by Milly Adams
The three of them paused for a moment, as the oil lamp flickered. ‘Do you?’ Sylvia muttered. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’
Verity stood up. ‘My mind wouldn’t be soothed by a gift. It’s one thing after another for them. I mean, as though it isn’t bad enough that they still don’t know Emmanuel’s whereabouts, there are these details about Auschwitz. They can’t be true, surely. I mean, it’s too unbelievable that a whole nation could do that. To millions?’ They were silent for a moment, for what could anyone say? thought Sylvia.
Verity muttered, eventually, ‘Oh well, let’s try not to think about it, if that’s at all possible.’ She stood up, as Sylvia searched for something, anything, to get them back on track. In the end she said, ‘It’s so generous of your father to foot the bill tonight. That’s a really good gift in itself and the Fishers were delighted at the thought. Anyway, with the shops empty, what would we get her?’
Pup was with Ma Mercy who was moored up further along, so they banked up the range, turned off the oil lamp, and headed out past the pub and up the road to the Tube. Sylvia rolled round her finger the engagement ring that Steve had presented to her when they’d last snatched a meeting at Limehouse in early March. The train lurched now, as it drew out of a station and rattled along while passengers hung from straps; the three of them had seats, for once.
Dearest Steve, he was her last thought at night and the first in the morning, and she didn’t know what she had done to deserve such happiness. And now that the rockets had stopped, or so it seemed as the Allies stormed on into Germany, he would be safe.
She sighed, almost hugging herself with joy. Soon she would be Mrs Bates, and have children, and would have to wash and clean, and – heavens, even help to run the Howard House Hotel. Steve, bless him, was at last talking about getting a transfer to Dorset as the girls had talked so much about their futures there.
‘Penny for them,’ Polly teased her, clutching her hand. ‘As though I don’t know.’
Sylvia squeezed back. ‘The hotel, and soon Tom and Saul will be back, and life can begin again, Pol.’
Verity, sitting on her other side, said, ‘Do you remember how you used to say we must treat all this as a pause, Sylv? Well, please God, that is almost over.’
The woman opposite stood to follow the other passengers who were gathering at the doors as the train rattled into a station. ‘Don’t you be counting your chickens before they’re hatched, pet. Tempting fate, that is.’
She left. The girls looked at one another, downcast, until the woman next to Verity nudged her, and said, ‘There’s always one who’ll throw cold water on you. You count as many chickens as you like, the time for making plans is coming closer, and if no one grabs the nettle, a right mess we’ll be in.’
The three girls smiled at her but sat with their own thoughts until they reached Piccadilly, where Steve had said he’d meet them. He was there, standing near the boarded-up base of Eros. Sylvia ran to him and clutched him close. He held her back, saying, ‘Hey, what’s up, Coppernob?’
Verity said, ‘Some silly woman on the Tube poured cold water all over us, if you must know.’
Steve gaped as people bustled about them. Polly laughed, ‘Not really, Mr Fireman. She just told us not to count our chickens before they were hatched, and it left us feeling ridiculously uncertain.’
Verity snatched the conversation back: ‘But only for a moment because, girls and boy, we’re off for a night out, with the Fishers, the ones with real problems, so buck up, all of us. Slap a grin on and leave the horrors at Eros, at least for tonight.’
Steve grinned all round. ‘Well, if the old bag poured water on you, Ver’s just given us a shot from the Fire Service hose, so best do as she says.’
Sylvia loved him at that moment so much that she would have died for him. Well, she would anyway, but … Steve was looking at her. ‘Are you coming, or staring at where Eros was, hoping it’ll magically reappear? Well, it won’t come out of storage until this bloody war is finally over, and what’s more, darling girl, the other two are striding ahead.’
They caught up, running hand in hand, heading down Regent Street in the dimout bustle, and soon, surely, even that would be lifted. Yes, Sylvia told herself, the war was almost over so there was every reason for spirits to lift. They dodged the traffic as they crossed the road and headed on to Jermyn Street and the club. The Fishers were waiting for them at the bottom of the steps and Solly hugged them all, calling them ‘my girls’. He looked at Steve, ‘And my saviour, Coppernob.’
He shook Steve’s hand, then hugged him close. Sylvia heard him say, ‘You’re my boy. You need anything you come to Solly, you ’ear. You’re my boy cos you saved my life, and them girls’ lives too.’
Steve hugged him back, saying, ‘Bad mistake, wasn’t it, Solly? You’ll be up to mischief in no time, causing mayhem. Because they already are.’
Jacob, Solly’s son, was grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he shook Steve’s hand and said, ‘Oh, Steve, Steve, you failed me. You really should have left him in the rubble until he told me where that darned will was.’
Steve was laughing so much he could barely speak, but managed, ‘Still hiding it, is he? Shame the rockets have stopped or we could have stuck him back in some rubble until he let on.’
Only Rachel was quiet, but smiling; a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. They waited at the foot of the steps as Verity pounded on the door. ‘Open up, the gang’s all here.’
The hatch slid open. ‘Ah, Lady Verity, we were expecting you and your party, and from the noise thought it might be you.’ The door opened. A new doorman was laughing as he shook their hands and ushered them in. Though elderly, he was muscled enough to repel unwanted boarders. ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m Stanley,’ he said. ‘Is there a Mr Saul to sing with a Miss Sylvia, as the band is hoping?’
Polly said, ‘He’s still storming the Germans, I’m afraid, but I’ll tell him he’s missed.’
At her words, Stanley stopped smiling. ‘Please do, and wish him a safe return, and also for your Mr Tom, Lady Verity. Your father apprised us of the special nature of your booking this evening. You know the way, but straight ahead for the coats, if you would.’
He gestured them to the rear of the corridor. They left their shabby, rather smelly clothes with the checkout girl, who handled them as though she wished she had tongs. The Fishers’ and Steve’s were threadbare but clean. But weren’t everyone’s threadbare at the end of this long war? thought Sylvia as they followed Verity up the wide staircase, towards the music.
Once in the ballroom they wound through the tables and saw that clearly not everyone was threadbare, for there appeared to be several that the war had suited well enough. Jacob nodded to acquaintances, who were smoking cigars and wearing black tie, with wives in evening dress. ‘And again we lower the tone, in our rather low-grade mufti, the Fishers and Steve excluded, of course,’ murmured Verity, steering towards the head waiter, who indicated their table at the edge of the dance floor.
Jacob sat next to Verity, with Solly on the other side of her. Then Sylvia and Steve, while Polly and Rachel sat together. Refreshments were ordered, and the music seemed to grow louder as the drinks became more plentiful. Steve was watching the band, and in a break he slipped across. It was then that Sylvia saw the pianist was Harry, who had played at the orphanage reunion. ‘We get everywhere,’ she muttered. Solly leaned closer, his hand to his ear. ‘Speak up, gal. Who gets everywhere?’
‘Kids from St Cecilia’s. The pianist is one of the old boys. He and Steve had a band for a while.’
‘Ah, did he ever,’ said Solly. ‘You and our Steve make a good team, and you’ll ’ave a family and tour the world as the Bates Family Singers and keep us all as we’d like to become accustomed.’ He spread his hands, taking in the whole table. ‘So ’ere we are, you girls, our Steve, and the Fishers, and the girls’ families who have written, did you know, to say how pleased they is that we are all better, and that we are all such fr
iends, and how precious friendship is, and then it becomes strong enough to be family.’
They hadn’t known, and were so grateful that their parents had contacted the man they had suffered with, and who they had come to cherish from their rushed meetings. Solly was continuing. ‘That’s ’ow it should be, ain’t it, eh? The world swirls and new patterns are made, and people come together, never to be broken apart.’ Suddenly he fell quiet, and a darkness came over him.
Sylvia laid her hand on his as Rachel leaned across. ‘When you wrote and told us the news of your engagement, Sylvia, we were all pleased, were we not, Jacob? From darkness of rubble, came light.’
Sylvia whispered to Solly, ‘Rachel is right. Out of darkness can come light, my dear Solly Fisher.’ The only answer was the squeeze he returned. Meanwhile Jacob was leaning back, listening to a man in evening dress who had stopped by his table. Jacob’s face was serious as he listened to the whispered words. The man nodded to the table and left. ‘Jacob?’ Rachel queried. ‘You did not think to introduce us?’
Jacob reached for his cigarette smouldering in the ashtray, and said, sotto voce, ‘He is not one who cares for introductions. I have been sending out requests for information on Manny. It takes us into the world that is, shall we say, less than kosher. Accountants have many uses to many people who swim in less than pure water, and it is where men of a dark nature find their place.’
He whispered to Verity who was sipping wine to his left, ‘I have also asked him to report on any Leon Arness.’
She whispered back, lifting her glass to him. ‘You are very kind, Jacob, I—’
Polly interrupted from across the table, ‘But, hang on, who’s Manny?’
Sylvia turned to look at Rachel. ‘I thought you were looking for Emmanuel?’
Rachel was running her finger around the edge of her glass. ‘We still seek my father. Some know him as Emmanuel, some as Manny.’
Jacob said, very quietly, still fiddling with his cigarette and leaning forward, ‘That man is one who knows him as Manny.’
Steve was striding towards the table now, gesturing to Sylvia. Reaching her, he said, ‘Come, your glorious voice is needed, sweetheart.’ They headed for the stage, Steve whispering that the band were primed for ‘Happy Birthday’, and the club had created a surprise birthday cake for Rachel, on the hey-ho from Lord Henry.
At the table Polly watched as Steve took up the saxophonist’s instrument, and at a nod from Harry they soared into ‘Happy Birthday, dear Rachel’, as the waiter headed towards them with a small cake holding a tactful single candle. Rachel flushed, and patted her face with her handkerchief, while Solly, Jacob and the girls joined in the singing. Soon all the clientele was at it and then Harry eased them into ‘Begin the Beguine’, followed by a medley of dance songs. Polly and Verity exchanged a look, because Sylvia and Steve were alight with love, and it was still a great relief to them that Sylvia had reached a safe shore, away from all uncertainties.
Solly leaned forward. ‘So, ’ow is the little boy Joe? Does he see his mother yet, or will he ever?’
Verity answered, ‘Not yet, Solly. He knows that she’s alive and with Granfer, and he has written to her. I’m sure he will want to see her, but he’s confused. He has a life in Dorset and loves his school and though Fran teaches at a school in Buckby he’s frightened, I think. Some of the boaters have heard that questions have been asked about a boy who used to be on the cut and is no longer. It could be just chatter but they are alert. The police know nothing, it seems, but Father’s high-up friend just has a feeling … and so does a local constable’s boy in the Met. Anyway, there’s been nothing firm and the wretched Leon’s probably been smashed to smithereens in a rocket attack.’
She faded out, knowing that Emmanuel had probably been caught in an attack too, but Rachel and Jacob were on the dance floor now, so she continued. ‘Let’s face it, it’s wartime, and Leon’s not a priority with the police – how can he be? My father has paid a private detective but his books are full of missing persons, so I suppose he does his best. We think perhaps Leon’s changed his name. Well, I would if I were him, Leon Arness is something easy to remember, and he could grow a beard couldn’t he, and anyway …’ She lowered her voice. ‘It’s so kind of Jacob to have the word out for him.’
Solly said, ‘He can, so he should, but we keep it all to a low voice, eh?’ He lowered his voice too: ‘Some here are, shall we say, private people.’
The girls nodded, and had no intention of asking just how Jacob and his father knew such ‘private’ people.
Verity’s voice seemed overloud as she leaned back in her chair, saying, ‘Incidentally, I phoned Father today when I went to the pub to use Sid’s lav, and he’s found a replacement for Barry, the bodyguard who was knocked down by some damned rogue on a motorbike on his way back from the pub. The replacement’s a bloke called Dobbo, who knew Barry and heard he’d died and came to offer his services. He had good references from a bloke called Tony Burrowes who lives in Richmond. Dobbo did some work for him, so he says.’
Solly swung round, and stared, deep in thought. Finally he asked, ‘Who d’yer say?’
Verity repeated the name, ‘Dobbo.’
Solly said, ‘Nah, not that one, the one who gave him ’is reference.’ Verity repeated it, and Solly scratched his head. ‘I don’t know why but it seemed to ring-a-ding a bell, but no, it’s gorn. Anyway, this bodyguard any good?’
Verity nodded. ‘Seems so, and he has a dog which Joe loves, so that’s even better. Father likes him because he was in the war; artilleryman, I gather. They talk of their times out there in the trenches, Mother says. She’s not so keen, I feel, but that’s probably because it takes Father away from her list of chores. So, anyway, Howard House has Dobbo, his dog, and Ken the old bodyguard, and the old boys and their patrols. Not sure what more they can do.’
They all looked thoughtful, until Verity stood, and hooked her thumb at the dancers. ‘Come along, Solly, let’s trip the light fantastic.’ She wouldn’t listen to his protests but dragged him on to the dance floor.
Polly was content to watch the swirling pairs, thinking of Saul, knowing she would feel deliriously happy when he returned and wished it was now, for then she wouldn’t lie awake at night fearing for Joe quite so much. But it wouldn’t help the fear she felt for the happiness of her parents should Joe leave, which perhaps he must, or her fear for the future of all the boaters. In fact, she realised she was a bundle of fear; for the lives of Saul and Tom, for practically everything which was absurd, because soon the war would end. But the words of that woman in the train had dug deep.
Chapter 23
Early April. Tom, Saul and Geordie with the Allies on the heels of the Germans
They had crossed the Rhine how many days ago? Who knew, Saul Hopkins wondered as they marched, or rather stumbled, mile after mile chasing the buggers, until they reached some woodland, which led to a hamlet a few hundred yards away. Lieutenant Morris flagged down his men and sent Sergeant Williams over to a barn off to the right, where another company had set up a rest stop. Morris then had a word with Corporal Jones before following Sergeant Williams.
‘Looks like there’ll be a bit of a conflab going on, lads, so shift yourself off the track into the edge of the woods, there’s a clearing over there, and keep your eyes open, eh?’ Corporal Jones ordered.
The men broke ranks and jumped the ditch into the clearing. Jones set up lookouts at all corners of the compass while Tom and Geordie hunkered down along with the others. Saul slipped off into the woods, his hessian bag on his back, to set a few traps, which is what Sergeant Williams often ordered after business was done. He returned ten minutes later, having set down a string guide to lead him back to them. They waited as fifty feet in front of them, on the bend in the track, Morris sent Sergeant Williams back to the clearing and remained in conversation with the lieutenant at the barn, gesturing, and pointing ahead to the hamlet, the woods, and the way they’d come. Even from here Saul a
nd the others could hear the laughter and chatting of the men in the barn.
Saul and Tom sighed. ‘Same old, same old,’ muttered Tom. ‘It’ll be no fraternising, no pilfering, when there are all those bloody chickens running about the place and we’re ruddy hungry. But there should also be a bollocking for that lot, hunkered down, a sitting bloody target cos I bet they haven’t cleared the village.’
They heard Morris snap at Sergeant Williams on his return, ‘Not good enough, not good enough at all. I told Lieutenant Border the village needs clearing, men need dispersing.’ He looked towards the barn where nothing had changed, and said something quietly to Corporal Jones who nodded, and squared his shoulders as Lieutenant Morris and Sergeant Williams returned to the barn. Allied planes were flying over, probably giving a sense of security. But didn’t that bugger Border know that was false?
At the edge of the clearing Corporal Jones was doing what he had been doing, looking to his left and right, peering through his binoculars at the hamlet, examining the roofs, the church, the windows, the shadows, not letting his guard down for a moment. He murmured, ‘Bloody idiots, hunkered down in a bloody barn, ain’t got the sense they were born with. Talk about a bloody hen coop, with foxes pithering round and about. Time that idiot Border, or I reckon that’s what the boss said his name was, got some sense or I reckon it’ll be shafted into him, if he don’t listen.’
They didn’t answer because he was talking to himself. They all seemed to do that these days. Tired, they were, Saul thought, bloody tired. Geordie hadn’t learned, even yet, and replied, ‘Aye, well, Corp, them Nazis were promised so much and instead of the riches o’ the world they’re at the bottom, and I can’t say me ’eart bleeds, man.’
Corporal Jones looked at him. ‘What the ’ell you talking about, Geordie?’ he said. He posted even more lookouts, adding, ‘Lieutenant Morris says it might look all right, but keep alert; that Border’s fresh out, and inherited a ragtag of a company in that barn. I reckon any minute now the men’ll be out and dispersed, and they’ll all be on lookout two hours on and off. Our Morris might ’ave been a civvy in real life, but I’d ’ire him any day to get you lot slung into clink cos he covers the bases, unlike them silly buggers.’ He jerked his head towards the barn. ‘What good do Border think it’ll do to post a couple of guards either side of the barn, when there’ll be those in the bloody village champing at the bit to take a potshot before their world ends.’
