Lucy looked up and held her gaze. The same thought had occurred to her, although she had been too tactful to say so. ‘Would you like me to give you a lift home, Dolly?’ she asked suddenly. ‘We could leave the cottage to them.’
She could see the longing in Dolly’s eyes but at last the old lady shook her head. ‘He is expecting to see me. I had better wait and give them some lunch. It is kind of you to offer, but I wouldn’t like them to think I had left early.’
Lucy nodded. She stood up and began to pack away the laptop and the diaries in her bag together with a couple of files of letters. She tidied the table and reached for her jacket.
‘I’ll see you on Tuesday then,’ she smiled. ‘And thank you, Dolly. This means a lot to me.’
They left the studio together. Dolly went back into the cottage and Lucy cut across the grass towards the front gate. As she ran down the steps Mike and Charlotte appeared in the distance at the top of the lane. She cursed under her breath. There was no way of avoiding them. Mike usually left his car, she had discovered, in an improvised parking place further up the lane. She walked towards them, her bag on her shoulder.
‘Hello. I was afraid I was going to miss you,’ she managed to greet them cheerfully.
Mike made the introductions. It turned out that Charlotte Thingy was called Ponsonby. Too posh for Dolly, obviously. Lucy suppressed a small smile. The two women eyed each other and Lucy felt a small lurch of envy as she took in Charlotte’s elegant summer dress and designer sandals. Her hair was immaculate and her overnight bag expensive.
Charlotte inclined her head. ‘So, you are the lady researcher I have heard so much about. We saw each other I think the first time you came to see Michael but since then you’ve become quite mysterious, flitting to and fro to the studio unseen.’
Lucy gave a cold smile. ‘I’ve been here most days. It is a fascinating project. I am so grateful to Michael for helping me.’
‘And I to you for encouraging him to clear this old place out.’ Charlotte gave Mike an arch look, which, as far as Lucy could see, he did not altogether appreciate. She saw Charlotte eye her own bag curiously. She was probably making a fashion judgement. Shabby, cheap and serviceable, Lucy thought with a secret smile.
‘Well, I must be on my way,’ she said. ‘I am sorry not to be able to stay and talk but this was just a lightning visit to pick up a couple of files.’
‘We’ll speak on the phone,’ Mike said suddenly. It was as if he hadn’t been there up to now and he wanted to remind her of his presence.
Lucy nodded. ‘Of course. Dolly is inside waiting for you.’ She raised her hand in farewell and set off up the lane, aware that they were both standing watching her. She hoped her anxiety to leave had not been too obvious. Hitching the bag with its precious cargo higher onto her shoulder she headed for her car.
On the way home she picked up some food for lunch from a deli near the Cross and she and Robin shared it at the table in the back garden. Twice the bell on the gallery door rang and Robin disappeared, wiping his fingers on a piece of torn off kitchen roll, to attend to a customer, one who merely wanted to ask directions to the cathedral, the other to buy a birthday card from their small rack of old master reproductions by the door. He looked heavenward after the second interruption, rolling his eyes theatrically. ‘I wish they would go away. I am tempted to put the “Closed” sign up on the door.’
Lucy grinned. ‘Don’t you dare. Even two pounds fifty is worth having these days. And the lost tourist might have a rich aunt who is dying to buy a local watercolour.’
He laughed. ‘Fair enough. I’ll hold the fort while you get on with your research.’
She had forced herself to wait before unpacking the diaries when she got home, she wasn’t sure why. It was like waiting to open her Christmas presents when she was a child. She had looked forward to the moment for so long, then at the last second she would sit staring at all the exciting packages putting off the actual act of opening as long as possible to prolong the anticipation.
She paused as she walked into the sitting room and listened. Silence. It was always there now, the slight frisson in the air, the feeling that she was not alone, that any minute someone would appear. She refused to let it get to her. She was not going to be chased out of her own home. Besides, Robin was downstairs, sitting on the old leather chair at the back of the gallery, reading.
Carefully she pulled the paper bag out of her tote and laid it on the table in front of the window. Her heart was thudding with excitement. All the notebooks were worn and faded, the red one she had already glanced at less so than the others. She pulled them gently out of the bag and lined them up in front of her. The green book was not a diary at all, she now realised. She had been looking at the back, which was a plain shabby green. She stared at the cover.
ROYAL AIR FORCE
VOL 1
PILOT’S FLYING
LOG BOOK
-----------
P/O
Name SERGEANT A. ANDERSON
Lucy frowned. She opened the book. Inside the cover someone had pasted a typewritten sheet of instructions, the first of which read: ALL ENTRIES ARE TO BE MADE IN BLOCK CAPITALS. On the opposite page the heading read CERTIFICATES OF QUALIFICATION AS FIRST PILOT. Underneath P/O A. Anderson had filled in his name, beneath which was a large question mark. She smiled and turned the page. Starting in March 1940, the book was a list of A. Anderson’s training flights, his practices and, stamped and signed, his qualifications as he made his way through his training as a fighter pilot. Lucy frowned. So who was he? Why did Evie have his log book? Was he a friend of Ralph’s? She flipped through the pages as day by day he progressed from an aircraft called a Cadet, which seemed apt, to a Hart, to a Hind. He was learning low flying, spinning, he recorded his first solo flight. She moved on. There it was. His first solo flight in a Spitfire. So he was a friend of Ralph’s. She studied the details more closely. He was based in Drem. She frowned. Where was that? Turning over another page she saw the entry: To Westhampnett and suddenly the righthand pages of the log book, which up to now had been more or less blank, were full of comments, scrawled in a large loopy hand, and definitely not in block capitals as instructed, detailing each day’s activities. She squinted at the first entry.
Met lots of Me 110s over Dorset coast. One fired at, went down steeply with smoke from one engine. Tried to follow but too fast. (about 520 E.A.S) Turned and pulled out and saw red flash and explosion on ground. Think it was probably c/a crashing.
This was an actual blow by blow account of the Battle of Britain. Fascinated, she turned over page after page as he described sweeps and patrols, recording the heights he had flown, the weather and the encounters with the enemy: the highest yet over Dungeness at 29,500 feet; half roll at 18,000 feet above Portsmouth and dived to sea level; circling 110s 10 miles south of Beachy Head pooping at intervals. Lucy smiled. Presumably he meant shooting. Got white smoke from one engine. Believe I damaged him a bit. 3 bullets collected here. The record went on, day after day with as far as she could see very little let-up. At the end of each month the pages were stamped by the squadron leader and on the following pages the record went on.
There was nothing personal in the record beyond the occasional comment about his feelings during the action, lines of exclamation marks and underlinings. She smiled. She was getting the impression that P/O A. Anderson was an extrovert young man with a good sense of humour and, it almost went without saying, very, very brave. She closed the book to look at again later in more detail and reached for the blue-backed diary, recognising Evie’s writing at once in the close packed pages. The first entry was dated August 22nd 1940. Went with Ralph to The Unicorn this evening and met several young RAF officers including his CO. Nice boys. One particularly irritating chap called Tony Anderson.
Lucy stopped reading. A. Anderson. Anthony. Tony. Bingo. She found herself wondering suddenly if he was the young man in the portrait. It felt right. His face, his smile, his whole deme
anour suited the exuberant loopy handwriting of the log book, and the underlining in Evie’s entry, the selection of one man to mention by name, even if it was to be rude about him. That surely hinted at the fact that she was smitten.
Lucy turned the page and began to read on.
12
October 1st 1940
When Ralph next came up to the farm he found Evie in the dairy scouring the empty buckets
He stood watching her for a minute reluctant to interrupt. She looked preoccupied but content as she finished the job and dried her hands on a towel by the sink. She turned and saw him. ‘Rafie!’
‘Hi, Sis.’
Her smile of welcome faded as she studied his face. ‘What is it?’
He said nothing for a moment then he held out his hand. ‘Come for a walk. There is something I need to say.’
He saw her face grow pale as she followed him out into the yard and through the gate up to the fields. ‘Is it Tony? Has something happened to him?’
‘Nothing has happened to him,’ he said calmly, ’but it is about Tony, yes.’
He wasn’t sure about this at all. Eddie had singled him out in The Unicorn a couple of evenings before and sat him down at a table in the corner.
‘This has to stop,’ he had said. His face was hard. ‘You realise that Tony Anderson is ruining your sister’s life. She has this one chance to make a career as a painter and he is getting in the way. He will spoil everything for her.’
Ralph had been sceptical. ‘Oh, come on, old boy,’ he had blustered. ‘That’s a bit strong, surely. She’s young. She is bound to have boyfriends.’ And then he had seen his mistake. Eddie’s face had darkened, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed Ralph’s face.
‘I warned her,’ Eddie went on quietly. ‘But she chose to ignore everything I said. She seems to take me for a fool.’
Ralph paused for a moment or two, studying Evie’s face. ‘Someone has reported Tony for being back after midnight several times after coming up here. The CO has had a word with him. It’s not on. And it’s not going to happen again.’
‘Eddie!’ she said. ‘It was Eddie, wasn’t it?’ Her cheeks had blushed scarlet.
Ralph was going to deny it, but he could see she had already made up her mind. ‘I don’t know, Sis, but I suspect it might have been,’ he said with a sigh. ‘The CO says he doesn’t want to see you down at the airfield again. I know things lightened up for a bit, but no more. They are expecting a huge attack any minute. They want all the boys there, on full alert. It’s for Tony’s own good, Evie, you know it is. If any of us loses concentration for even a minute it could be fatal. Leave it for now.’ He thought back in anguish to the previous evening.
To his surprise he had found a message at the Mess from his father. Dudley had suggested that he and his son meet for a drink in Chichester when Ralph next had a few hours off. They were seated in the corner of the pub before two untouched tankards of beer when Dudley fixed Ralph with a miserable stare. ‘I can’t tell Evie this, Ralph. I can’t tell either of them. Rachel would kill me.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘And Evie.’ He paused for several seconds. ‘Truth is, I had a spot of bother a while back.’ He glanced up at his son. ‘Didn’t want to trouble you with it. The tractor and things. They cost a bit. I borrowed some money. Couldn’t pay it back.’ He reached for his glass and raised it with a shaking hand as he scanned Ralph’s face and looked away. His son had gone white. ‘Eddie knew about it. Don’t know how, but he offered to lend me some money to get me out of hock. He,’ he hesitated again, ‘he wants the money back. He says he only lent it because he thought he and Evie would marry one day and he would have an interest in the farm. He is threatening to tell everyone about the debts. Destroy my good name.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Ralph muttered. ‘Why didn’t you tell me we didn’t have the money for the tractor?’
Dudley shook his head. ‘Pride, I suppose. Eddie said there was no need to pay it back.’ He shook his head. ‘He wants Tony out of Evie’s life. He will make trouble for the boy as well as us if we don’t arrange it.’
There was a long silence. At last Ralph reached for his beer and took a long draught.
‘Just tell her, son. Tell her Tony doesn’t care for her. Anything. Just get her to end it.’ Dudley sounded near to tears. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t bear it. She loves the boy, anyone can see that.’
Ralph sat staring down into his glass for a moment. ‘So, it’s a trade-off. Your good name or your daughter’s happiness,’ he said softly.
His father looked up, his face crumpled with unhappiness. ‘Tony’s safety is at stake,’ he whispered.
‘Oh, come on.’
‘Eddie has contacts. I believe him. He could make good his threats. Please, Ralph. Do this for Evie and the boy.’
There was another long pause, then at last Ralph reached forward and put his hand over his father’s for a moment. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ he murmured.
And now here he was facing Evie, about to tell the biggest lie of his life. ‘Tony has told me he doesn’t actually want to come up here any more anyway.’
‘He said that?’ She stared at him aghast.
Ralph bit his lip. Then he nodded. ‘He said that.’
‘Why didn’t he say it to me? I’d have understood.’
Ralph was taken aback for a moment. ‘Of course you would. Maybe he just couldn’t bear to disappoint you. Or maybe,’ he took a deep breath and plunged on, ‘maybe he just isn’t as keen as you are, sweetheart.’
There was a long silence. She turned away from him and when she spoke he could hear the tremor in her voice.
‘Did he tell you that too?’
‘Not in so many words, but underneath I think that is what he meant. He didn’t want to hurt you, Evie.’
‘How silly.’ Her voice had grown thin and shrill. He could see her clenching her fists. ‘As if I would be hurt. He was just a fling. A silly boy who was fun to be with.’ She began to make her way back down the track.
‘Evie –’
She ignored him, walking fast, her head high.
He stood still and watched as she pulled the headscarf off and shook her hair free in the wind. Her pace increased until she was running. He saw her reach the gate and drag it open. It swung shut behind her and she disappeared across the yard in the direction of the dairy.
‘You shit, Ralph Lucas,’ Ralph whispered to himself out loud. ‘You have just broken your sister’s heart.’
Saturday 3rd August
It turned out that Dolly had known Christopher Marston’s address all the time. She was reluctant to pass it on, but in the end caved in to Lucy’s persuasive argument that without it no progress could be made.
Lucy decided to risk calling in unannounced. If she telephoned and he hung up on her then short of climbing in through a window she would have shot herself in the foot with no fall-back plan. This way, at worst, she would at least see in through the front door, at best be invited in to talk, or given an appointment to return.
The house was close to Midhurst, about ten miles north of Chichester. Parking her car in a lay-by, next to a stile which looked as though it hadn’t been used for many years, Lucy walked up the shadowy lane towards the substantial gates which led to Cornstone House. To her surprise they were open. Taking a deep breath she began to walk towards the house which was out of sight round a bend planted with evergreen shrubs. The house was smaller than she had expected but elegant and beautifully maintained, built of old red bricks and hung tiles beneath a mellow uneven roof.
The gardens on either side of the drive were carefully laid out and the lawns neatly mown. There were no cars outside and the place was very silent. Damn! She had chosen Saturday afternoon especially in the hope that the family would be at home, reasoning that if Christopher was a banker he would commute to London during the week. Of course the opposite might apply; perhaps they had all gone out together.
She didn’t allow herself to hesitate. She mounted the steps to the d
oor and tugged at the rustic bell pull. There was a faint chime from somewhere deep in the house followed by the sound of a dog barking.
She eased her bag on her shoulder uncomfortably trying to calm her nerves and was reaching for the bell a second time when she heard footsteps from behind the door. It was pulled open by a thin tall woman with elegantly styled hair and beautifully cut shirt and trousers. Behind her an elderly black Labrador wagged its tail slowly back and forth. Lucy found herself wondering if the dog was the only one who was going to welcome her.
She forced herself to smile, holding out her hand. ‘Hello, I’m Lucy Standish. I wonder if I could have a word with Christopher. I’m sorry to drop in unannounced, but I was passing your door.’ It could be possible she supposed. The road on which she had parked was fairly busy for a country lane.
If this was Christopher’s wife she was obviously as hostile as he presumably was. The woman made no attempt to shake her hand. Her eyes were cold and hard as she surveyed Lucy.
‘I suppose one of you was bound to turn up one day,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but he is out.’
The door was already closing in Lucy’s face and reflexively she put her hand out to stop it. ‘Please, give me a moment.’
To her surprise the woman didn’t try and make it a trial of strength. She removed her hand from the door. ‘What can you possibly have to say to me?’ Her voice was quiet, well modulated, but flat.
‘May I come in?’ Lucy moved forward slightly. ‘I think your husband may have got the wrong idea about me and I wanted to explain.’ It was a guess that this was his wife but the woman didn’t contradict her.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘I doubt if he got the wrong idea about you at all, my dear,’ she said grimly. ‘He normally knows exactly what he is doing.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’ Lucy edged forward again.
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I’m almost inclined to listen to you. You’re certainly not his usual type,’ she said. There was a slight curl to her lip which Lucy resented even more than her tone of voice.
The Darkest Hour Page 19