“Oh come on, give one of my great Yanks a chance, DeLacy. They’re all wonderful guys. I love ’em all.”
“I love their uniforms,” Dulcie cut in, giving Noel a sly look and winking. “So I’ll do a jitterbug with pleasure.”
“Who’s your Yank then?” Noel asked DeLacy.
“I thought you’d met him. Oh there he is now.” As she spoke DeLacy excused herself and hurried over to a tall, good-looking colonel who was glancing around, seeking her out.
A moment later she was bringing him over to meet Noel. “This is Cameron … Cameron Daniels. Cameron, meet Noel Jollion. He’s a fighter pilot from Biggin Hill and a neighbor from Yorkshire.”
The two men shook hands and immediately started to talk about flying. DeLacy laughed, shrugged, and said to Cecily, “Let’s go and get a glass of bubbly. Cameron’s going to be at it for hours. He can’t resist boy talk and being up there in the sky.”
* * *
As she sat at the bar talking to DeLacy and listening to her comments about the world in general, Cecily was filled with admiration for her best friend, whom she had known since their childhood.
In the last ten years or so, DeLacy had changed, had gained confidence in herself, and had become one of the great experts on art in London. Travers Merton, now long dead, had loved her deeply, as she had loved him, and his adoration of her had given her a sense of self, repaired the damage of her first marriage.
Cecily was relieved when DeLacy had given Peter Musgrove his marching orders and broken up with him a few years ago. He had been a bit of a pest at first, not leaving her alone, and then he had been called up. He’d gone off to war; Peter had been killed at Dunkirk. At least DeLacy assumed he was dead. His body had never been found. DeLacy had behaved like the lady she was and had gone to see his parents, to offer them her condolences.
“Do you like Cameron?” DeLacy suddenly asked, catching Cecily off guard, having been talking about art a moment ago.
“Yes, I do, and so does Miles,” Cecily answered truthfully. “Why do you ask?”
DeLacy gave her a small, knowing smile. “He’s very serious about me, Ceci. What do you think?”
“How do you feel about Cameron? That’s what I want to know.”
“Serious. But cautious. He’s a really lovely man, a bit like Travers in certain ways, thoughtful, a gentleman, and he makes me laugh. By the way, he told me that Clark was stationed at Polebrook, when he was in England in 1943. The other men had thought it was a big joke, a famous film star being in the air force. But Cameron had liked and admired him. He said he was a man’s man, and the other pilots had eventually come around, had admired Clark, too. He’s not a phony, that’s what Cameron said.”
“James swears by him, and I must admit I liked him myself. He’s nice, not a show-off. Why did you bring up Clark?”
“Because he’d once said to Cameron that his own life had taught him to live each day as if it were his last.”
“Perhaps that’s because of the way his wife Carole died. Her body was … they didn’t actually find her body, just parts,” Cecily said. “Clark confided in Dulcie, told her that all he had left of her was a piece of a broken earring, a ruby-and-diamond earring. He had given them to her that Christmas. He wears that bit of earring in a locket around his neck.”
DeLacy simply gazed at her, but her eyes had filled up. “How sad, how terribly sad that she died in that way.”
A moment later Cameron came to ask DeLacy to dance and Cecily watched them on the floor together. DeLacy looked beautiful these days, better than she ever had. Tonight she was wearing a deep blue silk dress Cecily had made for her three years ago, and it swirled and floated around her as she danced. What gorgeous legs she has, Cecily thought. She is gorgeous. Any man would fall for her. She liked the look of them together … as if they were meant to be. Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, Cecily thought, smiling to herself. They did a very good foxtrot.
* * *
Later that evening, their little group gathered around the piano and joined in when some of the servicemen and women sang along with the pianist. All their favorites echoed on the warm air. “The White Cliffs of Dover,” “I’ll Be Seeing You,” “Fools Rush In,” and many other songs made popular by Vera Lynn, the Forces’ Sweetheart, as she was called.
There was a moment, just before Cecily and Miles left, when she went over to DeLacy and drew her to one side. “Has Cameron asked you to marry him, DeLacy?”
“Not yet, but I think he will.”
“And what answer will you give him?”
“I believe I’ll say yes.”
“You’ll go away and leave us. We couldn’t bear that,” Cecily said, and then smiled. “But it’s your life and you must find your own happiness.”
Leaning forward, DeLacy kissed Cecily on the cheek. “Thank you, darling. I’ll always be here for you.”
Sixty-two
Almost five thousand ships. Over two hundred thousand soldiers, sailors, and coastguardsmen. An armada so massive none like it had ever been seen before in the history of mankind. Firepower beyond belief. And a will to win so deeply imbedded in the men, it had to succeed.
This vast armada stood just off the coast of Normandy. It was June 6, 1944, and at five minutes past the hour of midnight Operation Overlord would commence: the invasion of German-occupied France by the combined armies of the Allies.
The two supreme commanders were an American general, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and a British general, Sir Bernard Law Montgomery. Together they would lead their troops to victory by defeating Hitler and the Third Reich. They had vowed to aid their allies and so save civilization from an evil dictator who had sought to dominate the world.
Across the water, facing the armada, was the Normandy coastline, chosen because of its good beaches, favorable tides, and relatively weak coastal defenses. Five sections of the beaches were chosen by the commanders and they had been named Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword.
The Americans would land on Omaha and Utah, the Canadians on Juno, and the British on Sword and Gold. Their aim was to take the beaches, hold them, fight off the Germans, and push them into retreat.
After a massive naval and air bombardment, several thousand men waded through the shallow water to their given beaches. The invasion had begun at six-thirty A.M.
* * *
Among these first few thousand troops who went onshore were Thomas and Andrew Stanton, the twin sons of Lady Daphne and Hugo. They were in the Eighth Infantry Brigade, which they had joined once they had finished their military training course at Sandhurst, the military academy outside London.
They were typical Inghams—tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and identical twins. They found it difficult to be apart for long periods, but they knew that they might become separated in this huge battle about to begin.
To that end they had, a few days ago, spoken to their parents, joking and laughing and mentioning nothing at all about their fighting lives as soldiers. Then they had gone out to dinner when they were up in London on a thirty-six-hour pass. They agreed that their responsibility was to themselves and the job they had to do. No looking out for each other, which would be distracting. They had to take their chances, and make it as best they could. “We’ve got the Ingham luck,” Thomas had said.
At first, resistance on the beach was fairly strong. Casualties were mounting and some of the vehicles were wrecked. But most of their armored vehicles landed successfully, and the British troops were able to secure the area.
It was nine-thirty A.M. when the Royal Engineers had cleared seven of the eight exits from Sword, allowing the initial advance to begin. The troops flooded out, marched into the seaside town of Ouistreham, on Sword’s eastern end. Again, there was a lot of tough resistance. But eventually soldiers were able to clear it of enemy strong points.
By nighttime, the Eighth Infantry had linked up with paratroopers of the Sixth Airborne Division, who were holding the bridges on the river Orne and Caen Canal. The par
atroopers had earlier disabled gun batteries in a nighttime battle at Merville. As it turned out the only major German attack in the area of Caen was launched by the Twenty-first Panzer Division.
Much later that evening, the Stanton twins found each other and smoked a cigarette together before preparing for the next day. And that was how it was going to be from now on, and they knew it.
* * *
Because the Germans had been caught off guard, not expecting an assault because of uncertain weather, they were not properly prepared. So the Allies on every beach mostly encountered poor resistance. They were able to push forward at a good pace. By June 11 the beaches Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword were linked by troops and armored vehicles in a continuous front. They had accomplished what they had set out to do. And they were closing in on the Third Reich.
* * *
Everyone in England was cheering this enormous Allied effort. It was not victory yet, but the newspapers and broadcasters were shouting out the good news constantly. It certainly helped to boost public morale.
Diedre celebrated along with the family, but in her heart she was deeply troubled. Her undercover asset, Étoile, had been missing for almost a week. Diedre had just been warned by a contact in the French underground that Étoile might have been captured. The Gestapo were now operating in the south of France.
She was well aware that the life expectancy for a member of the French Resistance was not much longer than six months. But Étoile wasn’t a maquisard in the maquis. They were there to help her if she needed something, but that was all.
As she sat in her office on June 15, a few days after the success of D-day, she suddenly had a curious sense of foreboding. Something serious had happened to Étoile, and perhaps the worst thing of all. Earlier in the week, she had suggested to William that perhaps they should ask Émeraude to become involved. But William had dismissed this idea. He finally gave her the terrible news he had received several days earlier. Their other asset in France, Émeraude, had had a massive stroke and was paralyzed.
A moment later Tony knocked and came into her office, holding a piece of paper. “Where’s William? Do you know, Diedre?”
“He went to see the PM, who’s in one of his underground bunkers, no doubt. I think there’s something Mr. Churchill wants to tell him, probably a bit of vital information coming from C at MI6. Do you need him?”
“Not really. I’m afraid I’ve got awful news.”
“About Étoile?” Diedre asked quickly, sitting up. “Is she dead?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, but Émeraude has died from his stroke. A message came through from our maquis contact in Paris. There’s nothing at Émeraude’s flat that would incriminate or endanger his wife. Our chap wiped it clean. Destroyed anything that needed to disappear into oblivion.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“Good. I’m afraid we’re in for a bad dose of trouble, Tony. With these flying bombs, they’re lethal, and what’s more, no one knows when one is about to hit a target. They are silent. They’re rotten things.”
Tony nodded. “The V-1 flying bomb is the Nazi revenge for D-day. There’s no other way they can retaliate at the moment. They are not going to send the Luftwaffe. Most of their planes were destroyed in Operation Barbarossa … the battle of Stalingrad did Hitler in, that I do believe.”
“That’s true. They’re not on the run yet but they know they’ve met their match with our Yankee friends. All I can say is thank God the Americans are our allies. Anyway, I suppose the buzz bomb, as some are calling it, is their secret weapon. The Germans have had it up their sleeve, haven’t they?”
“I believe so. It was developed at Peenemünde, and, trust me, we haven’t seen anything yet. The Allied landings in France have got them going. I bet you they’ll pepper us with the buzz bombs. They still want to whack us hard.”
“I know. The war isn’t over yet, not by a long shot.”
* * *
Cecily was worried about Miles. He looked so tired, and he had for a long time now. As they sat having a cup of coffee in her office at the shop in the Burlington Arcade, she said, “Something’s worrying you, Miles. Please tell me what it is, darling.”
He let out a deep sigh. “Nothing you can help me with, so why discuss it?”
“Oh, Miles, don’t be silly. Sometimes talking things out helps.”
“I’m worried about the Land Girls,” he began and stopped. “What I mean is, not having any Land Girls. After the war. They’ll all go back to their civilian jobs and I won’t have any help.”
“You’ll have Harry back, but I see what you mean. A lot of our young men have been killed in the war, more from High Clough and Mowbray than Little Skell, but I understand why you’re worried.”
“The Land Girls have been just marvelous and we’ve built up our agricultural output. But with no one to till the land, so to speak, I’ll be up a creek without a paddle.”
“Well, the war’s not over yet. I was talking to Uncle Howard the other day, and he said that despite the tremendous success of the D-day landings, we’ve quite a while to go. We’ve got to conquer Italy as well as Germany. He gives it another year.”
Miles frowned. “So long?”
“He said thereabouts, but he doesn’t make those sorts of comments lightly.”
“Actually, he’s usually right.”
“I’ve made a date for supper with Dulcie and James tonight. She’s going to cook a chicken pot pie.”
“I’m glad to hear it’s not lamb. She’s given me something of a complex about those little woolly creatures, and all because of Ophelia and Henry.”
Cecily began to laugh. “I know. You don’t eat lamb anymore. Anyway, I’m finished here for the day. Shall we walk home? It’s such a lovely June evening.”
* * *
When Miles saw the fire engine, the police cars, policemen, and Home Guard on South Audley Street, very close to South Street, instinctively he knew something was terribly wrong. And so did Cecily. She stopped suddenly and grabbed his hand. “Something’s happened on South Street.”
“It looks like it.” As he spoke he tightened his grip on her hand and they ran as fast as they could. When they came around the corner of the street where they lived, they saw the dying embers of a fire, charred wood, rubble, and broken glass. The acrid smell of burning and the smoke made them cough.
Cecily staggered slightly, leaned against him. In a choked voice, she managed to say, “Our house? Where is our house?”
Miles was speechless for a moment. His house, which he had left in good order this morning, was gone. It had been turned into a pile of rubble. “Oh my God!” he cried, looking around.
One of the policemen hurried toward him, and then Miles noticed Mr. Clewes, their air raid warden, and beckoned to him.
Taking control of himself as best he could, Miles asked in a shaky voice, “What happened, Mr. Clewes? Do you know?”
The air raid warden nodded. “I’m sorry, Lord Mowbray, but your house got hit. By a flying bomb. One of the buzz bombs.”
Cecily was clinging to Miles. She was shaking so much he had to put his arm around her to prop her up. “DeLacy!” she said through her tears. “DeLacy was in the house, and Laura. And Mrs. Wilkinson—” She broke off, unable to say another word.
The policeman said, “We got here first, Lord Mowbray, and then the fire brigade came. There were three people in the house, as Lady Mowbray just said. They were taken to Middlesex Hospital. That’s the emergency hospital for Mayfair. On Mortimer Street. We’ll run you and Lady Mowbray over there if you wish. I don’t see any cabs around.”
“Thank you, Officer. That’s very kind of you,” Miles answered. “I really would appreciate it.”
* * *
Once they arrived at the hospital and spoke to a receptionist, they were immediately shown into a waiting room. “I’ll be back in a moment, Lord Mowbray,” the woman said and disappeared.
The mome
nt they were alone, Miles wrapped his arms around Cecily and held her very close to him. She was crying quietly and so was he. They both knew that none of them had survived. The house had been smashed to smithereens. No one could have lived through such an explosion.
When a doctor came into the waiting room, they both sat up straighter and did their best to find some composure. Miles stood up and went to shake hands with him.
“The police told me that my sister Lady DeLacy Ingham was brought here a little earlier. With Miss Laura Swann and Mrs. Wilkinson. They were in our house on South Street—” Miles stopped abruptly. He knew from the expression on the doctor’s face that they were all dead.
“They didn’t make it, did they?” he asked, barely able to speak. His face was ashen.
“I’m sorry, Lord Mowbray. So very sorry.”
Sixty-three
They took DeLacy’s body back to Cavendon and Laura Swann’s body as well. Her brother Eric was their head butler now, after Gordon Lane had suffered a heart attack a few months before. He had taken a leave of absence to recover.
They buried DeLacy next to her father, and Laura was placed on the other side of the family cemetery, where so many Swanns had lain for over a hundred years. They mourned Laura and tried to comfort her brother Eric.
It was a sorrowful day for everyone, and the entire family knew it would take them a long time to recover from the loss of their lovely DeLacy. If ever. Gone from them so unexpectedly, so suddenly, and in such a violent way. Charlotte, in particular, leaned heavily on Charles’s sister, Vanessa, who came from London with her husband, Richard, for the funeral. They had been close friends since their younger years. But as the matriarch of the Inghams now, Charlotte did her best to be brave, and stand tall, and she succeeded albeit with a heavy heart.
DeLacy’s three sisters and Cecily were inconsolable for months and months afterward. But the war was still on, the Allies fighting their way across Europe, and they accepted that they had their duties and went about their business.
The Cavendon Luck Page 44
