by Betty Walker
Nothing too serious …
Violet was crying, despite her best intentions. She should have been there for her mum. Not down here in Cornwall. Who was looking after Mum? She had a broken arm, for God’s sake. Broken ribs too. How could she manage to do everyday things for herself? Was she in pain? How was she coping?
‘You all right, love?’ one of the newly arrived soldiers asked as he and the rest of his mates jumped down from the truck into the road. ‘Bad news?’
He sounded friendly enough. But she couldn’t speak, her throat clogged up with tears. She muttered something, she didn’t know what. Then made her way back blindly, stumbling, to where Hazel had parked the old ambulance.
‘’Ere, watch out,’ one of the other soldiers complained in an East End accent as she blundered through their little group, by his voice she guessed not much older than Charlie. He was lighting a cigarette, hands cupped in front of his face. ‘Don’t touch what you can’t afford!’
The men around him laughed.
She looked round crossly, tempted to give him a piece of her mind. Then stiffened, recognising him too late. That sharp face, the pale eyes, the narrow chin …
Patrick Dullaghan!
She lowered her head again and hurried on, praying he hadn’t realised who she was. She had no wish to speak to the nasty bully who’d made her and Mum’s life a misery back in Dagenham.
But it was too late.
‘Well, well,’ Patrick called after her, malice in his voice, ‘if it isn’t Vicious Violet. I’d heard you and that German spy’s kids were snug down here in Cornwall, safe from the bombs. But I didn’t expect to find you somewhere top secret.’ She ignored him, not looking back. But that tactic had never worked in Dagenham and it didn’t work now. ‘I do ’ope the brass know about your family, that they ain’t trusting you near any sensitive information. Because they shoot spies, don’t they?’
Violet didn’t respond.
Back in the East End, she might have stopped and given the little thug what for. But things had changed, and she was no longer on her own territory.
As soon as she got into the old ambulance, Hazel started the engine without comment, and they got going. It was unlikely she’d even heard that exchange, thank God. But this wouldn’t be the end of it.
Violet sat staring ahead, her mum’s letter crumpled in her fist, her heart thumping hard under her ribs. Patrick bloody Dullaghan. Here in Cornwall.
Talk about a bad penny!
Surely the mean little sod wasn’t old enough to have joined up? Though maybe, like Charlie, he’d managed to find a recruiting sergeant willing to turn a blind eye to his age, or perhaps he’d even doctored his papers to get in. Probably running from some trouble back in London. He and his mates had always had their fingers in some dirty pie or other. ‘Cold-blooded criminals,’ her mum had always called them, warning her to steer clear of their gang.
However he’d done it, it seemed he was in the army now, and stationed in Porthcurno, of all places. And that meant an end to their peaceful life here. Because a nasty lad like Patrick Dullaghan took pleasure from other people’s misery and misfortunes, and if they didn’t have any, he’d go out of his way to cause them.
I do ’ope the brass know about your family, that they ain’t trusting you near any sensitive information.
Oh yes, she knew what that threat meant.
She’d thought, by escaping to the other end of the country, that she would have left behind all those horrible suspicions about her missing brother-in-law, Ernst. But they had followed her, and now she didn’t have a clue what to do.
What would Eva say when she found out? More to the point, what would her father, the colonel, do when he found out someone with links to a suspected spy had access to the underground listening post?
They shoot spies, don’t they?
CHAPTER THIRTY
It was Friday morning, the day of the dance, before Eva got a proper chance to speak to her father alone. The colonel was so busy these days, as more soldiers arrived to reinforce the defences surrounding the camp, it was hard to pin him down. But she desperately needed to ask him about Rex. It wasn’t exactly that she distrusted the professor; that would be absurd. But she did wonder if there was more going on with him than anyone realised. At times, she wondered rather romantically if perhaps he had some secret mission, and it was causing him to act a little oddly. But the logical side of her brain told her not to be too trusting. Up on the cliff edge, right after he kissed her, she’d had the most disturbing notion that he was thinking of tossing her to her death on the rocks below.
But why on earth would he want to?
Maybe she’d simply imagined it. The summer continued to be blisteringly hot, often unbearably so, and she knew a touch of sunstroke could do funny things to people.
Nonetheless, she decided to ask her father about him. Just in case.
Getting up fearsomely early so as not to miss him, she found him still at breakfast in the officers’ quarters, along with a few others also there still finishing their scanty meals.
‘Good morning, Daddy!’ She sat down next to him with a ready smile. ‘Now, you haven’t forgotten about this dance that we’ve got planned, have you?’
‘What’s that, m’dear?’ The colonel looked at her absent-mindedly over the top of the newspaper he was reading. ‘Oh yes, the church hall dance. My ADC did remind me about it yesterday. Well, I’m no spoilsport. So long as the men involved are back in barracks before curfew, and don’t make a nuisance of themselves, I’m sure I don’t object to a spot of dancing.’
‘Thank you, Daddy. I knew you’d understand.’ She beamed at him approvingly, then hesitated, aware of the others looking their way. ‘By the way, is there any chance of a private word later?’
Her request seemed to filter through. His eyes narrowed suspiciously on her face, and he lowered the broadsheet to give her his full attention. ‘Trouble with the professor?’
It was almost as though he could read her mind!
She bit her lip, looking round at the other officers.
‘Walk with me.’ Her father folded the newspaper, tucked it under his arm, and nodded to the men still at breakfast before bustling her out of the door. ‘Two minutes. That’s all I can spare you, Eva.’
‘Daddy!’
‘I know you’re my daughter, but duty calls.’
Eva pursed her lips, but didn’t bother pointing out that duty only seemed to call when it meant her father could avoid spending time with her.
She waited until they were outside, crossing the lawn to Eastern House and no longer in earshot of anyone, before blurting out, ‘I think Rex wants to kill me!’
Colonel Ryder stopped dead and stared at her. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well, I can’t be absolutely sure,’ she conceded, a little concerned by his expression. She didn’t want to get an innocent man into hot water over nothing. ‘But I got the oddest feeling when he was kissing me …’
‘When he was what?’ he thundered.
‘Daddy, do pay attention. We were up on the clifftops the other evening for a picnic. And when Rex kissed me—’
‘Stop right there. First of all, who in God’s name is this Rex character?’
‘Professor Templeton, of course.’
‘Templeton?’ He looked astonished. ‘But I thought his first name was Reginald.’
‘Well, it is. Only he prefers Rex.’
‘Wants you to call him Rex, does he?’
She got the impression her father was about to explode. Which was something she should probably avoid, if possible.
‘Anyway, that’s not the point.’ She drew a deep breath, then hurried on when his mouth opened again, hoping to forestall him, ‘The point is, I made the mistake of mentioning a top-secret message—’
‘Top secret …!’ Now he looked like he was having a bilious attack. ‘Keep your voice down, girl!’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to repeat it here. Only I di
d repeat it to Rex, because we were all alone up there, and then I got the most awful feeling he was planning to throw me off the cliff. Only he changed his mind.’
‘Good grief …’ Her father groaned and clutched his forehead, the newspaper under his arm dropping to the grass as he did so.
‘I know, it is rather unsettling. What do you think I should do?’
‘Do?’ He stooped to retrieve The Times, and then straightened, glaring at her as he rolled it feverishly into a cylinder again. ‘Stay the hell away from clifftops and picnics and fellows called Rex – that’s what I think you should do.’
‘Daddy!’
‘My God, whatever will you say next? You can’t go around accusing people of trying to murder you. It’s simply not the done thing. Besides which, Professor Templeton is one of our top men. He was sent here specially from Communications HQ in London, and I won’t have him maligned.’ His eyes flashed at her. ‘Or seduced.’
‘I say, that’s not very fair—’
‘Mark my words, Eva, if anyone’s ever been tempted to throw you off a cliff, it’s me, your long-suffering father.’ With that unnecessary remark, the colonel strode away, shaking his head and muttering, ‘What was I thinking, bringing the damned girl down here during a war to pester me? Trying to kill her! Whatever next …?’
Eva frowned, chewing on her lip as her father disappeared into the deep shadow surrounding Eastern House. Oh dear. That conversation hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. In fact, he’d seemed more concerned for his blessed professor than for his own daughter. He was sent here specially from Communications HQ in London. How very important-sounding. That presumably gave a man the right to toss people off cliffs willy-nilly, she thought crossly.
But at least the colonel hadn’t vetoed the dance at the church hall tonight.
Rex had promised he’d be there.
Time for a little amateur sleuthing, perhaps.
Hearing the buzz of conversation gradually rise to a cacophony of voices, Eva peered round the door of the church’s kitchen, and her eyes widened in shock.
The small hall was packed. So tightly packed, in fact, she could only see a crowd of uniforms, cap badges, smart frocks, hats, and smiling faces …
‘Soldiers, soldiers, everywhere …’ she murmured, a slow smile creeping across her face. The word had gone out, and it looked like dozens were still trying to get in. ‘Goodness me. This is going to be a humdinger of a dance!’
‘Blimey!’ Lily came to stand in the doorway too, her face flushed and excited. She wiped her hands on her pinny, wide-eyed, staring past Eva. ‘I hope we’ll have enough refreshments to go around. Look at ’em all.’
It was only seven o’clock and still bright outside, the steady glow of evening sunshine filling the hall through generous windows. It had been a lovely summer’s day, and the hall was sunny and warm. A mite too warm, Eve thought, fanning herself with her hand as she returned to making the refreshments.
‘The fruit punch won’t last long in this heat,’ Alice said, preparing to carry the large bowl brimming with locally donated fruit through to the hall. ‘Especially once they realise there’s a splash of gin in the mix …’
Eva grinned. ‘Shh, not so loud!’
She held the door open as Alice passed through with hesitant steps, her expression tense as the girl attempted not to spill the punch before it reached its final destination on the refreshments trestle table.
Much to Eva’s admiration, Hazel had bravely volunteered to help Violet take money on the door, despite her bereavement. She stopped beside Hazel, who was checking the change in her money tin, and put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Hazel, how are you doing?’ Eva asked gently. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your husband.’
Hazel managed a smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m glad you were able to make it tonight though. All these people … I don’t know how we would have managed without you on the door.’
Hazel looked troubled. ‘I daresay folk will talk, seeing me here. But I’d rather be busy than sitting on my own in a dark house, worrying about Charlie. Besides,’ she added, biting her lip, ‘I’m hoping to ask around about him later. Someone must have seen him.’
‘I heard he’d run away, poor boy.’
‘He’ll turn up soon enough,’ Hazel told her, though she didn’t sound too convinced. She looked hurriedly away as more soldiers poured in through the door, saying, ‘Good evening, gents. It’s a shilling a head, please.’
The vicar’s wife had persuaded some parishioners to part with a little food, including home-grown fruit and veg from their own gardens, to help make this dance a success. ‘Anything for our brave lads,’ Mrs Clewson had told them when they’d wandered, astonished, into the kitchen area of the church hall, to find fresh produce set out there, along with a few dusty bottles of home-made wine. ‘Just make sure the band isn’t too loud.’
The ‘band’ had arrived mere minutes after them, a motley crew consisting mainly of elderly gentlemen and young boys, bristling with steely tubas and French horns, since all the other players had enlisted. Not exactly what Eva had envisaged when she asked around for a band to play at the dance. But they seemed cheerful enough, and had immediately begun setting up on the low dais at the far end of the hall, waving away any suggestion of payment.
‘Though a jug of beer at half-time wouldn’t go amiss,’ one old boy said, winking at Lily, who had blushed fierily and almost run back into the kitchen.
Suddenly it was Eva’s own turn to blush.
‘Hullo again, Miss Ryder,’ a cultured voice said, and she turned to find Rex in the doorway, his hat set at a dashing angle, spectacles in hand, smiling at her so charmingly she felt her tummy turn over. ‘I say, you look busy. How are the preparations going?’
‘Swimmingly,’ she said, chin up.
‘Good-o.’ The brass band stuck up at that moment, a stirring tune that was more patriotic than melodic. Rex grinned, raising his eyebrows. ‘I shall expect a twirl about the hall with you later, did I mention that?’ He gave her stained pinny a quick glance. ‘Assuming you’re permitted to leave the kitchen, Cinders?’
‘I’d love to dance,’ Eva said smoothly, ignoring his jibe.
That was no exaggeration. She certainly would enjoy dancing again. How long had it been since she left London and its vibrant nightlife? Only a few weeks, but it felt like an eternity.
She knew she had to be careful with this man. He had behaved very fishily on the cliff, giving off a distinct air of menace when she mentioned that odd message … Polly put the kettle on. She still had no idea what that code meant, and was never likely to find out, what with all the secrecy shrouding everything in the listening room. But whether or not he’d been threatening her on the cliff, he was definitely hiding something.
Her father would call that far-fetched, no doubt. Her overly vivid imagination, making trouble where none existed. She was not going to risk being alone with Rex again. But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t be ready to follow him, if required. Just to make sure he wasn’t up to anything underhand.
Oblivious to her suspicions, Rex gave her a broad smile. ‘Let me know when you’ve been released from culinary duties, and I’ll be there in a flash.’
‘I will.’
He nodded in a friendly fashion at Lily, who was washing up a few utensils at the sink. The girl’s eyes widened and she said nothing, but returned feverishly to her work, arms plunged into soapy water up to the elbows.
‘Lily’s shy,’ Eva whispered.
He edged inside the kitchen and peered down at the platters of triangular sandwiches and stuffed rolls she’d been arranging, ready to carry out to the dancers.
‘Those look tasty. May I?’
‘If you must.’
Tentatively, he picked up one dainty triangle and sniffed it. And recoiled. ‘What in God’s name …?’
‘Sardine and watercress.’ He went to put the sandwich down in horror, and she tutted. ‘You’v
e picked it now. You should eat that one.’
‘My hands are clean, honestly.’ When she said nothing, her eyes narrowing, he pointed – no touching this time – to the sandwich next to it. ‘What about that one?’
‘Salad cream and celery.’
‘Good grief.’ He grimaced. ‘And that one?’
‘Anchovy butter.’
‘Suddenly, I’m not all that hungry.’ He gazed about the assorted platters on the table. ‘Erm, do any of these contain good old-fashioned meat? Or even something akin to meat?’
‘Fish paste?’
He hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Very well. Sounds better than sardines, at any rate.’ Taking the sandwich she had indicated, he bit into it gingerly. ‘Hmm, not bad,’ he muttered after finishing his mouthful. ‘Fills a hole.’
She finished arranging the sandwich triangles to her satisfaction, and then picked up the heavy platter. ‘The vicar’s wife found us a very useful card listing meat substitutes for party food, and we’ve been largely following that. Though we have mock sausage rolls too. They’re still in the oven.’
‘Mock …?’ He made a face. ‘I’m almost afraid to ask.’
‘Probably best not.’
Rex laughed. ‘Look, can I help you with that?’ He took the platter from her unresisting hands. When he wasn’t being grave and absorbed with work, his smile was really quite dazzling, Eva thought. ‘Sorry if I offended you just now. I never was terribly good at being polite.’ He studied the neatly arranged sandwiches with a dubious expression. ‘And salad cream and celery doesn’t sound too unappetising.’
Eva scooped up a smaller platter of rolls and followed him into the busy hall. It was hard at first, threading their way through the crowd to the refreshments table, but people seemed to fall back at the sight of the professor with a platter of sandwiches. Several of the soldiers laughed, then descended into silence at his tense, bespectacled frown.
‘How’s it going?’ she asked a harassed Alice, who was hurriedly and inexpertly ladling fruit punch into glasses for those waiting.