by Jules Wake
‘It’s not where you’re from, it’s where you’re going to,’ murmured Betty.
‘Exactly!’ He rested his hands on her shoulder. ‘And you have those smarts. You’re the best analyst we have. Would you do me the honour of coming to the dance with me?’
She paused for a brief moment, hardly daring to believe that he really wanted to go with her, before saying, ‘I’d love to go with you. Better make sure you put your dancing shoes on.’
‘You like to dance?’
‘I love to dance.’
‘Well, how about that? Me too. Now, drink this. It’s good for shock and I’ll get a towel to wrap that ice in so you can put it on your cheek.’ His mouth tightened as he looked at her bruised face. ‘You’re a brave one, that’s for sure.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I know so. You weren’t going to tell him the truth about this place, were you? No matter how hard he beat you.’
‘No. I wasn’t,’ she replied. ‘And it wasn’t because of going to prison, it was because we’re doing important work here. The reports we write, they’re being read by people who decide the strategy of the war. It makes me feel so proud inside to know that I’m helping in the war effort. I’d never give what we do away to anyone outside the house.’
‘I think we all think like that, it gives us a camaraderie, no matter what rank or class. I’ve never worked in a place like it.’
Betty thought of Evelyn and Judith and their friendship, three unlikely women. ‘Me neither.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Evelyn
It should have been Freddie’s ball but Evelyn launched herself towards it, determined she could make the point. She swiped wildly with her racket at the same moment as Freddie lunged, and the two of them ended up in a tangle of limbs on the floor, with the ball whizzing past them and hitting the court with a soft thud just inside the line.
Freddie stood up and angrily held out a hand to heave her to her feet. ‘My ball, I think.’
‘Yes, it probably was,’ she said, churlishly refusing to admit fault and ignoring his hand as she heaved herself to her feet and brushed down her tennis dress. It was the fourth or fifth or maybe the sixth time she’d done it in this set and he had yet to admonish her. Even now, ever the gentleman, he didn’t say anything.
She eyed him balefully as he threw the ball up and with an elegant arc served it beautifully at the opposition. If they lost this point they would lose the match.
From across the net, Katherine returned the ball with a smart spin shot that should have had Evelyn racing towards the net, but she found herself watching the ball half-heartedly and by the time she stirred her lethargic limbs into action, it was far too late. She missed. Damn! An easy point which she should have got. And now they’d lost the match. She threw her racket down on the floor.
‘Yes!’ shouted Katherine and Alexander on the other side of the court. ‘Game.’
Next to her, Evelyn heard Freddie grumbling under his breath; she didn’t blame him. She’d played shockingly. Tennis seemed so ridiculously frivolous when she had other things on her mind, but the others had insisted she joined them and she hadn’t had the energy to decline.
Freddie strode forward to shake the other two’s hands over the net. She trailed after him, giving Katherine and Alexander a lukewarm smile. They walked off chatting away in buoyant, triumphant spirits, swinging their rackets.
Freddie walked over to her racket and picked it up, handing it to her with a frown. ‘I say, Eve? Are you all right? Off your game today.’
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she snapped, snatching the racket from him. ‘You?’
Poor Freddie looked bewildered at her ill-tempered display and she felt thoroughly ashamed of herself. Any moment she was going to burst into tears.
He opened his mouth and then thought better of what he was about to say, and she knew she ought to apologise but the lump in her throat was nearly as big as the bloody tennis ball in his hand.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said and ran off back to the house, tears already blurring her vision. Head down, she hurried through the French doors, crossing the Officers’ Mess and out to the main staircase where she took the stairs two at a time.
When she reached the bedroom, she threw herself on the bed and gave in to the storm of tears which had been building for most of the afternoon. She was rotten company at the moment and she shouldn’t have taken it out on poor Freddie. He was kind, if clumsy, and she knew he was keen to take her to the dance, but he wasn’t Peter. That was the crux of the matter.
Her heart ached so much, it was like carrying around an unbearable weight, all the time. First thing in the morning, she woke to thoughts of Peter and after that they never strayed far from him. It was torture of the worst kind. Knowing he was so close and yet so far from her. Seeing him, not always being able to touch him, knowing that he could be taken away from her at any moment, was almost worse than not seeing him or knowing where he was.
The greatest irony was that now he was here, she missed him more. Lord, and she was crying again. Whatever happened to stiff upper lip and all that?
If only she sewed or knitted or did something to occupy her. She got up and paced around the tiny room, before climbing out onto the roof to take up her usual position. Some days she imagined she were a figurehead on the front of her ship, buffeted by the slight breeze as she smoked cigarette after cigarette. At this rate she’d turn into a chimney.
She sighed and stared out at the river, a slow-moving, sinuous streak lit by the pink and gold of the sunset. It was so peaceful here and contrasted strongly with the battlefield of emotions that churned inside her. All her life, everything had made sense and there’d been a plan. Now it was as if she’d been knocked out of kilter and couldn’t see a way to get the balance back. She should have told Myers about Peter. It would be so much worse if someone found out now.
After smoking yet another cigarette that she really didn’t want, she retreated back into the room, checking the blackout blind was in place before switching on the light. From under her pillow, she pulled out the silver photo frame and sat down, tracing Peter’s face in the black-and-white picture. She couldn’t imagine her life without him but neither could she imagine it with him. After the war, would he still be the enemy? Could they go to Germany, where she would be the enemy? Did people stop being the enemy when a war finished? Could people forgive and forget? What would happen to the two of them?
As she scowled down at the picture, she heard the soft tread of footsteps and couldn’t decide whether she welcomed the company or not.
Both Judith and Betty appeared and Evelyn’s attention was immediately drawn to the state of Betty’s face.
‘Betty, what happened?’ She jumped to her feet at the sight of the other girl. Her hair was down and there was yet another livid mark on her face, but despite this there was a rather dreamy expression in her eyes. For a moment, Evelyn wondered if she was concussed. Her brother had looked like that once after a particularly bruising rugger match.
‘She said she wouldn’t tell me,’ grumbled Judith, toeing off her shoes and giving Evelyn a sudden considering look.
Evelyn immediately wanted to hide. It was an automatic reaction to any scrutiny at the moment. Every time another officer spoke to her, she was convinced she was about to be hauled up before Colonel Myers. Her guilty conscience was working overtime. She would be out on her ear, especially as he knew why she’d lost her last post. There’d be no second chance.
‘That’s because I wanted to tell you both together.’ Betty beamed at her, which Evelyn found most disconcerting, and it forced her to stop feeling sorry for herself and focus on Betty’s problems. At least she thought they were problems, except Betty was positively fizzing.
‘You look remarkably happy considering that you’ve got a bruise coming up on that cheekbone. Did someone backhand you?’
‘Yes. Bert,’ she said and grinned.
Both Judith and E
velyn stared at her, confused and horrified.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Evelyn. ‘Are you all right? What happened?’ Was Betty punch-drunk or something?
‘It’s all right. When he hit me Carl came to my rescue.’
‘Major Wendermeyer,’ said Evelyn, remembering the tall, rangy, good-looking American.
‘That’s right. He punched Bert. Honestly, he was like a proper boxer or something. He just went pow!’ Betty demonstrated with gusto. ‘I tell you, he hurt Bert something wicked and then he told him… Well, he threatened to kill him.’ Her mouth opened as if she still couldn’t quite believe it herself. ‘That’s what he said. I never saw anything like it. He was so angry.’ She frowned and patted her loose hair. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t really kill him, but he told Bert that if he came near me again, he’d … he’d do something terrible which I can’t repeat, and then he leaned down and said something else which I didn’t hear but I don’t think it was terribly nice.
‘Then afterwards when he’d sent Bert packing, he … he looked after me.’ Betty’s smile was angelic now. ‘He was lovely and kind, after he’d been so scary with Bert. To be honest, I was in such a state, I couldn’t help it, it all came spilling out, about Bert wanting to steal cigarettes and whisky and how he wouldn’t listen to me. Carl said I was brave for not telling him anything.’ She sighed and clasped her hands together on her lap. ‘He was so wonderful.’
Evelyn looked at the dreamy-eyed expression on Betty’s face, which, even with the swelling on her cheek, looked prettier than ever. There was a glow about her. Funny how someone else’s problems, when you really cared about that person, could transcend your own.
‘He’s invited me to the dance.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘And … he kissed me, but like a proper gentleman.’ She sighed and sank onto her bed.
‘Looks like someone’s got it bad.’ Evelyn winked at Judith and found to her slight unease that the other girl was studying her with quiet, watchful eyes.
‘Yes,’ said Judith. ‘Is he a nice man, this Carl?’
‘The best,’ sighed Betty. ‘Very nice. Very handsome. Very…’ Her eyes shone. ‘I feel like I’m in a film and he’s swept me off my feet. As if it’s not real.’ She sat for a moment, a silly smile on her face, before she turned to the other two. ‘Do you think I’m being an idiot? Feeling like this, so soon after Bert? Am I being too gullible, falling for the fast American? He’s so different. Am I going to make a fool of myself?’
‘Does he say or do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable?’ asked Evelyn, coming to sit down next to her, putting her hand to her lips, remembering Peter’s kisses yesterday. In the past she’d always been safe and comfortable with him but those kisses had been urgent and thrilling, filling her with a sense of desperate need and desire. If Peter hadn’t called a halt, she wouldn’t have stopped him, she’d have stayed on course for the whole exhilarating ride, even though it went against every notion a well-bred young lady had been taught.
‘No. He’s so kind and gentle but in an exciting way. I’m not even sure that makes sense.’ Betty shook her head in wonderment. ‘But you mustn’t say anything to anyone. He’s an officer and I’m just a sergeant.’
‘That shouldn’t matter,’ said Evelyn, her eyes suddenly and unaccountably filling with tears. ‘No one should have the right to part two people.’ Her lips trembled and then she couldn’t hold back the wave of emotion that drenched her.
‘Oh, Evelyn, whatever is the matter?’ Betty immediately put her arms around her and Evelyn, so grateful for that human touch, leaned into the soft embrace.
‘I-I’m just being s-silly,’ she said, although that tennis-ball lump was back, wedged in her throat. She buried her face in her hands. ‘It’s so hopeless.’
As if she hadn’t cried enough already, she found that her earlier crying bout had left her as fragile as her grandmother’s prized china and now she cracked and broke, the tears streaming down her face as she wept into her hands, the hopelessness of her situation turning tighter inside like a corkscrew.
She was dimly aware of Judith coming to sit on her other side and putting an arm around her.
‘You can tell us, you know,’ she urged in her low, deep voice.
‘I w-wish I could.’
‘What if,’ Judith squeezed her on her shoulder, ‘I already knew.’
Evelyn raised her head and peeped through her fingers, staring at her in horror. ‘You can’t.’
‘Peter Van Hoensbroeck,’ said Judith softly.
Evelyn gasped. ‘How? Oh no! Who knows?’
‘Don’t worry. Only me.’
‘What do you know?’ asked Betty, puzzled. ‘Isn’t that your fiancé?’ She picked up the silver photo frame and put it into Evelyn’s lap.
‘You know as well?’ Evelyn touched the frame, realising that the endless churning in her stomach had slowed to a stop. There was a sense of release at being able to acknowledge Peter and talk about him.
‘Only that he’s German and was your fiancé before the war. Your mother told us,’ explained Betty.
‘I know that he’s a prisoner here,’ said Judith in her quiet, understated way.
‘No!’ said Betty, all eyes and scandalised disbelief. ‘Really! I didn’t know that. Gosh, you could see him. I think. Would they let you? I mean, they let people in prison have visitors.’
Evelyn almost laughed at her wonderful naivety but she looked at Judith, whose sombre face told her that the Jewish girl knew a lot more.
‘She has seen him,’ said Judith.
‘Really?’ Betty stared at her and Evelyn nodded and suddenly it was a relief to be able to tell them.
‘Would you believe I was rostered to interrogate him? Talk about small world. I thought at first the powers that be had done it on purpose but no one said anything to me and by the time I’d done the second interrogation, I couldn’t say anything because I knew they’d stop me seeing him again and I couldn’t bear that. So I didn’t say a word and now I’m so worried that they’ll find out. And when they do they’ll make me leave here after what happened in Falmouth.’ She turned to Judith. ‘How did you find out? And do they know?’
‘I was listening. I heard his name and I remembered it from lunch. Then he said that you were his interrogator.’
‘Have you told anyone? I wouldn’t blame you. It is your duty.’
Judith patted her on the arm. ‘No, because I only knew because your mother mentioned his name. I listened carefully but he didn’t give you away.’
‘I couldn’t tell him to be careful or that the cells are bugged.’
‘The cells are bugged!’
‘Betty!’ said Judith and Evelyn in unison.
‘Where do you think the transcripts come from?’ asked Evelyn.
‘I never really thought about it. I was focusing on what they were saying and trying to find links and connections to other conversations.’
Both Judith and Evelyn rolled their eyes, while Betty shook her head, shrugged and grinned. ‘Well I never. There are so many darned secrets in this place. Including you. So what are you going to do?’
‘What can I do? I’ve been so worried that someone will find out or that Peter would say something.’
‘I think you’re all right there,’ observed Judith. ‘He had every opportunity to tell his cellmate and he didn’t.’
‘But he might.’
‘Then we worry about that when it happens,’ said Judith. ‘But if I hear anything I won’t report it.’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘Watch me,’ said Judith. ‘Are you doing anything wrong?’
‘Morally no, but I think ethically I might be, although I’m still doing my job and he’s telling me so much.’
‘So it’s helping your job.’
‘Yes, but it can only go on for so much longer. You know they don’t stay here for ever. He’ll be sent on very soon and then I don’t know when I’ll ever see him again.’ Silent tears ran down her face.
>
Judith rubbed her back and Betty took her hand and squeezed.
‘S-sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I wish we could help,’ said Judith.
‘There must be something we can do,’ said Betty. Evelyn’s mouth twisted in wry amusement. Betty was so full of her own happiness, she refused to give up on someone else’s misery. The three of them lapsed into silence as if pondering an impossible crossword clue.
Betty got up to pace, walking backwards and forwards with a focused look on her face. Judith and Evelyn stared at her as she muttered to herself and fluttered her fingers as if she were turning pages in a book or something.
Suddenly she wheeled about and stopped dead.
‘I’ve got it. In lots of reports, I’ve read about all sorts of unorthodox things that go on here in the name of interrogation and soliciting the prisoner’s trust. You need to go to Colonel Myers and tell him everything.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Yes, you can. You tell him that you’ve been working on Peter becoming a stool pigeon,’ said Betty.
‘A stool pigeon?’ asked Judith.
‘It’s someone on our side that they put in with the prisoners, except the prisoners think they’re a prisoner like them. The stool pigeon engineers the conversations so that the prisoner talks about things we want to know about. It’s been done quite a few times. It works well, it’s just a problem finding the right people to do it. I reckon if you sold it to Colonel Myers that you were trying to get Peter onside to be a stool pigeon, he’d overlook that you hadn’t told anyone. He likes people working on their own initiative.’
Both Evelyn and Judith stared at her. ‘How do you know all this?’ asked Evelyn, a little stunned. Betty sounded so competent and sure of herself.
‘I’m an analyst. I read all sorts of stuff. The means justifies the ends. That’s the Colonel’s motto. Did you know they took four of the Generals to Simpsons on the Strand for lunch last month? That Katherine girl and a couple of officers took three prisoners on a pub crawl the other week.’
