Forbidden Places

by Penny Vincenzi

  She went back inside and sat down for a bit; it had given her a nasty turn. Enough to bring on the baby, that sort of thing. Well, if Mrs Bennett was coming next day, she’d better clean the house up a bit. Whatever would Brian say when she told him?

  ‘Charles, I’ve got to go to Salisbury for the day tomorrow,’ said Grace briskly.

  ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘I said I’ve got to go to Salisbury. I’m very sorry. I’ve got two vital lectures. Mrs Babbage is coming in again.’

  ‘You can’t,’ he said, ‘you really can’t. It’s too bad of you. I’m going crazy here, and I think for the time being at least you should give up that course.’

  ‘Charles, I’m sorry. I’ll fail my exam if I miss these lectures.’

  He looked at her and his eyes were very hard in his white face. ‘You’re not going to see those boys again, are you?’

  ‘No,’ said Grace, ‘I give you my word. I’m not going to see those boys.’

  ‘I will not have that Babbage woman here again, Grace. She’s a nightmare.’

  ‘Then I suggest you ring your mother and ask her if she can come down and look after you,’ said Grace. ‘I haven’t got the time to make fresh arrangements. I really am sorry, Charles. But it’s very, very important.’

  ‘Now look,’ said Ben, ‘our cases will have to be padlocked, ready to go on the aeroplane. You can just keep a small attaché case each, all right? So anything you need for your night with Clarissa, put it in that. Which does not mean, Daniel Lucas, large photo graphs of dogs and goats, all right? Put that in your trunk, is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘I hope it’s all right,’ said Brian Meredith.

  ‘Course it’s all right,’ said Sandra. ‘Read what it says, Brian.’

  He read it again. ‘Coming midday tomorrow 26th stop Ignore letter from Jacobs stop Not correct stop, In perfect health stop Grace Bennett.’

  ‘Does she mean it’s not correct about it being illegal or not correct about her being ill?’

  ‘Brian, I don’t know. I’m not a mind-reader. But it’s obvious something fishy’s going on. Can you be here midday tomorrow?’

  ‘Course not. She’ll have to wait. I’m on early shift though, I’ll be home about two-thirty. Lucky for her, that. Oh, I do hope this is going to be all right, San. I wish I’d never started it, I really do.’

  ‘Too late for that now,’ said Sandra.

  Grace sat on the train, staring out of the window, hoping she wasn’t on a complete wild-goose chase. She felt rather frightened, and she didn’t know why. Frightened and extremely excited. She didn’t understand that either.

  Brian Meredith lived in Paddington. Fifty-seven Queen’s Avenue, W2. Easy from Waterloo, on the underground. Grace had always been rather pleased with her skill on the underground.

  She stopped at a flower stall just outside Paddington station and bought some slightly dusty-looking wallflowers for Mrs Meredith. She presumed there was a Mrs Meredith. If there wasn’t, then Mr Meredith’s house might need cheering up anyway.

  She reached 57 Queen’s Avenue just before midday and knocked at the door. A pretty little girl with blonde curls opened it.

  ‘Hallo,’ said Grace, ‘is your mummy in?’

  Another larger pretty girl, her curls just a little darker, appeared behind her. She was pregnant. ‘Yes?’ she said.

  ‘You look just like your daughter,’ said Grace, smiling and holding out her hand. ‘I’m Grace Bennett, how do you do?’

  ‘Sandra Meredith. Pleased to meet you. You come to see Brian?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t suppose he’s here. I’m so stupid, I just didn’t think of him being at work, but—’

  ‘No, but he’ll be back about two-thirty,’ said Sandra. ‘On the early shift this week.’

  ‘Oh well, shall I come back?’

  ‘No, that’s all right. You can wait here if you like.’ She opened the door wider; Grace smiled, stepped inside.

  The small house was rather dark, but spotlessly clean and tidy.

  ‘What a pretty house,’ said Grace. ‘Oh how stupid of me – these flowers are for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Sandra. ‘Very kind of you.’

  ‘Well, I do realize it’s a bit of an imposition, coming here like this. But I had to clear things up.’

  ‘My mum’s been cleaning for you,’ said the little girl. ‘All morning and all last evening.’

  ‘Shut up, Deirdre. I haven’t.’

  ‘Yes you have!’

  ‘Kids!’ said Sandra Meredith. ‘Always let you down. You got any?’

  ‘Um – no,’ said Grace. ‘Not – not yet.’

  ‘Oh well.’ There was a silence, then Sandra said, ‘Would you like some tea or something?’

  ‘That’d be lovely.’

  ‘You go in there,’ said Sandra, indicating the front room, ‘I’ll bring it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Grace. She sat down heavily; she felt suddenly rather weak. ‘She’s ever so pretty,’ she heard Deirdre say.

  ‘Shush,’ said Sandra.

  Gillian Waters from Bennett & Bennett in Shaftesbury had had a very difficult client on the phone; she’d tried to soothe him, but without too much success. She decided to check she’d said all the right things; with young Mr Bennett being away and the new young partner always seeming to be in court or with clients, she found herself increasingly left alone, which she enjoyed, but the responsibility was considerable.

  ‘Mr Bennett?’ she said, when Charles answered the phone, after a very long wait – poor Mr Bennett, where was his wife? she wondered – ‘Mr Bennett, I’ve just had Mr Morton on the phone, worrying about his contract. I’ve told him there was no need to worry and I did ring Mr Rogers to make sure everything was going through, but I thought I should just check—’

  Charles told her everything was going through, but she had nevertheless been right to check, and then added that he had a lot of letters to dictate, and perhaps he should give her the more urgent over the phone. ‘Then next week I’m hoping to be in, and we’ll have them under our belt, so to speak.’

  ‘Fine, Mr Bennett. Oh, by the way, that package that came yesterday, addressed to Mr Jacobs. I hope you didn’t mind my sending it on to you, but someone clearly doesn’t know he’s retired.’

  ‘Package?’ said Charles. ‘What package?’

  ‘Oh, a small one, London postmark. I gave it to your wife – she said she’d give it to you. Mr Bennett, are you still there?’

  The secretary at the Salisbury School of Music told Mr Bennett that she was very sorry, she couldn’t possibly contact his wife, explaining with admirable patience and courtesy as Mr Bennett started shouting at her that there must be some mistake, there were no lectures today on Mrs Bennett’s course.

  It was a very long two and a half hours, sitting in the Merediths’ small, rather stuffy sitting room; Grace didn’t like to leave, in case Brian Meredith got home early. In the event he was fifteen minutes late; he rushed in, looking nervous, shook her hand and asked her to excuse him while he had what he called a clean-up.

  ‘It’s very kind of you to go to all this trouble,’ said Grace, as he finally sat down opposite her, ‘I really do appreciate it.’

  ‘I do hope there won’t be any trouble about it,’ he said. ‘The letter from Mr Jacobs did make me anxious.’

  ‘I assure you there won’t. Mr Jacobs got it wrong. Er – how did you first come across him? Mr Jacobs, I mean?’

  ‘I phoned the number you gave me, and he answered the phone. I – well, I did phone during the day, as you said.’

  ‘Yes of course. It was a silly mix-up. Now the thing is, Mr Meredith, I just wanted to thank you in person. What you did was so kind. And to – well, ask you a couple of things.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Bennett?’

  ‘I – wondered where it was exactly you found him. The – the person in question. You see for a long time we thought he’d been shot escaping, my husband, but – well, I’
d just like to know all about it. Please.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, in Italy, but it’s impossible to say where exactly. We were being driven in Italy, but up Germany; we’d been taken prisoner, you understand. It was quite near the French border, and I do remember driving through a small town called Brianca. I know that was correct, because it’s so similar to my own name.’

  ‘Yes of course. But the village, or the hamlet, where you found – Major Bennett, you don’t remember anything about that?’

  ‘It wasn’t a village, Mrs Bennett. Nothing like a village. Miles from anywhere, really.’

  ‘Oh, I see. But there was a farm? I mean, signs of life?’

  ‘No, nothing. It was open countryside, no buildings or anything, as I say, for miles. Well, not as far as I could see.’

  ‘But – but, Mr Meredith, where was Major Bennett? When you found him?’

  ‘He was – oh dear, Mrs Bennett, I don’t want to upset you –’

  ‘You’re not upsetting me,’ said Grace firmly, ‘I’ve always wanted to know. Please tell me. Everything you can remember.’

  ‘Well, he was just – just lying there, you see. In a – in a sort of a ditch.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Grace. She looked at Brian Meredith. He seemed to be rather far away from her suddenly, his voice loud and echoey. ‘Oh, I see. So – there was no evidence of anyone looking after him? Of him having been given any kind of attention?’

  ‘No, no, there wasn’t, I’m afraid. I don’t see how there could have been. As I say, he was miles from anywhere.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I see. And why – that is how did you know it was him? Major Bennett, I mean.’

  ‘Well, it was the identity tag, you see.’

  ‘Was it round his neck?’

  ‘No, not round his neck. But he was holding it. In his hand. Mrs Bennett, would you like a cup of tea? You look rather pale.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace, ‘yes please. I would.’

  ‘She looks shocking,’ said Brian Meredith to Sandra in a low voice as he came out to put the kettle on. ‘I’m afraid it’s very hard for people to imagine what war is really like. How terrible it is.’

  ‘Darlings!’ cried Clarissa, opening the door and flinging her arms round all three of them. ‘Darlings, how wonderful to see you. My goodness, you boys have got so big. David, I can hardly tell you from your father. Now don’t even look at me. I’m so hideous, this great stomach. Come along in, I’ve got your rooms all ready for you, Jack will be home soon. Oh, this is just the greatest treat. I’ve been looking forward to it for so long, I can’t tell you. Now I was hoping Florence would be here, but Giles is doing some preview in Cambridge and of course she’s had to go up there and see him. So you’ve got to make do with boring old us.’

  Charles was waiting for Grace when she got home. Everything was unnaturally tidy and in order; the table was set for supper, the fire in the drawing room lit, the smell of roasting chicken filled the house.

  He was hobbling into the hall on his crutches when she opened the front door. ‘Hallo,’ he said. ‘Good day?’

  ‘Yes thank you,’ said Grace briefly.

  ‘Good. My mother came down, she looked after me very well. Cooked supper for us even.’

  ‘Good for her.’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I think I would. Unlike me, isn’t it, Charles? But I think I need one.’

  ‘I’ve got the gin out,’ he said, ‘and some tonic. Would that be all right?’

  ‘Fine. I’ll get it. Let’s go into the drawing room.’

  She sipped her drink slowly, hoping it wasn’t a mistake having it: she couldn’t afford to get confused.

  ‘I haven’t been to Salisbury,’ she said eventually.

  ‘No, I know. I rang the college.’

  ‘Ah. Well, anyway, I went to see Brian Meredith.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Corporal Meredith that was. The one who found the man they thought was you. The one you tried to scare off, Charles. You know.’

  He was silent.

  ‘Bit mean that,’ she said, ‘such a nice little man, so kind and anxious to do the right thing. He didn’t deserve a dirty trick like that being played on him. Still, I’ve told him there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘You had no right to do that—’

  ‘I shouldn’t start talking about rights, if I were you,’ she said, listening to her own voice, her cool, authoritative voice in amazement. ‘Now then, would you like to tell me what really happened? With poor Colonel Barlowe?’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ he said.

  ‘No you haven’t. You told me a lot of lies. At least I think they were lies. I think they must have been lies. What happened, Charles?’

  ‘For God’s sake, I’ve told you,’ he said again. ‘He’d been wounded. The wound had become infected, he was ill, running a temperature. I was helping him as best I could. We reached this farm, the farmer offered to help, took him in, said he’d get the doctor—’

  ‘Took him in where?’

  ‘His – well, one of his buildings.’

  ‘Not the house?’

  ‘No, not the house, he wouldn’t risk that. That would have been dangerous. For him I mean.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. But it was definitely inside, was it? Some kind of building?’

  ‘Yes. How many times do I have to tell you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Until we get to the truth, I suppose. So then how was it, do you think, that Colonel Barlowe was actually found in a ditch? Miles from anywhere.’

  ‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘No idea at all. Maybe he panicked, rushed off, tried to get away again—’

  ‘I thought he couldn’t walk by then? I thought you had to half carry him?’

  ‘Well, maybe he’d had some medical attention, was better, I don’t know. Christ, Grace, I wasn’t there by then.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘you weren’t. You were miles away by then. Miles and miles away. With Colonel Barlowe’s identity tag. I still haven’t quite fathomed that one out, but I expect I will. So are you going to tell me what happened, Charles? Or shall I tell you?’

  ‘You tell me,’ he said, ‘since you’re so bloody clever.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I will tell you. But I’m going to get your parents down first, to listen. I think they ought to hear it. What you, their heroic son, actually did. To his friend and comrade in arms. And unless you do tell me, I’m going to tell a few other people what I think, too. Your sister, and your friends round here, your marvellous friends, who were so good to me while you were away. I wonder if the local paper might get to hear of it. And then there’s Colin Barlowe’s poor widow. She’d be pretty upset, if she knew what I’m thinking. I mean it is only my theory, I realize that. But Mr Meredith has a very clear memory of what happened. Anyway, we’ll start with your parents. I’ll just ring them up and—’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that,’ he said, and there was sheer panic in his eyes, his white face, ‘you wouldn’t tell them. You couldn’t – hurt them, shock them that much.’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t want to, no. Especially not your father. Whom I love so much, who loves you so much. I don’t actually remember you according much loyalty to him, when he was in disgrace and needed help. That was left to me. You forbade me to have anything to do with him. Anyway, I would tell them, if I had to. But really I just want to know. For myself, for my own satisfaction. What happened, Charles?’

  ‘If I tell you,’ he said, and his voice was weak, hoarse, ‘it won’t go any further? Do you give me your word?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I give you my word.’

  It was exactly as she had thought, worked out on the long, painful journey home from London. Charles had found Barlowe an increasing burden, had seen the man was going to impede his progress hopelessly, if not halt it altogether; that taking him to a hospital would mean recapture. And so he had left him. ‘I did make him as comfortable as I could, I got him some water from
a stream. I did mean to go back but—’

  ‘And the identity tag? How did that happen?’

  ‘I’d lost mine.’

  ‘Charles, don’t be absurd. You hadn’t lost it, Colin Barlowe was holding it. I don’t—’ And then suddenly, out of the past, came the conversation at a dinner party, someone saying, what was it, oh yes, that the higher the rank the better your chances. ‘Colonels did pretty well’—those had been his exact words – ‘corporals were left to play with themselves.’ She looked at Charles, sitting waxy pale, staring at her. ‘You took it, didn’t you? You took his. And gave him yours. Knowing full well you probably wouldn’t be back.’

  ‘No, no,’ he said, ‘no, that’s not true. I didn’t take it. I told you, he insisted, he insisted I’d do better if I got caught.’

  ‘But you said you’d lost yours—’

  ‘Well – well, he must have found it.’

  It was easier to believe him; she wanted to believe him. ‘Oh all right,’ she said wearily, ‘go on.’

  And so, he told her, the hours became days, and he had found no one who would help, no one he could trust, and he had no idea where he was any more. Either someone had found Barlowe, or he would have died. There seemed little point trying to return. ‘Putting yourself at risk you mean?’ said Grace.

  ‘Yes. No. Oh for Christ’s sake, don’t sit there looking so fucking sanctimonious.’ She had never heard him really swear before; it was a measure of his panic. ‘You have no right to criticize me, anything I did. You have no idea what it was like. The sheer bloody hell of it. Months, years of fighting, of violence, of terror. Losing friends, losing men, never any respite, losing sight of any kind of hope of it ending. You sat here in England, playing at war, playing Lady Bountiful to a load of land girls, filling my house with riffraff, sleeping with your soldier, and then you think you have a right to judge me.’

  She was silent; then she said, ‘You don’t understand, Charles. I’m afraid.’

  ‘I do understand,’ he said, ‘all too well. You’ve found this – this thing out about me. And it renders me totally black in your judgment. No shades of grey, are there, Grace, for you? Just black and white. And once I was white, in your wide, innocent little eyes, and now I’m black, black as hell. Oh I understand all right. I understand.’