The Darkest Hour

by Barbara Erskine

  He frowned. ‘Not as far as I know. I’m not sure what I meant. I think it was a phrase he used.’

  ‘From what you’ve said of him I would have thought that he would welcome anything that would boost the value of her work, as he seems to have cornered the market.’

  ‘You would think so.’

  ‘Curiouser and curiouser.‘

  ‘Indeed.’ He smiled at her again and held out his glass to clink against hers before taking his first sip.

  September 19th 1940

  It did not take long for Evie to complete two watercolours of the airfield, working them up from earlier sketches, one of a group of three Spitfires drawn up together to form an inverted C with, between them some of the pilots. She called it Waiting to Scramble. It showed the young men already wearing their Mae Wests with helmets and goggles at the ready, relaxed and laughing. Near them on an orange box stood a gramophone and on a folding chair she had put a pile of books and newspapers. Beneath the chair was a box of records. The second painting was of the ground crew, fitters, riggers and armourers, clustered round the Nissen hut which was dispersal for B flight. They too looked relaxed and happy, the job done, nothing more to worry about until the planes came home. She passed the paintings over to Eddie who scrutinised them carefully and nodded with a satisfied smile.

  ‘Good. We’ll put these in your portfolio with the factory painting. You’re nearly there, Evie. If you could see your way to including a few women, that would be good.’

  ‘To do that I would have to go back to the airfield,’ she said. She scrutinised his face closely and saw him hesitate and then at last nod.

  ‘Mummy and Daddy needn’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘Need they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because it was Daddy who made sure I wasn’t allowed to go down there any more, wasn’t it?’ She tried to keep the suspicion out of her voice. She was watching him intently.

  ‘You know how they worry about you.’ He said it blandly, refusing to meet her eye.

  ‘Indeed,’ she replied quietly. She left it at that.

  So she went back to the airfield at Westhampnett and painted the WVS mobile canteen which had just arrived, much to the delight of the airmen. She had met the two nice ladies who ran it before and liked them, drawing as they opened up the flap on the side of the van and let it down to make a counter behind which they poured tea from their great big teapots for the men. They chatted cheerfully as they worked and kept everyone’s spirits up. Just what the War Artists Advisory Committee wanted to see, she thought ruefully. On neither of her next two visits did she see Tony or ask about him; on the first occasion his plane was absent and she heard later that he had landed at another airfield and after a couple of hours she meekly climbed on her bike and began the long ride home in time for afternoon milking. On the visit after that the boys were on standby and although she thought she saw Tony in the distance and half-heartedly raised a hand to wave, none of them seemed to notice her and she turned away. Later, as she rounded the corner away from the airfield on her bike she heard the flight take off and almost at the same moment the distant bray of the air raid sirens. Groping in the basket for her sketchbook she dropped the bicycle into the hedge and crouched there to draw. Almost at once the planes had climbed to thousands of feet, too high to see. Up there somewhere were her lover and her brother. Heart in mouth she recorded the spiralling smoke trails, trying to keep her fears at bay with the sheer speed of her drawing.

  Eddie was waiting for her at home. He gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and took the sketchbook out of her hand. ‘Good. If you could do me a couple of small watercolours for the gallery before you start on something bigger for your portfolio that would be helpful. I have a buyer who is very keen to build up a collection of local artists’ work.’

  She wheeled her bike into the shed and then followed him into the kitchen. She was tired and disheartened after missing Tony, and growing ever more resentful of Eddie’s constant presence at the farm when she was not allowed to see the man she loved. She threw herself down at the kitchen table and ran her fingers through her wind-tangled hair. ‘I should grab a cup of tea before I go out,’ she said wearily.

  ‘Don’t make yourself so tired that you can‘t paint tonight,’ he said sharply.

  She looked up and glared at him. ‘Have you any idea at all how hard everyone works on this farm? Mummy and Daddy are dropping every night. I’ve seen Mummy go to bed without any supper because she was too tired to eat. The land girls are brilliant. They do far more than they need. I never do as much as I should because of painting. It is not,’ she added, narrowing her eyes as she looked at him, ‘as though it makes enough money to make it worth my while.’

  Did Eddie look taken aback? She wasn’t sure. When Ralph had first told her that Eddie was not giving her the full amount of money her pictures earned she realised she had always suspected as much. He had pretty much told her he expected to take a cut from everything he placed for her. But part of her hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that he was cheating her so she had said nothing. So far.

  ‘I’ll see if I can get a bit more for the pictures,’ he said after a second’s hesitation. ‘No one has much money these days, Evie. You know they don’t. It will be different after the war. And if you become an official artist, then you will be paid a retainer specifically so that you don’t need to work on the farm. Your parents will probably be able to get another land girl to help.’ He walked over and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It won’t be long now. I’m sure you are going to be accepted. You would have been by now if you had been a chap!’ He gave a quiet chuckle.

  She moved away sharply. ‘So you keep telling me. Well, I sketched two WVS women today down at the airfield. That should please them. And there are some women pilots ferrying the planes around between the bases. I am going over to meet one of them I hope in the next week or so. Ralph said he would let me know if there is a chance of my running into them somewhere. It’s hard to know what’s going on.’ She pushed the chair back and stood up. ‘Do you want something to eat?’

  He shook his head. ‘You go on and have some supper. Your mother said she had left a slice of pie in the pantry for you. I’ll get out of your way.’ He headed for the door, then he stopped and looked back. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve forgotten about that Anderson boy. He was distracting you unnecessarily.’ If he was testing her she rose to the bait instantly.

  She turned on him. ‘What did you say?’ Her voice dropped dangerously.

  ‘I said that young man was a distraction.’ He saw the expression on her face and stood his ground ‘I am sorry, Evie, but you know it is true. You have to concentrate on the painting.’

  ‘As you well know, I haven’t spoken to him for days.’ She spoke very quietly.

  He wasn’t sure if it was because she was sad or furious. ‘Which is a good thing.’ He tried for a reasonable tone. Perhaps he had let her go back too soon. ‘Think about it, Evie. They are expecting an invasion any day. The boys are on standby all the time. Don’t you listen to the wireless?’

  ‘Of course I do!’ She looked cross.

  ‘Then leave him alone. He is the one who will get into trouble. He doesn’t need the distraction. Neither of you do.’

  ‘I would never distract him,’ she said icily. ‘Please go, Eddie. As you say, I need to have time to paint and I have a cow to milk.’

  ‘Do you love him?’ He turned back, his hand on the door knob.

  ‘You know I do.’ She held his gaze defiantly.

  For a moment he said nothing, then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘More fool you.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yes, you do. You and I had a good time together, Eddie,’ she said defiantly. ‘But it was never going to be forever, was it?’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ He gave a grim smile. ‘Whereas this boy, who you have known all of five minutes, would have been forever, would he?’

  She s
at still for several minutes after he walked out. She was trying to analyse what he had said. Had there been a threat there? She wasn’t sure but something in his tone had filled her with foreboding.

  Two days later Evie had a phone call from the WAAC to say that they wanted to buy two of her paintings. They were also prepared to commission her to paint a series of four more of a subject to be decided later. She sat by the telephone in the hall for several minutes after she had hung up, staring into space.

  ‘Evie?’ Rachel had been listening from the kitchen. She stood in the doorway and stared at her daughter, who was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, glaring down at the receiver in her hand. It was dusky in the hall without the lights on and the phone was purring disconsolately. Rachel took the receiver, straightened the tangled plaited cord and put it back on its bracket with a clatter.

  ‘They want to buy two of my paintings,’ Evie whispered. ‘And they want me to paint some more.’

  Rachel stared at her. ‘Evie!’ she said, in awe. ‘Oh, darling, that is wonderful.’

  ‘Eddie must have had a word with someone,’ Evie went on, suddenly bitter. ‘He wants to make sure I have no time to see Tony.’

  Rachel pulled up the chair by the hall table and sat down. She leaned forward earnestly. ‘Evie, you know Eddie has contacts in the Ministry. If he has used them on your behalf, that is wonderful. There are hundreds of painters trying to become war artists. You know that’s why he has been asking you to create a portfolio for him to take in to show them.’

  Evie nodded. ‘But they are not going to give me a full-time job.’

  ‘Not yet perhaps.’ Rachel sighed in exasperation. ‘For goodness’ sake, Evie. Be pleased with what you have got! It is a tremendous honour to be chosen to help the war effort.’

  ‘They want propaganda, not reality.’

  ‘Did they say that?’

  Evie shook her head. ‘But you know as well as I do that is what they are doing. Someone has to show women doing their bit. There are plenty of male artists to paint the boys in the air force. Men should go and paint the soldiers.’ She sounded petulant. ‘I can see the air force in action. Here. Above our heads.’

  ‘As can everyone else. No one sees the women slogging away in the factories.’ Rachel was beginning to sound irritated. ‘Does it matter, darling? There is a war on. We all want to do our bit.’ She stood up wearily. ‘I must get on. Be glad for what you have, Evie. I am sure you will get more chances. It will all come right in the end.’

  Evie stared after her as her mother walked back into the kitchen. If there hadn’t been a war on she would never have met Tony. Her mother was right. She was being ungrateful and selfish. Pulling herself to her feet she turned and, climbing the stairs to her studio, she pulled her painting from its hiding place against the wall behind the old sofa. She stared long and hard at Tony’s face. She was missing him desperately. She needed to be with him. Somehow she had to find a way for them to meet without them getting into trouble.

  Monday 22nd July

  Huw Redwood arrived at the Standish Gallery at about eight o’clock in the evening. He was dressed in a navy open-necked shirt and shabby cords. There was no sign of the dog collar this time. Lucy let him in and locked the street door behind them before leading the way up to the flat. She was feeling very nervous. She took him into the sitting room and sat down, indicating that he should do the same.

  ‘Have you done this sort of thing before?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘I am not making any promises, Lucy. It may not be appropriate that I become involved in this matter at all. All I can do is be here.’

  She was knotting her fingers together. ‘I don’t want Ralph to think we are trying to get rid of him. Does that sound stupid? I want to know if we can help him. Find out why he’s here. There must be something wrong, mustn’t there? Otherwise why would he be haunting me?’

  ‘Is he haunting you?’

  ‘Me, or the painting. Not the gallery. Why would he haunt the gallery?’

  ‘Well, let’s see if we can find out.’ Huw looked at her from under his eyelashes and smiled gently. ‘Would you show me the painting if that is where you usually see him, then you can stay or go away, whichever you like.’

  ‘It’s in Larry’s studio.’ She stood up and led the way into the kitchen. She could feel her mouth dry and her hands were shaking as she pushed open the studio door and flipped on the lights. Outside the sky was overcast above the skylights and the room was dull. The sudden flare of the bright spotlights illuminated the easel with a cold precision.

  Huw walked over to it and stood in front of it for a long time. ‘She was a wonderful painter.’

  ‘She was.’

  ‘But this is not Ralph?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know who this chap was yet. Maybe a boyfriend.’

  Huw nodded thoughtfully.

  Lucy walked over to the table and picked up a photograph. ‘This is Ralph. I found this snap amongst Evie’s stuff at Rosebank Cottage.’ She handed it to him and retreated to the doorway.

  Huw spent a long time looking at the photograph, turning it over to read the name and the date on the back, then he put it down on the table. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and Lucy wondered if he was praying.

  ‘Ralph.’ Huw spoke out softly at last. ‘You have visited this studio and shown yourself to Lucy for a reason and we would like to help you. If it is in your power would you show yourself now so that we can try and understand your needs?’

  He paused. Lucy held her breath, her eyes wide. Nothing moved. It was hot and airless. Outside, a car drove down the street, the sound of the tyres on the road fading into the distance; from far away they heard the chime of the clock on the bell tower beside the cathedral.

  ‘Ralph,’ Huw went on at last. ‘Please let us help you. May I pray for you and for your family, to help bring them peace?’

  He paused again. Lucy could feel the perspiration running down her back. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to breathe calmly.

  Huw took a couple of steps forward and placed his hand lightly on the top of the painting. ‘Ralph, we think that this painting bothers you. Your sister looks so happy here. Is that how you remember her? Happy?’

  Lucy found she was shaking her head. Happy? Was she happy? Evie’s expression had seemed to change every time she looked at her. It was challenging, wistful, enigmatic. But happy? Is that how Huw saw it? She focused on Evie’s eyes, concentrating, then shifted her gaze to the young man standing behind her.

  She shivered suddenly and took a step back in surprise. Moments earlier she had been too hot, now a freezing draught seemed to be chilling her spine. She looked at Huw and saw that he had closed his eyes. His lips were moving. He was praying. She watched, half embarrassed, feeling intrusive, half curious as to what effect his prayers were having. It was presumably making him feel better, but what about Ralph? Her eyes drifted away from the canvas and from Huw and she slowly scanned the room, searching the darker corners, the shelves, the walls, but there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

  Huw finished his prayer, opened his eyes and smiled at her. ‘Shall we go next door?’ he whispered. He turned and led the way out of the room, pausing to close the door behind them. He walked through the kitchen across the small hallway at the top of the stairs and into the sitting room.

  Lucy followed, overcome with disappointment. There had been no sign of Ralph. Nothing had happened. She sat down in the armchair near the window and closed her eyes for a moment, marshalling her thoughts. When she opened them Huw was standing near her, gazing out of the window down into the street. He was looking thoughtful. Obviously aware that she was at last looking at him, he turned towards her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ His voice was gentle.

  She nodded. ‘Disappointed. I was so hoping he would appear.’

  ‘He was there.’

  Her eyes widened in astonishment. ‘You saw him?’

 
‘No, but I could sense him.’

  For a moment she was speechless, then slowly she nodded. ‘When it got cold?’

  ‘So you did feel him.’ He sat down on the edge of the sofa, frowning. ‘I need to think about this and pray more.’ He gave her an apologetic grin. ‘You are uncomfortable with prayer, Lucy. I am sorry, but Ralph was eased by it. I am sure he was.’

  ‘Did you get a sense of what he wants?’ Lucy’s mouth was drier than ever.

  He gave a small sigh. ‘No. You felt he was trying to say something when you saw him?’

  ‘I am not sure. Yes, I suppose I did.’

  ‘He will try again until he has succeeded in communicating with us,’ Huw said after a moment. ‘I am sure he will.’

  Lucy blanched.

  ‘I am sorry. That idea frightens you. I don’t sense that he is in any way a threat, my dear, I really don’t. He’s unhappy and wants to tell us something. Or you. It is probably you specifically he wants to contact. Maybe it is because you are so involved with his sister. You have forged a link.’ He sat forward, gazing at her intently. ‘If he returns, talk to him as you would to a friend, but allow space for him to answer. His words may come to you in the silence, not through your auditory channels but telepathically. To speak out loud would be too much effort for him.’ He paused as though trying to gather his thoughts. ‘The reason people say the temperature drops when ghosts appear is, I’m told, that they need so much energy to show themselves to us that they take a living force from the air around them and even from the people they are trying to contact. I am no scientist, I don’t know if that is true but it makes sense. And I am not an exorcist. As I told you I am not even part of the bishop’s team. By rights I shouldn’t be doing this at all, but it interests me so much. I feel for these poor lost souls. They are coming from another dimension to speak to us and that takes determination and effort and I want to help –’