String of Pearls

by Madge Swindells

  Later that month, a young man from Portugal came by in a hired car and stopped to look at the horses. His name was Raul Nobre. He was fascinated by Daunty and asked if he could look around the stables. He spent a while telling Miro about the horses his family bred on their ranch, fifty miles from Lisbon. He was the marketing manager in Britain for his family’s business which manufactured high quality shoes. He hadn’t been home for four years and he was homesick. In particular, he missed the horses. Finally he decided to stay an extra week in order to take early morning rides with Miro.

  He talked a lot about shoes, and Miro, who had never been interested in footwear, listened, but had little to say. He liked Raul, who was an excellent rider, and they both enjoyed the early morning canters to the beach.

  As he was leaving on the first morning, Raul thrust a envelope into his hand. ‘A little gift,’ he said.

  ‘Oh no, that’s not necessary,’ Miro exclaimed, handing it back. Raul had paid for his ride in advance.

  ‘No, keep it. It’s not cash. It’s something you will value,’ Raul said. ‘Before I leave, maybe you could find something for me.’

  Miro puzzled about that. What could he mean?

  It was only after Miro had rubbed down the horses and fed them, that he opened the envelope. For a few seconds he was in shock, for he was gazing at a small photograph of his father. His hair was white and he was thinner, but otherwise he looked the same. He was playing a violin, or pretending to, and wearing the prison’s regulation striped pyjamas.

  Nerves jangling, Miro waited for Raul to arrive the following morning. The two of them cantered down to the beach. Raul stripped down to his underpants. ‘Come on, Miro,’ he called. ‘Race you to the wreck.’

  This is it, Miro decided, but he went anyway, reminding himself of his combat lessons as he tried to beat him, and succeeded.

  ‘Why did you bring a picture of my father, but not of my mother?’ he asked when they were sitting on a rock near the water’s edge.

  Raul shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Miro, and I have no way of finding out. I simply obey orders. So, my friend, what have you got for me?’

  ‘Very little,’ Miro said truthfully. ‘I waited at the pillbox every Wednesday . . . that’s where we used to meet, but Paddy didn’t return from Ireland. Do you know why?’

  ‘No.’ Raul was lying, but he looked so sincere. ‘Like you, I assume he decided to remain in Ireland. Now what’s your story? How did you get all this information? Paddy was excelling because of you. Did you know that?’

  ‘Listen, Raul. I feel I should set the record straight. I have no love of the Nazis. I’m a Jew. These people have my parents in a camp. You know that. You brought the picture of my father and you were right, that picture is very precious to me. I was arrested with my father and I, too, was in Dachau, but in the children’s sector. It was terrible. One day, they took me to see an execution by garroting. I still have nightmares about it. Later, an SS official offered me the chance to support my parents by spying for them. I agreed and we made a pact: I would work for the Third Reich and they would give my parents special treatment. I love them dearly and I would never do anything to put them in peril. I have worked hard to keep them alive and I will continue to do so.’

  ‘Anyone would,’ Raul said sympathetically, placing his arm around Miro’s shoulders.

  ‘I was upset when Paddy disappeared. I wondered if our pact had come to an end. It was Paddy’s idea to make a connecting hole in the wall between my bedroom and Helen’s. We have a GI billeted with us. He seems to know what’s going on and he tells Helen at night before they go to sleep. That’s where most of my news originates.’

  ‘Oh Miro, my clever friend. These are hard times. I’m in a similar situation to you, but I can’t give you the details. Nothing has changed except that Paddy disappeared. So what have you heard?’

  ‘Not much,’ Miro said archly. ‘The GI—’

  ‘Captain Johnson,’ Raul interrupted.

  ‘That’s him. I heard him tell Helen that when the Allies invade Calais they plan to send a diversionary force to Normandy, to lure Germans away from the main attack area. I’ve known this for some weeks, but I didn’t know what to do with the information.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s not too late. Do you know the date of the invasion?’

  ‘No. I don’t think anyone does yet. A lot depends upon the weather. To be honest, I gave up listening after Paddy stopped coming,’ he said.

  Raul shrugged. ‘Who can blame you. It’s difficult for me to stay away from my headquarters, but I’ll come down for a ride every two weeks.’

  ‘Let’s go back,’ Miro said, hoping that his agitation was not visible.

  The horses were eager to get home. They kept breaking into a trot, but Raul wanted to walk. ‘There seem to be hundreds of thousands of Americans around this area,’ he said.

  ‘The south-east is full, too. This is a transit area,’ Miro said. ‘Or so Mike told me.’

  ‘Who’s Mike?’

  ‘My sister’s husband. He said they move the guys east as soon as they find room for them.’

  ‘So why does he stay?’

  ‘He’s part of the transit camp. Something to do with the underwater training here.’

  ‘Ah. I understand. Well let’s go.’

  And that was that. Miro reported every word to Simon when he returned from London later that evening. They were meeting in an empty stable, where they would not be overheard. ‘Do you know where he was staying?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Not for sure, but I checked out the car parks of all the hotels here. At night his hired car was parked at the Mowbray Heights.’

  ‘Good for you. They’ll have his address. Can you describe him?’

  ‘Six foot, very slender, an upturned nose, large brown eyes that are slightly tilted, prominent cheek bones, jet black hair, straight, and a lock that keeps falling over his forehead, just like Hitler. He’s very elegant, good-looking, with a wide friendly smile and great teeth. He looks more like a male model than a Nazi agent.’

  ‘That’s the trouble. There’s no stereotype for this kind of work. He’ll be back, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Have you any more news for me? Oh, by the way, I gave him the sib about the diversionary force approaching Normandy.’

  ‘Excellent. There won’t be any more, Miro. We’re closing down this operation. You are about to be arrested for spying and you can’t tell anyone that it’s fiction. Not even Helen. It will take place in the next few days. Raul will be arrested, too. All the real spies have been dealt with long since . . . well, all that we know about. Now we’re going to pull in the “turned” agents. We have nineteen genuine double agents. They, too, have to be arrested so that the Germans will never suspect them, even after the war.’

  ‘And where will we be taken?’ For once, Miro could not hide his feelings. He felt disappointed and suspicious.

  ‘They’ll go to camps on the Isle of Man for the duration of the war. You, on the other hand, will get a new name and personality and you’ll be trained to join the US army and ultimately my outfit. You’ll be able to see Helen and the family only after Terezen is freed, which could take a while. In the meantime no one must know, for your parents’ sake, apart from the obvious reasons.’

  ‘Helen will be devastated.’

  ‘True, but I can’t think of any other way to keep suspicion off you, so that your parents remain safe until the camps are freed. Can you?’

  Miro sat down and thought for a while. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s a good plan.’

  ‘The family will get some very nasty flack from friends and neighbours.’

  ‘Helen will move heaven and earth to get me released.’

  ‘She’ll be wasting her time because you will be in Scotland. I had to pull strings to swing this.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s what I want, but I’m worried about the family. What if we tell them in secret?’

  ‘The less anyone knows, the safer your parents
are likely to be.’

  It took a while for Miro to realize that he was free of his burden. Slowly his anxiety slipped away. The next few days were the most carefree he could ever remember. Each morning he could be seen in shorts, rushing down the zigzag path, doing press-ups in the wet sand, jogging until he was drenched with sweat, then diving into the cold water and setting off in a brisk crawl. It was hard to be happy. He had to work at it, and always in the background was the thought of his parents suffering in the camp, and Helen’s grief and shame when he was arrested as a spy.

  Thirty-Six

  They were dining at the Mowbray Heights Hotel, amongst the elegant, candlelit tables, double-thick woollen carpets and wall-to-wall satin drapes. The head waiter bowed from the shoulders up as he laid the menu reverently before them.

  ‘How the heck does he achieve that manner of obsequious arrogance?’ Mike asked Daisy.

  ‘Sh! It’s his job. Now stop teasing me. Tell me why we are here.’

  ‘We’re celebrating,’ Mike said mysteriously. ‘You must remember this night.’

  ‘It’s lovely. But why? You have to tell me. I insist.’

  ‘Our son is six months old,’ he told her.

  ‘He might be a she.’

  ‘He’s a he. I know it.’

  ‘Oh, you silly. We don’t know when it happened.’

  ‘I do. It was the night I climbed up on your roof. I heard his panting as he raced his siblings to the target.’

  She giggled, but she wasn’t going to be put off by Mike’s silly stories. There had to be a reason they were here, but Mike stuck to his excuse. He seemed to be so homesick. He described his family’s ranch in great detail: the cattle, the horses, cats and dogs, the chipmunks and the birds, all of which he loved so much. Then the surrounding hills and valleys and finally he got on to the rivers, while Daisy ate her way through soup, entree, fish, curry and ice cream.

  Her appetite had become gargantuan. It filled her with dismay, even though she knew she was eating for two. She was big for six months. The doctor wanted to put her on a diet, but she had resisted.

  ‘Listen,’ Mike said. ‘I’ve just received photographs of the ranch from Pa. I brought them along to show you.’ He undid the briefcase he’d been carrying all evening with the excuse of doing some studying at home.

  ‘It looks lovely,’ she said, smiling softly, humouring him, as he produced shot after shot. ‘But Mike, what if I don’t like Denver?’

  His face fell, but manfully he found the right words. ‘Then we’ll come right back here and I’ll have a shot at farming in England. I’m getting to like this country. It’s different, but it has a lot to commend it.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘It’s . . . comfortable.’ He managed to find a word that suited him at last. ‘This is my father. He’s over the moon about the coming baby and our marriage. I sent pictures of you. He thinks I’m the luckiest man in the world.’ He passed her another picture. She saw a tall thin man with a shock of white hair and a wide smile. He looked a lot like Mike, she thought. A large, hairy dog sat beside him. There was a certain resemblance here, too, she thought.

  ‘Really? How sweet of him.’

  Daisy’s mind was obsessed with time, not ranches. How long had they got? How many nights? Everyone knew that Britain was stretched to bursting point. There were rumoured to be one and a half million American troops in England, plus British, Canadian, French and Polish divisions, along with hundreds of thousands of service troops. Mike had told her that more than sixteen million tons of supplies were stored in England. She knew for a fact that hundreds of thousands of jeeps, trucks and half-tracks, tanks and artillery pieces were crammed into every park, field, street and even back gardens. Depots to house all these men and their supplies were mushrooming across the English countryside. The fields of Somerset and Cornwall were armouries for the vast stores of bombs and artillery shells that would be needed. She found that out in her brief period as a land girl. But what was Mike talking about now?

  ‘I’ve set up a trust in case anything happens to me, Daisy. Half the ranch will be yours, and on your death it will go to our son.’

  ‘Please don’t talk like that. Please, Mike. You’re spoiling the evening.’

  ‘I don’t want to upset you, but Daisy let’s be sensible. One of these days I’ll be gone and it will be too late to talk. I own half the shares in the ranch, my lawyer holds them and I have arranged everything with him. The shares will be held in trust for you and my son. The lawyer’s address is here in this envelope. All my savings come to you and if anything happens to me, I want you to use the money to finish your studies, just as soon as our child is old enough to be left with Helen.’

  ‘Oh, Mike. Please be positive. You are coming back safe and sound. You will. I know you will.’

  ‘Of course I will. I just want to get this over with, so please listen.’ He sounded so stern. ‘Everything is here in this briefcase. Keep it somewhere safe. Do you have a safe?’

  ‘Gramps has a big one.’

  ‘Ask him to put it inside. You’ll need my birth certificate, which is here, too. You’ll have to go to the American Embassy by yourself to register the birth of our child as an American citizen. Do not neglect that, Daisy. I won’t be here to help you. Promise?’

  Casually, without warning, the realization came to her: it’s now! So this was it . . . the reason for their celebration . . . their last night together. She should have guessed from his expression and from the way he was talking. What sort of a fool was she? Besides, look at his face. He was pale, his eyes were half closed, his lips set in a taut line. Behind the tough man lurked an oversensitive boy, she had learned. All his rodeo riding, his water polo, his unarmed combat and underwater fighting were Mike’s efforts to drive that boy clean out of existence. She hoped he would never succeed. She loved him just the way he was.

  ‘Mike . . . promise me . . . promise you’ll keep safe. I need you.’

  Tears were coming. Damn! However hard she tried she couldn’t hold them back. She got up and went to the bathroom and cried there briefly, perched on the lavatory seat. Then she bathed her eyes with cold water, reapplied some powder and lipstick and returned to their table.

  Sleepy with rich food and too much champagne, Mike drove her home. They crept in, but Simon and Helen were still in the lounge. Helen came out to the hall and gazed long and hard at Mike as if she wanted to say something, but then she said, ‘Good night’, and went back into the lounge.

  Mum knows, too, Daisy saw. Suffused with a sense of apathy, Daisy could hardly get upstairs. She was too sleepy to undress. She sank into her armchair and closed her eyes.

  Mike returned from the bathroom and found her asleep in the chair. Daisy was one of life’s decorative assets. Even pale and overwrought, with deep shadows under her eyes, she was still incredibly lovely. He had been snared by her looks, but then he was a prosperous rancher and he knew he could afford her. Lately he wondered if ranching would suit Daisy. She was used to a different kind of life. How would she take to the loneliness? But she loved all wildlife and particularly their horses and perhaps she would be happy. There were other ways to earn a living, he told himself.

  She looked exhausted. The baby was taking all her energy. Mike longed with all his heart to stay and look after her. He had not yet told her that this was their last night. He could not think how he was going to do this. He stripped off his clothes, folded them and placed them on the bedside chair.

  Watching Mike through half-closed eyes, Daisy considered how magnificent he looked. She should have painted him just as he was this evening: suntanned, and much tougher and stronger than when they met. He was a boy then, now he was a man. He’ll go on looking better as he gets older, she knew. Watching him always made the blood surge through her body. So he was leaving. She wouldn’t let on that she knew. She didn’t want her sadness to worry him, or spoil their last night together.

  He looked up and saw her watching him and a look
of infinite tenderness made his eyes glow, while his sensuous mouth turned up at the corners in a grin.

  ‘I thought you were asleep. Come to bed? Or are you sitting there all night?’

  The next moment she was grabbed off her feet and pressed against his body. She felt the leanness of him. He was like steel. She ran her hands over his back. Then she forgot about sadness and thought only of the feel of his skin against hers and how much she wanted him.

  He undressed her and crouched beside her and ran his lips over her shoulders, gently moving down to the curve of her breasts and her thickening belly. She groaned softly and dug her nails into his shoulder. She sat astride him, which, Mike had been told, was the only safe way to make love. She looked debauched and boisterous. His preconceived notions of women and sex were fast disappearing.

  ‘Are you sure it’s all right . . . safe for the baby? We don’t have to make love. Come and lie down next to me.’

  She laughed, compelling him to participate as she slid her body backwards and forwards. She looked abandoned and vitally female. Her breasts were full and erect, thrusting forward aggressively, bouncing with the force of her passion. ‘Now,’ she commanded. ‘Now!’

  Later Mike got up and tiptoed to the bathroom for a shower. When he returned, she was sleeping and he cursed himself for being a coward. He should have told her. He dressed and crouched beside the bed, holding her hand, but the walls seemed to be pressing in on him, the ceiling lowering like ancient horror movies he’d seen as a kid. Mike detested the blackout and the dim lights and the need to keep the windows covered all the time. It made him feel claustrophobic. He threw back the curtains, pulled up the blackout blinds and leaned out of the window taking deep breaths until he felt calmer. Despite their exhaustive training, the thought of being shot at still seemed like a macabre joke. This time tomorrow . . . or the next day . . .

  He knelt beside the bed and hung on to Daisy’s hand. Unbelievably, he dozed off. When he woke he glanced at his watch and sighed with relief. Eleven p.m. He must be back within the hour.