by Jules Wake
‘Nervous.’ Judith screwed up her face in disbelief. ‘You? But you were – I don’t know the English – bold. Like you were on the train. You walk as if you own the world.’
Betty let out a burst of laughter and clutched Judith’s arm.
‘It’s all an act. I’m not bold. Inside it’s different. Very different. I don’t fit in here. You and Evelyn, you’re educated. I went to the village school until I was fourteen. Then I worked…’ she swallowed, wondering if her confession would make the other girl look down on her, ‘I worked here as a parlourmaid until I joined the ATS.’
‘That’s how you know the house so well.’
Betty nodded, feeling a touch ashamed. ‘Please don’t tell Evelyn.’
Judith frowned. ‘Of course, but why?’
‘Evelyn would probably be horrified if she knew she was sharing her room with a servant.’
Judith’s face softened and she reached out a hand and, to Betty’s surprise, took hers and squeezed it. ‘You’re not a servant, you are serving your country.’
‘That morning, I was really worried about… about being good enough for the job. I told them I could type and well, I can’t really. I’m really sorry.’ She paused, still trying to make amends.
Judith stared at her. ‘But you…’ She waved a hand at Betty’s face.
‘I pretend like I’m in the movies. Like I’m Betty Grable.’
‘You should go into the movies then,’ Judith’s face creased into an impish smile, ‘you’re very good. I wish I could be like that.’
‘I don’t know about that. I like what you said just now, about living for each day because you can’t change the past. I know I ought to be grateful that I’ve got a job and I’m near my family – even if Ma does drive me mad sometimes.’ She touched Judith on the arm. ‘I bet you’d give anything to have your ma drive you mad.’
Judith smiled. ‘My father actually. My mother died when I was a baby. I don’t remember her but I was close with my father.’
‘Is he…?’
Judith nodded.
‘I’m sorry. I remember my dad.’ She held up her wrist and showed Judith his watch. ‘He was my hero. He could do anything, build fences, pluck chickens, tell stories and he could sing.’
‘My father played the piano and the violin,’ said Judith. ‘And I miss him.’
‘Do you have a picture? What did he play?’ Betty always felt better talking about her father even though he’d been gone for a long time now; it brought him closer to her in some way and she wanted to do the same for Judith.
‘He played a lot of Mozart. His favourite composer.’ She stood up and rummaged in the case under her bed and came back with a wooden-framed photo. ‘This is him.’
Betty took the picture and studied the man before handing it back with a smile. ‘I can see you have his eyes and his smile.’
‘Thank you.’ Judith heaved out a sigh. ‘It’s the second time I’ve talked about him in the last two weeks and it’s a surprise, it feels better.’ She turned and laughed, and Betty saw that under Judith’s veneer of sorrow, there’d once been a happier, brighter character. ‘I never thought talking would help, but do you know what, it really did. It’s made me think so differently. Before I held onto everything that has happened to me and it was choking me inside. Talking, letting it out, it’s quite freeing. It makes me feel lighter. So tell me, what is so bad?’
Betty looked at her warily, not really understanding what she was saying, but she realised that the other woman did look a lot brighter in the face.
‘I’m not very good at typing. Everyone else is so fast. I stayed behind to finish tonight but I’m worried that I’ll get my cards. I like it here. It feels like I’m part of something. Something important.’
‘I know that. I feel it too. But surely if you finished your work, you have done your part.’
‘I hope so.’ But Betty wasn’t reassured. Major Wendermeyer had caught her and she’d talked about secrets and then he’d gone very quiet. No doubt because he knew he was going to have to ask her to leave.
‘Hello,’ said Evelyn, suddenly appearing in the doorway. ‘Are you two having an early night as well? I’m absolutely pooped.’
Betty nodded and gave her a half-hearted smile. This super-confident, elegant woman probably never had a moment’s doubt in her life. She was probably good at everything. She’d already been talking about going home on one of her days off to collect her tennis racket.
She shot Judith a conspiratorial smile. She’d enjoyed talking to her. They’d just built a bridge, a very small one but it felt important. They were so different but she experienced a flicker of a friendship even though she wouldn’t know Mozart if he yelled in her ear, although she did love the Andrews Sisters. One of the girls in London had brought her brother’s His Master’s Voice gramophone with her along with a pile of shiny black 78 Decca records. Gosh, they’d had some fun dancing in the dorm around the beds. Not much room for jitterbugging though. She did love to dance.
Evelyn crossed to her bed. ‘So how’s everyone settling in?’
They all looked warily at each other and she held her hand up. ‘Official Secrets and all that. I’m not asking what you do, just how you’re finding it.’
It was funny, both Betty and Judith relaxed as soon as Evelyn said that.
‘It’s a bit strange not knowing what is going on,’ said Betty, tentatively, trying to work out if she could test her theory without giving away any secrets. ‘But we all know that there are prisoners of war here.’ She said it confidently and was relieved when the other two both nodded. ‘But we mustn’t tell anyone else that. I’m not sure even the kitchen staff know. The people in the village definitely don’t.’
‘I, for one,’ said Evelyn, ‘am enjoying it enormously. Interesting work, fun people and the food is wonderful. At my last billet, Mrs Rankin did her best but she couldn’t cook if her life depended on it.’
Judith laughed. ‘The food is wonderful,’ she pulled a face, her eyes twinkling with sudden mischief, ‘especially as it’s tended to by our guests. I think that makes it taste even better.’
Betty slapped her forehead. ‘Ah, of course. That makes sense now. The prisoners of war work in the gardens. They’re huge here as well. I did wonder. William’s under-gardeners all went off to fight years ago.’
Evelyn laughed. ‘I know about that. Our poor gardener, Hodges, is swamped trying to “dig for victory”, bless him. I shall tell Mummy she ought to investigate getting some help. There’s a prisoner-of-war place at Badgemore, which isn’t far.’
Betty glanced at Judith – of course Evelyn had a gardener – and hoped the other woman wouldn’t give her away.
‘Who fancies a quick snifter?’ asked Evelyn. ‘We’ve been here two weeks, I think we ought to celebrate, don’t you? I’ve got a bottle in the boot of the car. Only thing is, I don’t want anyone to see me.’
‘Celebrate what?’ asked Judith uncertainly.
Evelyn shrugged her elegant shoulders and wrinkled her delicate nose for a moment as if giving the question serious consideration. ‘Being roommates? And I do think we’ve got the best room in the house, our own balcony, fabulous views and none of us snore. And I feel like celebrating.’
Her gaiety was infectious and Betty managed a giggle. Evelyn looked at Judith who lifted her shoulders and said, ‘Why not?’
‘And I know how you can get downstairs without anyone seeing you,’ said Betty.
‘You do?’
‘Grab your torch and come with me.’
Both Evelyn and Judith followed her to the top of the stairs and she led them down the first flight of stairs to the corridor leading to the main stairs, but instead of turning right she turned left and led them to a blank wall between two faded squares where portraits of the third and fourth Barons had once hung. She giggled at their puzzled faces.
‘Look, you twist the rail here.’ As she did so the outline of a door appeared.
‘How exc
iting,’ said Evelyn, thankfully not questioning how she’d come by her knowledge. Judith gave her an admiring look.
‘If you go down there, there’s a short corridor and then two flights of stairs which lead you down to another corridor. At the very end of that, it opens at the back of the alcove in the front hall behind the suit of armour. You’ll have walked past it lots of times and never suspected it was there.’
Evelyn’s eyes widened. ‘What an adventure.’
‘Do you want us to come with you?’ asked Betty, enjoying her roommate’s enthusiasm.
With a shake of her golden head, her eyes gleaming, Evelyn said, ‘Absolutely not. I shall navigate myself. What a lark!’ She switched on her torch and shone it into the dark passageway. ‘Excuse me. Won’t be a mo.’ And with that she disappeared from view into the dark corridor.
‘Rather her than me,’ said Judith, shaking her head. ‘I don’t like dark, enclosed spaces. They remind me to much of having to hide.’ She shuddered and Betty wondered what she’d been through to escape from Germany.
She squeezed her arm. ‘Thank you, Judith, for talking to me and making me feel better. You’ve been very kind.’
Judith smiled back at her. ‘No, I’ve not been as kind as I could have been. There was so much unkindness and unpleasantness that I lost myself. I forgot how to be human for a long time. Now I feel as if I’m starting to wake up.’ To Betty’s surprise, she hooked her arm through hers and together they walked back up the stairs to their room, which, to Betty’s even greater surprise, was starting to feel like home.
Evelyn returned, aglow with excitement and triumph, laying a small wicker picnic hamper on Betty’s bed, opening it with a squeak of leather against the woven willow. She pulled out a bottle of champagne and then solemnly handed out three beautiful, shallow, crystal glasses.
She handed two to Betty.
‘Champagne!’ gasped Betty before she could stop herself. She was glad her hands were full because she wanted to trace the pretty decoration around the glasses with her fingers. They were simply beautiful. Of course, she’d seen the like before when she’d helped her Aunt Daisy polish the glasses before one of Lord Chesham’s grand parties, but she’d never drunk from one and certainly had never tasted champagne.
‘Seems a shame to waste it. Daddy bought a couple of cases for my twenty-first but then I gave up my place at Oxford and joined up, so there’s never been the opportunity to share with anyone.’ She was already expertly untwisting the wire and then twisting the cork. Judith, meanwhile, was holding up the glass to the light. ‘Are these Baccarat?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I believe they are,’ said Evelyn. ‘Pretty aren’t they?’
Judith nodded and turned to Betty wide-eyed and mouthed, ‘Baccarat,’ while Evelyn, oblivious to her amazement, pulled out the cork with an exciting pop.
A rush of warmth filled Betty. Come what may tomorrow, this evening was one that she would remember all her life. Sitting at the very top of Latimer House, drinking champagne from expensive glasses. She’d never heard of Baclerat or whatever it was, but she knew from Judith’s stunned reaction that it was very posh.
Evelyn poured the golden fizzing liquid into each glass and put the bottle down, reaching for the second glass in Betty’s hand.
‘What shall we make a toast to? I feel like we’re the three musketeers.’
Betty glanced at Judith and said, ‘To tomorrow, because today is done.’
‘What a jolly good idea,’ said Evelyn. ‘Excellent.’ She raised her glass and the other two raised their glasses so they just touched. ‘To tomorrow, because today is done,’ she repeated and they all took a sip.
‘Oooh,’ said Betty blinking, wishing for once she could have been a bit more sophisticated. ‘It went up my nose.’
‘Then you must make a wish,’ said Evelyn. ‘Close your eyes tight, take another sip and wish.’
Betty did as she was told.
‘What did you wish for?’ asked Evelyn, with a wide smile.
‘It’s a secret,’ said Judith. ‘Or it won’t come true.’
‘Oh pish, that’s superstitious nonsense.’ And they all burst out laughing at the irony of her words.
Betty, personally, didn’t think a wish was going to save her but she was going to enjoy every last drop of her champagne. Who knew when she’d ever get the chance to drink it again? This time tomorrow she could well be drinking weak tea in her ma’s kitchen and sharing a bed with her and Jane again.
Chapter Twelve
Evelyn
The Officers’ Mess, situated in what was once a rather grand drawing room, with pale-lemon wainscoting covering the lower walls and colourful co-ordinating wallpaper above, was a lively place after work. Already the leather chesterfield sofas and armchairs were full and the bar was several people deep.
Evelyn was greeted by Freddie with a loud yell.
‘Brooke-Edwards, get yourself over here.’ Greeting a few people that she now knew as she went, she crossed over to the small group gathered near the mullioned bay window. ‘Pink gin, darling?’ asked Ian Spencer.
‘Lovely, thanks,’ she said, taking the offered cocktail glass. ‘Chin, chin.’
‘Chin, bloody chin indeed,’ said Alexander Spencer, Ian’s brother. She’d known their cousin Alasdair at Oxford which immediately cemented an introduction; like many of the people here, there was always some common connection. ‘I bloody well deserve this. What do they think we are, super-human or something? Never known anything like it.’
‘Lots of U-boats been sunk last month. I heard it was forty-three,’ said Ian. ‘The tide in the Atlantic is turning.’
‘I heard that’s twenty-five per cent of their operational fleet.’
‘Whatever it is, it’s bringing us a lot more trade. And the Axis surrender in North Africa is sure to bring us some high-ups. Both German and Italian. Might bag ourselves a general or two. That’ll excite the bigwigs.’
Evelyn nodded but didn’t join in the conversation, instead letting it wash over her. She’d completed several interrogations today and felt exhausted. The responsibility and the intensity of the interrogations were quite draining. It was difficult staying alert the whole time and not missing a single clue but also trying to remember all the details. Her hand felt cramped after frantically scribbling notes and doing a debrief with Lieutenant Colonel Weston, who wanted to know how N1431 was doing. He’d been quite a recalcitrant prisoner to date and had been swapped to her. She’d found him cocky and condescending throughout this afternoon’s interview and quite frankly she’d had enough of arrogant, full-of-themselves young men for one day. She sipped at her cocktail wondering if she could find a tray and sneak another two up to her room.
‘You all right there, Evelyn?’ bayed one of the young officers.
‘Fine, thank you, George.’ She gave him a cool smile.
‘When are you going to make a foursome with me and Freddie for tennis?’ he demanded.
‘When I’ve collected my tennis racket and clothes from home,’ she said patiently. He’d asked the same question every day for the last week, ever since Freddie had let on that she played a mean game. He was harmless enough; she was feeling a bit jaded and forced herself to give him a dazzling smile. She did enjoy a good game and would look forward to expending some energy. She wasn’t used to spending this much time indoors.
Sipping at her drink, she drifted over to the window and looked out at the view. With a pang she thought of holidays in Germany, walking in Bavaria and a memorable trip to Switzerland where a group of them had gone walking in the mountains. The memory made her smile even as it brought back the aching muscles and the physical demands of the strenuous climb up to the top of one peak in order to get the best view of the Matterhorn. Peter had kissed her at the top. Held her hand. Asked her to marry him. She threw back her gin cocktail and swallowed down the lump in her throat, staring fixedly out of the window. Where was he now? She had absolutely no idea. She didn’t even know if he we
re in the Army, the Navy or the Air Force or where he might have been posted.
She still wore his ring around her neck. It had broken her heart to break off their engagement but he, like her father, had agreed that it was the sensible thing to do as the threat of war had become ever more likely.
When they’d announced their engagement to both families it had been the happiest day of her life. Peter’s parents lived next door to her Aunt Gertrude in Heidelberg and the two families had grown close over the ten years since Gertrude and Leonard had moved in. For two summers she and Peter had seen each other daily with love blooming and bursting between them, to the delight of both families. They’d taken many an excursion out in the nearby countryside and then that final trip to Switzerland in the May of 1939 when he’d proposed. For a few scant months they’d enjoyed being an engaged couple with Peter spending early June at the house in Henley before she’d gone back to Heidelberg on her own in August, despite her parents’ misgivings after her escapade in Bavaria. Germany had turned into a dangerous place.
That was the last time she’d seen him.
The declaration of war had struck like an axe separating them.
Some days she forced herself to accept the truth; it was unlikely that she would ever see Peter again. Other times she daydreamed that they might find each other at some distant point when the war was over. But it had already gone on for nearly four years. Was his family still in Heidelberg? Her aunt and uncle had moved to the United States. Their house was standing empty. Who knew what would happen to it. She had no way of knowing or contacting any of his family. The stark, awful truth that haunted her nights was that he could be dead and she would never know. She fought back the sob that threatened to rise in her throat, lifted her chin and fixed her gaze on the river, counting under her breath. It took until she reached twenty-seven before her equilibrium returned, but even so she didn’t feel like socialising with the other officers.
