Against the Tide

by John Hanley

  ‘I’m sure they’ll only be a few minutes. I can delay serving that long. Why don’t you sit down, dear, and drink some cider. Better still, see if you can help Alan open the bottle.’

  Alan glowered and handed the bottle to Father, who spun the cork off with one twist of his massive hands.

  23

  Fred ushered me outside and pulled me down to inspect Boadicea’s spark plugs. ‘Sorry, but it’s urgent. Why the hell your father won’t subscribe to a telephone I don’t know. Look, those photographs you showed me. I took them to St Malo yesterday and showed them to a friend. She telephoned this afternoon.’

  ‘I thought your phone was monitored?’

  ‘We have a code. I rang her back on a different number from a public phone. Look, we must keep this just between ourselves. I don’t want to give your father any more excuses for hating me.’

  ‘What is it between you two anyway? Why this feud?’

  Fred bit his lip. I was sure I saw some moisture in his eyes. ‘Not today, Jack. One day perhaps, but you will need to get his side of the story as well. Forget that for now if you can. The important issue is this Kohler character. My source believes that he, or those he might be with, are seen as important. If you feel up to it, I want you to find out more about him. It might mean some deception on your part – you might even have to speak to Caroline.’

  ‘Okay, but that last bit might be difficult. What am I looking for?’

  ‘That’s the problem, I don’t know. Look, hop on the bike and let’s take her for a run up the lane. There’s something I need to give you.’

  He kicked her into life and I slid onto the pillion. We chugged up the narrow lane, keeping the tyres in one of the ruts made by the tractor rather than on the slippery grass ridge in between. Once out of sight of the farmhouse, Fred stopped, switched off and propped Boadicea onto her stand. He removed the canvas holdall from the rack behind the pillion seat and extracted a camera.

  ‘Take this. You know how to use one?’

  ‘I’ve used a Box Brownie but this looks very complicated.’ I peered at the chrome and leatherette body with its dials and large lens.

  ‘It’s a Leica.’

  ‘What’s this FED mean then?’ I had turned the camera over.

  ‘It’s a Russian copy made in the Ukraine. Don’t worry, it works very well. Use it for the long-range shots.’ He unwrapped a much smaller camera from the roll. ‘This is a Riga Minox – Latvian. Use this for close work. Look, it’s easy to hide in your pocket.’

  I accepted the tiny camera. ‘Where did you get this, Uncle?’

  ‘That doesn’t matter, Jack. Will you help?’

  I looked at both cameras, weighing them in each hand. ‘What’s this really about? It’s not about Rudi Kohler, is it?’

  Fred shrugged his shoulders. ‘We don’t know, yet. You’re right though, it’s not your friend Kohler – it’s his companions who are of interest.’

  ‘But isn’t this spying, Uncle?’

  ‘Yes, Jack. I’m afraid it is. Strange though it may seem, this sleepy little island of ours is very attractive as a meeting place for all sorts of unusual people. The security services are very active in Switzerland, France and Belgium but here… well we don’t like upsetting the tourists, do we?’

  ‘But it’s not as though we’re at war with Germany.’

  ‘Well, that’s a matter of opinion. Some will say we have been since the time of Bismarck, though we haven’t always been shooting at each other. The secret war, if you will, has always been happening and it’s not just the English versus the Germans. Please, Jack let me explain another time. I need to know if you will do this.’

  ‘What is it you want me to do?’

  Fred took the FED camera from me and pointed it up the track. ‘Use this to show locations. If the people you are following go into, let’s say, a bank or a law office or even the States Building –’

  ‘You think the States are involved?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jack. There’s no doubt that in England some very senior members of the establishment are involved with the Nazis. Just keep your distance. If you’re sure no one is watching you, take some snaps, or pretend to be a tourist. It would help if you had a girl with you to pose in front of buildings and make it look natural. What about Rachel? Lita tells –’

  ‘No, Uncle. I am not getting her involved in this.’ Though it was tempting, I dismissed it. ‘And don’t ask me to use Caroline either. The last time a camera got between us, she ended up in the harbour.’ I held up the miniature camera. ‘And what would I use this for?’

  ‘Close-up work – again, make sure no one can see you and… if you happened to stumble across some documents that you could photograph without anyone noticing, that would be helpful. They’re both loaded with film, though you’ll have to bring them back to me to develop.’

  Perhaps I had made the wrong choice. I should have known he’d try to get me involved in one of his crazy schemes but I wasn’t in the mood to defeat the world conspiracy against the working man. I handed the little camera back.

  ‘I’m sorry, Uncle. You are asking too much. I’m sorry I got you involved. I just wanted to know why Kohler was disguising himself; but he’s only a student. I don’t know anything about his associates – they’re none of my concern. I let my curiosity get the better of me. Despite what you say, we are not at war with Germany and I don’t think we will be; in fact, we have a direct air link with them now. I read in the Evening Post that it takes just six hours to fly direct to Berlin. No, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to get involved to this extent. My God; if Father found out he’d… I just don’t know what he’d do but –’

  ‘I understand, Jack. I do.’ He sounded as though he didn’t, sounded disappointed, and I felt my cheeks warming with embarrassment. Was I turning him down because I was afraid? The casual way he had smuggled in a revolver and the talk of his mysterious associates had been worrying me.

  I watched as he wrapped the cameras in the canvas bag. He placed the package on the pillion seat, limped away from the bike and struggled up the low bank and stood, surveying the bay below.

  In the distance was the smudge of France, only twelve miles away, and half-way out, was the reef of the Écréhous, owned by Jersey but still a bone of contention with our Gallic neighbours. 200 feet below us was the sweep of St Catherine’s Bay, enclosed by the long arm of its breakwater. We could see its whole, wasted length from here, thousands of tons of beautiful pink granite squandered by some foolish English civil servants a century before. I watched his shoulders slump and then heave. He walked towards me.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack. If the world was different and this…’ he waved his arm over the channel separating the two cultures, ‘was secure, forever… but it’s not.

  ‘Spain was beautiful, you know. Less green, perhaps, but as peaceful as this. People trying to live their lives, loving, creating. Then it all exploded in their faces. The Germans came to crush their revolution, brought their bombs, blasted villages and cities apart. Why? Because they hated socialism? Yes, of course. But the real reason was to practise, prepare their war machine so that they were ready to slice through our rotten democracies like your father’s knife through that beef that’s waiting for you now.’

  He turned and held my wrists. ‘It was very wrong of me. You’re only eighteen, your whole life ahead of you. Unlike me at your age, you have a wise head. Mine was full of adventure and I’ve found it. It’s shaped me in a way I hope no one else will ever be shaped. I have no choice now, but you do.

  ‘There is going to be a war, Jack. The Germans will take France, perhaps in weeks. They’ll take these islands because they are there. They might then offer a peace to Britain, an alliance even, before they turn their might on Russia and crush her to dust. That’s the future, Jack. It may even be too late to change it but I’m not going to stop trying.’

  I wanted to pull away but couldn’t.

  Fred released his hold, letting his hands
fall to his side. ‘Have you ever wondered about Malita and me? Why she is so sad? So much in pain?’ His voice was almost a whisper now.

  I knew they had fallen in love when Malita was assigned as his interpreter in Madrid, and he had told me about the horrors of civil war.

  ‘Uncle, you don’t –’

  ‘We think we were betrayed because they came for us in the middle of the night. They weren’t very skilled in interrogation, Franco’s thugs, and the German advisers had been called in to help. It seemed that too much information was being lost with the dead bodies. They didn’t wear uniforms, just smart suits.’

  His voice had changed to a monotone, almost mechanical, clipped, distant. ‘There were two, one spoke excellent English, the other passable Spanish. The leader was very polite, even courteous. Had me patched up after the local police had finished their introductions. He was quite rational, though that quickly disappeared when I wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear.

  ‘He turned me over to the local thugs and left with his colleague. It’s an odd thing but, after a while, you slip below physical pain. That’s when they start the mental torture.’ He stopped.

  I waited, horrified.

  ‘Then they brought Lita to me, made her watch whilst they removed my teeth with a little hammer – one at a time. I gave them some false names and they sent for the Germans. They listened and went away again.

  ‘Later their leader returned, never raised his voice, was always calm, face expressionless. He told me that I had lied to him, had given false names and wasted his time. It was inconvenient, he said, and it wouldn’t happen again. He waved his hand, dismissing me.

  ‘My heart leapt, I thought he had given up, had others to interrogate – then he smiled for the first time and turned to Lita. The younger, Spanish-speaking one, took over. He had her strapped to a chair, her clothes ripped off and her legs clamped apart. Two of them held my head, forced me to watch as he probed her personal places with a metal claw –’

  ‘Please, Uncle, you shouldn’t –’

  ‘Jack, she was carrying our child.’

  I watched him as he straightened himself and focused on the horizon – a thousand-mile stare all the way to Spain.

  He started again in a rush of words. ‘She screamed at me to tell them nothing. Then she just screamed and screamed until she passed out. They threw water over her and started again. Only his time they gagged her. They gagged me as well so, even if I broke, I wouldn’t be able to speak. I thought then that they had lost interest in the information, that we had delayed them for too long for it to be of use. All they wanted was revenge.

  ‘Someone banged on the door and they were called away. They left her bleeding in her stinking chair. Our guards smoked, indifferent to the torture. The Germans returned with grim expressions on their faces, followed by two men struggling with a brazier. They lowered it between us, almost symbolically. The leader removed my gag whilst his colleague spoke to Malita in her language. Then he put on a thick glove and heated the metal claw in the flames. That’s when I told him what he wanted to know. They threw us into separate cells and left us to rot.’ He dropped his head.

  ‘We owe our life to a young Spaniard, Carlos Bayo. He bribed the guards and got us out and to the coast at Gijon. We had held out long enough for our comrades to escape to the hills. They treated us like heroes, patched us up and smuggled us by boat to France.’

  He turned back. ‘Lita would never have told them anything. She would have died first, but they knew my weakness, must have seen it in my eyes when they brought her to me. I don’t think she will ever forgive that weakness, despite what she says. We only have each other now. We can’t have a child, can’t even make love and, every time she has a call of nature…’ he stopped.

  I listened to his breathing, ragged, tormented. I was dizzy with anger, my stomach churned with hate for the torturers and despair for Malita. I turned away from my uncle and walked back to the bike, picked up the canvas package and started back towards my home.

  24

  Monday 17th July – Midday

  My neck was trapped as the left bicep and forearm squeezed together, compressed my windpipe and cut off the flow of air to my lungs. The spray splashed into my eyes as I clamped my mouth shut to prevent my remaining breath from escaping under water. I arched my back in an attempt to relieve the pressure then swept my right hand up and grabbed my assailant’s left wrist. Locking my left hand onto his left elbow, I ducked under, sank to the bottom and pulled his weight down with me. I pushed his left arm away, wriggled my head underneath, tugged against the joint then twisted sideways behind him. Jerking his arm up, I subdued him in a wrist hold and elbow lock. We bobbed to the surface.

  I kneed my brother in the buttocks and whispered, ‘Not so tight next time, you stupid bugger.’ I released the arm hold, slid my left hand under Alan’s chin and started to pull him to the pool side using a sweeping side kick. I spun him round, placed both his hands together on the concrete six inches above the surface, pressed my left hand on top to prevent the “body” slipping in again and, using my right hand as a lever, hauled myself out. I crossed his arms, grabbed a wrist in each hand, bent down then heaved him out of the water, twisting his arms in the process, and deposited the grinning fool in a sitting position on the side.

  I turned to the group of Alan’s classmates. ‘It’s not as difficult as it looks. The key is not to panic and to act decisively. Remember, a drowning person will literally grasp at straws. Never turn your back because he’ll drown you with him.’ I felt such a fraud. I’d never saved anyone – it was just book-learned theory and simulations.

  I fielded their questions just like a proper teacher though I stopped droning on when I spotted the first yawn. ‘I’ve done enough talking. It’s time for you lot to get wet. Last one in…’

  I continued to teach life-saving techniques to the class, while Martlew, their teacher, sat in the shade sipping a lemonade.

  After the class was over and the boys were towelling themselves dry, I watched Kohler’s table as surreptitiously as I could. Still no companion. I wondered how much longer I could drag this out. The master seemed relaxed enough so I approached him.

  ‘They’ve worked pretty hard, sir. Any chance of them having a little sunbathing time before we go back?’

  Martlew pulled out his fob watch and winced at the time but nodded. ‘I suppose so, Renouf. But, I say, this is all jolly violent stuff you’re teaching them. Aren’t you meant to be showing them how to save lives?’

  ‘Of course, sir, but in life-saving situations there can be extreme danger. I have to teach them how to approach safely and how to escape if it all goes wrong. It’s purely defence, sir. They need to know how to manage aggression, albeit unintended, in these situations. They need to be prepared.’

  ‘Quite, thank you for the speech, Renouf. Perhaps you might share your sentiments with Mr Chamberlain.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘Another twenty minutes then we have to get back – there’s some Latin to be learned.’

  I gave them the good news and chatted to some of Alan’s friends, all the while keeping an eye on Kohler.

  Martlew looked at his watch again and started to get up just as Kohler stood to welcome three older men who had just approached his table.

  My mouth hung open in surprise as I recognised one of them as Hayden-Brown, Caroline’s father. I reached into my bag for the FED camera and turned towards the master. ‘Excuse me, sir, would you mind if I took some photographs?’

  He rolled his eyes and tapped his watch. ‘If you must, Renouf, but do hurry up. Virgil has been waiting long enough.’

  I mustered the boys, pushing them further around the pool so that I could get a good picture of Kohler’s group. I fussed around the swimmers, getting behind them and taking some shots of the German without aiming the camera.

  Alan watched me with a puzzled expression. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Can’t say anything now but do me a favour and st
art a towel fight. Take it round the pool, I pointed in Kohler’s direction, I’ll tell you why later.’

  He smiled mischievously. A prefect asking him to misbehave? He didn’t need a second bidding. He grabbed a towel, dipped it in the pool and started flicking one of the boys. The others joined in, game for a wet towel fight – anything to delay Latin verbs.

  Alan rushed off towards Kohler’s party, giving me the perfect opportunity to aim at the group and shoot. Satisfied, I put the camera back in the bag and helped the master round up the reluctant Latin scholars.

  Angry that he had been taken advantage of by his charges, Martlew clipped Alan round the ear. Alan didn’t rat on me but the look he gave me left me in no doubt that he would be presenting his bill later.

  I looked up. Kohler and company had left but their images remained.

  The sounds cascaded through the glass of the French windows, as Caroline pounded out some crashing chords – Beethoven probably. I peered through the vibrating glass and watched as she attacked the keyboard. Her body hunched over for the intricate trilling passages then arched like an eagle as she drummed the deep base chords. She was immersed, drowning, in the passionate sounds, oblivious to me as she swayed with the rolling rhythms. I watched as her bottom shifted on the cushioned stool, sweat pouring down her back as she built to a frenzied crescendo.

  She slumped, then reached for the sheets of music and started again. She stopped, mid-phrase, and spun round, squinting into the evening sun. She dropped her hands, leapt up then strode across the parquet floor, kicked aside the curtains, which had been dumped on the floor, and pushed the French windows open.

  I flinched – struck again by her vitality and beauty. She confronted me, hands on hips; the moisture from her neck and chest collecting between her breasts, staining her frock. Her face was flushed, eyes shining with something I hadn’t seen before. Not anger, something more like frustration and confusion.

  ‘Come in then, close the doors.’ She strode back to the piano and banged her fists on the lid. ‘Help me get this off.’