by Jules Wake
‘So.’
‘He’s used to better things.’
‘Looks quite at home to me. I brought out some ale. Howard let me have it.’
‘Howard seems to be full of neighbourliness, all of a sudden.’
‘He’s a nice man.’ To her amazement, her mother blushed. ‘He’s put in a good word for us with old man Davenport about us staying here.’
‘Really?’ Betty raised an eyebrow.
‘Don’t go getting any ideas, girl. He’s just being friendly now that Bert’s not hanging round all the time. I owe you an apology. Howard told me he knocked you about. He saw it. You should have said.’
Betty wanted to say, ‘Would you have believed me?’ but there was no point. What was done was done. Instead she shrugged. ‘He won’t anymore.’
‘He’s a troublemaker, that one.’ She cast a dour look at the hen house. ‘He’ll be back.’
‘No, he won’t,’ said Betty, her mouth flattening and giving her mother a fierce glare. ‘I can promise you that.’
Ma took a step back and then nodded. ‘Do you think your GI might want a bit to eat? He’s certainly expending plenty of energy. I got a nice bit of bacon and I could do some fried eggs and potatoes.’
Betty looked back at the strong, lithe body swinging the sledgehammer with athletic precision, her mouth just a little dry and a funny little flutter in the base of her belly. Like her ma had said, he was all man and a far cry from the dapper, uniformed Major she was used to. This man was someone like her and it was such a revelation, she almost sat down on the floor there and then. Before then, he’d seemed an unattainable movie-star dream that she didn’t really believe would ever settle for her, but this earthy, practical man, Carl, was a different matter altogether and they had far more in common.
‘Betty Connors, are you going to watch or are you going to do some work?’
She grinned. ‘It’s a rather fine sight. I think I might just watch a while.’
He grinned back and swung the hammer one final time before dropping it and coming over to her to give her a sweaty kiss that she didn’t object to in the least.
Chapter Thirty
Evelyn
As soon as she uttered the words, Evelyn knew she’d played it wrong. Peter slammed his hand down on the table and gave her a look of such ferocity, her throat tightened.
‘You want me to be a spy,’ he spat. ‘To spy on my fellow countrymen.’
Evelyn faltered and sat back in her seat as if trying to put distance between her and his palpable anger. He almost quivered with it, from the tip of his blond hair to the jitter of his left leg, jumping up and down beside the chair leg.
‘It’s … it’s not spying, per se, just encouraging other prisoners to talk. All you’d have to do is ask them questions.’ Her heart thudded in her chest. ‘You agreed before to help,’ she added in quiet desperation. She wasn’t going to plead with him. That wouldn’t have been professional, even though her heart begged her to.
The walls of the interview room seemed to close in on them and she wished that she’d followed her original instinct and taken Peter for a walk, but somehow she’d persuaded herself that this would make it more legitimate. She ought to do things by the book this time, and even despite the tongue-lashing she’d received, she had to admit she felt so much better for making a clean breast of things.
‘That was for us,’ he snarled, his mouth twisting with apparent disgust. ‘This is about honour. I gave that information of my free will. You’re asking me to dupe my compatriots. Lie to them. Men I’ve fought alongside.’ He fixed her with a disappointed glare. ‘You ask too much.’
‘I’m not asking for me.’ She tried to keep her voice level; this was supposed to be a negotiation but it was so hard when your heart and hopes were involved.
‘Aren’t you?’
Maybe she was. The lines had blurred so much, she was no longer sure. What she did know was that if Peter said no to becoming a stool pigeon – the official term, which she hated – then he would move on to another prisoner-of-war camp and she wouldn’t see him again before the end of the war, if then. Who knew what was going to happen in the coming months, years? They were already in the fourth year of the war and the tide had yet to turn their way. Hitler had overrun Europe.
‘For us, Peter. But if you…’ She couldn’t baldly state the words, it sounded too much like emotional blackmail, but in black and white, that’s what it was. ‘If you co-operate like this, then you would be here longer.’
Her eyes met his in silent plea even though she hated herself for it.
His jaw hardened and he shook his head. ‘No. I can’t do it. You shouldn’t have asked me.’
With that he folded his arms and stared out of the window. She closed her eyes; they felt itchy and blurry but she wasn’t going to cry. She had her pride too.
‘Is that your last word?’ she asked, because she had to.
The only response was a tightening of his lips and she knew she’d lost him.
‘All right. I have to go now. The guards will escort you back.’ She wanted to ask him to think about it but she knew he had a stubborn streak. He also had a strong sense of honour and that was one of the things she loved about him. She was asking him to betray his principles; could she do the same thing if the tables were turned? In her heart of hearts, she knew she couldn’t. That country loyalty, the need to serve, to do one’s duty, had been ingrained in her from birth. Their similar backgrounds were what had drawn them together and ironically their commonality would now divide them. The unwelcome clarity of thought cut through everything and left her with a sense of aching sadness.
She left the interview room with an inward sigh, walking down the corridor with its insipid institutional-grey walls. Each step seemed to take more energy than she could muster. Her brain kept going over and over the conversation, picking at every word and nuance. Could she have said things better? If she’d approached it differently, would there have been a better outcome? By the time she reached the house she was sick of second-guessing herself.
As she passed the entrance to the Officers’ Mess, the noise spilling out jarred and chafed at her, so she skirted the doorway quickly, not wanting to see anyone, especially not Freddie, who since her recent apology for her bad-tempered lack of sportsmanship had bent over backwards to be amenable, with over-solicitous zeal, which she found horribly irritating.
Avoiding everyone, she trailed up the stairs. Whatever had happened to her? Once her life was simple; it moved along on a nice level line without drama or conflict and she’d always known what to do in every situation. It had been easy to follow the rules and do the right thing, but then it had been obvious what the right thing to do was. Now confusion clouded her mind along with an overriding sense of loss. With hindsight, it was so clear. She’d been insensitive and thoughtless. She knew Peter, inside and out – that was love for you. She should have known how he would feel. Tomorrow she would have to apologise.
At first she was disappointed that someone was in the room, but then she realised that Judith, lying face down on the bed with her shoulders heaving, was crying with proper heart-wrenching sobs. She darted forward and sat down on the edge of the bed, her hand immediately going to Judith’s back.
‘Judith, whatever’s the matter?’
Judith hunched into the bed, almost tortoise-like, as if she didn’t want to be found, and her sobs became more muffled but her body shook with the strength of them. For a moment, Evelyn wondered if she should leave her, but that would be cruel, like leaving an animal to suffer in pain. Rather than retreat, she rubbed the other woman’s back, as if she were soothing a small child, feeling desperately ineffectual. Judith quietened but she didn’t raise her head or turn. Evelyn sat quietly waiting and Judith’s hand crept into hers. Weariness swamping her, she lay down on her side next to Judith and put her arm around her. It felt like the right thing to do. She closed her eyes and waited, thinking of Peter. Tomorrow, she’d go and see him
first thing and tell him how sorry she was. In the meantime, she’d be here for Judith, offering her unconditional comfort.
The next thing she knew, she woke to find the room bathed in early evening sunlight. As she shifted, Judith, who was now facing her, blearily opened her eyes, blinking in confusion before she sighed and winced, moving slightly as if her whole body ached.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Evelyn, giving her a hug as she sat up and swung her legs off the bed.
Judith shrugged, her eyes bleak.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘It won’t help.’ Judith’s tone echoed with bitterness.
‘A problem halved…’
‘This is too big. Too awful.’ She buried her face in her heads. ‘Do the prisoners ever tell you what they’ve done?’
Evelyn closed her eyes. ‘Sometimes. The atrocities.’
‘Atrocities?’ Judith reared up, her dark eyes flashing, fierce and furious. She had that edgy jitteriness as if she might explode at any second. ‘Atrocities. That’s too neat a word. It sounds like a parcel tied with string, packaged up to enclose the contents of something that should never be contained. When really it’s something ugly that spills out and shouldn’t ever be contained, neatly or otherwise. Mothers and their children murdered in the coldest of blood. Shot. They make them take their clothes off. Imagine standing naked, holding your child, waiting in line to be shot. Woman upon woman. In a line.’ Judith’s face crumpled as Evelyn’s breath left her lungs in a gasp.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered.
‘Men with guns, mowing down innocent women and children.’ Judith began to weep again. ‘I can’t bear it.’
‘Oh, Judith.’ Evelyn put her arm around her. She didn’t know what to say. What was there to say?
‘How can men do such things to their fellow men? Such wickedness.’ She shook her head and stared at Evelyn with red-rimmed, swollen eyes.
‘I don’t know,’ murmured Evelyn, her own stomach tightening at the images that Judith had drawn.
‘I feel so helpless. There are thousands of Jewish people out there, suffering. The camps. The ghettos. Why? What have we done that makes them hate us so much? It’s as if we’re not even people anymore. They treat animals better than this. I don’t understand.’
Evelyn shook her head, unable to answer. It made her wonder if she dared to ask Peter about such things. Were men that committed such acts monsters, or would they claim to be following orders?
‘I don’t understand either but it makes me realise that there is a point to this war and that we are on the right side.’ She prayed that David was being well treated, but hearing things about such brutality made her feel sick. Please let him be all right.
‘Do you know what is almost worse?’ said Judith.
‘No.’ Evelyn turned to her, puzzled by the flatness in her tone.
‘That we’re happy. We’re safe while these people are facing the most terrible situations.’
Evelyn had never thought about it like that.
‘I feel so guilty. I escaped and ran away. One of the lucky ones. Those women… That could have been me.’
‘You mustn’t feel guilty. You’re here, playing an important part in the war effort.’
‘Am I? Really?’ Judith’s mouth turned downwards in a half-sneer. ‘It doesn’t feel like it. Safe. Cocooned here. Well fed. Officers drinking gin every night. Going to lunch. To the cinema. The theatre.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘People are suffering and we’re carrying on as normal. It’s wrong. Look at your mother. In her grand house, still with her servants. What’s she lost? Where’s the sacrifice?’
Evelyn knew that Judith was upset but she’d made it too personal. Stung, she responded, ‘This isn’t her war. Or even our war. It was brought upon us by Germany. My brother is a prisoner of war but I haven’t heard from him for months. There are different types of suffering and sacrifice.’
Judith snorted rather rudely and Evelyn gritted her teeth, reminding herself that it was unladylike to get into a slanging match, but she rather wanted to slap Judith and remind her that everyone had their own burdens to bear and that the war touched people in many, many different ways. She wasn’t about to apologise for her upbringing or her privileged background.
‘I think I’ll go down for some supper.’ Evelyn stood up and stretched, deliberately not looking at Judith. ‘Do you want anything?’
‘No, I’m not hungry.’
Evelyn left the room, her lips firmly pressed together, to stop herself saying anything she might regret. Falling out with people wasn’t her style but sometimes one had to be positive and not dwell on the negatives. The war was bloody for everyone in different ways.
Of course, the first person she saw as she crossed the hall at the bottom of the steps was Freddie.
‘Evelyn, how are you today?’
Oh God, she couldn’t take her mood out on him again but the last thing she needed right now was his well-meaning concern. She paused. When had she turned into this horrible person who was short-tempered and irritable with other people?
‘Hello, Freddie. What are you up to?’
‘We’re thinking about a bridge four. Do you fancy partnering up with me?’
‘Are you sure?’ she managed to give him a playful smile while her heart sank. ‘After my performance on the tennis court.’
Freddie coloured and looked embarrassed. She shouldn’t tease him like that.
‘I’d love to,’ she lied gracefully. Bridge was possibly the least appealing pastime right now but it would take her mind off both Peter and Judith and probably do her good. She needed to ‘buck up’, as David would have said.
‘Jolly good.’ Freddie brightened immediately. Bless him, like most of his generation, he really didn’t do emotion and she normally had a much better handle on hers. Yes, she definitely needed to buck up.
‘Ah, Evelyn. Could you attend a meeting with me and Lieutenant Colonel Weston, at oh-nine-hundred? My office.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ she said as she filed into the meeting room, her spirits immediately lifting. If she was meeting with the psychologist, that was good news. He would probably be outlining a strategy for negotiating with Peter to encourage him to rethink his position. Weston often gave valuable insight before they went into interrogations. She wished she’d thought to consult him before she’d gone in yesterday. With a touch of chagrin, she realised that she’d made a terrible assumption, that Peter loved her enough to betray his country.
During the meeting the assignments were allocated and she spent most of the meeting gritty-eyed, stifling yawns and doodling on her notepad, pretending to make notes so as to avoid Freddie’s eye. He seemed to be determined to make sure she was all right and she didn’t want or deserve his attention. To her disappointment, as they allocated today’s interviews, she had an extremely tight schedule. How was she was supposed to fit in seeing Peter today? But then every day was busy. The flow of prisoners coming into the camp had increased dramatically in recent weeks. Everyone worked flat out, every day. No wonder they were all tired.
At the end of the meeting, she followed Colonel Myers and Lieutenant Colonel Weston up to the offices on the first floor. She passed Betty, who gave her a quick wink as she dashed past with an armful of files, and she managed a smile. Betty was in fine form this morning, singing at the top of her beautiful voice in the bathroom, which had seemed to irritate Judith intensely. Personally, Evelyn was glad to see someone else was happy.
To her faint surprise, a couple of the other Naval Intelligence Officers had also been invited to the meeting, including Katherine, who sat down next to her. ‘Wonder what this is about?’ she whispered as everyone took their seats.
When everyone had settled Myers steepled his fingers. ‘We have a number of new guests. They’ll be here with us for a few weeks before they go on to Trent Park. We want to brief you in more detail on them. You will be their specific liaison officers for the duration of their stay. Weston here
is going to give you a brief psychological profile of each general and we’ll discuss the best approaches for each.’
Evelyn forced herself to concentrate but decided that she would ask Weston’s advice about Peter at the end of the meeting. When it finally drew to an end, she waited until everyone else had gone and approached Myers.
She wiped her hands on her skirt as she stood up. ‘Sir, I wonder if I could talk to you about Peter Van Hoensbroeck.’
‘Certainly. I saw the notes from the meeting. In fact Weston and I discussed them.’
‘Yes. I wanted some advice as to how I might approach him again.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be necessary.’
‘Have you assigned someone else?’ There was a moment of panic.
‘No. But it was quite clear from what he said that Van Hoensbroeck would not be turned.’ He nodded to the psychologist.
‘Oh, yes. A man of honour. A man like that views his honour as the only viable currency once he’s a prisoner. He feels he’s let down his country by being captured and the only way he can justify himself going forward is by clinging to that sense of honour. I know you knew him before the war.’
Evelyn flinched slightly. She hadn’t actually told them that they’d had a relationship or that he was once her fiancé.
‘But war changes men. I don’t believe he’s the man you knew.’
‘But…’ Evelyn started.
He shook his head. ‘No, I could tell that man’s views about “spying” were entrenched. It’s a treasonable offence, you know, both in this country and in Germany. For some men it is a line they can’t conscionably cross and he is one of those men. Shame – he seemed a decent sort. But then if you knew him and his family, he must have been.’
‘Perhaps if I spoke to him again,’ she said, hearing the strain in her voice and praying that her despair wasn’t showing.
