by Rosie Clarke
‘Is she all right? But that’s a daft question, of course she isn’t.’
‘He thinks she’s probably working too hard to compensate,’ Sally said, looking at him anxiously. ‘Why don’t you send Jenni a telegram? Ask her to send one back. It just isn’t like her not to write or get in touch all this time, it must be three months or more since she said she thought she might be pregnant.’
‘That is what worries me,’ Ben replied, his eyes dark with anxiety for his sister. Jenni was always keeping them in touch with her life, so ready to come over or buy stock for them, that the long silence was concerning. ‘I’d go over if I didn’t have so much work on,’ he said and glanced at his watch as he took a piece of toast and bit into it. ‘I’d better leave, Sally, I have a meeting at nine, sharp, with the Prime Minister.’
‘Then you had better go,’ Sally urged, because it was already twenty past eight. ‘You mustn’t be late, Ben. I don’t have to get in until ten this morning – and Mrs Hills will be here by then. Pearl is coming this afternoon.’
‘I’ll be home early this evening. If Pearl is happy to look after Jenny, we could go out somewhere…’
‘I’ll ask her, but I’m sure she will.’
‘I must go,’ Ben said and bent to kiss her on the cheek.
Sally kissed him back and smiled as he left. Ben was moving in exalted circles these days and forever busy. She never questioned him about his war work, that was off limits, so they talked about Harpers and their own lives. Sally continually thanked her lucky stars that Ben seemed settled in London; his arm had healed and he’d been told not to risk his life on any more trips to the front line. Tim Burrows’ tragic end had made her even more aware of how fortunate she was and she sometimes felt a bit guilty when she saw how hard Beth had taken her brother-in-law’s death.
Sally reflected that she had very little on at work after her morning appointments and decided that she would take a couple of hours off to help at the hospital. She popped in whenever she had time to spare, often in the afternoon, but when Ben was away, she sometimes went in the evening. She did very little really, but the men were grateful for small gifts and for someone to write letters or simply rearrange pillows. At least she’d helped a few of them get the treatment they needed, because Sister Maine had told her that Mr Alexander had taken four of their patients up to his clinic so far, including Captain Maclean. It was something, but with so many injured and dying of their wounds, it could never be enough and Sally totally understood why Maggie was determined to stay out in France.
Sighing, Sally settled her little girl and then started to get ready for work.
‘I hope you didn’t mind my popping into your office,’ Marlene said later that morning. ‘I know how busy you are – I haven’t disturbed you?’
Sally shook her head. ‘I had a new representative to see this morning. He comes from Norfolk and had several lines in the footwear department to show me. I gave him a big order and I’m not sure who was more pleased – him or me.’
‘I expect they need the orders to keep going in these difficult times.’
‘Yes, but all the stores are looking for supplies – however, Mr Rowley says he wants to secure a market for his goods with Harpers. Until now he’s sold most of his stock through local outlets and he’s right that I might not have seen him in normal times. These boots and shoes are more for work and hard-wearing than fashion, but men need them to be that way these days and so do women when they can’t replace their shoes as often as usual. I think the working girl will appreciate them, but some of our smarter customers will think them too plain.’
‘Some of my girls would be glad of them. My waitress, Lily, was complaining she couldn’t find a comfortable working shoe the other day, they were all too expensive for her.’
‘Well, our new stock will be in next week and they sell from twelve shillings a pair for button shoes with a small heel.’
‘That’s still quite a lot, but she should be able to afford it. I’ll tell her about them,’ Marlene said and smiled. ‘And now, I’ll tell you why I’ve come.’ Her smile grew broader. ‘Captain Maclean is back in the same London hospital as before and he wants to see you.’
‘How is he?’ Sally looked at her in surprise.
‘He’s had several treatments on his face and, well, perhaps I should let you see the improvement for yourself,’ Marlene said. ‘It is really quite remarkable. Apparently, he has to return for further treatment in about six months, but they think he’s had enough for now and want to let him rest a while.’
‘Then I shall pop in and see him this afternoon when I visit the hospital,’ Sally said. ‘That is wonderful news, Marlene. Thank you so much for coming to tell me…’
‘I thought you would wish to know, because you went out of your way to help him,’ Marlene replied. ‘You didn’t know who he was and you had no connection – and that makes it all the more remarkable.’
‘He was in desperate need of help, Marlene, and something about him, about his sad story, touched a nerve and made me determined to help him.’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘When I was in the orphanage as a little girl, I used to see some of the other kids in floods of tears, because they’d been caned or put in a corner. I always wanted to do something to help, but if I spoke out, I was thrust in the coal cellar and left to reflect on my wickedness and my hands were caned. I suppose that now I have a little influence, I choose to use it for those I consider need protecting – and there was something about Captain Maclean that reminded me of a little boy who was severely beaten on his legs by the nuns. He was in so much pain that he couldn’t walk for days.’
‘Oh, Sally, that is terrible – I didn’t realise.’ Marlene looked horrified. ‘I thought they were supposed to be God-fearing people?’
‘It was all done in the name of religion, to teach us to be good,’ Sally said, ‘but I think most of them just enjoyed inflicting pain on us – and little boys the most. I caught it too, because I was too stubborn to give in.’
‘So that’s why you do so much for others.’ Marlene looked struck.
‘I’m not sure I do very much,’ Sally replied with a wry smile. ‘I think I have it pretty easy – but I do remember what it was like to be at the mercy of those harsh women.’ She shook her head. ‘When I was leaving, one of the nuns – a little kinder than some of the others – gave me a silver cross that was my mother’s. She wouldn’t tell me anything more – just that it had belonged to my mother – but one day I’ll go back and demand to know the truth.’
‘So, you never knew your mother?’
‘I was never told anything until the day I left when Sister Martha gave me the cross.’
‘That is wicked,’ Marlene said indignantly. ‘You were not treated kindly, Sally – but I think I understand you more now – what drives you.’ She smiled. ‘Well, I’m not going to take up more of your time. I need to get back to my restaurant and see if everything I ordered has turned up. You have to be so careful these days. They will short-change you or send you inferior quality if you don’t watch it.’
‘Are you finding it difficult to keep up your standards?’ Sally asked. ‘I know it isn’t easy.’
‘I think it must be as bad for you.’ Marlene gave a little shudder. ‘How you manage to keep this place stocked, I don’t know. It must be hard enough in normal times.’
‘It’s a case of being willing to compromise,’ Sally acknowledged. ‘I have to find smaller firms who I didn’t know about before the war. Many of them have increased their capacity somehow. I think they’ve drafted in their grannies, grandfathers and their children to keep the workshops going.’
‘It’s all the fault of this horrid war,’ Marlene said. ‘They promised us it would be over by Christmas, but by the look of the news, it could go on for years.’
‘Oh, I do hope not,’ Sally said and sighed. ‘I want Mr Marco back to dress Harpers’ windows and the other brave young men who are over there too – and I want Ben bac
k here in the office, rather than having meetings with the War Office all the time.’
Marlene nodded sympathetically. ‘It isn’t long since Mick was home on leave, so we caught up on all our business, but things aren’t the same without him around. I miss his smile, Sally.’ Marlene looked sad. ‘He’s more like a son to me than a business partner these days and I think the world of him.’
‘I can understand that,’ Sally agreed. ‘To me Mick is a really good friend and I miss seeing him around, though of course I didn’t see him as much as you.’
Marlene nodded. They talked some more about the wounded men they were trying to help find something like a normal life and then Marlene left. Even before Marlene’s visit, Sally had already decided that she would quit work early that afternoon and visit the hospital before she went home. By the sound of it, Mr Alexander had done wonders and she was hopeful that Captain Maclean would at least be able to meet the world now that his face had been put back together again. He would have scars, skin discolouration, and probably bumps or lumps still, but he would look more or less normal, instead of the misshapen monster his injuries had made him.
It was so cruel the way this war destroyed men’s lives and yet left them living and forced to face the consequences of what had happened to them – loss of limbs was terrible enough but catastrophic injuries to the face and head could be even worse.
Sally sighed as she thought of all the people she cared about, caught up in this terrible war. So many young men and women too had decided to help their country. But Sally wondered about the ones she’d known so well, wishing she knew more about their welfare. They hadn’t had a card from Mr Marco for a while now and it made her wonder just where he was and what he was doing.
21
The atmosphere of the nightclub was thick with cigarette smoke and the strong odour of human bodies, wine and beer. A group of German officers were occupying the front tables close to the piano at which Marco had been seated for the past two hours. He’d been playing the songs they requested over and over again, most of them packed with innuendo that could be taken two ways but which made these men roar with laughter, because they took them to be filthy, and of course they were, sung in a certain way. Marco knew exactly how to please his audience and he had them in the palm of his hand, which pleased Andre Renard, the manager of the club, because it led to more and more orders for the best champagne and that would please the boss, Paul Mallon, who only visited to collect his takings once a week and lived many kilometres away from the village.
‘Play that one again, Marco,’ one of the officers called and Marco struck the opening chord, but just as he did so a Frenchman dressed in rough working clothes limped up to him. He had been sitting glowering in his corner all night watching and drinking the rough red wine of the house, and now he slouched forward and spat into Marco’s face.
‘Dirty collaborator,’ he muttered in French. ‘You should be run out of town.’ He lurched forward and grabbed Marco’s wrist, his fingers pressing hard against his hand as the message was passed.
Marco understood and his hand closed over the small piece of paper. He put up a hand as if to steady the drunk and slipped it inside his shirt cuff. ‘You’re not fit to call yourself French,’ he said mildly as the drunk stumbled away.
‘Disgusting beast.’ One of the officers grunted, got to his feet and offered Marco a handkerchief to wipe the spittle from his face. ‘Do you want me to teach the bastard a lesson? I’ll have some of my men give him a beating.’
‘Why bother?’ Marco said and smiled as he accepted the handkerchief to wipe his face. ‘He is a fool – knocked senseless in a fight, they say. Let him go, he doesn’t worry me. Shall I have this washed for you?’ He offered the handkerchief.
‘Keep it,’ the officer smiled at him. ‘I doubt the fool had much sense even before his brains were knocked out of him.’ He returned to his seat.
Marco tucked the handkerchief in his sleeve, securing the note further inside his cuff.
The Frenchman had shambled off out of the club.
Marco played on for another half an hour and then stood up, announcing that he needed a break and would return soon. This was greeted with calls of disappointment and instruction to come back soon as the night was still young. Promising he would, Marco left them to watch the girls Andre had sent on to dance for their customers while he had his break; they were soon whistling and calling out, Marco forgotten as the scantily dressed girls tantalised and teased, wiggling their rears to loud applause.
Alone in his room, Marco took out the handkerchief and threw it on the dressing table. He took out the note Pierre had passed him right under the noses of the Germans and read it.
Something big is happening soon. Can you discover more details from your contact and let Cecile know whatever details you can?
Marco read it twice and was about to tear it into pieces when the door opened and Kurt entered. To hide the note furtively would cause suspicion. Marco tossed it onto the dressing table carelessly and smiled.
‘How are you?’ he asked the young man he liked despite the fact that Kurt was the enemy. Over the past weeks they had developed a kind of friendship.
‘I hope you don’t mind that I came up,’ Kurt said. ‘Johannes just entered the club, so I came to hide.’
‘Of course, I don’t mind,’ Marco said. He moved towards him and embraced him lightly. ‘Will you stay tonight?’
‘For a while,’ Kurt said and looked at him hungrily. ‘You don’t have to go back yet, do you?’
‘I was going to have a drink.’ Marco showed him the bottle of good burgundy wine. ‘It’s better than they serve downstairs,’ he said as he poured it into two crystal glasses.
Kurt took the glass he was offered, swirled the rich ruby liquid and nodded. ‘It is one of the things I like about you, your taste for good things; it’s something we share.’ He smiled his appreciation.
‘Yes, we both like the finer things of life.’
‘What was the note that fool passed to you?’ Kurt asked, his tone unchanged. He might have been asking what the weather was like outside. ‘It was careless of him. Anyone could have seen it and you could have been arrested.’ He looked at Marco hard. ‘You take too many risks, my friend.’ Kurt picked up the note Marco had been careful not to hide and read it. He nodded, but his expression did not change. ‘I’m not a fool, Marco. That pig Johannes made that mistake – I may be a coward, but I am not a fool.’
‘I never thought you were,’ Marco said. His heart was racing. Was Kurt about to have him arrested? He’d been so careful, but something he’d said or done had alerted the lieutenant to what he was really doing here.
‘Have I told you much?’ Kurt asked now, still in that same toneless voice.
‘Not very much,’ Marco said. ‘Not much more than I could have picked up listening to the customers.’
Kurt nodded and examined his fingernails for a moment in silence. ‘I hate this war and I hate the German Army. I never wanted to join,’ he said and looked up at Marco, his intense blue eyes meeting his gaze. ‘I want to live in England when it is all over – I thought if you really liked me, we might have a life together?’
‘I do like you – more than I ought,’ Marco admitted. Kurt was good company and could be amusing. In other times they might have been very good friends, without the barrier that lurked beneath the surface. ‘Perhaps when it is all over…’
‘You’re an artist in many ways,’ Kurt went on. ‘I admire that – I could love you, Marco.’ He smiled and there was sweetness in that smile. At times, there was something that reminded Marco of a man he’d loved very much, of Julien. ‘I can cook you know. I’m good at looking after things. We could have a home together one day.’
‘Yes,’ Marco agreed, ‘we could – unless, you feel it your duty to report me as a spy?’ He must not allow his memories of Julien to become entangled with this man – Kurt was the enemy and he must use him for the good of Britain. Sentiment must
not be allowed to make him careless, even though he thought in other times there might have been a chance for them.
‘Why would I do that?’ Kurt asked carelessly. ‘I hate those fat pigs out there and what they stand for, and I love you.’ He moved closer. ‘If you feel that we could have a life together in England, I could tell you much more than you will hear out there…’
‘We can have a life together, Kurt,’ Marco said and reached out to touch his cheek. ‘Can you forgive me for deceiving you?’
‘I wasn’t deceived for a moment,’ Kurt said and laughed softly. ‘I told you what I wanted you to know – things I hoped would cause Johannes trouble and it did. He has been reprimanded for careless talk a couple of times.’ A hint of malice gleamed in his glacial eyes. ‘There is something big happening soon, Marco. Listen carefully and I’ll give you the details to pass on to your contacts.’
‘Thank you for trusting me,’ Marco said. ‘I’m not sure I deserve it.’
‘But you do – you saved me that night. I was desperate. If you hadn’t shown me kindness, I might have taken my own life.’ Kurt smiled oddly and Marco’s heart jolted, as he recalled the man he had not been able to save. Julien’s suicide would never leave him in peace. ‘Your engineers and tunnellers are preparing to take our lines by surprise. They think we don’t know how near they’ve got to our front lines, but we discovered it days ago. Our tunnellers are working from the other side and at about midnight on Thursday we shall break through and then Oberst Johannes Hoffmeister intends to send his crack team through the tunnels straight to your lines. Any men caught in the tunnel will be killed and they’ll overrun your trenches and kill as many as they can before escaping.’
Marco stared at him. This was big, something he would never have picked up listening to the careless talk around the tables. He might have heard laughter about the English getting a surprise, but this was so valuable that he was in two minds whether Kurt was telling him the truth.
