The Secrets of Latimer House

by Jules Wake

  She was also impressed and slightly awed by Evelyn and Betty’s dancing; the two of them seemed to be in perfect syncopation, swinging each other around, turning and twisting. Betty in particular was extremely athletic, her face alight with sheer joy as her hips wiggled and she sashayed around, her arms up in the air, moving in perfect timing to the oh-so-fast beat. Judith wouldn’t have been able to keep up if her life had depended on it.

  When the music finished, Betty threw herself backwards onto the plump damson velvet cushions of the sofa. ‘That was so much fun,’ she gasped, her chest heaving. ‘I can’t remember the last time I danced.’ Suddenly she sat up straight, even though she was still catching her breath. ‘Hey, do you girls know there’s a dance coming up? At Bovingdon.’

  Evelyn, also breathing heavily, crossed to the squat gramophone with its brass horn to select another record before saying, ‘Yes, I think Freddie mentioned it.’

  ‘We should go. All three of us. I bet Walther would take you,’ said Betty. ‘And we could pick up a couple of GIs.’

  ‘That would be fun,’ said Evelyn, although her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘What would you like next? Some Andrews Sisters?’

  ‘Ooh, yes. I love them.’ Betty was already standing up in anticipation. ‘Come on, Judith, you have to dance this time.’

  ‘No, it’s all right.’ She shrank back into her seat, shyness freezing her limbs. They’d made it look effortless and fun but she didn’t know the steps and her limbs would likely be tied in knots if she even tried. Her idea of dancing was the ballet or the polka.

  ‘Come on,’ wheedled Betty.

  It was hard to resist her when her eyes were so bright and shiny with elation and exertion, and it had looked a lot of fun.

  ‘We’ll teach you,’ said Evelyn, realising in that intuitive way of hers that Judith didn’t actually know how to dance those sorts of steps.

  Once the record was on, the two of them stood on either side of Judith.

  ‘Right, copy Betty. Betty, go slowly so that Judith can see the moves. And keep it simple. None of the fancy stuff, just yet.’

  Although Betty’s hips were clearly itching to wriggle at double the speed, she obliged. ‘It’s three steps to the two main beats. So quick, quick, slow.’ She demonstrated twisting her hips in a jaunty manner that Judith wasn’t sure she could emulate in any way, shape or form.

  ‘Relax,’ advised Evelyn. ‘Close your eyes, pretend no one else is here. Listen to the music.’

  That turned out to be excellent advice. If she couldn’t see anyone, then no one could see her. Closing her eyes, she did as she was told and the more she listened to the cheery, upbeat music and the women singing about the bugle boy of company B, the more her inhibitions melted away. When she opened her eyes, she realised that apart from a cursory check-in, Betty and Evelyn were far too busy having a good time to watch her steps.

  To her surprise and delight, perhaps because she had the advantage of a musical ear, she managed to pick up the steps quite quickly and when Betty put on a third 78 record, she taught her some twists and turns, going slowly again at first before she gradually speeded up.

  ‘I’m dancing!’ Judith cried, breathless and flushed as the three of them careered around the room.

  ‘You certainly are,’ said Evelyn.

  ‘Isn’t this so much fun?’ called Betty, coming in to take her hand to give her another spin.

  When the music finished, the three of them flopped like air-deprived fish on the sofa side by side and Judith, with a stitch in her side, thought she might never catch her breath.

  ‘You’re a fast learner,’ said Betty. ‘For someone who didn’t know how to dance.’

  Judith grinned. There’d been a fluidity to her body she’d not experienced before. ‘I think because I played the piano for most of my life.’

  ‘You play the piano!’ Evelyn sat up. ‘How wonderful. You must play ours. My brother was a keen jazz pianist. It needs using. It’s probably horribly out of tune because no one has touched it since he joined up.’

  ‘Give her a moment,’ said Betty with a laugh. ‘We’ve worn her out.’

  Judith sat up, the dancing having given her some sort of unexpected burst of confidence, and pushed her shoulders back. ‘I’m never too tired to play piano.’

  The other two girls laughed. ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Evelyn. ‘Help yourself. Do you need some music?’

  The piano wasn’t anywhere near as grand and mellow as the one at Latimer House and after the music they’d just been listening to, Judith worried that Bach or Mozart might dampen the moment. There was some sheet music sitting on the stand and although she’d not played it before she’d seen the film The Wizard of Oz and knew the song enough to play it from sight. As she began to pick out the first few notes, Betty came to stand beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. She needed to concentrate on the notes so didn’t look round but a few bars in, Betty began to murmur the opening notes of the song ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’.

  Her voice gathered strength, then she sang the opening words of the song, her voice ringing out so sweet and pure that Judith almost faltered. Betty’s voice had the sweetest tone she’d ever heard and simply soared through the notes so effortlessly that it made her own heart sing.

  By the time they’d finished, Vivienne and Mrs Dawtry were both at the door open-mouthed and Evelyn was clapping. ‘Bravo. Bravo. That was amazing. Betty, you are divine and Judith, I’ve never heard that piano played so well. My goodness, I think I’m going to be your manager.’

  Mrs Dawtry wiped a tear from her eye. ‘That was marvellous, girls.’

  ‘It certainly was. We couldn’t believe it was coming from this house,’ exclaimed Vivienne.

  Judith realised Betty’s hand was still gripping her shoulder and she glanced up. There were tears on Betty’s face.

  ‘I’ve never sung in front of anyone before,’ said Betty. ‘And not with proper music. You’re so clever, Judith.’

  ‘And you’re so talented, Betty. You have one of the most beautiful voices I’ve ever heard.’

  Betty’s hand relaxed and she waved her other. ‘Don’t talk rot. It’s nothing special.’

  But Judith could tell it was important to her and she placed her hand on top of Betty’s and squeezed. ‘I promise you, it is special, and I know a lot about music. Before I came to England I played piano all my life. My father ran a music shop. Most of our friends were musicians and my aunt was…’ Perhaps now wasn’t the moment to say that her aunt had been a burlesque performer. It had been quite risqué in Berlin but probably quite outrageous in Britain.

  There was a child-like eagerness in Betty’s eyes when she said, ‘Honestly?’

  Judith nodded. ‘Do you want to sing something else? Do you know any of these tunes?’

  They sifted through the pile of Evelyn’s brother’s music and chose another song, ‘I Thought About You’, which Judith picked her way through carefully, reading by sight, while Betty sang in a completely different octave.

  ‘Your range is incredible,’ said Judith at the end.

  ‘I just sing the notes like the real singer sang them. And I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Evelyn put her hands up. ‘Me neither.’

  Judith rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘Philistines.’

  ‘Could you teach me?’ asked Betty, suddenly looking plaintive. ‘I hate being so stupid all the time.’

  Judith and Evelyn stared at her. ‘The two of you are so … clever, smart. You know things. Judith, you’re educated, you know about music and art, and Evelyn, you know about life, you’ve got taste and style. Me, I don’t know anything. I’m good at pretending but half the time I’m scared to death I’m going to be found out. I mean, they promoted me in the section and I keep worrying that they’ll realise they made a mistake. I just remember things. That’s all.’

  Evelyn stood up and led Betty over to the sofa and sat her down and beckoned Judith to come
sit on the other side of her.

  ‘Betty, you are a smart, intelligent, talented girl,’ said Evelyn firmly. ‘Inside it doesn’t matter where you come from, it matters where you go to. And right now, we girls have the best opportunity to prove to the world that we can go places. I’ve never worked in a place before that values us for what we can do, even though we’re women. While this war is on, we have to seize every chance to show what we’re made of. That way, when the war is over, we don’t have go back to being nobodies or nothings.’

  ‘But you’re not a nobody,’ said Betty. ‘Look at this house. You’re a someone.’

  ‘Who’s expected to go to parties, look pretty and not do much.’ Evelyn pulled a face. ‘I know I shouldn’t complain, I’m one of the fortunate ones, but have you any idea how boring that sort of life is?’

  Judith raised an eyebrow. She might have enjoyed finding out, but then, as she looked at the beautiful room, she wondered what she would have done all day here, apart from play music, and that wasn’t fulfilling without an audience or anyone to share it.

  ‘I love working at Latimer House,’ continued Evelyn, real passion stirring her voice, ‘feeling like what I do is making a difference and that it’s important. Even my mother, although she wouldn’t admit it, is enjoying herself, feeling useful for a change with all her knitting and Women’s Voluntary Service activities. I’ve never seen her so busy and happy.’

  Betty frowned, clearly not inclined to believe Evelyn. ‘I wouldn’t mind living in a place like this, being warm in the winter, not having to do anything.’

  ‘Not being allowed to do anything. Anyway, that’s all by the by. What I’m trying to tell you is that you are amazing, and the only person telling yourself you aren’t is you. They wouldn’t have promoted you if you weren’t doing a good job. And Judith wouldn’t tell you you could sing if you couldn’t.’ She suddenly grinned at Judith. ‘I don’t think Judith knows how to tell a lie, do you?’

  Judith shrugged her shoulders. ‘I try not to tell lies.’

  ‘Do you think you could you teach me about music and singing?’ asked Betty, turning to Judith.

  ‘Yes.’ Judith sat up straighter, realising that she would enjoy it. ‘There’s a piano at Latimer House as well. We could practise in there.’

  Betty clapped her hands together. ‘And you would teach me? You really think you can?’

  ‘You can already sing. You have a real gift but if you could read music and knew about the notes and things, it would help you be even better. And I could learn to play all these songs.’

  ‘I would really like that.’

  So too would she, Judith realised. She’d enjoy teaching and sharing her knowledge. With Betty it would be fun, not something that she’d had a lot of in recent years.

  ‘Lunch will be served in the dining room in twenty minutes. Would you like to come through?’ Vivienne announced, putting her head around the door.

  ‘Oh, I must pop out and see Hodges in the garden,’ said Evelyn, standing up quickly. ‘See how things are going.’

  As she rose, Betty suddenly tugged her arm and whispered something in her ear.

  ‘I’d forgotten,’ said Evelyn. ‘Are you sure you want it?’ Betty nodded and Judith noticed the fixed determination in her eye. She wondered what they were talking about, but it was nothing to do with her. Betty was probably borrowing clothes or make-up or something.

  While Evelyn dashed out into the garden, Vivienne led Judith and Betty into a very grand dining room dominated by a long tablecloth-covered table. ‘Oh, what beautiful china,’ exclaimed Judith.

  ‘It’s Meissen. We bought it in Heidelberg one year.’

  ‘My aunt had something very similar.’ She sighed, remembering bygone family celebrations in her aunt’s apartment with friends gathered from all over the city. ‘I wonder what happened to it.’ And what had happened to all those people, most of them Jews? So many people had disappeared. Supposedly to labour camps but Judith had heard rumours that there were other camps, that no one ever left.

  Vivienne smiled uncertainly. ‘Would you like to sit here, Betty, and you there, Judith?’

  Betty had drifted to the sideboard by the window which was full of silver-framed photographs.

  ‘I love looking at old wedding photos,’ she said. ‘Is this you? What a beautiful bride.’

  Vivienne went to lift the photo. ‘Yes, that was me. With Evelyn’s father. He was such a handsome man. He still is. Although it’s been so long since I’ve seen him, I sometimes almost forget what he looks like. My son David looks just like him. And it’s even longer since I’ve seen him.’ Her face drooped before she stoically rallied.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Brooke-Edwards. Evelyn told us he’s in a POW camp. I do hope you hear from him soon.’

  ‘So do I.’ Her mouth firmed primly.

  Betty seized another photo. ‘And is this Evelyn? Doesn’t she look pretty? Was this taken long ago?’

  ‘Ah, that was at her engagement party. So sad. We’ve known the Van Hoensbroeck family for years, we were so pleased when Peter proposed, but then this beastly war started and it was the right thing for them to break the engagement off. I know she was heartbroken, but what could she do? It would have been impossible for her to marry the enemy. Can you imagine how difficult it would have been if they were married before the war started?’

  Betty frowned. ‘Evelyn’s fiancé is German!’

  ‘Ex-fiancé,’ corrected Vivienne.

  ‘Gosh. We didn’t know that.’ Betty glanced in surprise at Judith, who sighed. Now she understood Evelyn’s confused speech in the car on the way here. Poor thing, she obviously had no idea where her fiancé was. Presumably she had no way of finding out either. Her heart went out to the other woman. How on earth did Evelyn manage, working with German POWs every day while wondering where her ex-fiancé might be? Did she still have feelings for him?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Betty

  ‘Ah, Betty, someone was looking for you earlier,’ said one of the sergeants as she crossed the Mess to help herself to a cup of tea from Elsie’s ever-present teapot tucked into its knitted cosy on the counter on the side. Everyone else was tucking into Elsie’s Woolton Pie for tea, but Betty was still full from the delicious spread that Mrs Dawtry had laid on, of stuffed onions, potato pastry turnovers and beans au gratin. There’d been no meat but it had all tasted wonderful.

  She’d walked up from the village, having had Evelyn drop her in the lane. When you’d just come from somewhere like Evelyn’s grand house, you really didn’t want anyone seeing the little terrace cottage you’d grown up in. It was all very well for Evelyn to say it didn’t matter where you came from, but Betty knew better.

  ‘Who was that?’ Betty was puzzled, wondering what on earth they wanted, but she wasn’t in the dark for long as one of the typists from her section came scurrying up with self-important bluster.

  ‘Betty, the very person.’

  ‘Hello, Lucy. Did you want me?’

  ‘It’s your mum! Someone came with a message while you were out. Apparently there’s been an emergency and you need to go home right away.’

  Betty frowned, suspicion darting into her head straight away. That was a load of tommy rot, if she’d ever heard it, because she’d just seen her ma and Jane, who’d been thrilled to bits with her orange.

  ‘Do you know who brought the message?’ It was a stupid question because she almost certainly knew who it had been. She squeezed the bag under her arm, thinking about Evelyn’s father’s old service gun that she had hidden in there. There might not be any ammunition in it but Bert wouldn’t know that.

  ‘Yes, a man at the back door. I said I’d pass the message on as soon as I saw you, but that was ages ago.’ Concern radiated from her face and she was almost shooing Betty towards the door.

  ‘When?’

  ‘About three hours ago.’

  ‘Right-ho.’ Betty nodded and reached for the teapot to pour herself a cuppa. Lucy
, fluttering around her, asked, ‘Aren’t you worried?’

  Betty shook her head. ‘No, someone’s having you on. I’ve just come from my mum’s. She was as right as a trivet.’

  ‘But why would anyone do that? Do you think they got the wrong person? But he asked for you, Betty Connors.’

  ‘What did this chap look like?’ Betty had to ask, even though she knew exactly who it was.

  ‘He was dark-haired, labourer’s clothes, but a big strong chap.’ She giggled a little. ‘He was a bit of a looker, if I’m honest. A bit of a brooding Heathcliff type, like Laurence Olivier in the film.’

  ‘Bert. Bert Davenport. He must have got it wrong. Worries over my mum, he does,’ lied Betty smoothly, thinking that she’d ruddy kill him one of these days. No doubt his way of trying to bring her to heel because she’d deliberately avoided going home this last couple of weeks. Ma had been quite happy to believe that they’d had a rush on and she was working double shifts. It was worrying that Bert was bold enough to come waltzing up here.

  Picking up her tea, she looked around but there were too many people she knew sitting at the table and she didn’t fancy talking to anyone. Instead she took herself outside to the grassy bank beneath the windows of the Officers’ Mess. There were a few Naval types on the terrace but she doubted any of them would take any notice of her. Putting her cup beside her, she drew her knees up and sank her chin into her hands, her elbows propped on her knees. What the heck was she going to do about blinking Bert? He was so dead set that there were cigarettes and booze here that there was no telling what he’d do. What if he took matters into his own hands? What if he came up here one night, tried to break in and got caught, and told someone she’d given him the information?

  ‘You look like you lost a shilling and found a penny,’ drawled a voice above her.

  Startled, she turned around and found the handsome face of Major Wendermeyer looking down.

  ‘Just thinking,’ she said.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’