‘I don’t understand.’
When he turned to me his eyes shone with the light of fanaticism. ‘I’m talking about the invasion, darling. When Germany invades, being married to me will be most advantageous.’
‘Germany won’t invade.’ I spoke cautiously, worried about his mood. ‘The RAF was victorious against the Luftwaffe. Germany won’t invade this country while we have control of our skies and while we have the Royal Navy to protect us.’
His smile was now that of an adult at a child speaking nonsense. ‘The story about the RAF defeating the Luftwaffe was unadulterated propaganda. And the Royal Navy is being decimated by German submarines. You expect the remnants of your tattered army and a few Canadian regiments to prevail against thousands of crack German paratroopers? How naive you are to believe anything Churchill reports. German troops will be marching down the Strand come June, and Hitler will be enjoying the amenities of Buckingham Palace.’
My face must have given me away, for he said quickly, ‘Don’t worry about the Royal Family. We have assurances as to their safety.’ He took another puff of his pipe, as if this were normal after-dinner conversation.
We have assurances? Was he in contact with Germany? How many were involved in this mad scheme? Or was it just wishful thinking? I felt suddenly very tired; the conversation had slipped away from me and nothing made any sense. Cedric and I should be discussing our divorce, not a Nazi invasion of Britain. Why had he mentioned it? Did he really believe it? And why was he referring to ‘your’ army, when the word should have been ‘our’?
‘I’m not sure…’ I began, cautiously, but paused because I had no idea what to say. So I picked up my cup and sipped Helen’s coffee. For the first time I wondered if Cedric were mad.
He gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Cedric Ashwin and his beautiful wife will be the epitome of the New Order in this country. We – you and I, Celia – we will be its golden couple. We will set standards for the rest to emulate.’ There was something nasty lurking behind his ice-blue eyes, something quick and sinuous as eels squirming in clear river water. ‘They will regret locking me up on that godforsaken island.’ His expression hardened. ‘Especially Churchill. And so, my dear Celia, there can be no talk of divorce. The Fuhrer detests divorce among those he favours. Oh, how he will adore you. You will be one of his favourites.’ Puff. Puff. The swirl of smoke rose and dissipated above his head.
‘And another thing. He sees children as an important part of marriage. We both wanted to wait, but now I think that the time has come.’
I put down my coffee cup with a slight jerk, so that the dark liquid swirled up and nearly spilled. It took real effort to keep my voice calm, but I managed to do so. ‘There will be no talk of children, Cedric. I want a divorce.’
His lips compressed, but when he spoke it was in a voice of utmost reasonableness. ‘I am being patient with you, Celia. More patient than most men would be. But there are limits. Please understand. I will not divorce you. You have no grounds upon which to divorce me. Those … peccadilloes of mine took place discreetly. You have no evidence and will never have evidence that would be accepted by a court. Even if you have strayed in the past eight months – and you must be aware that I have never inquired – then I’ll put it down to loneliness and we’ll never speak of it.’
I became very still. Had Eddie been spying on me when I met with David? On reflection, I thought not. I doubted that Cedric would forgive an ‘indiscretion’ with David Levy. To buy some time I picked up my cigarette from the ashtray, tipped off the excess ash, and put it to my lips. As I drew in the smoke I gathered my thoughts. I could not convince Cedric tonight, and there was nothing to be served by allowing the conversation to degenerate into an argument.
I didn’t think that Cedric would seek to enforce his legal ‘rights’ as a husband to ensure I was carrying his child when Hitler goose-stepped down the Strand. It would prick his vanity too much to force a woman. And he had no real financial control over me. Even if he shut off the allowance he had given me during his months in gaol, I still earned a small amount as an ambulance driver. With careful management it would be sufficient to pay for my rent and food. I had never been extravagant and that would not change, especially if I had to count every penny.
‘I won’t change my mind about the divorce,’ I said, carefully, ‘but let’s not discuss the matter any further tonight.’
More than anything else I wanted to leave the man to his fantasies and go home. But Cedric’s talk of invasion and ‘we have assurances’ about the welfare of the Royal Family after the invasion were concerning. I owed it to my country to find out if Cedric was any real threat. I needed to discover if he was in touch with the Nazis and assisting them in any way.
I wondered how to raise the vexed subject of treason.
‘Cedric, it’s unwise to say such things – about Churchill and about the invasion – nowadays.’
‘Unwise?’ A fanatical glitter appeared in Cedric’s eyes, but his voice was pleasant and measured, which was disconcerting. Again I wondered if he were quite sane. He gave a soft laugh. ‘I still have supporters. True patriots, who know that this country has been sold down the river by Jews and communists and their acolytes.’ His voice had risen, and he was now the orator who had held thousands in sway by the power of his voice. ‘They know that only the fascist ideals of discipline and military leadership can lead this country into a new order of social and economic prosperity and hope. And they know that is why Hitler has succeeded.’
‘Hitler hasn’t succeeded here,’ I said brusquely. ‘Britain still stands for Democracy, the rights of the individual and the Rule of Law.’
Cedric jumped out of his chair and rounded on me. For a moment I wondered if he was about to strike me. Then his face changed, from anger to contempt to amusement.
‘As you have often admitted, you know very little about politics, darling.’ He turned towards the fireplace and tapped out his pipe against the grate. ‘I hear that you spend far too much time at that Jewish refugee organisation. That has to stop.’
I ground out what remained of my cigarette in the ashtray beside me, watching until every last spark was extinguished, because there was no point in showing my anger. When I was calmer I stood.
‘I enjoy that work, Cedric. I help children and it gives me pleasure to do so. Let’s say no more about it.’
Anger sparked in his eyes. ‘Do not try my patience, Celia.’ He softened his tone. ‘We won’t speak of this any more tonight. You must be exhausted, unable to think clearly. I heard that you had been badly injured not long ago and I can see that nasty scar on your forehead.’
‘Slight concussion, that’s all.’
He smiled. ‘I heard it was much worse than that. Poor darling. More coffee?’
I shook my head. ‘I’ll leave now, I think.’
He saw me to the taxi and paid the cabbie. His tip must have been generous, because there was real warmth in the cabbie’s voice as he said, ‘Thank you very much indeed, sir.’ And he added, ‘Victory at all costs.’
‘At all costs,’ repeated Cedric.
The taxi moved away, down the dark, deserted streets. As the cabbie had predicted the rain, or something, was keeping the Luftwaffe away that night. I hugged the comfort of my coat close around me and leaned back in the seat. I felt as if my nerves were stretched so tight they were close to shattering. After a moment I shook my head and sucked in a shaky breath. I’d told Simon Levy I was no Dresden china lass, and I couldn’t let one meeting with my husband put the lie to that boast. Head high, walk tall, Celia. Somehow I would convince Cedric to divorce me.
The taxi lurched to one side as it hit something on the road, and the cabbie swore softly under his breath as he corrected the vehicle.
‘Sorry, miss. There’s debris everywhere. Have a nice evening?’ he asked in a lighter voice.
‘An interesting one.’
‘That feller what paid for your fare. He reminds me of someone. Can’t
place who, though.’
My laugh was bitter. ‘Hitler? Goering? Mussolini?’
‘Now, miss,’ he said in an indulgent tone, ‘don’t be like that. You two have a lovers’ tiff? You see all sorts in this business, and I can pick ’em. I knew right away about that one. A right proper English gentleman he is.’
I did not reply. There was no point.
At three the following afternoon Leo arrived to visit Bobby. I opened the door to see Simon with one hand on Leo’s shoulder and carrying a basket covered with a striped tea towel in the other. He nodded to me with his usual rather guarded expression. Leo gave me his little bow and looked past me into the flat.
‘May I leave Leo with you for the afternoon?’ asked Simon, as they entered. ‘I have to go in to the hospital.’
Leo went across to Bobby’s cage where he whispered something to the bird, who responded by saying, ‘Hello, I’m Bobby. What’s your name?’
At that Leo giggled and whispered, ‘Leo Weitz.’ He gave his formal bow to the parrot.
‘God save the King!’ said Bobby, and Leo giggled again.
Simon smiled at the pair. ‘My mother is trying to get Leo to speak more. She wonders if you could encourage him.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘And this is from my mother.’ He handed the basket to me. ‘We don’t want you using your ration on the boy. It’s milk for Leo, and some stollen – fruitcake – for you both. Don’t ask me where she gets it from, as it’s a closely guarded secret.’
When I was alone with Leo I sat down near Bobby’s cage. I picked up a pair of laddered stockings and began to darn them.
Leo pointed to the cage door.
‘I’m sorry, Leo,’ I said, ‘but I’m not sure what you want.’
Leo gave me a considering look and said, very softly, ‘May I open the door, please?’
‘Of course. And I’m sure that Bobby would love to hear what you’ve been doing this week.’
He opened the cage and Bobby climbed up his sleeve as before. Leo turned away from me and began to speak softly to the bird in German.
‘Watch this, Leo,’ I said. I went across to the wireless and pretended to turn it on.
The sonorous tones of Big Ben’s chimes filled the flat. After nine chimes a familiar voice announced, ‘Here is the news and this is Alvar Lidell reading it.’
Leo was delighted and announced to Bobby, ‘Du bist ein kluger vogel.’ He glanced at me. ‘A clever bird,’ he said shyly.
We had a peaceful time as Leo spoke to Bobby and I caught up on my sewing. With clothes rationing just around the corner, we were all forced to ‘make do and mend’. Leo spoke only to the parrot, and only in German. I wondered if I should tell him to speak to Bobby in English, but I was too worried that he might stop talking completely if I insisted. At four o’clock we snacked on stollen. I had tea as Leo drank his milk and surreptitiously fed cake to the bird, which I ignored.
At five o’clock there was a rap at the door. I opened it to find Simon standing there. He smiled at Leo, who was standing by the window with Bobby on his shoulder.
‘Thank you for looking after him,’ he said, then called to Leo, ‘Time to go home.’
Leo ignored him. After a minute or so Simon strode across the room with heavy steps, saying ‘Fi fi fo fum’, in the deep voice of a pantomime villain, which made Leo laugh. As Simon approached, Bobby fluttered off his shoulder to perch on the bookcase, which was just as well, because Simon picked Leo up, turned him upside down and held him dangling by one ankle as Leo shrieked with laughter and tried to keep his spectacles from falling off. I assumed it was a game they’d played before, and I smiled to see them both so relaxed.
‘When I say it’s time to go,’ said Simon in mock annoyance, ‘what do you do?’ He gave Leo’s leg a shake.
‘Ich komme zu dir,’ squeaked Leo.
‘English,’ said Simon, in the deep giant voice.
‘I come to you.’
‘And at the double,’ said Simon. He turned, still holding Leo’s ankle, so that the boy’s inverted face was towards me. ‘Now thank Celia for a lovely afternoon.’
‘Danke – I mean, thank you, Celia,’ replied Leo obediently, and wriggled. ‘Put me down, Simon. Bitte.’
Simon righted him, and Leo bowed to me. He glanced at Simon, then said quickly, ‘Bitte – I mean, please – may I come again soon. For Bobby.’
Simon raised an eyebrow at me.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Next Sunday afternoon?’
‘Gut,’ said Leo. ‘I mean, good.’ He turned to the parrot, now settled on the bookcase. ‘Goodbye, Bobby. I will see you soon.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was, of course, nothing like my wedding in 1937.
That had taken place in St George’s, Hanover Square and we had three hundred guests. Lily’s wedding to Jim was at the local register office and their guests numbered ten. My gown had been of parchment moiré with a beautiful lace veil that had swept the aisle behind me; Lily wore the blue dress that Katherine had made and a chic little blue-and-white hat. I had carried a huge bouquet of orange blossom; Lily’s small posy was lily of the valley and its scent filled the room. Six bridesmaids wearing white net frocks with crimson velvet sashes had attended me; Lily walked in alone to join Jim, who stood tall and handsome in his RAF uniform, at the registrar’s desk. His only sign of nervousness was the imaginary tune tapped out by his fingers on his leg, but when Lily entered the room it was as if he had seen a vision. And when she smiled at him…
It was not in the slightest like my wedding, because it was so very much nicer.
The guests were a mixture of British and Australian. Katherine Carlow, the Matron of Honour, was English. The Best Man, Peter Creighton, was Scottish and looked dashing in his Scots Guards dress uniform, complete with sword. The other Australians were Pamela Beresford, the daughter of an Australian bishop and a close friend of Lily’s who also had a flat at St Andrew’s, two Australian pilots from Jim’s former RAF squadron, Fred Harland and Mike Corrs, and Fred’s wife, Frances. Mike’s wife, Annette, was English, as was another of Jim’s pilot friends, Gerald Wilde. He was a slightly built young pilot officer who hailed from Manchester and took an immediate and obvious fancy to Pam. As for me, save for my little French grandmother, my family had been British since the Conquest. The final guest was the very British, Harrow-educated Simon Levy.
After the wedding we were invited by Jim and Lily to join them for dinner and dancing at the Dorchester.
‘It was where Jim took me for tea, the very first time we went out together,’ Lily said, laughing, as we gathered around them on the steps of the register office in the lengthening gloom of a January afternoon. Beyond the portico, snow had begun to fall steadily.
‘How romantic,’ said Frances, the Australian RAF wife.
‘Not really.’ Lily exchanged glances with Jim. ‘I thought he was boring and he thought I was in love with Da—with someone else. Not an auspicious beginning.’ Lily threw him a cheeky smile. ‘And he didn’t even kiss me goodnight.’
‘I wanted to,’ he replied, bending down and pulling her close. ‘Will this make up for it?’ He kissed her for what seemed a long time, to the sound of whoops from the Australian airmen.
‘Not quite,’ she said, when she came up for air. ‘The matter requires further negotiation.’
‘I married a barrack-room lawyer.’ Jim raised an eyebrow and gave a look of mock horror. Then he glanced up at the darkening sky. ‘Let’s head off to the Dorchester. At least there will be three feet of concrete between us and the raiders.’
‘Think they’ll come over tonight?’ asked Annette, the English RAF wife. ‘It’s been the quietest week since the night blitz started in September.’
Jim shrugged. ‘I assume they’ll come every night. Sometimes not many of them, but every night.’
‘Pessimist,’ said Peter Creighton. ‘We’re in a lull in the Blitz, didn’t you know? Or so they say. D’you agre
e?’ He looked at the RAF pilots.
Mike Corrs shrugged. ‘I think it’s the weather. The aerodromes in Europe are sodden and they’ve had a lot of fog.’
‘Well I’m happy about it,’ said Lily. ‘I don’t want an air raid on my wedding day.’
She was to be disappointed.
When we emerged from the taxis, Park Lane was darkly elegant in the blackout. All around was shimmering white with fresh-fallen snow and a light mist gave the situation a sensation of unreality. This was not dispelled when almost immediately the Warning sounded. We stared at the sky, watching silvery barrage balloons float upwards to swim above us like a school of tethered silver fish. Searchlights raked the low clouds, backlighting the grandeur of London as they swung to and fro in frenzied geometric arcs. The anti-aircraft guns in Hyde Park began their deafening thump-thump-thump, pounding against my ears, and I flinched as the sky to the south lit up, momentarily exposing the buildings, the puddles on the road and our startled faces in a garish, yellow-white light.
Lily, who was holding Jim’s hand, took my hand with her other and we ran across the road together, with the others close behind, dodging falling shrapnel. The hotel’s entrance doors had been painted over in dark blue to comply with the blackout and were covered with anti-shatter netting. Behind them hung the heavy blackout curtains.
Once we had pushed through, we were in a bright sanctuary of luxury and glamour. It was like entering another world, a beautiful fantasy world far from the war and rationing and air raids and death beyond its blacked-out doors.
The women all headed straight for the cloakroom, where we tidied hair, reapplied lipstick and gently chaffed Lily, who seemed almost to be floating.
‘Now, ladies,’ she declared, as she drew a comb through her curls and smiled at her reflection, ‘did I or did I not marry the most gorgeous, handsome man in the entire world?’
Ambulance Girls Under Fire Page 18
