Her face was only a few inches from his, smiling at him, when he opened his eyes.
“Good morning, liebe Eric... Liebchen...”
Before he could speak she kissed him.
“Good morning, Ilse... liebe Ilse.”
He felt shamefaced, but she was looking at him with love and happiness. He looked at his watch: just after six o’clock.
“I’m used to waking early,” he said.
“And I am used to waking at all hours. My father used to work on night shift, day shift or early morning, alternate weeks. I was the one who always had to be up whatever time he went or came home, to feed him.”
“When do you expect your first callers? When do you have to go out?”
Relatives and friends would be coming to pay their condolences and no doubt she had to go and see the undertaker and register her mother’s death at the Municipality.
No solemn thoughts seemed to be troubling her, however. She said, “There is no hurry. I have put a toothbrush for you on the washbasin in the bathroom.”
That’s one way of telling me my kiss didn’t taste too good after a night’s sleep, he thought with amusement. He got up.
When he came back she reached out for him with her bare arms and threw the bedclothes completely aside, and he saw that her body was as beautiful as her face and her hair.
At half past six she said, “Life starts early here. There is time for you to bathe and shave quickly, then get dressed and be ready to dash up to the loft. Give me ten minutes to bathe and dress first and I’ll get you some breakfast.”
They kissed once more and she hurried away.
Yardley lay abed in a fit of remorse. He could not regret the love-making, but felt ashamed: suppose he had fathered a child on Ilse? He would despise himself on two counts: her disgrace and the irresponsibility of fathering a bastard and then clearing off. He had never failed to take precautions when he went with a woman and he was contemptuous of himself for giving way to her clamant encouragement and his own rampant desire. It was selfish and careless and he ought to have controlled himself and her. He must not let it recur. He would leave tonight and if he set off early enough he should be able to reach the aerodrome at Schutzstadt in ample time to steal an aeroplane and fly home.
This resolution was firm in his mind when Ilse, dressed, paused at the door to say cheerfully, “All ready for you, Liebling. Be quick.”
Razor, shaving-soap and brush were all waiting for him. He lay gratefully in the hot water and was embarrassed when she appeared unexpectedly at the door, grinning and saying, “I wish I could join you in there. I’ll expect you down in five minutes.”
When he went down, there were boiled eggs, home-made cheese, a thick slab of ham. Only the coffee was horrid. The bread was home-baked and greatly different from the sour grey loaves on sale all over Germany.
At half-past seven she said, “I must go and see my two married aunts and my uncle. Then I have other things to do.” She was subdued now and her eyes were sad.
She saw him safely into the loft and handed him up a plate of ham and bread and a jug of water.
She had brought her cycle back with her in the ambulance and when he heard her ring the bell after the gate clicked shut he knew that she was ringing it for him. He smiled and was filled with warmth towards her.
He went over his plan again and many times more. By candlelight he pored over one of the maps he had saved from the aircraft, tracing three routes by which he could make his way to his objective, arguing with himself about their merits. It would be worthwhile to take the longest one, which would bring him to the aerodrome from the east, the unexpected direction. Not that he supposed anyone would be expecting him to make for the ’drome; but search-parties would be out to the west, not the east.
He would leave this house at 8 p.m. and aim to take off in his stolen Albatros at 5 a.m. That would allow eight hours for the journey of 16 miles, and one hour to reconnoitre the aerodrome and choose a suitably placed machine. Two miles an hour should be easy, even across country. He would use roads as much as he could and sneak through the woods and along hedgerows when he must.
Five minutes past eleven. How much longer would Ilse be? How much of a scene would there be when he insisted on leaving this evening? He would spring it on her at the last moment; to avoid a scene and any plea for one last bout of love-making: he neither wanted to increase the chances of landing her with a baby nor to use any of the energy he was going to need for the succeeding nine hours.
It was after half-past eleven when she came home and mounted the stairs to announce that she was alone. “But there will be visitors this afternoon,” she said. And then, unemotionally, “My mother’s funeral will be in three days’ time. They are burying your comrades this afternoon.”
“Was it all very bad for you?”
She put her arms about him. “Hold me, Eric. Hold me tight.” She began to cry. “It’s silly of me... my mother was not deserving of anything but natural filial duty... but I feel so sad about her.”
“Perhaps it was a mercy that she had a quick and unexpected end instead of more years of suffering.”
Ilse dried her eyes and murmured, “When I get over it, no doubt I shall see it as a mercy to me!”
Yardley was shocked. “You don’t really mean that. You are very upset...”
“I mean it, all right. I’ve had a hell of a life here. I’m going to sell the house and clear off somewhere on my own. Resume my studies, make a career for myself. Live at last.” She put her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her kiss. “Thanks to you I feel more alive than I have ever felt.”
They ate a hasty lunch before he had to return to hiding. She gave him books to read and a newspaper. He was incensed by the propaganda and interested in what he learned of conditions in Germany. He would take the paper back with him to show the Intelligence people, although of course German papers regularly reached Whitehall through neutral countries. It would, at least, make a good souvenir of his enforced stay in enemy territory.
All afternoon he listened to the coming and going of callers until he fell asleep. It was between half-past six and seven when Ilse, standing on tiptoe on the folding steps, reached into the loft and shook him awake.
“You don’t know what a time I’ve had resisting insistent invitations to go and stay with people. Everyone is so kind and I appeared ungrateful.” She laughed. “If only they knew why I refused to leave this house!” She was standing with her arms around his waist and her head resting on his chest.
He felt a jolt of apprehension. “What is the weather like?”
“What does it matter? Neither of us is going out.”
“Is it snowing again?”
“No. But it is cloudy. Why don’t you shut the trapdoor? Come downstairs and we’ll have a glass of wine.”
He gently disengaged himself from her embrace and went up the steps to fetch his Sidcot down.
“What do you want with that?”
Better go now than drag this out until eight. “Ilse, I’m leaving now.”
“No!” It was a cry of anguish.
“I must...”
“It is much too dangerous. The doctor came to make sure I was all right. He was full of the news. They have a strong cordon around the whole area and they are hunting you like beaters go out to drive wild animals and birds into the guns of the cruel fools who go out to destroy them. You must wait at least another day; and even then...”
They both heard a lorry draw up outside and Ilse, going pale with fear, whispered, “Quick! Back in the loft.” She went down quickly and he heard her heels tap across the floorboards towards the kitchen. She was wearing high heels and it was a very erotic sound. He scrambled into the loft, leaned down to lug up the steps, which, for once, she had forgotten, and closed the trapdoor.
It was 20 minutes before she reappeared and called him out of his hiding-place.
“What was it?” he asked.
“A Leutnant. I gave
him a glass of beer. He is taking a lorry-load of men out to look for you and wanted to make sure I am ‘unmolested’ as he put it.” She began to giggle, nervously tense. “You cannot possibly risk a move tonight, Eric. Please believe me.”
They went to bed early, after an evening spent talking about a hundred and one topics and drawing closer together all the time in understanding, liking and affection. After they had made love twice in quick succession, Ilse asked drowsily, “How are you going to get away, Liebchen?”
“I shall not risk a long tramp of many days. And I don’t want to have to steal a boat and try to cross the Rhine without being seen.”
She was wide-awake again. “Do you mean you will stay?”
He kissed her. “No. I’m going to steal an aeroplane from Schutzstadt.”
She raised herself on one elbow and stared at him in alarm. “But that will be even more risky.”
“Not at all. I’m going to work my way round from the east: they will never expect that...”
“They have sent out a search-party in that direction tonight.”
“Only as a gesture of thoroughness. I know the military mind. They won’t bother again.”
“How will you do it, exactly?”
When he had explained to her, she said, “Are you sure you can start the engine unaided? Your German is excellent: you can pass for a German officer. It would be better to order one of the troops to help you.”
“Suppose there is none about at that time?”
She looked thoughtful. “That is true. Well, I can help you by spying out the land. Tomorrow I will take the train to Schutzstadt and I shall take my cycle with me. I will ride out to the aerodrome and slowly around it. Then I can tell you how well it is fenced and guarded and where the machines are kept standing.”
His first reaction was to say, “No. You must not involve yourself in anything that could cause suspicion afterwards.”
“You can’t stop me. I’m going.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“Stop arguing and make love to me. What’s the matter, don’t you love me anymore?” When he did not answer, she peered at him in the light of the candle that she had left burning — “It must be better to see each other when we make love,” she had said and he had told her it certainly was — and asked anxiously, “You do love me, don’t you, Eric darling?”
And what could he say but “Yes”. Because in a way he did.
*
She left a notice on the front door for callers, to say she would be away all day, and set off at eight next morning for the station.
Again Yardley passed a long, lonesome morning of remorse. Her affection and beauty had overwhelmed him and he had weakly given way to the passion she aroused in him. Unless he were infertile and she barren, they could scarcely expect not to have made a child with their constant intercourse. They were both young and healthy and both came from families which had bred well; she with her two siblings and he with four. The war couldn’t last much longer. He’d come back as soon as it was over and make provision for the child.
He was equally worried about her safety. A strange young woman cycling round an aerodrome would not go unnoticed.
But when she came home she was elated. “There are so many people hanging around watching the aeroplanes take off and land, and so many girls getting off with the men, nobody paid me any attention.”
“I can’t believe that,” he said fondly, holding her in his arms.
“Well, I did get some catcalls and two bold young NCO pilots called to me across the fence.”
“What sort of fence?”
“Only three strands of barbed wire.” She was excited. “I’ll draw you a plan. I’ll show you where the aeroplanes are and where it will be easy to get in unseen.”
“You are marvellous.” He kissed her.
“And something else. I’ve changed my mind about you ordering one of the troops to swing the prop for you. I’ll do it. I am a gymnast and I’m strong.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“You can’t stop me. I’ll take the train and be there before you.”
“I won’t let you leave the house.”
“I’ll catch a later train and still beat you to it.”
“No, Ilse.”
“Yes, Eric.” She grinned at him. “Unless you make love to me for one last time this afternoon. If you do that, I’ll stay at home like a good girl.”
“I was going to make love to you this afternoon anyway. If you don’t expect any visitors.”
“I’ll leave the notice on the door. But I don’t think anyone will come.”
The last thing he murmured to her before he fell asleep in her arms in the late afternoon was “One thing I promise you. As soon as the war is over, I’ll come back.”
She was stroking him lovingly. “For my sake, Eric?”
“For yours and our child’s, if we have one.”
“Oh, I do love you.”
He slept soundly.
Parting from her was a greater wrench even than he had anticipated. She wept for a while and he was near tears himself, before he walked away into the darkness. The moon would rise much later and there were clouds which hid the stars over part of the sky.
The last thing she said to him was “Give me your address and then when the war is over I can write and tell you where I am. I shall not change my mind to sell this house and move far away.” She kissed him. “And you got that promise from me to stay here instead of joining you tonight, falsely. I didn’t know you intended to make love to me anyway! I will be waiting for you when the war is over.”
Grateful for the darkness, Yardley walked at an easy, swinging pace away from Fichtewald. He moved briskly, covering as much ground as he could as quickly as he could, to provide for delays later on his 16-mile journey. He was alert, despite his self-indulgence that afternoon. He had slept deeply for two hours and danger sharpened his senses. His boots were comfortable and he still had an infantryman’s tireless stride.
In the first two hours he covered six miles and by midnight he had done another four. He was climbing a hill, along the side of a wood, when a dog barked close at hand. He turned at once and hurried in among the trees. Fallen branches crackled underfoot. He heard a hoarse voice quietly admonishing the dog, then the sound of someone walking stealthily through the wood. The dog barked again excitedly and he could hear it scampering in his direction.
Police? Soldiers?
The poacher came out of the shadows, with the net in his hand that he used for throwing over sleeping birds. There must be pheasants in this coppice. The dog rushed at Yardley, snarling, and bounded up at him. He swung a kick at it and heard it yelp. He knew his light-grey Sidcot showed up in the dark when moon or stars shone on it. The poacher peered at him, then ran forward, net raised. It came down over Yardley’s shoulders and upper arms.
His assailant wore soldier’s uniform. He must have been either on leave or stationed in the neighbourhood. He was a strong, heavy man; but so was Yardley and desperation gave him added strength. The more he struggled the more enmeshed he became. The poacher tripped him and came down heavily on top of him. The dog kept snapping at him and Yardley kept kicking at it. He got a hand to his revolver, dragged it out of his pocket and the poacher’s chest pressed hard against the muzzle. Yardley pulled the trigger. The explosion deafened him. The poacher rolled off him without even a grunt. With the dog still snarling and trying to bite him, he extricated himself from the net. The dog would follow him and keep barking. He flung the net over it and began to run, fearful that the shot had been heard far and wide.
Yardley ran until he was panting. Sweat broke out all over his body under his layers of thick clothing. He kept to the edge of the wood to make better speed than through the trees. He heard voices in the distance but had to slow to a rapid walk once more. After a while he began to alternate 50 paces of walking with 50 of running. He heard a motor-cycle coming over the hill on his right and saw a cycle and side
car appear, with a German soldier riding and another in the sidecar with a Spandau. Close behind came two more.
Shouts reached him from the wood where he had left the dead soldier. There must have been a searchlight or anti-aircraft gun hidden there. Flashlights shone where other men — soldiers, obviously; there were, anyway, few able-bodied civilians any more — came out from the trees and began to follow his trail in the snow.
He pelted down the hill, soaked in sweat, keeping to the side. When he felt it was safe he moved towards the centre, where he could run in the tracks of vehicles.
Twice he skidded on ice and fell. The second time, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle and feared that he had broken or sprained it. When he picked himself up it was weak and tender and he had to hobble.
Headlights bit into the darkness ahead as they crested another rise and he shambled off the road and skulked along behind some trees. They were winter-bare and afforded little protection. The lorry stopped at the roadside on the crest of the rise a few hundred yards down the road. He heard shouted orders and when he had gone closer, his ankle gradually recovering from the twist, he saw that two soldiers were standing by the lorry with rifles. He stopped to listen and could hear voices away to his left as other soldiers hunted for him and seemed to have set up a chain of lookouts.
He looked at his watch and found he had made less than a mile in the last 40 minutes.
Clouds were thickening and he rested until the moon was totally hidden before he ventured forward. Before the clouds covered the moon he had lain flat and searched the immediate limit of his vision. Against the moonlight he had seen the silhouettes of two German soldiers posted about 100 yards apart along the edge of a field which was bounded by a wire fence. If he disturbed the wire roughly, one of them would feel it and if he tried to pass the fence when the moonlight illuminated it he would be seen. He had to hurry. Better take a chance in the darkness. Ilse had given him a pair of wire-cutters from her father’s tool shed. He held them ready in his hand.
He took long strides towards the fence and when he reached it he knelt by a post and snipped the lowest strand of wire, holding it while he did so to prevent it springing back. He released it gently and wriggled flat under the strand above it.
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