The Blood-Dimmed Tide
Page 36
They watched as the two figures suddenly veered to one side and set off in pursuit of the man with the wheelbarrow who was disappearing at that moment into another part of the shrubbery and whose movements the chief inspector was following with close attention. His observation was interrupted once again, however, by the appearance of Madden, who came striding out of the orchard just then in the company of a pair of young boys, one of whom Sinclair recognized as his friends’ son.
‘Who’s the other?’ he asked Helen, shading his eyes. The sun was low in the sky; the afternoon light was fading.
‘Will Stackpole’s son, Ted. It means a lot to me that he and Rob are such friends. Will’s someone I love. He was the first boy who ever kissed me.’ She smiled in recollection. ‘I was Lucy’s age, six or seven. He made eyes at me all one summer. I love seeing them together now, the boys. But it makes me anxious. They keep growing older ...’
‘Why should that bother you?’
‘Because there’s going to be another war.’
She spoke the words in so natural a tone it was a moment or two before the chief inspector registered what she’d said.
‘Oh, surely not.’ He responded automatically. ‘I mean you can’t be sure ... so many things can happen...’ He fell silent. She seemed not to have heard him.
‘I can’t tell you how awful I felt in Berlin.’ Helen’s eyes were on the figures advancing up the lawn. ‘The flags, the uniforms, the strutting. And the never-ending rant. I saw one uniform. It was black. Black from head to toe. The badge on the cap was a death’s head. Can you imagine?’
She held her face in her hands.
‘I knew then...’
He said nothing. Allowing her time to recover, he waved to Madden, who waved back, but then gestured to demonstrate some intention on his part, which presently became clear when he and the boys changed course, directing their steps towards the side of the house where the kitchen lay.
‘They’re going to leave their muddy shoes there. They’ll come in the other way.’
Helen ran her fingers through her hair. Next moment the smile was back on her lips and he saw that something else had caught her eye.
The two little girls had emerged from the shrubbery where they’d been hidden from sight and were running up the lawn, still hand in hand, towards them. The fairer of the two whom he now recognized as Lucy held a bunch of yellow daffodils in her free hand. As they ascended the steps of the terrace, Helen rose to meet them.
‘For you, Mummy,’ Lucy declared breathlessly, thrusting the dripping flowers into her grasp. Well spattered with mud, the pair seemed in haste to continue on their headlong course, but Helen checked them.
‘What on earth have you been doing? Just look at poor Hana.’
She spoke a few words of German to the dark-haired child, who replied breathlessly in the same language. Both girls were pawing the terrace in their eagerness to be off.
‘It’s time for your baths.’ Helen turned to her daughter again.
‘Mary’s waiting upstairs. Take Hana with you. And don’t pull her arm off—!’
The warning came too late. Shrieking as one, the two little girls sprang away and as though glued together ran full tilt across the terrace and into the house.
‘Introductions will have to wait, I’m afraid.’
Leaving his hostess to shake the water from the bouquet she’d been given, Sinclair got up from his chair and moved to the edge of the terrace. He peered down into the gloaming. The figure he’d noticed earlier was advancing up the lawn now, pushing the wheelbarrow in front of him. The chief inspector could contain his curiosity no longer.
‘Who on earth is that?’ he asked. ‘And what’s he got on his head?’
‘Can’t you guess?’ Helen answered in a teasing tone. ‘It’s Topper. Surely you remember him.’
‘I’ve not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance. But I recall the name well. Am I not right in thinking he was summoned to give evidence at the inquest in Guildford ... and never appeared?’ Sinclair turned to regard his hostess. ‘Harbouring fugitives, are you, Dr Madden?’
Helen smiled. ‘He turned up out of the blue just after Christmas. John set him up in one of the stalls at the farm with plenty of bedding and a stove. Luckily Tom Cooper went down with rheumatism just then. I say luckily, because Topper doesn’t like accepting charity beyond the odd meal. So we’ve turned him into a sort of substitute gardener, and he seems happy doing it.’
She paused. The figure had come to a halt just below the terrace and Sinclair took in the spectacle of the hat with its jaunty pheasant plume.
He watched as Topper removed it and bowed. Helen smiled to him in response.
‘Goodnight, Topper. And thank you the lovely flowers.’
Replacing his hat, he continued on his way without a word, disappearing around the side of the house.
‘John says he’ll pack up his bundle one of these days and move on, but I hope not. I don’t like to think of him wandering around. He’s too old. He needs a home.’ She was looking at the daffodils in her hand and he saw her brush something from her cheek. ‘My hope is he’ll find it hard to leave now. He so loves the children.’
‘The children?’ Sinclair glanced at the flowers she was holding, then at her face, which was turned away. ‘Aye ... the children.’
‘Oh, dear ...’ She made no pretence now about wiping away the tears which had started from her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Angus. I still haven’t got over that awful business. I lost my nerve for a while, and I’m not sure I’ve got it back. I’m afraid of the future. I see dreadful things ahead. Look what’s happened to poor Franz and his family. How many others will suffer in the same way? Who will help them? It’s as though some terrible dark night is about to descend on us all and I want to protect the people I love and care for, but I don’t know how, or even if I can ...’
‘My dear ...’ Seeing her distress, the chief inspector put his arm around her and tried to comfort her. ‘It’s because you’re still upset. These wounds take a long time to heal.’
‘Yes, of course ...’ She touched his cheek. ‘Dear Angus ...’
She collected herself.
‘I must put these in water. Come inside, if you like, or stay and watch the sun go down. I love the way the colours of the trees change as the light dies. John will be here in a moment, but I warn you he’ll be busy. As soon as the girls come down he’ll have to read to them. Lucy’s trying to teach Hana English and she thinks having her listen to The Wind in the Willows will do the trick. I believe Mr Toad is about to set off in his motor car, so the proceedings might get noisy. But come in soon. I want us all to be together.’
He waited until she had gone inside, then turned to look out once more over the deserted garden, his mind full of what she had said. The day was nearly over and only the topmost trees of Upton Hanger still glinted in the dying light. The rest of the long wooded ridge was already plunged in Stygian gloom, and the chief inspector was not disposed to linger. As he stood there a wash of light fell about his feet from the lamps that were being switched on in the drawing room and he heard the high-pitched cries of the children.
Drawn by the thought of the warmth inside and the many dear faces around, he hesitated no longer, turning his back on the end of the day.
And on the dark night that was coming.
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