All through November letters flew fast and furious between them. She learned that he intended making the RAF his long-term career and that his decision was causing unpleasant tensions between himself and his grandfather; that his favourite authors were Ernest Hemingway and William Faulkner, although his absolute favourite novel was not an American novel but the very English Tom Jones by Henry Fielding. She learned that where the theatre was concerned he revelled in the Sturm und Drang of Jacobean drama but that he wasn’t adverse to contemporary musicals, especially if the score was by George Gershwin. She learned that his favourite meal was steak Béarnaise; his favourite drink a long, ice-cold gin and tonic and his favourite method of relaxation, horse-riding.
In early December, when the newspapers were full of reports of over two hundred German-Jewish schoolchildren arriving in London to be placed for safety in volunteer foster-homes, she was so full of her own inner happiness that the information barely registered on her. It was her father who pierced her euphoria.
‘But not here,’ he said bitterly as he carried his supper plate over to the sink.
Still sitting at the table, she had been reading the horoscope column and she looked up from the paper and across at him, startled. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. What did you say?’
‘I said, “but not here”,’ he said again, dropping his plate into the stone sink with so much carelessness it was a wonder the plate didn’t break. ‘They’ve found foster homes for over two hundred German-Jewish schoolchildren but not one of them will be coming here.’
Mortified that she hadn’t had the sensitivity to realize how the news might affect him, she forgot all about her horoscope forecast for the week. Rising hurriedly from the table, she walked swiftly towards him. He was still facing the sink, gazing grim-faced out of the kitchen window into the darkness beyond. Putting her arms around his waist and resting her head lovingly against his back, she said gently, ‘Don’t take it so personally, Dad. It’s obvious the children would go to Jewish families, not non-Jewish. There are probably hundreds of other families who have offered to give a home to German-Jewish refugees and who have been turned down because they are not Jewish.’
‘Maybe,’ Carl said, not sounding at all convinced.
Kate’s heart ached for him. He had lived in England for nearly all his adult life and until Hitler’s rise to power he had considered himself as much at home in England as if he had been born there. Though it was probably true that his offer of providing a home for Jewish refugees had been turned down where Jewish children were concerned, surely the authorities could have accepted his offer on behalf of a Jewish family?
‘Anyone would think I was a paid-up member of Hitler’s National Socialists,’ he said bitterly. ‘Why on God’s earth should the British Government assume I’m a Nazi just because I was born in Germany? And if they’re going to take the same attitude to every German-born national living in Great Britain, what the devil are they planning to do with us all if and when war breaks out?’
She had had no answer for him then and she had no answer for him now. ‘Don’t fret about it,’ she said lovingly, aware of how grossly inadequate her words were. ‘Why don’t you go down to The Swan and have a game of darts with Nibbo or Daniel Collins?’
His back straightened fractionally. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said, forcing cheerfulness into his voice so as not to depress her as much as he, himself, was depressed. ‘I shan’t be long, only an hour or two. What will you do? Go down to Carrie’s?’
She shook her head. ‘No, Danny’s home on leave. I’ve bought a copy of the new magazine Miss Pierce told me about. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea and sit comfortably in front of the fire with it.’
He kissed her on the cheek, took his winter jacket and scarf off the peg they were habitually hung on in the cupboard beneath the stairs, and let himself out of the house.
In a more subdued frame of mind than she had been in for weeks Kate did the washing-up and then made herself a cup of tea. Carrying it into the sitting-room, she turned on the radio. The music of Reginald King and his Orchestra filled the room and with her cup of tea in one hand and a copy of Picture Post in the other, she settled herself down in an armchair in front of the glowing coal fire.
In early December she received a letter from Toby informing her that he would be home on leave from 23 December to the 27th. A week later she received another letter in which he told her that he would be arriving in London by train and that the train he intended travelling on was due in at Charing Cross Station on the 23 December at 6.15 p.m. Could she meet him there, beneath the clock inside the station?
Could she meet him? Did giraffes have long necks? Were there pyramids in Egypt? Of course she could meet him. No power on earth would prevent her from doing so. That evening, as she made the fruit and brandy-soaked Christmas pudding that she and her father always shared on Christmas Day and that needed at least two weeks to mature, she sang happily as a lark, oblivious of her father’s excessive quietness.
‘What will you wear?’ was the first question Carrie asked her when they had a girls’ night out together after Danny had returned to Catterick.
‘I don’t know.’ It was a dilemma that hadn’t previously occurred to her and now that it had done it assumed astronomical proportions.
‘Well where is he taking you?’ Carrie asked, ever practical. ‘Is he taking you dancing or to a show or to the cinema?’
‘He didn’t say.’ Sudden doubt seized hold of her. ‘He might not be taking me anywhere. He might just want me to be company for him on the last leg of his journey back to Blackheath.’
Carrie raised mascara-lashed eyes to heaven in despair. ‘God help me, Kate Voigt. You aren’t half an idiot at times! Of course he’s going to take you out! He has five days leave. One of those days is Christmas and he’ll most likely be obliged to spend all that day with his grandfather. He has to travel back to camp on the fifth day so that’s another evening he won’t be able to take you out anywhere. You don’t think he’s going to waste one of the precious remaining three nights hurrying home for a cup of hot cocoa, do you?’
Kate grinned. ‘I sincerely hope not! I’m no nearer to solving my problem though, am I? What on earth shall I wear? I don’t want to find myself looking ridiculous in too much finery in Lyons Corner House or wearing no finery at all and at the Ritz.’
‘Wear something expensive-looking but plain and take some jewellery with you,’ Carrie advised as if the dilemma was one she had faced often and conquered with aplomb. ‘If he ends up being an old meanie and taking you to a Corner House, keep the jewellery firmly in your handbag. If he takes you to the Ritz, whip out your rope of imitation pearls and a pair of matching earrings and you’ll look as good as anyone else there.’
Kate doubted it but knew it was sensible advice. She would wear a very plain dress and the opal brooch and matching earrings that had been her mother’s. As it was the middle of winter she would also have to wear her rather shabby coat, but she would give it a very careful brushing and pressing and she would wind her heavy plait of hair into an elegant chignon.
Two weeks later, standing beneath the huge clock in Charing Cross Station, Kate felt as if she needed to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Was she really waiting in lovesick fever for a man she had only spoken to on three occasions, one of which had been brief, impersonal and almost rude? The second occasion, when he had joined her as she ate her lunchtime sandwiches by the banks of the Thames, had been decidedly friendlier and had established a feeling of deep-seated rapport between them but that, too, had been relatively brief. The third occasion, when he had taken her for a drink at The Princess of Wales and then home, had been the only occasion that could remotely be classed as having been a date and even on that occasion their time alone together had been minimal, the first half of it having been spent in Charlie’s company and the second half in her father’s.
Self-consciously she stood directly beneath the clock. The statio
n was crowded with London office and shop workers making their way home to the suburbs and into Kent. On her right-hand side, members of the Salvation Army stood in a small group singing Christmas Carols, collection tins conspicuously in their hands. On the left of her stood a Christmas tree decorated with baubles and tinsel and crowned by a glittering silver star.
Where was Toby? She knew the platform his train from Kent was due to arrive at because she had checked it when she had alighted from the Blackheath train fifteen minutes earlier. She had been tempted to wait at the barrier for him but the crush of home-going commuters was so thick that she decided there was a remote chance they would not see each other. Their pre-arranged meeting-place beneath the clock was a far safer bet and she stood there, her carefully brushed and pressed cherry-red wool coat buttoned up to her throat, her gleaming blonde hair coiled into a sleek knot in the nape of her neck, her black leather gloved hands clasped tightly together. What if his leave had been suddenly cancelled? What if he didn’t come? What if she had misread his letter and the date was wrong? What if the time were wrong and he had arrived hours ago and, tired of waiting for her, travelled home to Blackheath alone?
‘Kate!’
She swivelled around in the direction of his voice. He was forcing a way through the throng, stunningly handsome in his RAF uniform, his RAF cap crammed jauntily on to his thick shock of fair hair.
‘Kate!’ he said again, his face alight with joy at the sight of her and then, as if they had been lovers for years, he opened his arms to her and she ran into them like an arrow entering the gold.
His lips were hot and tender against her hair. ‘Oh God, Kate,’ he said hoarsely, ‘I thought you might not be here. I thought you might have changed your mind.’
‘No!’ she said vehemently, her face pressed close against his chest as his arms held her tightly against him. ‘Never!’
She felt loving laughter vibrate in his chest. ‘Then that’s all right then,’ he said, his amusement that such a gentle-looking girl could be capable of such fighting fierceness thick in his voice. Gently he tilted her face upwards with his forefinger so that he could look into her eyes. As their gaze deepened, his amusement faded to be replaced by desire so strong he could barely contain it.
‘I missed you,’ he said thickly, the expression in his eyes telling her more clearly than words ever could how very, very much.
‘I missed you,’ she said a little shyly and with utter sincerity.
Once again a smile touched the corners of his well-shaped, compassionate mouth and then, uncaring of the crowds milling around them, he lowered his head, his mouth meeting hers in sweet, unfumbled contact.
They went for a drink in the cocktail bar of the adjoining Charing Cross Hotel and then, hand in hand, walked the short distance into the West End to the Empire Cinema to see Walt Disney’s much talked about first feature length cartoon, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
Although Toby had made the choice only because the newly built cinema was within easy walking distance, it proved to be an inspired choice.
For two magical hours Kate sat in the lush Art Deco interior, revelling not only in Toby’s nearness in the dark intimacy of the cinema, but also in the heady pleasure of being mentally transported from the harsh reality of grey, grim London to a magical fantasy world where good always triumphed over the forces of evil.
When the film ended they walked, still hand in hand, to a small friendly restaurant by the name of Bertorelli’s where Toby was greeted as an old friend and where, when she removed her coat, she was grateful for the elegance of her mother’s opal brooch pinned near the neckline of her dress.
‘I want you to meet my grandfather sometime over the next four days,’ he said to her as they were served with an hors d’oeuvres of delicious pâté and hot toast.
She put her knife down, alarm flashing through her eyes. ‘But you said he would want nothing to do with me because I’m German! You said that if he had known about it he wouldn’t even have allowed Personnel to have employed me!’
‘I know I did,’ he said steadily, ‘and, unfortunately, I was speaking the truth.’
‘Then why . . .?’ she began bewilderedly.
He put his own knife down and reached across the table, taking her hands in his. ‘Because we’re going to have a very long and a very special relationship and the sooner my grandfather knows about it and is able to come to terms with it, the better it will be for all of us. Once he meets you, he won’t be able to help himself from liking you. No-one could. For reasons I’ve already explained to you, he won’t find the situation an easy one to adjust to, but he’ll adjust to it eventually, especially when he realizes how important you are to me.’
Her fingers tightened on his. ‘I’m glad I’m important to you,’ she said huskily, emboldened by the gin and tonic she had drunk earlier in the cocktail bar at the Charing Cross Hotel and by the glass of wine she had just finished. ‘You’ve become very important to me, too.’
The waitress came and removed their plates and re-filled their glasses. They were oblivious of her.
In the subdued romantic lighting of the restaurant his classically sculpted features looked even more handsome than she had first thought them.
‘How could we have lived so near to each other and been so unaware of each other for so long?’ he asked wonderingly.
This time is was her turn to be amused. ‘Because we might live geographically near to each other but socially we’re worlds removed. Where did you go to junior school? I bet it wasn’t Sheriton Road Juniors?’
His quick easy smile made her heart feel as if it had turned over in her chest. ‘Point taken. No, I most certainly did not go to Sheriton Road, I went to prep school when I was seven.’
Kate’s eyes widened in dismay. ‘Seven? Wasn’t that awful? Being taken away from your home and your parents when you were still such a small boy?’
Beneath his RAF jacket his broad shoulders gave an almost imperceptible shrug. ‘It wasn’t so bad. It’s something you quickly adjust to.’ He grinned suddenly, knowing instinctively how she was going to react to his next remark. ‘The worst thing was the transition from being a seven-year-old to being an eight-year-old.’
‘Why?’ Mystified, she ignored the plate of grilled prawns that the waitress had just placed in front of her.
‘Because although boys are allowed to take their teddy bears and to keep them with them for their first year, they’re taken away from them when they move into the eight-year-old’s dorm.’
The expression on Kate’s face was a mixture of anguish and outraged indignation. ‘I think that’s appalling! In fact, I think it’s even worse than appalling, I think it’s downright criminal!’
A couple at a nearby table, overhearing only Kate’s last two comments, cast comically quizzical looks towards her. Amusedly aware of them, and aware also that his main course of steak Béarnaise was rapidly going cold, he reluctantly released his hold of her hands.
‘And what about you?’ he asked, picking up his knife and fork and continuing with his meal. ‘Where did you go to school after leaving Sheriton Road Juniors?’
Kate began to give some attention to her grilled prawns, saying, ‘I went to Blackheath and Kidbrooke.’
‘And was that where you met the friend who was with you in the photograph you sent me?’
‘Carrie?’ Kate’s generously full mouth curved in a deep smile. ‘No, Carrie and I go back much further than that. We met even before we both went to Sheriton Road Juniors.’
‘How?’ he asked, wanting to know everything about her; everything about her past, no matter how trivial. ‘Were you next-door neighbours?’
‘Not quite. I live at the top, Blackheath end of Magnolia Square and Carrie lives nearer to the Lewisham end of the Square. We met at Blackheath Village Nursery School and we’ve been best friends ever since.’
Later, as he said a final goodnight to her outside her gate, he said, ‘I want you to meet grandfather on Christmas
Eve. We can all go for a meal together somewhere special. The Savoy Grill perhaps, or the Ritz.’
Held wonderfully close and secure in his arms, she said slowly, ‘I don’t think I’m ready for such a meeting yet, Toby. It would be different if he wasn’t my employer, but as it is . . .’ She left her sentence unfinished but he knew what it was she was worrying about. If his grandfather proved to be totally unreasonable she might lose her job and it was a risk she was not, as yet, prepared to take.
‘All right,’ he said tenderly, knowing that her reluctance was perfectly natural and knowing, deep in his heart, that it was sensible as well. The longer their relationship had endured by the time they spoke to his grandfather about it, the greater the chances that his grandfather, realizing the seriousness of their commitment to each other, would be tolerant and accepting of it. He knew also that his grandfather would now be waiting with exceeding impatience for him to arrive home.
‘I have to go,’ he said with deep reluctance. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. You’ll be finishing work early, won’t you, as it’s Christmas Eve? We could go for a meal in town and then to the midnight carol service in Trafalgar Square.’
‘I’d love that,’ she said, her arms lovingly around his waist, held so close against him that she could hear his heart beating beneath his airforce-blue jacket. ‘It’s something I’ve always wanted to go to but Dad would never let me.’
As his eyebrows rose quizzically she giggled. ‘He wouldn’t let me go because he was worried about my being out so late in town on my own. He’s not going to worry about me if I’m with you.’
‘I should hope not,’ Toby said in dry amusement.
Dimly in the darkness the unmistakable figure of Charlie was approaching, Queenie at his heels.
Swiftly, before he could be cheated of the opportunity, Toby once more bent his head to Kate’s, kissing her goodnight for the last time.
The Londoners Page 11
