‘Hello,’ Simon greeted Alex, ‘I didn’t expect you today; we are just getting ready for the move to Victoria Street.’ As an afterthought, he added, ‘How did it go last evening?’
Alex politely dismissed the enquiry, ‘Well, I think Teddy seemed to enjoy herself, anyway. Simon, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’
Simon looked at his friend and saw that he was troubled. He put down the paperwork that he was sorting and said, ‘You are my knight in shining armour! I loathe paperwork!’ Grabbing his jacket, cap, tin hat and gas mask, he said, ‘It’s a nice morning; let’s go and talk to the river.’
They left the building through a side door into Horse Guards Avenue, and made their way to Victoria Embankment, before turning into Whitehall Gardens, and finding a bench where they could sit and talk.
‘I doubt this will remain a park for long,’ Simon said regretfully, ‘I expect it will soon be full of anti-aircraft guns or artillery to protect London. Tell me, Alex, old friend, what ails thee?’
Alex described his conversation of the previous afternoon with Clive Lloyd-James, and then gave a potted version of what Teddy had told him and Charles at the Lyons’ Corner House before his trip to Manchester. He worried that the family had not been told the truth or at least had been given a heavily abridged version of reality. Moreover, he was anxious that somebody whom he had only fleetingly met, and certainly did not know, was spreading classified information in casual conversation.
Simon concurred that it sounded highly irregular, and agreed with Alex’s concerns about the loose-lipped squadron leader. After a momentary thought, he decided to investigate the matter further, but he warned that if what had happened to Toby was classified as “secret”, it would be unlikely that he could discuss it with Alex, knowing his relationship with Toby’s sister. Nevertheless, he promised to let Alex know one way or another at the first opportunity.
Initially, Alex was grateful that Teddy and her family might receive some answers, but then slightly piqued that his oldest friend did not trust him to keep his counsel when discussing the matter with his fiancée. Silently, he cursed the war, and all the doubts and mistrust that it brought.
Simon reverted to the subject that interested him most – the previous evening – and how Teddy had got on with Commander Jeffers. In the manner of an investigative journalist sent by his editor to uncover the salacious gossip of a socialite, Simon probed Alex exhaustively, and it was only when he had extracted every morsel of detail that he leant back and looked at Alex with a degree of admiration.
‘Teddy certainly seems to have charmed the old man,’ he mused, ‘Definitely more than Cordelia, who was very reserved and wary of the old boy. When I saw him this morning, he was smiling! That’s unheard of until at least the third cup of coffee!’ Simon chuckled. ‘It might even be a good omen.’
An unconnected thought suddenly struck Simon. ‘I meant to tell you that the typewriter that we requisitioned for you has finally arrived. I was dreading what they might dig up for you, but it seems to be quite modern and in reasonably good condition; at least it’s portable, although you will have muscles like beer kegs if you want to carry it far. You need to start practising with it and writing in Swedish. The keyboard is laid out slightly differently to the machines on which you have been practising, to account for the accented Swedish letters. We can pick it up from my office,’ he suggested.
Alex and Simon wandered back to Simon’s office, discussing nothing in particular but enjoying each other’s company. Simon showed Alex the typewriter, which was second-hand but was, as Simon had assured, in good condition. It came with a chunky, wooden case that gave it its portability, but Alex concurred with Simon’s opinion that one wouldn’t want to carry it far.
The door burst open, and a harassed-looking Commander Jeffers came in.
‘Alex,’ he declared, seeming surprised, ‘I was not expecting you today.As you can see that we are moving to Victoria Street later, so it’s a bit of a rush to get everything packed away neatly. Is Simon looking after you?’ And then, before allowing a response, he continued, ‘Excellent evening, last night. Your fiancée is as bright as a button, and I think you are both fortunate to have found each other, but I do worry that you will be distracted, and your important work will be compromised, with you fretting about her in London. You understand that you can have no contact with her while you are operational? But we will try to keep you posted about her welfare.’
A thought came to the commander, and he continued, ‘You know, of course, that her family has naval connections, on her mother’s side?’
‘Really?’ encouraged Alex, hoping the commander would continue.
‘Yes,’ Jeffers satisfied his curiosity, ‘Theodora’s mother is a Digby, and her great-uncle was Admiral Sir Henry Digby who was with Nelson at Trafalgar.’
‘I did not know that,’ Alex responded thoughtfully.
‘Mind you,’ Jeffers continued, ‘it’s not all good news. Digby’s daughter was a bit racy; she married into the aristocracy and then went on an infamous rampage through the royal houses of Europe. Mind you, if the legend is true, you can see where Teddy gets her beauty from!’
Alex was a little thrown by the depth of Teddy’s ancestry that the commander had at his fingertips, and it became clear to him that the “screening” had thrown up these snippets of historical background. In a way, he felt as though they had violated his relationship with Teddy and that others had intervened in his love for his fiancée, and, yes, he did feel annoyed. His indignancy abated quickly as he realised that Jeffers was telling him privately that Teddy was acceptable to the service and that Alex had the blessing of his superiors. He nodded to Jeffers in gratitude and shook his hand before the commander disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.
Simon, meanwhile, dug around in a box and told Alex that he was looking for the full requisition of Alex’s equipment. ‘We have also asked for some clothes in your size that are made in Sweden, and shoes also. God knows where they will come from, probably the morgue!’ he suggested morbidly, ‘You will probably want to buy some more appropriate clothing when you get to Stockholm. Your paperwork is being finalised by specialists, as we speak, so everything is on track. Take your typewriter and practise, but try to keep it away from prying eyes.
‘As for the other matter, I will look into it, and if possible, talk to you shortly.’
Alex shook Simon’s hand, hefted up the typewriter and went home.
*
Alex took himself to Onslow Gardens, and his mother was delighted that her son had come to visit. He joined his mother for a light lunch, and they chatted amiably about nothing in particular; nevertheless, Alex could sense that something was worrying her. Over the obligatory Russian chai that his mother drank habitually, his mother asked about Teddy and enquired how she would cope while Alex was away.
Alex responded positively. Teddy was a resourceful girl who had managed splendidly before Alex had invaded her life; he was unconcerned. His mother explained that living in a capital city during a war would be hard and that many civilians would undoubtedly lose their lives. She talked of the Patriotic War and the battle of Smolensk, where thousands of citizens had perished; she spoke of the massacre of Krovavoye Voskresenye (Bloody Sunday) in St Petersburg in 1905, where even more civilians lost their lives. She was, she assured Alex, extremely fond of Teddy, and could not bear that she should experience such horrors. Her concern was that of a mother looking to protect a daughter from harm, because, she said, she now looked on Teddy as her own daughter.
His mother hinted that Uncle Walter was considering moving to the countryside, and he had seemingly already looked at property in Gloucestershire, which he was contemplating purchasing – he had even asked whether Alex’s mother might consider moving with him. That was an unexpected development, and Alex was dumbfounded. He had always seen his adopted uncle as a benign benefactor, b
ut he was alone, and Alex’s mother was still a beautiful woman in the prime of her life; was there to be a change in their relationship and circumstances? Had she given up on ever being reunited with his father? Was it not reasonable that she should have companionship in her life? He asked his mother for her thoughts.
‘Sasha, my son, my life has been devoted to you, and all that I have done has been in the memory of your poor father, whom I loved without equal and always will. Now, you are a man and a man of whom I am exceptionally proud. You have your entire life before you, whereas most of mine is in the past. I do not want to live the rest of my life being a burden on yours, as the widowed mother whom you feel duty-bound to visit occasionally. You have always been my life, and now it is right that you live your own life with your bride. Valody has always been good to us, he took us in and shared his life with us. Would it be wrong if I wanted to share my life with him? He has hinted in the past that he would wish this, but my love has constrained me, as has my responsibility to you, beautiful Sashenka, but now I must think of the future.’
Alex was stunned by this news, but listening to the concern for him in his mother’s voice and her clear analysis of her future, he could find no justification against the suggestion. He smiled kindly at his mother and said gently, taking her hand in his, ‘Mother, I hope that I will never stand in the way of your happiness.’
A huge weight lifted from the countess’s shoulders, and she smiled at her son, before calling him close and holding him tightly. ‘Bog s toboj, moj syn, [God bless you, my son,’] was all she said.
The countess refilled Alex’s chai, and then brought the conversation skilfully back to Teddy. ‘If I were to go to Gloucestershire with Valody,’ she ventured, ‘he will still be spending much time in London, and I am sure that I will find the countryside not as interesting as the capital. Could you see me existing as the squire’s lady?’ Alex smiled at such a ridiculous thought, ‘Perhaps having someone from the city to be my companion would help?’
Alex had been wondering where this conversation was heading, and his mind took a quantum leap ahead of his mother’s hesitation. ‘And you wondered whether Teddy would like to be your companion?’
His mother cast her eyes downwards in resignation.
Alex explained, ‘I do not know is the simple answer. I suppose I can ask, but Teddy is frightfully independent, and she enjoys the hurly-burly of London tremendously. I truly do not know whether she would be bored to tears in the country. Besides, she has her own family, and I know that her father is a bit of an ogre, but her mother appears to be all right, in a stiff sort of way.’
‘I am just worried that she will come to harm in London, if she stays,’ Alex’s mother continued, ‘bombs and shells are indiscriminate assassins in whom they slay, and I imagine there will be considerably fewer to worry about in the country. Just promise me that you will not dismiss it out of hand; she is such a wonderful young person, and I would be devastated for you if she was to be hurt.’
His mother rose, as did Alex, and she took his hand before announcing that she was going to have a lie-down, as was her custom in the afternoon. Alex went to his room and set up the typewriter on his desk. He wrote a 1,000-word article, in Swedish, on how the British were preparing for war. It was an even-handed piece, likening plucky Britain to Freyr in Norse mythology, who slew his enemy Beli with the antler of a stag because he had given his sword to his servant. It was, in truth, a parody of the biblical story of David and Goliath, but given a Scandinavian twist. He found the typewriter awkward to begin with, but by the end of the article his keystrokes were even, and he was typing almost as quickly as he had learned at the Grange. On proofreading the article, he found three grammatical mistakes, so he retyped it flawlessly, by which time he thoroughly knew his way around the keyboard of the Swedish typewriter.
Alex folded the article carefully, placed it in an envelope for safekeeping, and inserted it into his jacket pocket. No doubt, the piece would be scrutinised before being sent on to the newspaper that he would be representing. He hoped his efforts were worthy of Svenska-Posten.
He tapped on his mother’s door to announce his departure, and, not getting a response, he opened it gently and entered her room. The countess was asleep on the daybed, and a fashionable Russian emigre periodical had fallen on the floor at her side. Alex bent, picked it up and placed it on the occasional table at the head of his mother’s bed. He leant down, and kissed her gently on the forehead, whispering, ‘Poka, Mama, spasibo i Bog blagoslovit, [Bye, Mama, thank you and God bless.]’
She stirred slightly but did not awake.
*
Alex left the typewriter at Onslow Gardens, and he decided to walk the mile or so along the Cromwell Road to Cavendish Court. He had turned onto the Earls Court Road when the air-raid sirens began wailing. It was less than a quarter of a mile to Teddy’s flat, and Alex decided to risk continuing, so he replaced his peaked cap with his recently issued tin hat, and he made his way with determination towards Pembroke Road. As he was about to turn left, a policeman barred his way.
‘Air raid, sir,’ the bobby announced, ‘St Philip’s do a nice cuppa, sir.’ He pointed to the church on the opposite side of the road.
‘It’s all right, officer,’ Alex announced, ‘I am nearly home.’
‘Still, sir,’ persisted the policeman, ‘it’s better to be safe than sorry,’ and he shepherded Alex across the road in the manner that he would have used for someone considerably older.
Alex went inside and down the steps to the undercroft, and, almost at once, he was presented with a cup of hot, sweet tea. He took a sip and scanned the dark cellar for somewhere to sit. In the corner, he spotted Teddy sitting with an army lieutenant, with whom she was in deep conversation.
She did not notice Alex’s approach until he spoke, ‘Hello, you! What are you doing here?’ Seemingly noticing the army officer for the first time, he chided jocularly, ‘So this is what you get up to when I am at the office, eh? Chatting up the army, no less!’
Teddy looked up, and her face broke into a huge, warm smile. ‘Alex, darling!’ She flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him warmly before disentangling herself and announcing, ‘This is my brother Tristan. Tris; let me introduce Alex Carlton, my fiancé.’
The lieutenant rose and extended his hand Alex to shake. ‘So you’re the chappie who stood up to Father and sent him into a blue funk for days? Jolly glad to meet you, old boy.’ He shook Alex’s hand vigorously. ‘I’m not sure whether to congratulate or commiserate with you, though,’ he continued, ‘Anyone daft enough to get mixed up with my little sister, really should be pitied.’ He earned himself a sharp kick on the shin for that dig, and he feigned great injury.
During the hour that they spent together in the shelter of the church, Alex grew to like Tristan; it seemed that none of Teddy’s father’s genes had made their way into his children.
Three down and only one to go, Alex thought, wondering what big brother Timothy would be like.
They chatted together in a friendly manner, and when the all-clear sounded, they were almost reluctant to leave.
‘Are you coming back for that drink?’ Teddy asked her brother.
‘No, I had better cut along and get back to the barracks,’ he decided. Extending his hand to Alex, he said, ‘Frightfully glad to have met you, old chap. Look after this one, will you?’ Tristram nodded his head towards his sister. ‘She’s one of the saner Palmers, you know. Good luck.’ He smiled at them before turning away, and then he stopped. Turning back he added, ‘And don’t forget my invitation!’ Teddy’s brother jogged away to catch a bus, waving as he went.
Alex and Teddy walked back to Cavendish Court, arm in arm.
XVIII
Wednesday 6th September would go down in history as the day when the Nazi hordes ultimately took the Polish city of Krakow, and the day when the first RAF officer lost his life since war
had been declared. Not at the hands of the enemy but as a result of a typical cock-up where his flight was mistaken for a German attack. He was shot down and killed by a British pilot; an airman who, incidentally, would go on to become an ace and hold the distinction of having racked up more flying hours during the Battle of Britain than any other pilot.
That morning, Alex and Teddy were oblivious to the news that what was to become known as the Battle of Barking Creek had finished, and the airman had lost his life; it was not something that the BBC thought fit to broadcast. Had they have known, apart from it being a silent remembrance of Toby, it is unlikely that it would have tarnished their mood. They were happy, alive and glad to be in each other’s company, knowing that the clock was ticking on the amount of time they had left before Alex left.
Alex had arranged to meet Simon at noon to hand over his article. As he had little else to occupy his time beforehand, he went to the kitchen and made a pot of tea, before returning to Teddy, but the tea remained untouched on the dressing table as the two lovers found other ways to occupy themselves that morning.
Eventually, at 10.30am, Alex got dressed in his uniform and headed off to meet Simon in Whitehall. However, when he arrived, the staff sergeant on duty in the War Office had difficulty tracking Simon down as he had already moved from his office, and the space reassigned. Alex was about to give up when the sergeant told him that Lieutenant Potts would be with him shortly, so he waited in the lobby, and, eventually, Simon arrived, flustered as if he had run most of the way.
‘Hello,’ he puffed, ‘let’s get a cup of tea.’ Simon guided Alex to the junior officer’s refectory and sat Alex at a table while he joined a queue for liquid sustenance; once this was obtained, he returned with a tray laden with tea and sandwiches.
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