by Vicki Beeby
‘But you are worried.’
‘I am. I worry what the defeated soldiers might do before they leave. Or they might refuse to go. Then there will be fighting, and it will be the citizens of my country who must fight.’
Jess could do nothing but grip his hand, conveying her sympathy and concern through her touch.
‘I can only pray it will not be long before I can return.’
There it was again, the feeling that Milan was trying to break away from her. No matter how much she told herself it was her imagination – that he wouldn’t carry on seeing her if his affections had cooled – she couldn’t shake it off.
They emerged from the cinema to find it was still raining. Now spring was approaching, the last of the light still lingered in the sky. However, it was cold and raining, making walking unpleasant.
‘I put my violin in the car,’ Milan said. ‘I thought we might go to see Kathleen Swift again.’
‘She’d like that.’ Jess was touched by the concern Milan felt for the grieving antique shop proprietress. She herself had made a point of popping into Stoneleigh and Swift whenever she was passing and Kathleen Swift had been grateful for the companionship.
They found Kathleen just closing the shop, and she greeted Jess and Milan with enthusiasm. ‘You couldn’t have timed your visit better. My husband was all set for leave, so I baked his favourite jam tarts, and now his leave’s been put back.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ said Jess, wiping her wet feet on the doormat as she followed Kathleen inside.
Kathleen locked the door, turned the sign to ‘closed’ then beckoned them through the shop. ‘Come upstairs to the flat. I’ve just lit a fire, so it’s cosier up there.’
She took them to her living room, which was, indeed, warmer than the shop. It was a large room, with pale pink chintz sofas beside the fireplace. In pride of place on the mantelpiece was a photo of a serious looking young man wearing RAF uniform with wings over the breast pocket. Jess knew this must be Daniel, whose violin Milan now carried. The adjacent photograph showed an older man, also in RAF uniform, who could only be Kathleen’s husband.
When Kathleen told them that the delicious blackberry jam tarts they had with tea were ‘made from blackberries I picked from the common,’ Jess and Milan exchanged glances. Jess’s insides did a little swoop, and she knew that Milan, like her, was thinking of their autumn walk on the common when they had picked blackberries. Kathleen glanced at the violin case beside Milan’s chair. ‘Is it too much to hope that you might play for me?’
‘Not at all,’ said Milan, picking up the case and opening it. ‘It would be a pleasure.’
Kathleen disappeared into another room while Milan applied rosin to the bow and tuned the strings. When she came back, she was holding a music stand. ‘This was Danny’s,’ she said. ‘You’re very welcome to have it.’
Milan thanked her then said, ‘What would you like to hear?’
‘I don’t mind as long as it’s something cheerful.’
Milan tucked the violin under his chin and played a tune Jess didn’t recognise. She thought it must be another Moravian dance, as it had a similar sound to the others he had played. As she watched him, his lips curved into a smile, his eyes gazing into the distance, fixed, she was sure, on some distant Czechoslovakian scene, she knew with a sudden twist deep in her stomach that she couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving her. Yet he had spoken of his yearning to return home, and she couldn’t in good conscience ask him not to go when he feared for his sister and nephew’s safety. She could only imagine how she would feel not knowing if Vera and Hannah were still alive. With a shudder she recalled the terrifying minutes when she had feared them dead in the rubble of their home. Milan had lived with that fear for nearly six years.
‘Oh, that was beautiful,’ Kathleen sighed, after Milan had finished playing a selection of tunes. All had been lively, leading his listeners into a world of beauty where war and loss didn’t exist. ‘You are good to visit me. Life is so dreary and the news so grim, it’s hard not to dwell on what I’ve lost. Your visits always take me out of myself and do me no end of good. I just wish there was something I could do for you in return.’
Milan, his eyebrows raised, indicated the violin he was lovingly returning to the case. ‘You have already done so much. I cannot thank you enough for your gift.’
A sudden thought struck Jess. ‘Actually, there may be something.’ She explained about the fundraising concert. ‘You play the piano so beautifully, I wonder if you would like to perform?’
Kathleen coloured, looking pleased. ‘You really think I’m good enough?’
Jess opened her mouth to reassure her, but Milan got there first. ‘You’re very talented. And if I am able to come, I hope you will accompany me?’
Jess took that as an encouraging sign. However, when Milan was walking her back to Bentley Manor, Jess said to him, ‘It was kind of you to ask Kathleen to accompany you. Does that mean you’ll definitely come?’
‘If I can. I cannot yet say for sure.’
It wasn’t the definite promise Jess had hoped for. Yet again, it made her wonder if Milan was looking for a way out of the relationship. After all, he now knew that she wasn’t good enough for him.
Chapter Twenty
Maybe it was this conviction that Milan was trying to distance himself from her that made Jess unable to refuse invitations from Leo. Whatever the reason, three days later, when Milan sent a message to say he was unable to meet her as promised that weekend, she found herself accepting yet another invitation from Leo. As before, he took her to a nightclub frequented by people from the film world. They hadn’t been there long when Leo excused himself to speak to a man Jess didn’t recognise. However, judging from the cut of his suit, he was an American, and a wealthy one.
Spying Allan Ford, she went to speak to him.
‘Ah, Miss Halloway,’ he said as he shook her hand. ‘Always a pleasure to see you. You’ll be glad to know editing on Knights of the Skies is coming along nicely. It’s going to be a hit, I can feel it in my bones.’ He indicated the grey haired, portly man beside him. ‘I don’t think you’ve met Douglas Murray. He’s written the film score.’
They shook hands. Then Allan said, ‘How are your family, by the way?’ He addressed Douglas, ‘Jess’s family home was hit by a V2 before Christmas.’
Douglas grimaced. ‘Terrible business. Friends of mine in Hammersmith lost their home to one of those. They were out when it hit, thank God.’
‘My family were saved, too. My aunt and cousin have moved to a relative in Wales until my uncle can rent other accommodation.’ Then, deciding she had nothing to lose by asking, plunged on. ‘Actually I’m organising a concert to raise funds for Poplar. I don’t suppose you’d like to come?’ She added the date and location, clenching her hands behind her back to conceal their trembling. She was shocked by her audacity at inviting two such august figures.
‘I’ll have to get my secretary to check my diary, but I would love to come,’ Douglas replied.
Jess decided this meant he was too polite to turn her down flat. ‘Well, it would be wonderful to see you if you can make it,’ she said, with every expectation that his secretary would discover an engagement he couldn’t wriggle out of.
‘In fact,’ Douglas added, ‘do you have room for more performers? I’d be happy to play a piece on the piano, if that would help.’
Jess had to resist the urge to pinch herself. ‘I… that would be amazing. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘Not at all. And if you need them, why not ask Allan here to ask around the actors he knows to see if any are available to perform a short scene?’
‘Of course. Anything I can do to help.’ Jess thought the director didn’t look quite so enthusiastic, but she wasn’t going to turn down any offer, no matter how half-hearted.
‘Excellent.’ Douglas clapped Allan on the back. ‘Well, no time like the present. There are plenty of people here we can ask. Anything to
help the future Mrs Steele.’
‘I… what?’ But Douglas had already dragged Allan in the direction of a doyenne of the theatre, whom Jess had been longing to speak to but hadn’t dared. Now, however, all thought of meeting one of her heroines fled. She marched towards Leo, who had now finished his conversation with the important American.
‘Why are people talking as though we’re engaged?’ As irate as she was, she was aware of eyes upon her and made sure she fixed a smile to her face.
Leo’s face dropped. ‘Come and dance. We can talk without being overheard.’
This wasn’t the outright denial she had wanted. However, she held back her sharp retort until they were gliding across the dance floor to ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’.
‘You’d better have a jolly good explanation,’ she hissed. ‘You know I’m seeing someone else.’
‘Yes, a Czech pilot who will no doubt return home the moment the war is over.’
She swallowed. ‘Even if he does, what makes you think I’d want to marry you? We’re not together.’
‘We were once. We were good together.’
‘You took advantage of me.’
‘It takes two to tango, my darling,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember you complaining.’
That hurt almost as much as the reminder that Milan would soon go home to Czechoslovakia. ‘Maybe I didn’t,’ she said. ‘But just because I made a mistake once, when I didn’t understand what I was doing, why do you think I would make an even bigger mistake now I see you for the Lothario you are?’
Leo remained silent while he steered them around a corner. From the beaming smile on his face, no one would have guessed they were in the middle of an argument. Jess had to hand it to him, he was a pretty good actor.
‘Look,’ he said after a move that brought them alongside the band, ‘It doesn’t have to mean anything.’
‘What do you mean?’
Leo sighed. ‘The thing is, you know I mentioned having a Hollywood studio interested?’
Jess nodded.
‘Well, they were rather lukewarm until they saw that photo of us in the paper. Remember the one?’
‘If you’re talking about the one that led to me being given the third degree by my friends and boyfriend, then yes.’
‘It made the studio take notice. They loved the idea of selling them the romance of a British acting couple.’
Jess missed a step then stumbled over Leo’s foot as she tried to catch up. ‘Are you trying to tell me all that talk of joining a Hollywood studio was as your wife?’
Leo’s shifty expression was all the answer she required. Jess gave a nod of the head towards the other women in the room. ‘I suggest you take your pick from one of the actresses who actually care about you. If I ever get work with a Hollywood studio it will be through my hard work and talent, not because of some fake marriage.’ She had never been more impatient for a dance to end. She wasn’t usually lost for words, but Leo’s barefaced cheek left her groping for a strong enough insult.
‘At least think about it,’ Leo said. ‘Don’t sacrifice a great career just for the sake of your pride.’
‘Whose career – yours or mine?’
‘Both, of course. Think about it. You’re not getting any younger. Do you seriously think you could make it on your own?’
‘I’m twenty-four!’
‘That’s old by Hollywood standards.’
Jess trod on Leo’s foot again. This time it wasn’t an accident, and she took great satisfaction in the brief wince he gave before he smoothed over his expression with a beaming smile. ‘If you don’t tell your American friends it’s no deal, I will.’
‘All right, then. Just don’t deny it until I’ve signed with them. Don’t spoil my chance just because you’re too much of a goody two shoes to go along with it.’
‘No! My boyfriend was already upset by that photo. I won’t do anything else to hurt him.’
A crease appeared between Leo’s brows. They danced for the next few bars in silence. Then he said, ‘I hear you’ve managed to persuade Douglas Murray to help out with your little fundraising event. How would you feel if I told him the concert was just a front to make money for yourself? I’m a good enough actor to be able to plant doubt in his mind.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Whereas,’ Leo continued, ‘if you allowed the studio to believe we were a couple, I could round up a few of my actor friends to put on a show. I’m sure my name would draw far more people than you would get for an amateurish show put on by WAAFs.’
‘How dare you use other people’s misfortune for your own gain?’
‘It’s your decision.’
Jess ground her teeth, struggling to think of a way out. Finally she said, ‘Very well. I won’t deny it but neither will I confirm it if asked.’ Any threat to herself she would have ignored. However, the families who had lost everything needed as much money as could be raised. She wasn’t going to let her pride prevent them getting the help they needed.
She would just have to make sure she told Milan before he found out from another source. He would not be pleased.
* * *
Milan flung himself into a chair in the anteroom of the Officers’ Mess and rubbed his eyes. He had flown deep into Germany today to photograph possible sites where V2s were being produced. There had been residential areas nearby, and Milan tried not to think about the possible results if RAF Intelligence decided to launch an attack. There was always the fear that he had assisted in a raid that would result in civilian deaths. There were times when he missed the days of the Battle of Britain, when it had been a case of shooting down an enemy plane before you got shot down yourself. Not that he really wanted to return to the days when it had looked as though Britain, too, would be invaded, but at least he hadn’t felt complicit in civilian deaths.
He ordered a cup of tea and was halfway through it before he noticed Jiří sitting in a quiet corner, doing nothing but turning a pocket watch over and over in his hands. Milan knew Jiří had inherited it from his grandfather, and it was the only possession he’d been able to take out of Czechoslovakia. Merely the fact that Jiří was alone and not in the middle of a crowd, joking about his latest scrape, alerted Milan that something was wrong. He picked up his cup and went to sit next to his friend.
‘What has happened?’ he asked. He spoke in Czech as he always did when alone with Jiří. As the war had progressed, there were fewer men he could speak to in his mother tongue, so he always took every opportunity to speak Czech, enjoying having no need to grope for words and, most of all, the reminder of home. It also meant in this case that they would be less likely to be interrupted.
Jiří turned bloodshot eyes upon him. ‘You have not heard?’
‘Heard what?’ A cold chill ran through Milan. Jiří had remained light-hearted throughout the Battle of Britain, when they had faced death every day and seen friends shot down in flames. What could make his friend look so grief-stricken now, when victory seemed just around the corner?
‘Praha,’ Jiří said – Prague. He managed to inject a lifetime of grief and despair into those two syllables. ‘It has been bombed.’
Milan’s mouth went dry. Then he shook his head as he thought about it. ‘Are you sure? It doesn’t make sense. Why would the Nazis bomb Prague when they occupy it?’
‘I am sure. I met Jan Dvořak today. You know, the one who works at Fursecroft.’ Jiří named the London building occupied by the Czech government in exile. He drew a shaky breath. ‘It was not the Germans. It was the Americans.’
‘Impossible!’
Jiří closed his hands around his watch, his knuckles turning white. He shook his head. ‘It is true. Jan told me. It was a mistake. They don’t understand how it happened, but the Americans lost the navigation beam. They thought they were bombing Dresden when really…’ His voice tailed off.
Milan looked at him in horror. Prague was not so very far from Dresden. A bomber flight coming from Brita
in would only need to be off by a small angle to find themselves over Prague by mistake. He swallowed. Dear God, please don’t let this be true. Eliška and Franta lived on the outskirts of Prague. ‘Do they know which areas were hit?’ Horrific images flooded his mind. He saw again the devastation caused by the V2 at Jess’s home, only this time it was not the brick terrace that had been flattened but the pretty terracotta tiled houses of his hometown.
‘I… I do not remember every place they named,’ Jiří said. ‘I am sure they did not mention Roztoky, though. I would have remembered.’
Milan relaxed a little, grateful that his friend had spared his own family a thought even through his own worry. How the Czech government in exile had got their information he didn’t ask. They had their own chain of communication to their homeland, and it was best not to know too much about it.
Jiří continued, and now Milan had to strain to hear, for Jiří’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper. ‘But Vyšehrad was hit.’
‘Jiří. I am so sorry.’ Milan forgot his fears for his own family in his concern for his friend. Vyšehrad – the Prague district that had grown up beside ancient ramparts high above the east bank of the Vltava – was where Jiří had lived. All his family lived there.
Jiří turned his white face to Milan, his expression fierce. ‘I have to go back.’
‘Jiří, you know that’s impossible.’
‘It’s not. If the information got through to the government-in-exile, we can get to Prague.’
Milan’s stomach tightened at Jiří’s implication that Milan would join him in his madness. Not that the same thought hadn’t occurred to him over the years, especially after the news had reached them of the reprisals following Heydrich’s assassination. ‘Jiří, see sense. You can’t just leave your post.’
‘Why not? My family needs me.’
Milan sighed and told Jiří exactly what he had told himself when news had broke of the massacres following Operation Anthropoid. It was cruel but had to be said. ‘The best way you can help them is by staying here and doing your job. Even if you could get through to Prague, you wouldn’t get there in time to help anyone who was caught in the bombings. You must trust the people around them to care for them if they need help. There is nothing you can do except play your part in ending the war.’ He paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he added, ‘You know I’m right.’
