Frankie's Letter

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  Josette dropped her eyes. ‘Yes.’ Her voice was a whisper. She looked up, her eyes bright with defiance. ‘How can you blame me?’ she said savagely. ‘After all, you . . .’ She left the sentence unfinished but her eyes seemed to lance through him.

  Anthony writhed inside. Yes, she was right. He had loved her. Her face had filled his dreams and, given any encouragement, God alone knew what he would have been capable of.

  She saw his expression and gave a slow nod of recognition. ‘We can’t always choose, can we?’ she said softly. ‘And then . . .’ she shrugged. ‘Veronica found out. She told Patrick and he was furious. He threw Terry out of the house. I told Patrick that I didn’t love Terry. Perhaps that was wrong, but I wouldn’t leave Patrick, even though Terry begged me to. I didn’t want to hurt Patrick and I didn’t want to hurt Terry.’ Her face grew puzzled. ‘Even now I can’t see how what I wrote could have harmed Terry. I only asked for him to be taken care of. There’s nothing wrong in that, is there?’

  Anthony swallowed. Yes, maybe the irony of the phrase had been lost on her. ‘He was taken care of, sure enough.’

  She looked at him, bewildered. ‘So how can I be responsible? I don’t understand. “Frankie’s Letter” was just a joke. Patrick was the one who wanted it kept secret.’

  Anthony sighed heavily. ‘Patrick Sherston wanted it kept secret because he thought it really was a joke. A newspaper joke. He kept Frankie’s identity secret because it was one of his best stunts. He even went to the lengths of telling Tara O’Bryan he’d written it to put her off the scent.’

  ‘I know,’ she said vigorously. ‘Patrick told me. Tara came into his study when he was typing it out. Tara was so pleased with herself that Patrick played along.’ Josette’s eyes narrowed. ‘She promised she’d keep it a secret. She lied. She told you and poor Patrick was arrested. It’s all Tara’s fault. She shouldn’t have told you.’

  This was staggering. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Sherston, but compared to High Treason, breaking an unimportant promise isn’t serious.’

  She wrinkled her nose and shuddered. ‘Don’t say things like High Treason. I don’t want to think of it like that.’

  ‘No matter how you want to think of it, your husband has confessed rather than incriminate you and he’ll be executed.’

  She gave a little shriek. ‘He won’t! Mr Smith’s going to help. They can’t hang Patrick for doing something he didn’t do.’ She sunk her head in her hands for a few moments. ‘I suppose you think I’m horrible,’ she said eventually, ‘but you don’t know why I did it.’

  Anthony dropped his cigarette end to the bare boards of the floor and ground it out. Ideas and half-guessed truths were chasing round in his mind. Josette had been forced to write ‘Frankie’s Letter’ by Veronica O’Bryan. How had Veronica forced her? If Cavanaugh had had an affair with Josette, that would explain it, but Sherston knew about Cavanaugh. No, there was something else, something far more important than a passing love affair.

  He looked at von Hagen. ‘Excuse me, Oberstleutnant. Can I show Mrs Sherston a photograph?’

  Von Hagen glanced at his watch. ‘Be my guest,’ he said, again speaking in German. ‘I can understand you wanting to satisfy your curiosity, Colonel.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘Even though your pleasure is likely to be short-lived.’ He brought the gun up to the ready. ‘Once again, I warn you. No tricks.’

  Anthony gave a little bow of thanks. ‘No tricks,’ he agreed. Moving slowly, he took a little cardboard envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Josette. ‘That’s the reason, isn’t it?’

  She opened the envelope and took out the photograph, the picture of the child with solemn eyes. The colour drained out of her face and she stood holding it for a few moments. Then, with a little dry sob, she clutched the photograph to her bosom in a useless, instinctive, gesture of protection.

  ‘She’s your daughter,’ said Anthony. ‘She’s your child.’

  Josette didn’t answer but nodded agreement, her eyes wide.

  ‘Your husband doesn’t know you had a child, does he?’

  Again, Josette nodded. ‘It’s Milly,’ she broke out desperately. ‘Her name’s Milly. Her father and I should have married, but he died.’ She looked imploringly at Anthony. ‘Please understand, Colonel. It was when I was in France. I put Milly in the charge of some good people – some nuns – and paid for her to be looked after. I loved Milly. Then Patrick came to Paris.’

  Her face changed, softening as she remembered the past. ‘I knew who he was, of course. He was a rich man, the owner of the magazine and the owner of the Sherston Press. He was lonely, Colonel, and I felt sorry for him. I liked him. He was kind and he was good but he was very, very respectable.’

  She made a frustrated gesture with her hands. ‘I knew he wanted to marry me. What could I do? I wanted to marry him. I wanted to leave France, to have a home in England once more, to stop writing about pretty clothes and actually have the money to buy them. Patrick offered me all that. If I’d told him about Milly I’d have been ruined.’

  ‘So you married Patrick for what he could provide?’

  ‘How dare you?’ she snapped. ‘Have you ever scraped and struggled? I was surrounded by rich women with beautiful things. I wanted those things. I wanted to be happy and secure and not worry about stupid things like food and paying the rent. I was fond of Patrick. I’ve been a good wife. I could never have told Patrick I had a child.’

  ‘But didn’t he guess? After you were married, I mean?’

  ‘No.’ Josette looked at him wonderingly. ‘Why should he have done?’

  Anthony left it. As a doctor he could have easily guessed if a woman was a mother, but what even the closest married couples didn’t know about each other had long since ceased to surprise him. ‘Go on,’ he said heavily. ‘Tell me what happened to Milly.’

  She gave a ragged sigh. ‘The war started and the convent Milly lived in was in an area occupied by the Germans. I was desperate for news and wrote to the convent, asking what had become of her.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Veronica gave me the answer. She’d found out. She knew everything. She could ruin me and . . . and I was worried about Milly.’

  Anthony flicked a glance of deep contempt towards von Hagen. ‘So you’re part of a scheme which uses a desperate woman and a helpless child, eh? You can be proud of a country which fights with such weapons.’

  Von Hagen shrugged. ‘We will fight with any weapon we have. Germany’s survival is threatened. We didn’t harm the child,’ he added in English.

  ‘No, they didn’t,’ said Josette eagerly. ‘She was safe as long as I cooperated and what harm did I do? I had to protect Milly, so I wrote what Veronica told me to and she gave me news and photographs of Milly. I had to earn them. She had a picture in her room, a picture of Milly, but she wouldn’t give it to me. That was wrong. Milly’s my child. You see why I had to do it, don’t you? And it was all right. Everything was all right until you came. You showed us those diamonds. Veronica was excited about them. I don’t know why. She never cared for pretty things, but she was excited about those diamonds. When she went out I thought she was going to meet someone to tell them about the diamonds.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Anthony. ‘She went to meet Chapman.’

  Josette shuddered. ‘He was a horrid little man. Veronica met him in Ticker’s Wood. I followed her—’

  ‘You took Tara’s jacket from the stables,’ said Anthony, illumination dawning.

  ‘What does it matter?’ said Josette impatiently. ‘I had to follow Veronica quickly, otherwise I’d lose her. I saw Veronica talking to a man and I wanted to hear what he said. I thought he was telling her about Milly. Veronica had to get her news from somewhere and it wasn’t right. He should have told me, not Veronica. Milly’s my daughter.’

  She swallowed convulsively. ‘I crept as close as I could.’ She glanced at the photograph in her hand and looked at Anthony indignantly. ‘They talked about the diamonds but he did have a photogra
ph of Milly. He showed Veronica the envelope and she said – her voice was horrible – “We’ll keep that for later”. I wanted it then. I must have made a noise because Veronica saw me.’

  She blinked rapidly. ‘She dragged me out of the bushes and I fought back. She was vicious. She gave me a real bruise. I had to cover it up with make-up for days. I was so angry I didn’t know she’d hurt me. How dare they talk about my daughter? That little man, Chapman, tried to stop us. He had a gun. Veronica grabbed it from him and Chapman tried to get it back. He dropped it and I picked it up and it went off. I didn’t mean it to. Veronica’s face went all stiff and twisted and she crumpled up. She was dead. I asked Chapman what I should do and he told me to say nothing and it’d be all right. If I said nothing Milly would be all right. He dragged the body into the bushes and told me to go home.’

  Josette looked at him appealingly. ‘Please understand. He told me it’d be all right if I did what he said. So . . . so I went home and it was all right. He wouldn’t take the gun. He didn’t want to touch it. I didn’t want to keep it, so I threw it into the lake. Veronica was dead and I was glad.’

  ‘I imagine you were,’ said Anthony wearily. ‘What happened then?’ he asked. He looked towards von Hagen. ‘Where does our friend here fit in?’

  ‘Mr Smith?’ asked Josette, brightening. ‘Mr Smith met me in London and said he’d look after me. All I had to do was write the “Letter”.’

  ‘I think he was interested in me as well, wasn’t he?’ asked Anthony.

  Josette looked uncomfortable. ‘What if he was? I told him you’d be at the inquest. Mr Smith wanted to see you. He didn’t mean you any harm. Then, after he’d seen you, he wanted to ask you a few questions, but it was difficult. I knew Patrick was puzzled about Veronica. He thought you were clever enough to work out what had happened. I couldn’t see how you’d guess the truth, but I suggested Patrick ask you to stay and then Mr Smith could talk to you, and it would all be all right. And then . . . it wasn’t all right at all. Patrick was arrested. I thought Mr Smith would know what to do, so I telephoned him and he sent the car for me and then we came here and waited for you. That’s all.’

  Anthony sank back in his chair, his head in his hands. Terence Cavanaugh had been wrong. Sir Charles had been wrong. He had been wrong.

  They thought they were on the trail of a ruthless mastermind of a spy and all the time what they had to deal with was a woman; a beautiful woman, admittedly, but not a femme fatale, not a mysterious temptress, not even a woman who was particularly clever, but simply a mother protecting her child.

  Josette looked at von Hagen. ‘It’s all going to be all right, isn’t it? After all, Colonel Brooke’s here now so you can say whatever it is you want to say and you can help Patrick, as you promised, and we can all go home.’

  Von Hagen drained his coffee and rose to his feet. ‘Yes, Mrs Sherston. It is going to be all right.’ He gestured with the gun towards Anthony. ‘I think, Colonel Brooke, it is about time we left.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘You can think of it as home if you prefer.’

  Anthony looked bleakly at Josette. ‘Did you really believe the Oberstleutnant – Mr Smith, I mean – when he said all he wanted was to talk to me?’

  She nodded. Anthony could see her fighting down her anxiety.

  ‘Let me tell you what’s going to happen, Mrs Sherston.’ Anthony cocked an eyebrow at von Hagen. ‘I imagine I’ll be drugged. When I’m helpless, I’ll be smuggled to Germany or the occupied territories and I’ll be questioned. I don’t know if I’ll say anything of any use, but I’ll be questioned. And, after that, I’ll be killed.’

  She drew her breath in sharply. ‘Don’t say that!’

  ‘I do say that, Mrs Sherston. We’re at war. Do you know what that means? It’s not brass bands and patriotic songs and saving waste paper and planting extra vegetables, it’s war. You want to save your daughter. There’s other people’s children fighting and dying as we speak. This man, Mr Smith, the Oberstleutnant von Hagen, isn’t concerned about Patrick Sherston or you or your child. He’s fighting with any weapon he can get to help his country. I stood in his way, so he’s going to have me killed. Chapman might have been a horrid little man, as you say, but he stood in von Hagen’s way too. Von Hagen murdered him in broad daylight, as he’d murder anyone else who inconvenienced him.’

  ‘Enough!’ said von Hagen sharply.

  Anthony looked at him steadily, ignoring the gun. ‘Tell Mrs Sherston the truth. Tell her that you’re going to let her husband die. With me gone, who will be left to speak for him? Tell her how you killed Warren at the hotel when you stole the diamonds and how you gunned down Chapman on the tram platform.’

  Von Hagen smiled contemptuously. ‘You think she cares about Chapman? He attempted to double-cross me. What did he expect? As for the rest, as you so eloquently said, Colonel Brooke, we are at war.’

  Josette gulped, her fingers playing nervously with the lace trimming at her neck. ‘You are going to help Patrick?’ Von Hagen’s smile grew. ‘And Colonel Brooke? I . . . I won’t let you harm Colonel Brooke.’

  Without taking his eyes from Anthony, von Hagen strode to the door and flung it open. ‘Wait downstairs.’

  Josette didn’t move. ‘It’s true, what Colonel Brooke said, isn’t it? You aren’t going to help. You did shoot Chapman, didn’t you? I read about it. You were the mysterious man on the platform. Even if he was a horrid little man, you shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Enough, I say,’ repeated von Hagen. ‘Go downstairs.’

  Josette shook her head. ‘I trusted you. You said that you wanted to talk to Colonel Brooke. You said you’d protect Milly if I brought the colonel to you. You said you’d help Patrick if I brought the colonel to you.’

  She went to stand beside Anthony, putting her hand protectively on his shoulder. Anthony covered her hand with his, feeling her emotions trembling through her. ‘You’re going to kill him,’ she said wonderingly. ‘I can’t let you do that.’

  Very deliberately, she dropped her hands, squared her shoulders and walked towards von Hagen. ‘I can’t let you do it.’

  The gun came up. Von Hagen’s eyes were like chips of ice.

  Anthony saw his finger twitch on the trigger. ‘Josette!’ he shouted. ‘Get back!’

  Her hand reached out and took hold of the muzzle of the gun. She turned her head. ‘Anthony,’ she said, very quietly. ‘Go downstairs.’

  Anthony saw von Hagen’s finger tighten and, as if time had slowed to a crawl, the hammer on the gun go back. He flung himself across the room to pull her away.

  In a deafening blast the gun went off.

  Anthony crunched into von Hagen, the weight of his charge knocking von Hagen off his feet. They rolled over on the filthy floorboards together, the gun flying out of von Hagen’s hand. Anthony scrambled for it desperately as von Hagen’s hands closed round his throat. He found the muzzle, grasped it, and cracked it down hard on the side of von Hagen’s head. Von Hagen’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp. Anthony lay still for a moment, then painfully shook off the other man’s dead weight.

  He could hear shouts and footsteps on the stairs, but they seemed to be in another world. All he could think of was Josette sprawled on the floor, her dress stained with blood. ‘Josette?’ Anthony knelt beside her and reached for her hand. ‘Josette?’

  Her eyes flickered open. They were glazed and sightless. Her lips moved as she tried to speak, then her head fell back and she died.

  The door opened and he knew someone had come into the room. He tore his gaze away from Josette and, still kneeling beside her and holding her lifeless hand, looked at the chauffeur and Keegan.

  ‘Jesus,’ said Keegan softly.

  ‘Watch him!’ warned the chauffeur as Keegan walked across the room, but Anthony didn’t have the strength to resist. Keegan hauled him to his feet and Anthony slumped into one of the flimsy chairs.

  Keegan picked up the gun and covered Anthony with it.

&nbs
p; ‘Tie him up,’ said the chauffeur. ‘Use your belt if you have to. I want the swine safe and sound.’

  Anthony made no resistance. He couldn’t have moved to save his life, but Keegan pulled his hands behind his back and tied them at the wrists. His injured arm screamed a protest. Dimly, Anthony knew it was hurting like hell, but even the pain seemed far away.

  The chauffeur stooped over von Hagen, shaking him awake. Von Hagen stirred and groaned.

  Von Hagen lifted himself up and, with the chauffeur’s help, got to his feet. He steadied himself for a moment, looking first at Josette and then at Anthony. He flexed his muscles, walked across to the chair, drew back his hand and walloped Anthony across the face.

  Anthony’s head crashed back and the chair went over. Again, it hurt, but he was so numb he hardly felt it. Anthony knew von Hagen was barking instructions, but he couldn’t make out what he said. His whole world centred on Josette and that ghastly stain on the front of her dress.

  Anthony was made to stand up and the gun was thrust in his back. His legs trembled with the effort of walking and he nearly fell down the stairs. He was led outside and, with the gun in his back, he stumbled across to a tree and sank onto the ground.

  It was dark now and the chauffeur brought the paraffin lamp from the sitting room, resting it on the old wall.

  ‘Keep watch,’ said von Hagen to Keegan. ‘I’ll go and take care of things inside.’ He turned to the chauffeur. ‘Start the car.’

  Anthony slowly started to put coherent thoughts together. Why had they left his ankles free? Of course. He was going to get in the car.

  Von Hagen paused before he went into the house, looking at Anthony in the dim light. ‘You will pay for what you have done,’ he said quietly.

  Anthony didn’t answer.

  Leaving Keegan to keep watch, the chauffeur went to the car. Even though Anthony felt utterly beaten and wearily detached, he couldn’t help notice what was going on.

  The first was that the chauffeur started the car.