweet-sounding—’

  ‘If I’d had the least idea, I wouldn’t have gone home.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘My parents like to see me now and then. Matter of fact I quite like to see them, occasionally.’

  Maybe she had told him she lived in Hamburg. He’d thought about that, after the chat with Gerda, recognising that in the course of the long evening at Kramer’s he surely would have asked her – or she’d have volunteered the information – as part of the usual getting-to-know-each-other process. In which case he couldn’t have been listening very hard; mind on other things, maybe. Well, it would have been. One might rather hope hers might have been too. She asked him now, ‘How long are you going to be with us this time?’

  ‘Can’t say. Weeks, perhaps. This week anyway. My boat’s had a knock or two, out of action for a while. But things are so uncertain anyway – in general, I mean—’

  ‘Great God, aren’t they!’

  ‘We can discuss all that when we’re together, though. Monday, for a start – Monday evening? Matter of fact I’m off duty for ten days, so whatever time you have free—’

  ‘Have you been hurt?’

  ‘No. Only dazed – reeling just at this moment, hearing your voice and picturing you… I’ve been living with you constantly in my mind, Helena, days and nights on end, longing for you and—’

  ‘Definitely not hurt – telling the truth now?’

  ‘Definitely. I was feeling a bit played-out yesterday, but – anyway, the sawbones is a friend of mine. Tell you about it when I see you. Helena – Monday evening, all right with you?’

  ‘That’s – tomorrow – not far short of today…’

  ‘Is it all right for you? Please say yes it is. I’ll book at Rastede, all right? What time should I come for you?’

  ‘Rastede…’

  ‘We did agree—’

  ‘I know we did. Only it’s – out of the blue like this, a little – well, unnerving…’

  ‘Don’t let it be. I’ll take good care of you, I promise. And listen – the rest of the week as well – to kick off with, say Tuesday to Saturday? There or wherever else you like, I don’t care as long as we’re together – and with at least some privacy.’

  She’d breathed a laugh. ‘Talk tomorrow. Must hush and creep upstairs now. You know, under cover of the snoring. Come about eight?’

  * * *

  The train from Portsmouth was an hour late chuffing into Waterloo, and following what had been a long day’s work at C-in-C Portsmouth’s headquarters on Portsdown Hill, Anne was tired enough to have dropped off once or twice. Third Officer Anne Laurie in her long-skirted sailor’s outfit, head back and mouth open – snoring, as like as not.

  Having to wear uniform was enough to make one feel tired. No real reason for that, just that she felt out of place and character in it. Drab, unglamorous. Uniforms, it seemed to her, were for men. She wasn’t truly a Wren in any case, she was an interpreter First Class in German and in French, disguised as a Wren. And if she was going on this jaunt to Scapa Flow she’d be attired like this for the whole darn trip, at least until she – they – came back down to Argyll and her mother’s house.

  If her mother, incidentally, could stand the idea – and her husband tolerate it. Send Mama a telegram in the morning, she thought – if it’s still on, Sam can put a date on it and Sue can fit in with that. The big surprise, and influence on her own thinking, had been Sue’s jumping at the prospect of accompanying her as chaperone. Not last night, when Sam had brought her back to Chester Square in his hired car, escorted her to the door of the flat and kissed her goodnight, accepting the fact she couldn’t have brought him in. As it turned out, Sue had been asleep and hadn’t woken, but bet your life if they’d risked it she would have.

  Discussion of Sam’s proposal had had to be left to this morning, anyway, when the alarm had gone off at five-thirty and she’d made tea and taken some in to Sue; Sue waking and asking grumpily what was going on – middle of the damn night…

  She’d begun, ‘It’s a quarter to six, and—’

  ‘And you’re dressed.’ Then remembering: ‘Of course. All got up like I don’t know what. Portsmouth, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is, but – Sue, tell me one thing. When does your hunting season start?’

  ‘Huh?’ Blinking at her. ‘Fortnight’s time. Lots of hunts have started, but the Grafton are late this year for some reason. Why?’

  ‘How would you like a free trip to the Orkney Islands?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘A few days’ time, probably.’

  ‘Well – yes, I think I’d love it. Only thing is, they’d never let me go. But – hang on, the grey matter’s stirring – Orkneys alias Scapa Flow deriving from some plot or scheme of Uncle Sam’s, intuition tells me?’

  ‘Not bad, either, at this time of day. He wants me to go because it’s a chance for him to meet my mother. Stopping off in Argyll on the way south, to get her blessing – or not, as the case may be. That’s a contingency which he seems to discount. But as the lid’s going to blow off any day now, he thinks it might be the only chance he’ll get.’

  ‘Makes sense. If parental approval’s necessary – and if you’re going to marry him, in any case. Romantic evening, was it?’

  ‘Lovely evening. Indoors, that is. It’s still drizzling now, by the way. Don’t you envy me, setting out for blooming Portsmouth? But listen – Sam’s talked to Bertie Hope about it. Damn cheek really, before inviting me – he admits that. But Bertie apparently wasn’t at all against it, except for stipulating that I should have a chaperone with me. And I’m putting this to you at Sam’s suggestion. He said something like, “What about taking that nice little Sue along?”’ She saw Sue’s grimace, and added, ‘Whether Bertie’d agree to letting you off for a fortnight is something else, of course.’

  ‘Fortnight?’

  ‘Two days getting there, two more coming back, about two on Orkney. It’s a routine thing, the assistant attachés take it in turn, taking secret stuff up to their battle squadron, Rear-Admiral what’s his name.’

  ‘Rodmer.’

  ‘Right. So say a week doing all that, and a second one to allow for the stop-off in Argyll. Which might be fun. Once he’s met my mother, Sam would take himself off, and we could have a relaxed few days.’

  ‘With your mother and mad stepfather?’

  ‘Eccentric, let’s say.’

  ‘And you’ve agreed to all this, have you?’

  ‘Not by any means. At first I thought it was plain daft, no question of taking it seriously, then I said I’d think about it – and he’s going to telephone this evening, by which time I’m supposed to have made my mind up. My inclination from the start’s been to say no, not on your life, then I weakened slightly. But – for instance, he could do it all on his own, call on old Mum and introduce himself, couldn’t he? Shy of that, I suppose. He is a shy man, you know. Doesn’t seem to be, on the surface, but he is. Anyway – it is barmy this time of year, freezing cold, sea probably very rough—’

  ‘God, yes. Sea to be crossed. How’d we do that?’

  ‘In a destroyer, he said. Only an hour or two, but – Sue, that bit of sea is the Pentland Firth, it’s notorious for being rough!’

  ‘Still, it’s something different. Heavens, a ride in a destroyer. And I’d like to meet your mother and her artist. Him especially. Angus McCaig, I’ve always liked his stuff – as much as I’ve seen of it. The one big doubt is whether Bertie’d let me go, isn’t it. In fact – unless you’re absolutely set on going, no point even asking him.’

  ‘Sam suggeste
d that if you wouldn’t or couldn’t I might recruit one of the typewriters.’

  ‘Blinker’s Beauty Chorus?’

  ‘All terribly nice, I know, but there isn’t one I’d want to have with me for a fortnight.’

  ‘Don’t take La Bailey, anyway. She’d have Uncle Sam off of you in two shakes.’

  ‘From what one hears, she has more than enough on her plate already. He’d run a mile, anyway. Sue – do me a favour, stop calling him Uncle Sam? Amusing once, faintly boring the second time, thereafter very boring. I doubt if he’d like it even once.’

  ‘You are going to marry him, are you? Are you sure this isn’t just him getting up to a bit of hokey-pokey?’

  ‘He assured me it isn’t. But marrying him – God knows… This Scapa thing, though – he’ll be ’phoning me this evening, so if by then you haven’t changed your mind – subject to Bertie Hope’s approval, obviously—’

  ‘If it’s not forthcoming you surely could find someone else.’

  ‘Don’t think I’d try. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re interested. I told Sam I was sure you wouldn’t be – on account of the hunting. But if you did come along – well, it really might be fun… Sue, I must run now. God, look at the time…’

  That had been this morning, cock-crow time. An age ago, it felt like – an age of cold trains and wet streets. She took a taxi from Charing Cross to Chester Square. Feeling extravagant in doing so, but tired enough to justify it. Besides which there was the same cold drizzle that had persisted all day, she felt some obligation to be there when Sam called, and last but by no means least she could claim reimbursement from ID funds.

  Shivering at a bit of drizzle, she chided herself as the taxi trundled out of the station precincts, while actively considering a visit to Scapa Flow in the depths of winter?

  Have to be nuts.

  As well as shamingly indecisive – on the Scapa issue, but more importantly the much larger, life-shaping one. How long before Sam’s patience snapped?

  Well – if it did – when it did, tant pis. Maybe it ought to. All right, so she was setting the terms, and he wanted her enough to accept them; you might think of that as determination, single-mindedness, might even be flattered by it. Maybe she was, a little. Although she doubted whether Charles would have put up with her as she was now.

  Delaying tactics hadn’t arisen with him, anyway. By the time he’d popped the question they’d both known the answer to it – she’d been longing to be his wife, and he’d felt the same, with a shared desire – anxiety – to have as long as possible together before they sent him off to France.

  In fact they’d had a few weeks, which in the basic, physical sense had been sadly disappointing. First night as marvellous as they’d both known it was going to be, but from there on, from that morning –

  Forget it. She’d still loved him. Had been reminding herself ever since how much she’d loved him.

  Sue met her in the hall. Comfortably warm hall, stove obviously doing its stuff, and Sue in her woolly dressing-gown and slippers, telling her, ‘He telephoned an hour ago – your not-to-be-called-uncle Sam did – expressed chagrin that you weren’t back, said he’d be in touch tomorrow. He was just leaving to dine with some other Americans, he said. We didn’t discuss the Orkneys project. Had a hard day in Pompey, did you?’

  ‘Not all that bad. Even if I do look like death warmed up. Lovely and warm in here, anyway.’ Reverting to Sam and the Orkneys, then: ‘Gives us more time, at least.’ Sue had retreated into the sitting-room, while Anne had been shucking off her long Navy raincoat and hideous but rain-stopping Wren hat, and now followed, asking her whether she’d had any further thoughts on the subject.

  Sue nodded, swinging her legs up on the sofa. ‘No change of mind, however, not in the least. It’d be silly not to go. You anyway, me too if Bertie permits. I think it might be tremendous fun – and not the sort of chance we’d get again. Don’t you agree? Oh, but listen – a rather pleasant-sounding man telephoned earlier on, first asking for you and then probing in would-be devious ways which actually wouldn’t have fooled an infant, wanting to know whether you were still in widow’s weeds and unengaged, etcetera. His name is – or was – I’ve got it here somewhere…’

  Anne had removed her black uniform shoes and was massaging her toes. The shoes kept the wet out, all right, but became heavier as the day wore on. Probably come back from the Orkneys lame, she thought. Sue meanwhile finding an envelope on the back of which she’d scribbled ‘Wing Commander Bunny Farqhuar, RAF, formerly Flight Commander Farqhuar RNAS.’

  She’d read that out. Anne gazing at her in surprise. ‘Well, I’ll be…’

  ‘Good or bad?’

  ‘Well – you know… Old friend – quite close at one time. Forgotten all about him!’

  ‘Get him along here anyway, I rather liked the sound of him.’

  ‘Might have him here when you aren’t, then. Hunting weekends, for instance. He must be back from – oh, wherever it was they sent him. Italy, I think. Yes, Italy. I last heard from him when he saw Charles listed as missing believed killed. He flew seaplanes – I mean Bunny did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I knew him before I met Charles. At least, before I married… He tried to dissuade me, I remember. Fat hope he had, but – yes, nice man. I wonder how he got my number here?’

  ‘Hm. He didn’t say. Some mutual acquaintance, probably. Certainly couldn’t have got it from us. Foreign Office, perhaps?’

  ‘That’s it. Where I was working when I knew him. Frightening how the brain slows down when one’s tired. But – yes, of course, his letter was forwarded from the FO, I remember.’

  ‘I wish I had hair the colour of Indian ink.’

  ‘Silly. Your hair’s lovely. Think we might open a tin of sardines?’

  ‘Go ahead. I’ve eaten. Welsh rarebit. Yum-yum… Your Wing Commander said he’d ring again, probably tomorrow. You going to bath?’

  ‘If the water’s hot. I’ll get my snack first, though.’

  ‘Then I’ll bath and leave the water in for you.’

  * * *

  Monday morning, the ’phone rang when they were having their breakfast of coffee and toast. Sue asked her quickly, ‘If it’s Himself, what’ll you say?’

  ‘That I’ll go along if they’ll let you come as chaperone. Otherwise, not.’

  She was on her feet. Sue nodding. ‘He might get on to Bertie himself. Might be best if he did, in fact. But Anne – do ask him when?’

  ‘Yes.’ She picked it up, thinking as she did so that it might be Bunny Farqhuar: seeing his face, not Sam’s, in that moment. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Anne. Sam here. We missed each other last night. You must have had a long day, eh?’

  ‘And the train was late. Anyway, Sam – the answer’s yes – yes please – as long as they’ll let Sue come with us. Think you can fix that – with Bertie Hope?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll try, sure. And as far as that goes – well, wonderful. Great to have her along as well. But – definitely no if they can’t spare her?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry, Sam – forgive me, but I don’t want to be stuck for a fortnight with someone I don’t get on with. Sue and I are good friends, it’d be fun for both of us – and when we’re on Orkney and you’re busy with whatever you’ll be doing… In any case, it’s Bertie Hope who’s insisting on the chaperoning, so—’

  ‘I’ll have a word with him. If I can get him. But meantime you and Sue might – exert persuasive charm?’

  ‘If we get a chance, we’ll try. But Sam, I was thinking – if the answer’s a lemon, you could visit my mother on your own. I’d send her a wire introducing you, and—’

  ‘I’d much, much prefer to have you with me. In fact the both of you. Please tell Sue that. But listen, departure’s set for tomorrow, Tuesday, the night train.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’

  ‘First-class sleepers from Euston to Glasgow, slow train to Thurso – a night there, probably – land at Stromnes
s Thursday. Gives me the rest of that day and Friday, and we’d travel south over the weekend, get to Oban late Sunday or Monday – if that could be left a little vague, in case of hold-ups?’

  ‘I won’t wire until we know for sure, anyway.’

  ‘No. Better not. Listen, does Sue have a uniform of any kind?’

  ‘Oh, yes, she does.’ Looking at her across the room. ‘She’s a Fanny. No – seriously – FANY, stands for First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. Actually nothing to do with nursing – not in her case anyway; her sort mostly drive generals about in motor cars, that kind of thing.’ She told Sue, ‘Have to wear uniform, worst luck, both of us.’ Then to Sam, ‘She’s pulling a face. But actually she looks very nice in her get-up, which is more than I do in mine. Sam, here I am seeming to lay down conditions, but we both really do hope we can go with you, and it’s a very good idea – the Argyll bit, meeting my mother, all that.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad. Very glad.’

  ‘So let’s keep our fingers crossed.’

  ‘I’ll ring Hope, or try to. Meantime, do whatever you can. Soon as we know, I’ll book the sleepers and your own people should issue you both with railway warrants. All you’d need do is pack your bags – and allow for the weather not being exactly tropical, huh?’

  * * *

  Hope was closeted with Blinker Hall. Sue left a message with Miss Tribe, Hope’s secretary, to the effect that she and Anne would be grateful for a minute of his time when he could spare one, and went off to her Room 40 work. Anne in the ID general office had a sheaf of intercepted and decoded signals with their German texts rather hastily translated into scrawled English by the night-watch people, who’d now gone off to their breakfasts, leaving the corridor at this end of the Old Building slightly steamy and soap-scented, where an office which in days of yore might have housed some hoary old admiral – ‘solid ivory from the jaw up’ – had been converted into a wash-room for their use.