The Lavender Keeper

by Fiona McIntosh

  Harriet was one more loved person Lisette couldn’t protect, couldn’t hang onto, and who would leave her grieving once more, painfully alone. When Harriet closed her eyes, Lisette motioned to the ambulance man to tend to the next victim. She didn’t want him to share Harriet’s death; didn’t want to feel his comforting hand on her shoulder, didn’t want to hear any soft words to ease her sorrows. Those gestures were all hollow and meaningless – she’d been through loss before, and nothing worked. Nothing! Only time healed.

  ‘Miss Forester?’ Jepson prompted.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘How do you feel about what happened that day?’

  She glared at him. How was she supposed to summarise that? ‘I feel angry, Mr Jepson. I feel bitter. It was such a hopeless waste of innocent life. But then so was the loss of my parents. These are emotions I’m familiar with; I’ve had to learn to hide them, because no one else needs to share this pain. Everyone has their own burdens. Harriet was the only person who died at the scene of the bombing that day. Why?’

  ‘You could send yourself mad thinking like that,’ Jepson cautioned.

  ‘Exactly. Which is precisely why I don’t. I prefer to deny myself the opportunity to think about it.’

  ‘I’ve heard similar sentiments from war veterans. It’s the only way they’ve found to protect themselves from the relentless pain.’ He continued, ‘Despite what you’ve seen and experienced, I’m surprised you still take the same route home, still meet people near Victoria Station …’

  Lisette shrugged, grateful that he understood why she felt the way she did. ‘Lightning never strikes twice.’

  ‘Is the threat of potential death exciting for you?’ he probed.

  She’d never really considered this before. ‘Not exciting, no.’

  ‘But you clearly don’t shy away from the possibility. Is that your way of coping with your parents’ deaths, Harriet’s senseless loss of life?’

  ‘It’s happening on both sides of the Channel, Captain Jepson. Germans, French, Poles, Russians … they’re all dying, all young, all with lost dreams. It’s not just the British.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said softly.

  ‘I’m not scared of death, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘What are you scared of, Lisette?’

  ‘Of being ordinary,’ she answered.

  ‘Oh, let me assure you that there is nothing ordinary about you.’

  She looked down.

  ‘You’re not vain, but you have looks that most women would kill for. That makes you uncomfortable, but, Miss Forester, good looks are an asset. You simply have to know how and when to use them.’

  ‘That sounds very cynical,’ she said.

  ‘Why? You have a gift for language and you also have the gift of being beautiful. Nothing to be embarrassed about. In wartime, they’re both valuable. And yet you do plenty to disguise those looks.’

  ‘These are not the times—’

  ‘These are the very times for swagger. A bomb could drop at any time. Life is short. People are behaving recklessly, living and playing hard, because their days could be numbered. But not you. You, who have the capacity to live a wealthy life, instead work in tearooms serving people. You, with your looks and slim figure, wear loose-fitting, colourless clothes that deliberately draw little attention. And you, who could afford to live safely in a rural area, choose to live in the most dangerous place in the world at the moment … in London, at its very heart, where Hitler is directing his most ferocious wrath.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a coward.’

  ‘No chance of that, I suspect.’ Jepson gave a soft sigh. ‘You possess all the qualities I’m looking for to be one of our special agents in France.’

  Lisette stared back at him in choked disbelief. Back to France? The words were spinning in her head. Could she do it? Did she want to?

  ‘I have no concerns about your fortitude.’ Jepson said it so confidently that she believed him. ‘Remember, we’ve been watching you. When the sirens go off, you’re as cool as a cucumber. We’ve witnessed you herding others in, hurrying mothers along, picking up their children at risk to your life. You tend to the victims without batting an eyelid. And you’re flirtatious when you want to be, Miss Forester.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Our people were around when you had no money in your purse and talked the bus conductor into letting you ride for a kiss. All the passengers clapped when you skipped off the bus a few stops later and simply blew him a kiss. Your behaviour is creative, spontaneous, impeccable and controlled. The teachers at Roedean remember you well as a plucky and demure young lady during a time of bereavement. You dealt with your burden, relying entirely on fortitude to carry you through. You think on your feet and you’re a natural risk-taker. These are all admirable qualities.’

  They certainly had done their homework on her.

  ‘Tell me about Miss Atkins.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Tell me what you recall about the woman who showed you in today.’

  Lisette looked down, frowning. ‘Er, tallish. Very lovely hair – thick and dark. She wears it in a shape that complements her uniform’s hat.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Her features are angular. High cheekbones, chiselled nose and chin, quite thin lips, nicely shaped earlobes. Eyes slightly hooded but her gaze is direct, quite daunting. She has a beautiful complexion. She’s brisk, a bit prickly, and gave nothing away, even though I found myself talking to fill the silence as we climbed the stairs to this room. I would trust her, though.’

  He grinned. ‘Your intuition serves you well – she’s the most reliable person I know. Yes, that’s all Vera to a tee. Well done. Now a harder one. Tell me about the woman behind the hotel counter.’

  Lisette blinked, thinking hard. ‘Rake-thin, but by choice, not necessity. I think she likes being very thin.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Her clothes. From what I could see, they were extremely well cut. Expensive.’

  ‘What do you draw from this?’

  ‘She can afford good-quality clothes, which means she can also afford good food, but her gaunt frame is what you see at first glance, rather than her beautiful greyish-green eyes.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Er, dark hair, beginning to grey at the temples, but she wears her age elegantly and stylishly.’

  ‘What age is she?’

  ‘At first glance, her well-groomed appearance could fool. But she would be in her mid-forties, I suspect.’

  ‘Jewellery?’

  ‘Small pearl earrings, to match a string of pearls. No wedding band, as I recall, but a ring on her right hand, an emerald.’ She thought she’d finished but then found herself adding, ‘She had a curious attitude to me – somewhat condescending, but it didn’t suit her. It felt contrived.’

  ‘Bravo, Lisette. Bravo. All of that in a glance and far more than you noticed about Vera.’

  Lisette breathed out, unsure of why she was being tested. ‘I noticed more of Miss Atkins that I haven’t mentioned, but I knew what you were looking for on my second attempt.’

  ‘Well, you’re good at it.’

  ‘I’m glad I passed your test.’

  ‘Flying colours. If you agree to this we will train you and equip you. We will ensure that you are not alone, even though it will feel as though you are. I cannot pretend that what we’re proposing is not dangerous. In fact, your life will depend on the nerveless approach you take in your everyday dealings. You intimated anxiety at my proposal, Miss Forester, but I believe you are excited.’

  ‘Surely a man would be better—’

  ‘I know you don’t believe that. Frankly, women are damn good at clandestine activity. They have a natural propensity for cunning. And I mean that with great respect. Women can juggle many tasks while remaining calm; they are generally very observant, less reckless, and their very womanliness removes a lot of immediate suspicion. What’s more, Lisette, you have y
outh and beauty enough to distract anyone.’ He held up a hand. ‘Don’t wince like that. These are gold, and you must use them to their full effect – just as you made use of them with your bus conductor. Your looks could save your life … or someone else’s. They are part of your arsenal, as is your superb recall of information and your ability to gather it in a glance. Your loner qualities are another attribute, as is your preference for living dangerously. I could go on …’

  ‘No need, Captain Jepson. So, I’m to become a spy in France?’

  ‘Essentially, yes. What your actual role will be I cannot say, but that will be decided once you have completed your training.’

  ‘All right.’

  He held out his hand again. ‘Is that a yes, Miss Forestier?’ he asked in French.

  Lisette smiled. ‘Oui, monsieur. Absolument!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lisette was told to return to her work while the Special Operations Executive of the War Office – or SOE, as it was known – arranged the eight weeks’ leave of absence required for her training, after which they would decide whether she was made of the ‘right stuff’ to be sent to France as an agent.

  And so the following morning she was back in her work clothes and hurrying off to her morning shift at the tearooms. Air-raid sirens at eight twenty-five in the morning sent her hurrying with dozens of others into the nearest tube station. It meant she arrived late for her shift, patrons were pushing through the door fifteen minutes later than usual and staff were dashing about still tying on aprons.

  Miss Mappleton found her soon enough. ‘Ah, there you are, Lisette. Did you keep your meeting with that gentleman, Mr Collins?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Mappleton.’

  ‘And?’

  Lisette didn’t think Captain Jepson would want her to share more than was absolutely necessary. ‘Well, Mr Collins believes my linguistic skills might be put to better use than they are now. Of course, I told him that I liked my job at Lyons,’ she said carefully.

  ‘Mr Collins told me he was from the War Office, but he was rather evasive, I thought.’

  Lisette said nothing despite the question in her superior’s face.

  Miss Mappleton’s lips thinned. ‘Am I to understand that you are leaving us?’

  ‘From what I was told, I must undergo some training – it’s probably to be a secretary, as they seem short of staff who speak other languages.’ Lisette tried to sound daunted, although she felt neither.

  ‘Well, Mr Collins did say he’d contact me again. Carry on,’ Miss Mappleton said, waving a hand.

  Lisette’s first customer of the day was Jack, the handsome airman. He had worked out which tables she normally waited on and had seated himself directly in her path. He looked dashing in his uniform, hair still damp and combed. His wavy mop was the colour of the dark sand she’d seen once on the beach at Brighton, where the shingle ended and the waves fizzed and frothed at the shoreline. And his eyes, smiling at her, were the colour of the sea on a bright day. She could almost smell the salt, looking at that breezy smile of his, his gaze sparkling like the sun.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘You do remember me, don’t you, Lisette?’ he asked, glancing at her name badge.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Excellent, thank you. I didn’t get shot down last night, and here I am, looking at you. Does it get any more perfect?’

  Lisette’s smile widened. ‘What can I get you today, sir?’

  ‘Oh, call me Jack, would you? That French accent is gorgeous. I’d love to hear you say my name.’

  ‘We are not permitted,’ she said, glancing toward Miss Mappleton who had an in-built radar for waitresses flirting with customers.

  ‘I understand. I have to follow rules in my life too. So, Lisette, I would like a pot of tea and a slice of whatever cake you recommend.’

  She knew it was a ploy to keep her standing at his side but she was happy to play along. ‘I think the Victoria sandwich was iced only a few hours ago. There is no cream available, but the strawberry jam and butter cream work deliciously. Perhaps one piece just won’t be enough.’

  He grinned. ‘A slice of that, then, it shall be.’

  ‘Is there anything else, sir?’

  ‘Well, yes, there is actually.’ He leant forward. ‘Will you let me take you out this evening?’

  She straightened, casting a glance for Mappleton. ‘I, er, no, I cannot do that, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Are you seeing someone else?’ he asked, crestfallen.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then let me take you dancing. Please. I want to see that beautiful hair of yours falling around your shoulders. Do say yes. I’ll be flying off again tomorrow evening.’

  ‘You’ve asked me three times now. Don’t you get tired of me turning you down?’ It wasn’t said unkindly.

  ‘No,’ he replied, laughing. ‘Never, Lisette. I’ll just keep asking the same question. I must be in love. Can’t you tell?’

  ‘But you don’t know me.’

  ‘Does it matter? We could all be dead tomorrow.’ His expression became bleak. ‘I’m sorry, I’m making you uncomfortable. Let me take you out. Make me a very happy pilot.’ He looked over her shoulder. ‘Ah, saved by the kettle. You’d better get that cup of tea, because here comes the boss.’

  Lisette returned a few minutes later with his tea and his slice of cake, noticing his whole mood had changed. He looked glum, his shoulders slumped, and it was as if he was lost. He was right, she thought, as she approached with his order. What was there to lose, in these strange times they were living through?

  ‘I’m assured the cake is delicious,’ she said with a wide smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied.

  ‘I’m sorry if I appear rude,’ she began.

  ‘No … please don’t apologise. I’ve been an ass. I promise not to trouble you further.’

  ‘That’s a pity. I was going to say that while I can’t go out tonight, if you come by later this week, I promise you I’ll say yes.’

  He opened his mouth in surprise. ‘Really?’

  She laughed. ‘Yes, bien sûr,’ she said, ladling on the accent as thickly as she could.

  He grinned. ‘You’ve made my day. I’ll see you Thursday?’

  ‘A bientôt, Jack,’ she said, and he put his hand on his heart as though the very words lifted his spirits. She was surprised by how light her own heart felt. How long had it been since she’d been kissed? Too long.

  The following day Mr Collins paid a visit to Lyons Corner House, and afterwards Lisette was called into Miss Mappleton’s office. She learnt that her last day at Lyons would be Friday, after which she was joining SOE for eight weeks of training, beginning in Surrey. She was to pack lightly, and a staff member would pick her up from her flat at nine in the morning on Saturday.

  The week dragged while her excitement level escalated, and this was equally spiced by the knowledge that she was going out dancing with her airman on Thursday evening. She’d packed a small tapestry holdall by Wednesday. It was ready by the door for Saturday. Meanwhile, work continued as it always had, despite the new life that was beckoning.

  On Thursday morning Lisette arrived at work and changed into her uniform, carefully hanging up the good dress she’d worn in readiness for the evening. She’d thought about throwing in a pair of heeled shoes but it was a lot to carry, and clearly her pilot liked her in her plain garb. It seemed fitting that she would go out tonight with Jack, almost as a celebration, before embarking on her new life. She had no intention of failing her training and being deemed unsuitable as an agent.

  She drifted out into the tearooms as the doors were being opened and a beautiful array of cakes were being placed behind the glass counter. London was mercifully quiet this morning, free of the dreaded noise of sirens.

  Jack was not with the first flush of patrons, although the floor was busy enough that she didn’t dwell on his absence. At just a few minutes past eleven, she saw a flash of blue uniform and smi
led, only to realise it wasn’t Jack but another man who was watching her intently. She dutifully approached his table.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You’re one of Jack’s friends, aren’t you? I recognise you.’

  He nodded and gave her a tight smile that didn’t quite achieve the warmth he’d obviously intended. ‘Yes, that’s right. I’m Flight Lieutenant Andrew Phelps,’ he said, holding out a hand. ‘Jack talked so much about you; I feel as though I know you.’

  Lisette shook her head. ‘He hardly knows me,’ she hastily said, feeling a blush rise.

  ‘He was in love with you,’ Phelps said, then his expression clouded angrily. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me for saying that.’

  Lisette didn’t know what to say – the man looked so forlorn. ‘Can I get you some tea?’

  ‘Er, no, actually.’ He licked his lips. ‘I came simply to tell you something.’

  She waited. ‘About me meeting Jack, do you mean? It’s all right if he can’t—’

  ‘Listen, there’s no easy way to say it. Jack was shot down yesterday over Germany.’

  Shot down. She had to repeat it to herself to be sure of what she’d just heard. She swallowed. ‘Did he bail out?’ Was that the right expression? She was already imagining him as a POW in Germany. It could be worse.

  Phelps was shaking his head. ‘It was a big raid, more than sixty bombers. Jack and I are Pathfinders. We fly slightly ahead of the Lancasters and light up the targets with flares. You’ve probably seen footage on the Pathé News.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, her thoughts winging to that handsome young man with his sunny smile and eyes like the sea. ‘You’re all so brave,’ she added softly.

  ‘There was lots of flak. His Mosquito took a direct hit. I saw it explode into flames and fall out of the sky. There were no parachutes to be seen. Jack didn’t have a chance.’

  Lisette gave a small gasp. Her legs felt like jelly but they held. She could hear a buzzing sound in her ears. The sensations were familiar; she’d experienced this sort of news before.

  ‘He was a good man … the best,’ the flight lieutenant said, then he gave a small, sad smile. ‘Very dangerous in these times to make friends with anyone.’