by Daisy Styles
When Julia met her old chums at their favourite Italian restaurant in Dean Street, Mildred and Rita were agog to hear her news.
‘Quite honestly there’s little to tell,’ Julia said with a shrug. ‘As the saying goes, “It’s grim up North!” ’ she laughed. ‘Come on, tell me all about the Ministry of Defence.’
‘Well, it’s pretty boring typing and answering the phone all day,’ Mildred started.
‘Though it does have its perks,’ Rita teased her friend. ‘Mildred’s getting married!’ she announced.
‘You dark horse!’ Julia cried. ‘Who’s the lucky chap?’
Cheeky Rita answered for her blushing friend. ‘Horace, one of the bosses, clever ex-RAF pilot with a terrific moustache!’
‘Rita’s got a chap too,’ Mildred giggled like a naughty schoolgirl. ‘A handsome GI called Brad!’
‘So you’re the only single one now,’ Rita joked. ‘Any chance of finding a chap up North?’
Julia’s eyes all but fell out of her head. ‘A man?’ she cried. ‘I work with hundreds of women and live with only women – everywhere I go it’s just women, apart from the manager and the supervisors.’ She shook her head at the thought of finding a boyfriend in Pendleton. ‘It’s another world, believe me.’
Over plates of delicious ravioli and a bottle of Chianti, Mildred discussed her wedding plans.
‘What kind of wedding dress are you planning to wear?’ Julia asked. ‘Or will you just wear a smart suit like so many brides do these days?’
‘Oh, no! The dress is already made,’ Mildred told her.
Rita, who seemed even more excited than the bride about the wedding dress, added, ‘White silk and lace with a train the length of Westminster Abbey!’ Rita rolled her eyes as she continued, ‘Selfless sort that she is, Mildred’s already offering her dress to other less fortunate brides-to-be – after she’s worn it herself, of course.’
Mildred blushed prettily. ‘I really don’t care – just so long as I get to wear it first,’ she laughed. ‘What with rationing getting harder than ever, it seemed the right thing to do, sharing what I’m lucky enough to own amongst friends.’
Julia’s eyes flicked over Mildred’s tall, muscular body that was not unlike Maggie’s slim one.
‘Don’t think I’d be quite so selfless if it were mine!’ Rita joked.
Before Julia could stop herself, she heard herself saying, ‘I know this is a bit pushy, but would you consider lending it to a friend of mine?’
‘Of course – when’s the date?’
‘Um, I need to check, but I think it’s in early May,’ Julia replied.
‘Well, that’ll be fine, as my wedding is next month, so I can post it on to you if you leave me your address, darling,’ Mildred promised.
‘You know munitions factories have top-secret addresses which are not for common exchange?’ Julia said, as she rolled her eyes dramatically.
‘Pigeon-post won’t handle it,’ Mildred joked. ‘Way too heavy.’
‘I’ll give you the address of my digs, but don’t be shocked when I tell you the first line of the address is “The Cowshed”!’ Julia laughed.
‘God!’ cried Rita. ‘I’ve heard that digs can be bad but not that bad.’
‘Four of us live there, including the girl who’s getting married,’ Julia explained. ‘I can’t tell you what this will mean to her,’ she breathed gratefully, feeling a warm glow at the thought of Maggie’s face when she saw the dress. ‘Maybe,’ she thought wistfully, ‘they’ll all resent me less after this, realize that I’m a good person, and have feelings too.’
As the waiter refilled their glasses with heady red Chianti, Julia could hardly believe the dream scenario she’d just organized for Maggie.
‘I must be going soft in the head.’
Her confused thoughts were interrupted by Mildred, who leant across the table to take hold of Julia’s hand. ‘The wedding’s early April – you will come, won’t you, Jay?’
‘I’d love to,’ Julia answered. ‘But coming home this weekend has used up all my leave, so it’s highly unlikely I’ll get more time off,’ she said apologetically. ‘I’m so sorry – if I’d known I would have saved it up for you, of course.’ Seeing Mildred’s disappointed reaction, Julia squeezed her hand, noticing a very big, glittering diamond ring for the first time. ‘You’ll make a ravishing bride, darling. I only hope your fiancé is worthy of a gem of a girl like you.’
After real coffee and Italian brandy, the girls decided to make a run for it.
‘We don’t want to get caught by the damn siren,’ Rita urged. ‘I’m so sick of sleeping in the Underground; a night in my own bed would be bliss.’
After giving her address to Mildred and promising to pay the postage for the wedding dress, Julia kissed her friends goodbye, wondering sadly when she would next get a chance to see them. And then she hailed a taxi home, where she immediately snuggled down in her luxuriously comfortable bed. Laying her head on the pillows, she closed her eyes and promptly fell fast asleep for a straight twelve hours.
It was lovely to wake up in her own bed the next morning, with the sun slanting through the pretty curtains. Left to her own devices, Julia would have slept on, but a gentle knock on the door and her mother’s voice announcing breakfast made her realize she was starving.
Slipping into her dressing gown, she joined her mother in the dining room, where there were boiled eggs, fresh from the housekeeper’s hens, homemade marmalade, warm toast and, best of all, real coffee.
‘I bought it on the black market when I knew you were coming home,’ her mother admitted guiltily. ‘I just couldn’t resist it, even though it cost a fortune.’
‘This is illegal luxury indeed,’ Julia joked as she poured herself a second cup of strong black coffee.
She and her mother swapped notes on their work for the Red Cross, then Julia brought the topic of conversation round to her brother, which was what she really wanted to talk about. ‘How is he?’ she asked eagerly.
Her mother looked askance. ‘You mean how does he compensate for not flying RAF bombers?’
Julia nodded. ‘Poor chap – he just adored it.’
‘He was lucky – we were lucky – he could have been killed outright.’
‘I know, I agree, but I bet he doesn’t think that,’ Julia retorted. ‘Working in the Ministry of Information is never going to be enough for a bomber pilot like Hugo. He’ll want to be more involved.’
‘He’s doing wonderful things,’ her mother insisted.
Julia adopted a melodramatic voice as she said, ‘What, tracking spies, inventing cyphers, parachuting into France?’
Her mother rolled her eyes at her teasing daughter. ‘You and your imagination,’ she joked.
Smearing tangy marmalade on her toast, Julia said, ‘It must be a lot more thrilling than building bombs.’
Her mother regarded her complicated daughter, who looked wan and pale but had so far voiced no overt complaints about her war work.
‘Is it awful, darling?’ she asked softly.
‘The work’s grim but that wouldn’t be so bad if everything else wasn’t even grimmer,’ Julia admitted. ‘But the war can’t go on forever,’ she added with the forced cheerfulness that everybody adopted these days. ‘I’ll be back in no time – that’s what I keep telling myself. What does Daddy say?’
‘Not much,’ her mother replied with a wry smile.
‘Tight-lipped as ever,’ Julia retorted knowingly. ‘Like father like son!’ she added with a laugh. ‘Though I am hoping Hugo might be able to furnish me with a little more information tonight. He must know more than we do.’
‘Really, is that wise, dear?’ Mrs Thorpe said with raised eyebrows.
‘Well, the thing is, it’s quite specific what I want to ask him. Somebody I share lodgings with is trying to trace her brother, who escaped from a concentration camp. But she’s going the wrong way about it, so I feel I should try to help,’ Julia told her gravely.
; ‘Let’s hope there is a right way. It can’t be easy finding someone in those circumstances,’ her mother remarked, hoping her daughter wasn’t being unrealistic about being able to help.
‘It’s not like I can ask a host of people for advice on such a delicate matter,’ Julia declared. ‘Hugo really is the only person I know whom I can ask – he must have some ideas,’ she insisted.
‘If he’s a chip off the old block, he’ll reveal nothing,’ Mrs Thorpe warned.
The day sped by and before she knew it Julia was on her way to meet Hugo at the Ritz. Wearing a military-style navy-blue hat and a red woollen coat with a swing back and deep pockets and cuffs, Julia felt a rush of excitement. How nice it was to be heading out on a lovely spring evening with the birds singing from lamp-posts and chimney tops, even though their hopeful duets were starkly at odds with the bombed streets and piles of filthy rubble she deftly circumnavigated.
The Ritz exterior was stacked high with sandbags and its revolving doors had been painted a blackout navy-blue. Catchy band music played as waiters in tails scurried back and forth bearing silver trays. As a smiling waiter relieved her of her coat, Julia glanced from right to left and caught sight of Hugo waving at her.
‘Jay!’ he said, as he stood to embrace his sister. ‘You look very nice indeed,’ he said, as he admired her short black silk pleated skirt and cream crêpe blouse. ‘Very French!’
Julia did a little twirl before she sat down and gratefully accepted the pink gin he’d ordered for her. ‘Delicious!’ she exclaimed as she took her first sip.
‘Mmmmm …’ She sighed as she studied the menu greedily. ‘Consommé frappé, salmon in white wine sauce followed by ices and coffee, five shillings for three courses, that’ll do me!’
Hugo swiftly ordered and they eagerly got started on catching up with each other’s news. They talked non-stop all the way through the first and second courses, with Julia as usual asking inquisitive questions that Hugo parried with good humour. It turned out Hugo was able to share with her the fact that he was the officer in charge of the Filter Room, part of the RAF’s Fighter Command, and working with mostly female staff and WAAFs at the very nerve centre of the British radar system.
‘Gosh!’ gasped Julia, who was thrilled to hear all that Hugo’s teams were involved in, which included giving warnings for air-raid sirens to be sounded in threatened areas; scrambling fighter squadrons; intercepting incoming hostile planes; and monitoring returning bomber aircraft in difficulty.
‘It really is a top-secret job,’ she said in awe.
But, as hard as she pushed, Hugo had no intention of sharing any further details with his very persistent little sister.
Julia took a deep drink from her glass of hock, then shocked her brother by asking a very direct question. ‘Hugo, I need to ask you something. How would you trace a Jew who was on the run, trying to find a safe house somewhere in France?’
‘Why do you ask?’ Hugo asked smoothly as he sipped wine from a crystal goblet.
Julia continued calmly, her voice low. ‘A friend of mine, well, she’s not really a friend, in fact, she rather hates me; but it’s her brother. All she’s been able to find out about him is that he escaped from the concentration camp where he was held and she’s obviously desperate to find more news of him. I thought you might have some idea of where to start,’ she finished, looking up at him hopefully.
Hugo lit up his pipe and nodded for her to continue.
‘From what I can gather, she thinks he was initially assisted by underground workers but he dodged them and went solo. Why would he do that?’ she asked her brother.
‘Fear of compromising them, maybe?’
Deciding it was time to come fully clean, Julia spread her hands on the table and told Hugo the rest: how she’d wilfully foiled Rosa’s plan to try to find her brother.
‘It may have put you in an awkward position but you did the right thing, sis,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘What your friend was planning was nothing but sheer madness.’
For the first time in weeks Julia felt some of the guilt slip away from her. ‘I believe I did do the right thing,’ she replied. ‘But my God have I paid the price for it.’
Hugo looked at her, hearing the pain in her voice. ‘So that’s why you’re still chasing it?’ Hugo inquired softly. ‘You want to do something to make up for what your friend sees as a betrayal? Even though it wasn’t at all!’
Julia cocked her head as she considered his question. ‘I suppose so, but it’s not just that. It’s also because she’s so sad and wretched,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t care how she feels about me, but I am sorry I’ve taken away her hope.’
‘So what do you think I can do?’ Hugo asked.
‘Well, you must have some idea about how someone like that might be traced? Don’t tell me you don’t have contacts working in the British underground.’
Hugo’s face remained impassive. ‘Do you have any specific details?’ he asked.
Julia shook her head. ‘No, nothing, well, apart from this.’ She handed Hugo the small black-and-white photograph she’d found in Rosa’s bedroom. ‘It’s a photo of her brother; his name is Gabriel Falco. It looks like they were both held in a concentration camp after they’d been captured by the Nazis in Italy. I know that she got out and he obviously did later. I thought these’ – she pointed to the string of letters and numbers – ‘might be code names for the undercover workers who helped Rosa escape, though I don’t know, it’s probably a long shot.’
Hugo stared at the scuffed photo. ‘I don’t know how you think I can help, sis,’ he added, as he caught the waiter’s attention.
‘Please, Hugo!’ she pleaded. ‘Can’t you just see if any of your colleagues might have ideas, even if you don’t?’
As the waiter approached, Hugo appeared determined to change the subject, though she noticed that he kept the photograph she had given him. ‘Dessert?’ he inquired as if the conversation had never happened.
Instinctively knowing that Hugo would do what he could, she stopped asking questions and rose to her feet.
‘No, thanks. Now come on,’ she laughed. ‘Dance with me!’
25. A Cold Reception
Rosa hadn’t expected a letter from Roger to arrive at the Phoenix quite so quickly. She was on afternoon shifts, which meant she’d finish late and then it would be the usual trudge up the lane and bed. She sighed as she rolled one of her strong cheroot cigarettes; it seemed like there was nothing to her life but work, bed, eat and sleep. What had happened to that young girl with long dark hair and wide excited eyes? The other Rosa who’d walked mountains, painted portraits, skied in the Dolomites and lived at peace with her family?
‘War happened,’ she muttered as she inhaled deeply on her cigarette. ‘War and death and loss and separation,’ she added bitterly.
Rosa’s heart lurched when she saw a letter in her pigeon-hole, nervously opening it to read in a quiet corridor rather than in the noisy canteen, where her friends would be having a last-minute mug of tea and a hasty cigarette before the hooter went.
My Darling,
I was so happy and so relieved to receive your letter – you have NO idea how anxious I’ve been. I must confess the prolonged silence from you really troubled me. I even thought you might have forgotten all about me.
A guilty blush spread across Rosa’s cheeks; in truth she hadn’t been thinking much about her fiancé in the last few weeks. But she was pleased to hear he was well, though after writing excitedly about his squadron’s successful bombing raids, his letter took a quite unexpected turn that sent her pulse racing.
Rosa, dearest, I desperately want to introduce you to my parents, who were thrilled (and a little surprised) to hear of our engagement. They are eager to meet their future daughter-in-law. Is there any way you could get leave to visit them with me in the near future? I would be so proud to show you off, and I know that they will love you! Ours is a big old house, full of dogs, and it’s cold so bring your woo
llies!
After Rosa had finished the letter, she stared at it feeling a little numb. She felt like she’d only just reconnected with Roger – was she ready to meet his family so soon? She supposed if they were marrying it was the natural next step; she just hadn’t pictured herself meeting his family just yet. She felt nervous at the idea, but maybe it was a good one – she needed to know all about the man she was going to marry and this seemed like the right place to start. Rosa quickly folded the letter and shoved it into her pocket; she hadn’t time to think about Roger’s suggestion now, not if she was to start her shift on time.
Rosa’s preoccupied mood didn’t lighten when she heard later in the canteen that Julia was due back at the Phoenix shortly.
‘It will be nice to have her company in the filling shed again,’ Kit said cheerfully, as they queued up for shepherd’s pie and boiled leeks.
‘I can’t say the same myself,’ Rosa muttered crossly. ‘I’ve enjoyed not having Julia around; the atmosphere in the cowshed is so much better without her.’ She gave a loud groan. ‘The thought of having to put up with Julia again makes me feel quite sick.’
And at least in part on that basis Rosa made a snap decision: pushing aside her stodgy meal, which she’d barely touched, she decided she’d write to Roger before she went to bed, telling him that she’d be happy to go to Wiltshire with him as soon as they could both arrange leave, and was very much looking forward to meeting his parents.
Julia returned to a frosty reception in the cowshed, which was no more than she expected. Amongst the clothes she unpacked was the wedding issue of Vogue that had caught her fancy on her home visit and a photograph of Mildred’s lovely wedding gown and veil. Knowing that now was not the right moment to reveal such treasures, Julia slipped them into her chest of drawers along with the extra woollies and thick socks that she’d had the foresight to bring back with her.
