‘Jerry’s having another prowl around,’ he said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘No use worrying is it?’ I said, again rather too loudly. ‘If you’re for it, you’re for it, and that’s all there is to it. ‘
‘What?’ said Simon.
‘Cabbies say that, too. And they say “Victory at all costs”.’ I shook my head. ‘Cedric says it also, but he doesn’t mean it.’ I shook my head again, and immediately wished I hadn’t. ‘Goose-stepping down the Strand. Never!’
Park Lane began to tip and spin alarmingly and Simon snuck an arm around my shoulders. I had a vague feeling that I should be outraged, but actually I was grateful for the support.
‘I think you’re a bit under the weather, Cesia,’ he said.
As that was a pompous statement, I had to reply with indignation. I took great care to speak very clearly as I did so.
‘Hah. Oh, no, Dr Levy. You are a doctor and you should know – you must know that one cannot become drunk on the best French champagne. Doesn’t happen. One simply becomes merry. Life of the party. Never intoxicated.’
He laughed. ‘Cesia – I mean Celia – I’m sorry to inform you that champagne is particularly intoxicating.’
‘Not the best French champagne.’
He was holding me very close now and I felt his chest rise and fall in a laugh, and then a sigh. He breathed into my hair, ‘How could you have married him? Why did you do it?’
I leaned into his chest and said, softly, ‘Because I thought he was … not what he was.’ Then I lifted my head, sucked in a breath of cold London air and said, ‘I am not intoxicated. A lady must never become intoxicated. Nanny was very clear on that.’
Someone was giggling. It was such an irritating sound that it took me a while to realise it was me. Simon’s hold on my shoulders intensified as I began to slide. I hauled myself upright, put my back against the wall and turned to face him. In the utter darkness I couldn’t make out his features, so I raised a hand and traced them with my finger. Down his forehead, then his nose, over to the dent at the top of his lips and down further. My finger caught a little on his bottom lip. Then his chin, rough with stubble. He had become very still and I could hear each quick breath he took, and each exhalation.
‘And another thing,’ I whispered, ‘you’re only human, Dr Simon Levy. You can’t save everyone, no matter how hard you—’
I was intending to say more, but Simon pulled me hard against his chest and somehow my arms were around his neck and we were clinging to each other in the darkness, kissing with a fevered intensity. And for the first time in many long, lonely months everything felt right, as if this place, at this moment with this man was exactly where I was supposed to be. As if all that had happened before in my life had led to me kissing Simon Levy in Park Lane on a frosty winter morning with the rumble of planes overhead and distant crash of bombs falling somewhere else.
We were startled into awareness by a motorcycle roaring past.
Simon pushed away, muttering, ‘I am so sorry. Too much to drink…’ His voice faded and he turned abruptly. ‘I’ll find a taxi.’ And he was gone.
I stood, back against the wall for support, shivering. My mind had gone blank except for the vivid memory of the heavy weight of Simon’s greatcoat, his lips on mine, his hands in my hair and the heat of his body pressed against me. The world was still spinning, but I felt horribly, embarrassingly sober, and the last person I wanted to see was Simon Levy.
Who was suddenly looming in front of me.
‘Got one,’ he said, and gestured towards the road where a taxi had pulled up. Its masked headlights cast a slim beam on the tarmac. He helped me across to it and opened the door. I got in alone.
He said, ‘If you don’t mind, I’ve got to… Are you all right to see yourself home? I’ve given him the address.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ll – I’ll bring Leo around to see the parrot tomorrow afternoon. I mean, this afternoon. I gave him my word. Three o’clock?’
‘That’s fine.’
He shut the door firmly and slapped the window to tell the cabbie to drive on.
The trip took a while because of the many detours. At every corner it seemed there was a rail blocking the street and a sign pointing down a small side street.
I spent the journey replaying the last half hour over and over in my mind. He was drunk. That’s all it was. We were both drunk. That’s all it was.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I awoke with a vague sense that something was wrong. The headache hit me like a thunderbolt when I lifted my head off the pillow. For a while I sat on the side of the bed cradling my aching head in my hands, trying to work out if assuaging my thirst was worth the agony that would be caused by a walk to the kitchen for a glass of water.
So this is a hangover.
Nanny’s advice never to drink to excess had been proved incontrovertible and I became a little teary as I thought of her. I tottered towards the kitchen and gulped down water. It helped a little.
Oh, God. Last night.
I had heard that intoxicated people forgot what had happened while they were drunk. I had no such luck. Everything was there, replaying in my mind in clear, humiliating detail. I had imbibed too much champagne. I had flirted with every male present. I had kissed Simon. Or he had kissed me. I let my memory slip quickly past the more humiliating aspects of the time alone with Simon, touching his face, being held upright by him, telling him silly things in such a loud voice, and my fevered response to his kiss. Giggling.
I tried to fill my mind with thoughts of David, but the memories of David’s face, his scent, the feel of his skin – once so vivid – now slipped away from me like smoke into the air. Instead, unwelcome recollections of Cedric kept intruding. Simon’s voice came into my head: ‘How could you have married him? Why did you do it?’
I thought of Nanny. Would she have liked Cedric? I had asked myself this many times. He had excellent manners, so perhaps he would have won her over. And, of course, my father had adored Cedric and Nanny would have liked that. I think my marriage to Cedric was the first time my father was actually pleased with me. Tom had never liked Cedric over much. David had hated him, although he had never met him. Apparently Simon hated him too.
I tried again to think of David, but all that came to mind was the feel of Simon’s face as I had traced it in the dark. His utter stillness and the sound of his breathing, fast and a little ragged. How my finger had caught on his lower lip.
I stood abruptly and the thudding pain in my head pushed thoughts of Simon out of my mind. A bath helped, and I walked into the service restaurant downstairs feeling a little more human than I had done an hour before. Pam and Katherine waved me over to their table.
‘I do like your Dr Levy,’ said Pam, as I seated myself.
I froze her with a look. ‘He’s not my Dr Levy. I barely know the man.’
She stammered out an apology. ‘It’s just that I thought… You seemed to know each other so well. And then you left together and—’
‘We left at the same time. We did not leave together.’
‘—and you didn’t join us at the Tropical Palm Palace.’
‘Dr Levy was kind enough to fetch me a taxi and I came back here. Alone.’
Katherine’s cool voice cut through my icy response. ‘Pam was saying that young Gerald Wilde asked her out dancing tomorrow night. I liked him and Dr Levy. I liked everybody, actually. Didn’t Lily look happy! I thought it was a lovely evening, even if my poor toes got a workout from the Hon. Peter Creighton.’
‘The Hon.?’ asked Pam. ‘Jim introduced him to me as plain Peter Creighton.’
‘He’s the son of the Earl of Morran.’
Pam’s eyes widened. Then she laughed. ‘Well, Gerald is not honourable, except in personality.’ She laughed again, this time at her weak joke. ‘In Civvie Street he’s a bank clerk. Jim’s friends certainly come from all over the place. I like that about him.’ Again she laughe
d, and the sound seemed to slice into my aching head. ‘Weren’t the Aussie airmen good value? It was just like being home. I’m meeting Frances – she’s the RAF wife from Sydney – for afternoon tea on Wednesday.’
The conversation flagged as Pam and Katherine were served their porridge. I waved mine away and settled for coffee. It was weak, but hot and reviving and I was able to face the scrambled eggs – made with dried eggs, of course – and thin strip of bacon with composure.
I glanced at the clock above the doorway to the kitchen. Nine o’clock. Only six hours until Leo was due to arrive to see Bobby. Only six hours until I had to face Simon.
Promptly at three o’clock, Simon banged on my door. When I opened it he was standing beside Leo with a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Leo was jittering with excitement and grinning at me. I smiled at the boy.
‘Come in,’ I said. ‘Bobby’s waiting for you.’
Leo barely paused to take off his coat before he pushed past me in his eagerness and rushed over to Bobby’s cage, just like any other excited eight-year-old would do. I heard his soft little voice say, ‘Guten tag, Bobby.’
The parrot said, ‘Hello, I’m Bobby. What’s your name?’
Leo replied softly, ‘Leo Weitz.’
I looked up at Simon. ‘Please, come in.’
His smile in response seemed muted. Or was that my own sense of embarrassment?
‘Headache?’ he asked, as I helped him off with his coat. ‘Nausea? Gaps in memory?’
‘Not at all. Never with the best French champagne.’
‘Compulsion to lie about physical state?’
I laughed. ‘Headache,’ I admitted.
‘Me, too.’
‘No?’ I looked at him. ‘Really?’
‘Splitting.’
‘I suspect mine’s worse.’
He laughed and rolled his eyes. ‘There would be short odds on that.’
‘Remind me never to do that again.’
‘Celia, never do that again.’
We turned to look at Leo. He was standing by the cage, and Bobby, to Leo’s obvious delight, was emitting a series of whistles and shrieks. The sounds played havoc with my throbbing head. The bird squealed and I winced. Simon reached into his jacket pocket and silently handed me a paper containing aspirin powder.
‘Enough for two?’
He nodded, and I slunk into the kitchen to make up the preparation in two glasses.
And that was that. It appeared that there were to be no recriminations or difficult conversations, just uncomplicated friendship, as he had offered on the dance floor before Cedric arrived. I felt the tension in my body ease as if I were a taut spring that was slowly unwinding.
The aspirin helped the headache to lift and a little later I allowed Bobby out of the cage. As before, he walked the length of Leo’s sleeve, to perch on his shoulder and survey the flat in his solemn, dignified manner.
‘Bloody hell. Simon Levy,’ said Bobby.
Leo’s giggle rang out and the boy flashed a delighted smile at Simon.
‘Don’t repeat that,’ said Simon hurriedly, as if to the bird. We all had begun speaking to Bobby as if he understood every word. ‘Mutti will not be happy if you do.’ He looked at Leo. ‘She may forbid us to bring the parrot to the house for a visit.’
Leo’s eyes became wide.
‘It’s not a nice thing to say,’ Simon explained. He added, ‘It’s amusing, but not nice.’
The boy nodded, and turned his face to the bird, whispering to it in German.
‘Try to speak to him in English, Leo,’ I said, worried that it might cause problems if the bird started to come out with German phrases. ‘He’s an English bird.’
Leo’s whisper was barely audible, but the gist was that Bobby spoke German, too.
‘I’m sure he does,’ I replied. ‘He’s a very intelligent bird. But it’s best if Bobby speaks English.’
Leo nodded sagely at that, and said quietly, ‘Wegen des – because of the war.’ Then he looked at Simon. ‘Watch, Simon,’ he said. ‘I have told you of this.’
Leo marched across to the wireless with the bird and pretended to turn it on. Bobby gave his Big Ben and Alvar Lidell impersonation, at which Simon gravely informed Leo that he was amazed at Bobby’s genius. Then Leo turned towards the window and whispered again to the bird.
‘He’s been talking about that bird all week,’ said Simon to me, smiling.
‘I’m so happy that Leo’s found his voice. Has he spoken about his experiences in Austria?’
‘No and I doubt he ever will, except to the parrot perhaps.’
‘I don’t know if I’d entrust any secrets to that parrot.’
Simon laughed, then threw me a shrewd look. ‘I’m still not sure why Bobby feels the need to shout out my name. Especially as there is always more than a hint of exasperation, or even downright annoyance, in the way he says it. Why do you think that might be?’
‘Would you care for tea?’ I asked, with what I hoped was an enigmatic smile.
Simon and I drank our tea and ate Mrs Levy’s cake watching Leo and Bobby. They didn’t do much. Leo spoke softly to the bird. The bird ruffled his hair, just above his ear, and the boy giggled. After a while, Leo walked over to the window, moving carefully so as not to disturb Bobby on his shoulder. Once there, they looked out over the gardens and over London. Bobby snuggled under Leo’s chin, and Leo cuddled him. Occasionally Bobby made a whistling sound, or said a phrase, and Leo whispered to him, but on the whole they simply communed with each other.
And so, for want of any better entertainment, Simon and I talked, just as we had in those hours I had been trapped in the bombed house, four weeks before. At first we kept rigidly to uncontroversial subjects, ranging from the weather and the likelihood of a raid that night, to what would come under the ration next. Even in the empty courtesy of small talk, Simon’s humour and a quick intelligence were apparent.
‘The news from Romania is very bad,’ I said, when we had moved on to the war. There had been reports in the newspapers of Jews being slaughtered in the streets of Bucharest by the fascist Iron Guard.
Simon glanced at Leo and lowered his voice. His eyes were bleak. ‘It was a full-scale pogrom. Synagogues were destroyed, hundreds killed, some brutally tortured.’ He glanced again at Leo, who was busy with Bobby. ‘Women, children too.’
‘I’m so sorry, Simon,’ I said.
‘It will continue to happen as Hitler consolidates his gains in Europe. All Britain can do to end it is to win the war decisively.’
‘We will,’ I said earnestly, and wondered how to change the subject. ‘Think we’ll take Tobruk?’
He nodded. ‘Hope so. Bardia was a huge loss for the Italians. If we win the battle for Tobruk we could be looking at the expulsion of the Italians from North Africa.’
‘But won’t the Germans come to support them? Take over the fight?’
He took another sip of tea and sighed. ‘Probably. And that will change the game entirely. Most of the Italians are conscripts who don’t want to be there. That’s why we were able to take so many of them prisoner. The Germans are a very different matter.’ He replaced the cup in its saucer. ‘Unlike the Italian conscripts, I’d give anything to be back in North Africa.’
‘Because you so enjoyed the experience of typhoid and pneumonia?’
‘I had hoped to sample all the diseases on offer there. Typhus, malaria and dysentery are as yet unexplored delights.’
‘Beastly unfair of Army Command to keep you here in London in the circumstances.’
‘It really is. I’m fully recovered from the typhoid now, and from the pneumonia, but they’re not willing to declare me fit for active service overseas. Instead they want me to do special training in the treatment of traumatic injury.’
‘How long is the training?’
‘I’ll be at the Queen Alexandra Hospital for the next few months at least. What about you? Are you intending to keep driving ambulances, or will you join one of
the women’s services?’
My laugh was forced. ‘The services won’t have me.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Cedric,’ I explained.
‘Is that the Radio Times on the table?’ It was an obvious change of subject. ‘Should we try listening to the wireless?’
We pored over the listings. Radio National had ‘Gallows Glorious, a play by Ronald Gow’. On Forces Radio was, ‘A Grand Concert for members of H.M. Forces from a West-Country concert hall’.
‘I think we’ve suffered enough already without either of those,’ said Simon. ‘Shame it’s not Monday. We could have listened to Ack-Ack Beer-Beer.’
‘You listen to that show? Last time I looked you were neither an anti-aircraft gunner nor a barrage balloon operator.’
‘I’ve been known to have a go at the Luftwaffe with the guns in my spare time.’
I gave him a sceptical look and he laughed. ‘I really did, a couple of weeks ago. A gunner was injured – he was in the wrong place and was hit by the recoil. I set his arm and he invited me to come and see the big guns in operation. The crew were very welcoming and even let me have a go during a raid. Entirely against the rules, I’m sure. But terrific fun.’
From bomb victims to heavy-rescue men, and tea-car girls to anti-aircraft gunners, Simon had ‘the knack’ with people, I thought. He had a rather chameleon-like ability to fit in with any group he was with. Even his accent changed according to his company. Mine resolutely remained the clipped pronunciation I had learned from governesses and parents, and it meant I stood out in a crowd as ‘upper class’ and different.
‘Would you really have gone dancing at the Paramount with Kitty and Joan?’ I asked.
‘Of course. Whyever not? I used to go there with my chums before the war. It’s jolly good fun. Actually, I’m intending to drop in on the Paramount next time I’ve a night off. I gave the girl a promise, after all.’ He threw me a sly smile. ‘What’s the matter with that? You’re not a snob, are you?’
Ambulance Girls Under Fire Page 20
