‘Thanks, Juliet.’ He put down his haversack and took off his greatcoat. ‘You’ve got an amazing place here, haven’t you?’ He glanced around her fashionable hall with admiration.
‘I designed all the decorations myself,’ she said proudly. ‘Let’s have a drink before lunch. I’ve been on duty all night, so I need a little pick-me-up.’ As she spoke she led the way into her white and silver drawing room, where the lamps were switched on and a coke fire burned in the black marble fireplace.
‘Rosie was telling me all about your being a nurse. It must be pretty tough.’ He looked at her searchingly, but she looked as immaculate as always in a pretty royal blue dress, with her hair and make-up perfect.
Juliet returned his gaze. ‘Unspeakable,’ she said succinctly. Her face had tightened, her eyes looked stricken for a moment. ‘Let’s not talk about it,’ she said, forcing her voice to sound light, ‘except to say I’ve banned raspberry jam from the house, for ever.’
‘Oh!’ Charles’s eyes widened. ‘Oh! Yes. I see.’
‘Pink Gin? Dry Martini? A Manhattan? Name your poison. It’s all here.’ She waved hand to an Art Deco mirrored cocktail cabinet. ‘I’ll ring for some ice.’
Charles went and stood with his back to the fire. ‘How do you do it, Juliet?’ he asked, bemused. ‘The moment I walked into the house, it was as if there was no war. No Blitz. No conflict, anywhere. Nothing but five-star luxury.’
‘That’s the atmosphere I have to create, whilst I’m doing this job,’ she said quietly. ‘Otherwise I’d probably go insane.’
‘As bad as that?’
She nodded, while Dudley came on silent feet into the room, with a little silver bucket of ice and a plate of homemade cheese straws.
‘Is there anything else, Your Grace?’ he asked.
‘That’s all for now, thank you, Dudley. We’ll have lunch as soon as Lady Padmore arrives.’
‘Very well, Your Grace.’
While she mixed their drinks, she said in a strained voice, almost as if she was talking to herself, ‘An incendiary bomb fell on a pub last night. In Chelsea. About twenty people were sheltering in the basement. All the spirits in the bar caught fire, and the bottles were exploding like hand grenades. They were all trapped beneath this blazing building and the only exit was blocked by debris.’
The room was silent. She dropped an ice cube into a glass with a plopping clink. Charles stood watching her, chilled by what she was saying.
‘I’m the thinnest person on our unit, you see,’ she continued, brittle voiced.
He frowned, wondering where this was leading.
‘So they lifted the cover of a manhole in the pavement outside, and I was able to squeeze down, through it. The doctor gave me hypodermics, and masses of morphine. They were all badly injured, you see. Trapped. There was no way they could be rescued. The building above them was ablaze, “Tell them,” the doctor said to me, “that you’re giving them an injection that will ease their pain, until we can get them all out.”’
Juliet lifted her glass to her lips and took a long swig of neat gin, tinted pink with a dash of angostura bitters.
Charles’s jaw slackened and dropped. His skin prickled. His mouth was suddenly dry. ‘Christ!’ he muttered under his breath.
Juliet sat on the sofa, by the fire. ‘Did I murder twenty people, Charles? Or save them the pain of being burned alive?’
He crouched down in front of her, and took her hand. ‘What you did was absolutely right, Juliet,’ he said firmly. ‘You’re a heroine. You risked your own life, in the first place. That was the bravest thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘You think so?’ Her lips drew back but she wasn’t smiling. ‘So you can understand why I need… all this.’ She looked around the room. There were even sweet-scented lilies in a vase, and a box of expensive chocolates on the coffee table. ‘I never thought I’d be able to do it. I hope to God I never have to, again – but how can one tell?’
‘I take my hat off to you, Juliet,’ Charles said humbly. ‘I always thought you were flighty but you’ve got real guts.’
She smiled. ‘You’ve changed, too, Charles. Army life seems to suit you.’
‘Have I? I suppose I like the structure Army life gives one. Out of the way of temptation,’ he added wryly. ‘Rosie seems to have changed a bit, too. Not as much as you, though. But then, living with the rest of the family at Hartley, she’s not really seeing much of the war. Her life is still very protected, isn’t it?’
Juliet said nothing. She’d seen Rosie slipping into Speedwell Cottage at weekends, without the children, and then returning to Hartley a couple of hours later, looking flushed and rather distraite. Making her own contribution to the war, no doubt, Juliet reflected with amusement. Well, why not? Everyone was at it. London was a writing mass of copulation, from couples in smart hotels, to damp shelters and in the back of cars. The city was rocking with sex. That’s what war did to the human race. There was no greater aphrodisiac than the threat of imminent death.
* * *
Juliet left the house at nine thirty the next morning to go back on duty. She tapped on Rosie and Charles’s bedroom door, to say good-bye.
‘Happy birthday, Charles. You’re going to paint the town red tonight, aren’t you?’
‘We are indeed,’ he replied cheerfully, from the large double bed.
Rosie, propped up against the pillows beside him, looked relaxed and serene. ‘We thought we’d go to see The Dancing Years this afternoon, and then dine at the Café de Paris tonight.’
‘Good idea. I’ve asked Dudley to put a bottle of champers on ice, for you to have before you go out this evening.’
‘Thanks, Juliet,’ Rosie said, appreciatively.
‘I like the uniform, Juliet,’ Charles teased. ‘Thick black stockings are… very sexy!’
‘Flat-heeled lace-up shoes… not quite so!’ Juliet quipped, pulling her uniform cape closer. ‘This should be mink lined. It’s brass monkey weather, and I freeze to death in this blue cotton dress and apron. I might have a word with Norman Hartnell.’ And with that she made a comical face and hurried off.
‘Isn’t she a scream?’ Charles laughed, when they heard the front door slam.
‘She does manage to enjoy life. Talk about black-market, though! Granny would be so shocked.’
‘With her job, I think Juliet deserves all the fun and comfort she can get.’ Then he told Rosie some of the things Juliet had told him the day before.
‘God, I couldn’t do what she does,’ Rosie admitted. She put her cup of early morning tea on the side table, and slid down in the bed again. ‘I must say it’s wonderful not to have to get up at seven in the morning, to see to the children. I could do with a bit more of this spoiling myself.’
Charles lay down close beside her, one of his legs straddling hers, his hand stroking her stomach. ‘Last night was wonderful,’ he whispered, burying his face in her neck. ‘Could we do it again, d’you think?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Rosie said generously, thinking that when his leave ended, she might not see him again for months. She found it strange, but their love-making the previous night, after the lively dinner party Juliet had given, was the only time she’d found sex with Charles quite bearable. She was no longer repulsed by him. It helped that they’d both had a lot of wine, a convivial evening with Juliet’s merry friends, no money worries, and no crying babies, either.
In retrospect, she realized, it had been almost enjoyable. Not wild and thrilling, of course, as it was with Freddie, when she cried out with ecstasy, but quietly satisfying in a spiritual way; and affectionate and reassuring too.
Perhaps, after all, she thought, as he started to make love to her again, we can make a go of our marriage. For the sake of the children. For our own sakes, too. It warmed her to think it might be possible. It would avoid all the unpleasantness of a divorce, not to mention the scandal.
She began responding to his kisses, stroking his hair as she did so.
&nb
sp; ‘I love you…’ she heard him say amid the commotion of consumation.
She held him in her arms, accepting him as her husband. ‘I love you, too…’ she whispered, and it was almost true.
* * *
They made a strikingly attractive couple as they set off for the Café de Paris that evening. Rosie wore a romantic-looking red velvet evening dress, which had been a part of her trousseau, with her pearls and white fox furs, and Charles, elegant in his uniform, looked dashing and virile for the first time in his life.
‘I can’t believe it!’ Rosie exclaimed, as their taxi shuddered down Park Lane, on their way to Leicester Square.
‘What can’t you believe?’
She pointed to the throngs of débutantes in white ballgowns, and men in uniform or white tie and tails, entering Grosvenor House.
‘It’s Queen Charlotte’s Ball. I never thought they’d hold it, in the middle of the Blitz. I read somewhere that a thousand people are attending.’
Charles peered out of the taxi window. ‘Amazing! You wouldn’t think there was a war on, at all, would you?’
‘Juliet says she’s never played so hard; not even when we Came-Out.’
‘It does show that the British refuse to be bowed by Hitler, doesn’t it?’
Rosie pulled her furs closer. ‘In spite of everything I’ve got a feeling that everything’s going to be all right.’
Charles looked at her, wondering if she was referring to Britain winning the war. Or their future as a married couple?
The air-raid siren sounded just as they reached the Café de Paris.
‘How lucky it’s underground,’ Rosie observed, as they left their coats and walked down the curving staircase, into the restaurant.
They were shown to a table near the dance floor. The famous bandleader, ‘Snake Hips’ Johnson, was conducting a lively rendition of Cole Porter’s hit song, ‘Just One Of Those Things…’
‘… just one of those crazy flings,’ Rosie sang along softly.
The place was packed. She waved to a couple of people she knew. Charles grabbed her hand. His eyes were sparkling.
‘This is great, Rosie. The best birthday I’ve ever had.’
‘And it’s not over yet… by a long chalk!’ she said, smiling gaily, her eyes flirtatious. The champagne at Juliet’s house had given her an extraordinary lift, making her feel anything was possible.
When they were seated, she took a tiny leather case out of her evening bag and laid it before him on the table. ‘Happy Birthday.’
His eyes widened. ‘Rosie…! I thought the pyjamas you gave me, which probably cost you most of your clothing coupons, were my present?’
She remained silent, smiling with pleasure.
Charles opened the case, revealing a pair of mother-of-pearl and platinum cufflinks. ‘Oh, they’re beautiful,’ he exclaimed in delight. ‘Thank you, darling. They may not go with my uniform, but I’m going to wear them tonight!’
When he returned from the cloakroom a few minutes later, he was wearing them with touching pride. He leaned forward to kiss her on the lips.
‘I love them. Thanks awfully, Rosie.’
Later, as they danced, she was reminded of the summer of ’35. She and Charles had danced like this night after night. She’d thought she was in love then. She’d been so young and naive, and innocent. Charles had seemed like a knight in shining armour, and she’d felt so excited when he’d taken an interest in her.
Rosie wanted to recapture that feeling of youthful excitement now. To roll back the years to when she’d been a tremulous débutante, and her future had lain before her like a white vista of sparkling virgin snow, untrodden by human feet.
She pressed herself closer to Charles and his grip tightened, as they danced cheek to cheek.
Suddenly something was terribly wrong. The air seemed to shimmer and tremble. There was a blinding flash. Then with a surge of terrifying velocity, a great weight was crushing them, roaring like an avalanche, pressing them down, down, tearing them apart. She lost her grip on Charles. It was dark. The music had stopped. Gritty dust swirled around, choking her, clogging her lungs, blinding her. A moment later the sound of hideous screaming rent the air.
* * *
It was nearly ten o’clock. Juliet and Laura were making cups of cocoa in the rest room of the First Aid Post. So far it had been a quiet evening.
‘Maybe Jerry’s taken the night off,’ Laura observed hopefully.
Juliet suddenly stood quite still. She looked at the regulation fob watch, pinned to the bib of her apron. The hands stood at nine fifty-five p.m.
‘What’s the matter?’ Laura asked.
Juliet didn’t answer. It was as if she were listening for something.
A moment later a loud bell rang from the Commandant’s office.
Miss Stafford’s loud voice called out. ‘Number One Unit! Out now! Leicester Square. The Café de Paris has had a direct hit.’
For a moment Juliet sagged, her face blanching. ‘Oh, God, I knew it,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Christ!’ She grabbed her cape and tin hat and was running as fast as she could to the ambulance, where Dr Gearing was already on board. Laura and the other nurses followed. Sixty seconds later, they were off, careering up the steep ramp, their bell ringing with a deafening peel.
There was little traffic about and they shot along Knightsbridge to Hyde Park Corner, then on to Piccadilly, round the Circus, and down Coventry Street. Once in Leicester Square they drew to a halt with a squeal of brakes and looked with horror at what had happened.
Where there had once been a building with a smart street level entrance to the Café de Paris, there was now a mound of rubble, dust rising from it like yellow steam.
Light and heavy rescue squads, with cutting and lifting tackle, were already at the scene, assessing the damage with one of the council architects, before they dare lift a beam or move any of the debris. More ambulances and fire crews were arriving, while the civil defence workers were cordoning off the area and setting up a Incident Enquiry Point. Amid the confusion and sense of urgency, German planes still droned menacingly low overhead, and every few moments there was an earth shuddering CRUMP as more explosives fell.
‘There won’t be many casualties,’ Juliet overheard a policeman observe. ‘The ruddy bomb went straight through the building and exploded in the restaurant.’
‘Stand by,’ Dr Gearing was told, by a member of the ARP. ‘I don’t know when we’ll be able to get in, under that lot. A wrong move and the whole thing could collapse on top of us.’
Dr Gearing nodded. ‘I’m worried in case there are any survivors who need immediate attention.’ He turned to Juliet and the others. ‘There’s nothing you can do at the moment. Wait in the ambulance. There’s no point in you standing around getting cold.’
A sharp east wind swept across Leicester Square at that moment and Juliet remembered it as it had once been, brightly lit and filled with couples in evening dress, drifting out of the Four Hundred at dawn, the sound of their carefree laughter floating on the air.
Now it was pitch dark and forbidding, with Civil Defence workers shouting instructions against a background of exploding bombs as they worked with frenzied activity to get to the trapped victims. Those days of revelry seemed to belong to another age, Juliet reflected, as she watched, stiff with anxiety.
‘Quiet everyone!’ a voice suddenly shouted.
In the deathly silence that followed everyone strained to listen intently for any sounds coming from under the rubble, but all Juliet could hear was the pounding of her heart. She gritted her teeth, forcing the panic to subside. Why, on God’s earth, had she suggested Rosie and Charles go to the Café de Paris?
Then they heard a faint tapping, distant, muffled, buried deep.
‘Keep going!’ yelled the voice. The clamouring activity started again, like a thunderous wave crashing on to rocks.
‘Over here!’ Someone else shouted ‘I can hear a faint cry.’
‘Is where a b
ack entrance?’
‘Go round and bloody look!’ screamed someone else.
Nerves were jangled, tempers fraught. Anxiety held everyone in its agonizing grip. The rubble looked unstable and shaky. A dozen men would be killed if it collapsed now. And time was of the essence. Every second counted if there were casualties with severe injuries.
Juliet watched, feeling helpless, as the men scrabbled feverishly to remove bricks, mortar, roof tiles, doors, window frames and heavy beams under the supervision of the architect, amid the swirling, choking dust that was settling on them, so they began to look like ghostly figures. She started pacing to and fro, gripped by frustration. To hope that Rosie was still alive was to court inconsolable grief, but she was desperate to do something, desperate to know the worst.
‘Are you all right?’ Laura asked worriedly. Juliet was usually the calm one at these incidents; tonight she seemed demented by apprehension and nerves.
‘How long are they going to take to get to the people, for Christ’s sake?’ Juliet retorted, wildly and abrasively.
Laura shrank back, shocked. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes it can take ages.’
‘But we haven’t got ages,’ Juliet raged. She drew a dry sobbing breath, and strode over to the head of the Civil Defence team. ‘Is there no way we can get in there? I’m quite thin. I’ve climbed through small gaps before to get inside a building.’
‘And bring the whole lot down on the rest of us?’ he jeered.
Dr Gearing came up to them. ‘Is there a problem?’
Juliet spun on him her eyes were flashing dangerously.
‘Yes. There is a problem,’ she retorted fiercely. ‘My sister and her husband are under that lot, and I’ve got to get to them. They may be…’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know,’ Dr Gearing said swiftly.
At that moment a heavy beam was being expertly lifted, exposing part of the doorway leading to the stairs down to the basement restaurant.
‘We might be able to get in now,’ he said hopefully.
The Granville Affaire Page 13
