Opposite Sides

by Susan Firman

CHAPTER 11

  Confrontation

  The 1926 weather mirrored the mood of the people. Even by Easter, it was bleak and depressing. Rain clouds hung low and menacing, and as each dull day followed the next, people began to wonder if this winter would ever depart. Lately, it had been much harder to buy coal. The need was still there yet the amounts had dwindled. Then, towards the end of April, supplies stopped altogether. Coal deliveries ground to a halt. When Hans complained of being continually cold because of a lack of coal, he was told that it was due to employment problems with the miners. There were enough men to work the mines but now not enough mines open to supply the coal.

  Wages had suddenly been slashed. That was blamed on the re-organisation of the German mines in the Ruhr for as more overseas mines were re-opened, they had first caused a flood of coal on the market which in turn had decreased the profitability of the industry. English miners would have to produce more if English coal was to survive. Now there was the cry: ‘not a penny of the pay; not a minute off the day.’ The country was poised on the blade of a knife. Anything could happen.

  It was in this economic climate, that Hans had been fortunate to find himself a junior position with a London business firm that had become involved with one of the rising German industries. Someone was needed to translate correspondence and any documents that were sent through to the London office. The pay was not high but sufficient. The allowance which he received from his uncle, together with his earnings gave him enough to to put a few shillings away each week towards the day when he and Caroline could marry.

  He had found himself a small two roomed apartment in Norwich Street, just north of Fleet Street, where he could be within walking distance of the office. Mr Scrover, his employer, had been very helpful and had allowed Hans some time away from the office to look for some furniture. He had managed to scrape together a few plain pieces, just sufficient for a bachelor to live by: a table and three chairs, a setee, a desk, small rug and a bed. The large house had been converted not long after 1910 but the plumbing and lighting system had not been updated which meant the occupants still had to share the single toilet outside the back door and rely on oil lamps for evening lightening. But that did not worry Hans. It was a place of his own where he could do whatever he wanted and when he wanted.

  Every three of four weeks, he tipped out the pennies he had accumulated in the jam jar which sttod on the narrow mantelpiece over the fireplace. It was just enough to purchase a train ticket that took him back to the town where he and Caroline could meet for a few hours before he had to return to London. These travelling days were the highlight of the month and on the wall calendar he would cross the days off until he reached the Sunday marked in red.

  The first day in May, which should have been Springlike, began overcast and cool and before the day had really got going, the clouds descended further and rain wet the streets. It was a long weekend and he didn’t have to be back in London until Tuesday, Hans decided that whatever the weather, he would take the Sunday train and surprise Caroline with a visit. She had already written and said that she would be at Anne’s that weekend. His body tingled with anticipation and excitement at the thought of seeing her again and being able to take her into his arms and smother her with more kisses.

  However, when he wanted to travel this time, he was informed that the usual train service had been drastically cut. The lack of coal supplies was the cause and it was beginning to look as though things could get much worse. When Hans went to the station to purchase his ticket, the man behind the ticket booth appeared more serious than before and solemnly shook his head.

  “Sorry, Sir, but we cannot guarantee that you’ll be able to get back if you go. I can sell you a ticket there but not a return one. You’ll have to purchase that on the day of travel. Otherwise, I suggest you try some other way of travel.”

  “Well, I’ll take the risk, then.” The news had irritated him. “I’ve got to go today. It may well be a month before I can get the chance again.”

  “As you wish, Sir. But you’ve been fore-warned. One single?”

  Hans paid for his ticket and went on to the wooden platform. He put up his umbrella to keep off the rain. There was the heavy smell of smoke and coal, together with oil and everything that went with steam and trains. Within ten minutes, the squealing black giant slowed, then stopped alongside the platform hissing and blowing air like a snorting horse. Hans opened a carriage door and stepped up into a narrow corridor. He found a seat alone in one of the compartments and made himself comfortable beside the window. After wiping the inside of the window with the back of his hand, he slumped back to watch the outside scene slide gently past and slide away from view as the train jolted back into life and left the station behind. As the train picked up speed, the funnel blew out several good puffs of coal-black smoke which covered the outside of the carriage window.

  He began to think that things may be better in Germany than in England now. The news of an improving economy had filtered through the correspondence that had come from Berlin. Last week, Paul von Hindenburg had been made President. That was good news. It gave people hope that life would improve in the new republic. Meanwhile, in England, an ugly mood seemed to be brewing.

  Erwin Hans Resmel put his bag down beside him. He was standing on the front doorstep, ready to push the doorbell button. He wondered whether Miss Turner was at home. He felt quite nervous, standing there, waiting for the door to be opened. Why he had decided to call in on her first, he didn’t really know but as Miss Turner had kept in touch, he felt obliged to let her know he would be in town. He was thinking how he would tell her that Caroline and he were seriously making plans to marry. Whether he would tell her that he had also been thinking of returning to Germany was another thing.

  He could hear the hurried steps getting louder on the wooden hall floor as somebody came closer to the front door. The door opened. It was Jan.

  “Hello Jan. Is Miss Turner at home?” He hardly looked at the face the other side of the door. He had recognised her by the way she strode along the corridor.

  “Wait here.” It was a cool reception. “I’ll fetch her.”

  Jan pushed the door to and he could hear her receding footsteps and finally the sound of her voice as she called from well-inside the house.

  “Aunt, Hans Resmel’s waiting at the front door.”

  There was a muffled answer followed by more hurried footsteps, but the tread was lighter and more rapid than before, like the stutter of machine-gun fire. Miss Turner opened the door.

  “Mister Resmel.” She adjusted her glasses as if she needed to insect him more closely. Hans made note of the fact that it was the same way he had seen Jan adjust hers. “What are you doing here? We didn’t think you’d be making the journey this weekend owing to the disruption. It was not very wise of you to have travelled this weekend.”

  “I need to talk,” mumbled Hans.

  He was still standing on the doorstep, his travelling bag beside him where he had put it. Miss Turner eyed him up and down from head to toe and back up to his head where her inspection stopped. Suddenly he remembered that he had forgotten to remove his hat. He took it off and stuffed the soft cap into the pocket of his coat. The retired school mistress invited him to step inside.

  “You’d better come straight into the living room,” she said. “With the shortage of coal, we can only afford to heat this one, together with the kitchen.” She indicated to him that he should sit. “How are things in London at the moment?”

  “Much the same, Miss Turner. Nobody’s very happy about it. Everyone hopes it won’t get any worse.”

  “We all hope so.”

  The room was warm even though there was only a small fire burning. He could smell the smoke from the coal as he made note of the black tarred bricks below the mantelpiece. He removed his long warm coat, intending to place it over his knees when Jan walked in and took it from him.

  “I’ll hang it up.”

  He tho
ught it strange that neither Mary nor Ellen had answered the door or that his hat and coat had been taken from him in the corridor.

  “Ellen still here?” he asked.

  “No, I had to let her go. Mary’s still with us but today she had asked for time off. Jan, would you mind popping on the kettle.”

  “I’m not bothered,” he commented patting his trousers so flat that they seemed glued to his legs.

  “Now, what do you want to see me about?”

  Miss Turner placed herself carefully on the chair opposite. He noticed she did not move as freely and this time and that when she did sit she used both her arms to lower her body gently into the soft seat of the armchair.

  He cleared his throat and felt awkward.

  “Caroline Grace and I want to marry.” He blurted it out as if he were in the confessional box and became aware that his last word came out more like a squeak than a word. He knew he had not seen the priest for many weeks and was certain his sins were piling up so much that Miss Turner could see into his wicked soul and see the guilt he was feeling at this moment.

  Miss Turner said nothing. There was no indication that she saw any miserable sinner sitting in her armchair. He watched in silence as she removed her glasses and gave them a careful rubbing with a small frilly handkerchief which she had extracted from one of her hidden pockets. It was as though she were weighing up her thoughts and words very carefully.

  “I see,” she said finally. “Tell me, when did you both make this decision?” She waited for him to answer, and when he did not, she continued, “I do not think you have thought things through.” She screwed the dainty handkerchief around between her fingers. Arthritic fingers he noticed for the first time.

  “We’ve thought about it for a long time. I’ve now got a job and we can live on the wage I earn. Besides, I don’t think it’s anyone else’s business what . . .”

  “Resmel, I you are still too young. How old are you? Not quite twenty? And, Caroline? Eighteen. Not yet nineteen? Not a marriageable age for someone with your background. And, what does Mr Grace say to such a marriage?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him about it, yet.”

  “I suggest that before you go much further with this affair, you have the decency to speak with him. Caroline cannot marry without her father’s consent. And neither can you without your uncle’s approval. You would need a special licence to marry. That is the law. So, when have you decided to speak with Mr Grace?”

  “I intend to ask him any day.”

  “And your uncle? Are you certain he will agree?”

  “I don’t care what uncle thinks. He is not my father. It’s my life. I love Caroline. We want to be together.”

  “You need that permission or it cannot happen. What if your uncle or Mr Grace do not give their permission?”

  “We’ll find a way. It will happen. All I know is that we want to be together!”

  What Hans did not know, was that Miss Turner had heard all this before; well before the war and it had made no difference to what the parents thought then, either. When two young people considered themselves in love, they could not be talked out of making any decisions, no matter how rash they seemed.

  “And where do you intend to li . . . ?” Miss Turner broke off as the door was opened by Jan carrying a tray with three cups of tea. She said nothing as she bent over and set it on the low table. “Biscuits?” her aunt asked.

  “I’m bringing them.” She walked out of the room. Hans had hoped the interruption would have removed his need to answer but Miss Turner repeated her question. Nothing amiss with her memory.

  “We could live in my place for a while until we were able to find somewhere more suitable.”

  “In London? Or are you thinking of taking her to Germany?”

  “It doesn’t matter. As long as we’re together. Nothing else counts.”

  “A man needs money to keep a wife.”

  “I’ve been working hard for months . . . and I’ve been saving every spare penny each week.”

  “That won’t get you far. Pennies don’t go as far these days.”

  “Caroline’s been saving hard, too.”

  He was becoming angry with Miss Turner. He could see no reason why he should have to justify himself to her. What would a silly, old spinster like her know anything about love and the passion he was feeling for Caroline.

  “I know Caroline’s father. You don’t. He would never agree to such a marriage. I’m not sure Caroline would be prepared to go against her father’s wishes. Any thoughts of marriage . . . ”

  Before he could retaliate, Jan entered the room with a plateful of home-made biscuits.

  “Who’s getting married?”

  “No-one,” answered Miss Turner sending a glance over to Hans that could have cut steel in half.

  “I am,” Hans replied knowing that sooner or later Jan would hear about it, anyway. Jan appeared stunned.

  “Who to?” Her voice was shaky.

  “Caroline Grace and me.”

  “C-caroline? Our C-Caroline?” Jan could only stammer over her words. The shock she felt was intense. “You can’t!”

  Hans jumped to his feet and shouted at her. Why did Jan Turner always say things to annoy him?

  “I can. And I will. Anyway, who are you to tell me otherwise?”

  Before Jan could say anything, she remembered her aunt had instructed her not to retaliate and she stared at him in silence while inside she seethed like a boiling kettle.

  Miss Turner recognised the signs of Hans becoming defensive and she did not want another heated argument taking place in her living room. Hans stood face to face with Miss Turner, who had also got out of her chair.

  “You may have control over her.” He pointed at Jan. “But you have no control over me. I’m not a student of yours any more! I don’t live in your house any more!”

  His face was red and his fists had become tightly clenched.

  “Young man, you need to learn self-control. One day, that impetuous nature of yours will land you in trouble and you will do something you will regret.”

  “Like marry Caroline Grace.” Jan said the words so quietly that only Hans heard.

  Hans looked directly at Jan and spoke deliberately and slowly. He wanted to make sure she had understood every single word.

  “I am going to marry her, Jan.”

  She snorted and threw her head back with a defiant flick.

  “Then I’ll never speak to you again. Or her.”

  “That won’t worry me. I don’t think Caroline will be worried, also.”

  “Get lost!”

  “You’re horrible!”

  “So are you!”

  “Stop this, at once! Bickering like spoilt children!”

  Miss Turner’s face had turned white and her tight lips became stretched in anger like a stretched rubber-band. Then he noticed the war photograph had been replaced and had been hung back in its original position.

  “What’s that doing back there?” He raised his arm almost like a salute and defiantly pointed with his finger. “That picture! That terrible picture! I cannot forgive!”

  “I put it back. It’s where it belongs. ” Jan’s face was full of defiance.

  “How could you, you stupid goose?” But all Jan did was to shrug her shoulders at him. He turned again towards Miss Turner. “How could you let her do such a thing? You promised it would never be put up again.”

  Miss Turner’s mouth had been continually opening and shutting like a goldfish. His insulting language had shocked her but she was equally shocked to see the picture back on the wall when she had believed it to still be safely stored in the drawer. She looked steel-eyed at Jan.

  “Did you put that there?” she asked sternly peering over the top of her glasses. Jan shrugged and said nothing. “If you did, then you can take it down again. Do I make myself clear?”

  At first Jan hesitated but then, like a robot, she stomped stiffly over to the wall and took the picture dow
n, stomped back past her aunt, glared at Hans and finally threw the offending photo back in the drawer. She shut the drawer with a loud bang. She adjusted her glasses and glared at Hans in anger before pressing her lips tightly together to stop them from quivering. Hans could see that she was visibly upset, for one small tear trickled down her cheek and dripped off the side of her chin and on to the carpet. She reminded him of a child about to cry and before anyone could react, Jan turned and fled out of the room. The living-room door slammed shut with an explosive sound.

  Miss Turner patted her chest between her heaving breasts. She looked quite pale.

  “The pair of you have left me speechless. Such a disgusting outburst . . . and in my living-room. Really, Mr Resmel, an apology is in order.”

  “I am sorry, Miss Turner, but I cannot forgive for that.” He pointed at the drawer. “Why keep such a horrible picture?”

  “I’ve explained that before, young man. It is not horrible when you understand.”

  “Understand that? That’s war. I thought we were trying to move forward from the horrible things that happened.”

  “Yes, what happened was horrible, I agree. But we cannot ever forget all those young men. One day, Mr Resmel, you will understand. And understand why that photo is here.”

  The air was tense. He felt uncomfortable. He stood up and, clicking his heels together, gave her a stiff bow.

  “I think I must leave. Thank you for the tea, Miss Turner.”

  He swivelled round on his heel and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Hans collected his coat from the hook in the hallway and let himself out of the front door. He did not look back

  He was annoyed with himself for his stupid outburst. It had been like the earlier times when he and Jan had had words. He should have controlled himself more but when he had caught sight of that vile picture, all those previous memories had resurfaced. He had not intended to be so confrontational but why, oh why, had Jan Turner reacted in such a way when told that he was in love with her second-cousin?

  Maybe, she did not want him to have anything to do with her family, he thought. Maybe, she was still annoyed with him over some previous event. And why she had replaced the photo after her aunt had express-idly forbidden her to do so? Jan knew he was to visit so did she do it to hurt him?

  He was regaining his composure, quietly walking away from the college and towards the local Inn where he always stayed when he came for the weekends, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

  “Hello, Hans.”

  It was Anne, bright and breezy, as usual. Bertie had written and told him that Gerald’s crazy desire to fly was about to come true. He had managed to get himself into a position where he was not only being paid for messing around with aeroplanes but was learning to fly them as well. He’d already got all the kit: scarf, leather boots, helmet and goggles. In a few more months, Gerald would acquire his wings. Bertie had also written that Anne and Gerald’s relationship had become much more serious and that he soon expected to hear of their engagement. Hans wondered whether Miss Turner had objected to that liaison, too, but he did not let on.

  “Hello, Anne,” he said in a bright, breezy manner. “How’s life treating you? Still busy?”

  “As ever. What’s this I’ve heard about you?”

  “Me?”

  “You. I’d heard from Jan Turner that you’re going back to Germany.”

  “I don’t know where she got that idea.”

  Anne put her hand over her mouth.

  “Oh dear, did I get it wrong? Jan said her aunt . . . ” Anne shook her head and gave a weak laugh. “Oh, never mind about that.” She patted him like a mother, ever so gently on his arm. She had far more important things to discuss than Miss Turner. “Isn’t it absolutely beastly about the miners? So unsettling. Have you heard? They really should behave themselves and return to work immediately. This morning’s newspaper is full of the strike this weekend. See? Here.” She waved the newspaper under his nose with the headlines emblazoned across the front page. “I was asked to pop into town and get one. Gerald . . . ” She paused and rolled the paper up into a cylinder. Anne took a deep breath. “Oh, sorry, haven’t you heard the latest news around here? It’s Gerald and me. Daddy’s given us the green light. Been going out steady for over six months, now. Oh, and he’s learning to fly.”

  “Who? Your father?”

  “No, Gerald, silly. He’s got a weekend job at the aerodrome. Adores it and when he gets his wings, he’s promised to take me up. Spiffing, isn’t it? There, he could fly you back to Germany.”

  “It is too far and I’m not going.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m staying here.”

  “Are you going to see Caroline?”

  “Yes, tomorrow.”

  “I noticed you coming out of the school grounds. Did you visit Miss Turner?”

  “Yes but we had a row.”

  “Oh dear.” Anne raised an eyebrow and inclined her head closer in Hans’ direction. “Do tell me what happened.”

  For a few seconds, Hans chewed at a niggly piece of skin that had come loose at the side of his little finger nail while he thought of what to say.

  “I was telling her about Caroline and me and she didn’t like it.”

  “You sure?” Anne straightened. Her eyes grew wider for she loved to hear any sort of news about the school or the Turners. And anything that could be construed as gossip was even better.

  “Yes,” he answered in a firm manner. “Said we were too young.” An angry frown formed on his face. He clenched his fists and made his little finger sting. “Thinks she owns me, Anne!” he snapped.

  “Could be because Caroline’s related. Miss Turner’s fine with me.” Anne leaned back on her heels and smiled with light satisfaction.

  “Does she know about you and Gerald?” asked Hans. He was feeling upset over the rejection he had felt from the school mistress as well as being annoyed over seeing that photo again.

  “Oh yes.” Anne was quite matter-of-fact about it. She laughed and tossed her head. “I think nearly everyone in town knows about us. Miss Turner knows Gerald’s father quite well. Mr Brookfield-Smith’s on the Board, so they have dealings in that way.”

  Hans felt deflated. His voice betrayed the bitterness he felt. It seemed so unfair; one rule for her and another for him. He shook his hand to allay the pain.

  “Lucky you!”

  “Look, can I give you a lift?” Anne was bright and breezy. She ignored Hans’ sombre mood. “Gerald taught me to drive a few weeks ago when we went out in the country and Daddy was so pleased, he bought me a new motorcar - that one, over there.”

  She pointed to a sporty car parked just across the road. Anne was lucky to have a father who not only had income from his farm but was also a partner of a profitable business, although what it exactly was, Anne had never said.

  “No, it’s all right, thank you. I enjoy to walk.”

  “Well, if you ever change your mind, you can contact me easily enough. You’ve still got my telephone number, haven’t you? Oh, just say who you are and ask for me. We’ve got a new butler and he doesn’t know you.”

  Hans nodded and tried to look brighter. He had the rest of the day to unwind and all of Sunday to enjoy himself with Caroline. He didn’t need to be back in London until Tuesday.

  He and Caroline spent a wonderful day together, walking, laughing, hugging and kissing. They enjoyed the orchestra in the bandstand. They sat on the lawn holding hands as they listened to the band play happy, entertaining tunes. All the world and all its problems evaporated that day and they were still in a jubilant mood when he accompanied her safely back to the bus stop.

  The next morning, he saw Anne in the High Street.

  “How did things go with Caroline?”

  “Good.”

  He elaborated on his meeting with Miss Turner. He explained to Anne that when he told Miss Turner about his relationship with Caroline, she had lectured him about all
the poor girls who were taken for a ride by wicked young men and then dumped after they had had their wicked way with the poor girls, whatever that meant and that she didn’t want to see Caroline treated like that. He mentioned that Miss Turner had not been sure if his intentions were honourable especially as he had not spoken to Caroline’s father.

  “And do you intend to speak with him?” Anne asked.

  “Yes. Miss Turner told me that she didn’t think he would ever give his permission. Me not being a local boy, I think. I also got that impression from Caroline when she told me about her father. Personally, I think it’s to do with all that prejudice from the war. I’ve had the same feeling before. It’s a feeling of suspicion as well as not being accepted.”

  “There’s got to more to it than just that, Hans. Caroline’s not twenty yet. Her father is only being protective of his daughter. That’s what it’ll be. I think you’re being too harsh on yourself.”

  “If it’s nothing to do with me, then what? Even Miss Turner is not pleased. I say she has no idea about love. Look at her. An old woman. Why in a school for boys? Anyway, who’d want anything to do with her?”

  “She wasn’t always old.” Anne felt she had to defend the woman. “She must have been young once, you know.”

  “Yes. Last century!” Hans snapped.

  “It’s Jan I feel sorry for.” Anne brushed back her hair that had fallen across her face. “Miss Turner won’t let poor Jan do anything. I think she is making sure Jan will be around when she gets really old and needs a nursemaid. Also, if anyone even looked at Jan, I think there would be thunder and lightning from all directions. They’d have to pass close inspection of the Turner kind! Have you thought about that?”

  “I expect you’re right.” He gave a sigh of resignation. “Jan is a strange one. Always goes off the deep end especially when I do anything.” Hans suddenly had an idea. It seemed ridiculous to him but he did not mind sharing it with Anne. “One would almost think Jan is jealous.”

  “Of your freedom, yes. As for Caroline . . . if she really loves you, she’ll stick by you, come what may and no Miss Turner’s disapproval or Jan Turner’s jealousy will turn her away from you.” Anne glanced at her expensive gold watch. “Oh, is that the time? I do not want to keep you talking. I say, when does your train leave?”

  “I haven’t got a return ticket,” Hans answered. “Couldn’t get one in London. I was hoping to get on the one o’clock one.”

  “Let’s go and get your ticket now. I’ll take you in my motorcar.”

  Hans climbed in over the over the small low door and settled himself in the passenger seat. Anne easily started the motor and drove like an expert,negotiating the numerous horse-drawn carts that still made up a large part of the traffic volume.

  When they arrived at the train station, they were alarmed to find signs all over the platform.

  All trains have been cancelled until further notice.

  “How am I going to get back to London?” Hans’s voice had an air of desperation mixed in with disappointment. “What’s happened? Why no trains?” Then he remembered the warning the ticket officer had given him on Saturday morning when he had purchased his ticket to come here. “I remember. I think the ticket office said it’s something to do with coal supplies . . . and the miners.”

  They walked through the station building and found that the station master was still around. Hans went up to him. He couldn’t remember seeing this person on the station during the other times he had used the trains.

  “Excuse me, but we’ve seen notices telling us that there are no trains today. Is something wrong with them?”

  “Sorry, sir, can’t righ’ly say. I’m not the real station master. I’m doin’ this job just f’ today, sir. It’s the strike. Everyone’s out. ‘aven’t you ‘eard the news, sir?”

  “What news?”

  “It’s all in the ‘eadlines, sir.”

  “About the trains?”

  “No. The strike”

  “What strike?” Anne was equally curious to know why the trains had ceased to run.

  “This mornin’.” The man wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Come over the wireless. All transpor’ and railways is out. In support of the miners. Got locked out, y’ know."

  “Scheisse!” snapped Hans in annoyance. The word escaped his lips before he could gather his senses.

  “Pardon?” The station master did not catch the utterance.

  Hans turned on his heel and threw his hands up into the air.

  “I’ve got to get back to London, today. How am I going to do that if the trains aren’t running?”

  “Sorry, sir.” The acting station-master shook his head. His soft cloth cap almost fell off. “I don’t normally work ‘ere. Just doin’ a favour.”

  Hans spun round to face Anne again. He almost tripped over the travelling bag he had unloaded and placed close to his feet.

  “It’s most inconvenient. I’ll have to think again. I’ve got to get back to London by evening.”

  “You’ll not make it by train. Or bus, sir. All transport’s down. Have to walk if you want to go anywhere.”

  Hans looked so upset, the station master suggested he go away and return that afternoon. By then things may have changed. But by the afternoon nothing had changed; the situation looked just as grim as before. The town was as extremely quiet, almost even too quiet for a holiday Monday. No trams or buses and only the occasional horse and cart passed by. Hans explained to the Innkeeper that it looked as though he would require the room for one more night and was at the point of arranging it, when Anne turned up again. She had brought some papers over to be given to a gentleman who was staying at the Inn. She noticed Hans waiting at the counter.

  “Still no luck, Hans?” she asked him as she handed over the envelope of papers.

  He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Nothing’ running. It really looks as if I’m stuck. Everyone’s joined this strike.”

  “It’s grim, that’s for sure.” She was about to leave when an idea came into her head. She smiled a satisfied smile.“Why don’t I take you?”

  He was surprised. If Anne did take him back to London, it would solve his dilemma. “Would you?”

  “Of course. It’s a good sixty miles but if we leave now, we’ll be there for tea-time. It’s a good excuse to see a cousin of mine. They live in Belgravia.” She sounded rather excited about the prospect, especially after Hans had put his bag into the luggage compartment. Anne gave a slight giggle. “Hop in. You’ll be surprised how fast it can go.”

  With a flick of her wrist, she threw a scarf around her neck and urged the engine into a roar. Brakes off and the motorcar turned its massive bonnet in the direction of London.