He is quite fatalistic about this. For now he will see what happens in England. Maybe the British secret service don’t know about his GPU role, but he can’t count upon that. Once they do know, he will become a bargaining piece. All that he can do now is to wait and see.
* * *
During the last year of the war in Spain, mused Eve, they had somehow found one another like creatures in the mating season, but unlike creatures who don’t know about tomorrow, they knew that, like anyone in that war, they could at any time become pieces of flesh and bone to feed rats and crows. Those weeks when Eve had been with Dimitri, she had thought that if they were to be blown up, at least there would be traces of lovemaking on the pieces.
War gives people lunatic notions.
But, as she had thought a hundred times in Spain, what more lunatic notion is there than to go to war? When you saw the results, it was madness. Yet here she was back home, back to the same madness.
The sailor’s voice dragged her consciousness to the surface again.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I was daydreaming.’
‘I was only saying, do you know London at all? You know… seeing as you got on there.’
‘Hardly at all. The first time I went was for the Coronation. Every building was decorated – Union Jacks everywhere. I thought it must be the most splendid city on earth.’
The sailor said, ‘So did I – went with the Sea Scouts; got a look right up the front row in The Mall.’
Eve smiled to herself. He would have been only a slightly smaller version of what he was now – a thin, neat sailor, always shipshape and Bristol fashion about his person; would shave, and oil his hair before he went on duty. ‘I went with a flock of starlings,’ she chuckled, ‘little schoolkids, but I think a flock of starlings would have been easier to control.’
Since then she had seen Paris – three times. And she had lived in Madrid, Barcelona and seen castles in Spain. And churches and colleges razed to the ground. Was it possible that London could end up with its ancient buildings bombed to rubble? Hitler, with his efficient Luftwaffe, would find the capital a fine target.
An airman who was gathering his bags closer to the door said, ‘I was up there then too. Real show, it was. My old man never held with royals – suppose I don’t really, but we hadn’t never seen anything like it.’ A short laugh. ‘He an’t never going to forgive me for enjoying myself.’ He paused and gazed out of the window. ‘I hope we seen the last of all that. Once this war’s over, the royals is going to be finished. Who’s going to miss them?’
Nobody would have dreamed of voicing such a controversial view in public a little while ago. Eve had been told that it was like this in the early days of the Spanish Republic: people spoke their minds about previously taboo subjects, being provocative, breaking down the barriers. Now they were back where they’d started. It had all been for nothing.
The train, which had been running on a single track, now rattled over the points where tracks met or diverged. This was the same track that had provided the sound-track to her childhood, hardly noticeable but comforting. When the goods-yards closed on Christmas and Boxing Days, it was most strange, almost as though the air was empty.
She had spent the first eighteen years of her life within the sound of this railway track. And she had left meaning never to return.
Eve peered out and was thrilled to see a scene that had been such a familiar part of her childhood that she had been unconscious of it: Portsmouth’s big railway goods-yard, with long engine run-in sheds with distinctively shaped roofs, white markers, signal lights and a complicated arrangement of snaking silver rails. Hardly a light showed but a yellow haze escaped the openings of the run-in sheds and was caught by the steam and smoke of the working engines. Now she could hear the clatter and chuffing that had always been there in the background of her early years.
In the clear frosty air, everything highlighted by frost and snow, she had a total picture of a bit of her own past. Ray, her big brother, had worked here. She had crossed the footbridge many times to hop on a train and skive a ride into Portsmouth Central, knowing that if ever she were caught riding without a ticket Ray would bail her out. Railwaymen looked after their own.
Although outwardly unruffled, Eve and Dimitri exuded tension. How close to one another they stood, how white her knuckles, how frequently his jaw worked.
Dimitri put an arm about her and gave her a big kiss. ‘I like this place, and English people are nice.’
‘I hope nobody ever disabuses you.’ Eve patted his hand in a gesture old for her years, but then those weeks before the fall of Barcelona had made her that.
‘I think in England we should marry.’
He’d asked her in Cape Town and he’d asked her in Sydney, Australia.
She kissed him gently on the cheek. Her tone was light and bantering. ‘“When the town clock is working well, do not send for the clockmaker.” I got that bit of wisdom from a Red Army officer I used to know.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t believe everything Russian soldier tells you.’
* * *
The engine hit the terminus buffers. Passengers left their seats, unfolding their stiff, cold bodies, reluctant to face the sharp sea air.
Sea-water, oil and things rotten swilled around the station platforms and were picked up by the wind that came knifing across the harbour. Eve, her feet cold, was anxious to be gone. A couple of porters who looked shrammed in spite of home-made scarves collected first-class passengers’ luggage and took it to the exit on handcarts.
A stark announcement in a voice not used to making public statements: ‘Lissen, please, passengers who wasn’t able to get off at Fratton or Central can find buses and trams outside. There isn’t many taxis. We’re sorry about this, but there’s a real shortage of staff.’
Dimitri hefted the baggage of third-class passengers who needed help and shouted to people who were still unsure about leaving the train. ‘Is Portsmouth Harbour station where we have come to. Some buses can go back to stations missed. Thank you. Bon voyage.’
This was the old Dimitri, the one who had kept their heads above water when the Republic was sinking. He would burst into the little rented room where they sometimes met, holding parcels wrapped in newspaper, announcing, ‘Is ham, real vodka and best American johnnies. Don’t ask where from, is not good for you to know. Eat, drink and we will use up all US navy rubber.’ He was such a good, jolly man that Eve wished that she was able to love, in the way she first believed she had. Love him enough to marry him. But love doesn’t often do what is wanted – otherwise David Hatton might have said he loved her long before he offended her sensibilities and killed her spring-flower love stone-dead.
Hefting their bags Eve and Dimitri went out of the station, hoping for a place on a bus that would take them back to where they were supposed to have been met.
At the ticket barrier a woman wearing a uniform that Eve didn’t recognise stepped forward. ‘Miss Anders, Major, I’m your transport.’ She took some of Eve’s bags. ‘Sanderson, Electra Sanderson. My father – we call him The Dad on the basis that he doesn’t think that there are any more – The Dad’s a classics man. Don’t even ask what my brother’s name is.’
‘Agamemnon?’
Sanderson laughed. ‘Close, Miss Anders. Just wait and I’ll find my porter if he hasn’t run off with my thrup’ny “joey”.’
The porter loaded the bags and Electra Sanderson gave him keys and directions where to find her car.
Dimitri dipped a little bow. ‘This is amazing, how you find us.’
Eve knew how. Contacts, instinct, past experience, bush telegraph. Only months ago she had been a courier waiting at obscure runways for small aeroplanes carrying VIPs.
‘Not so amazing, Major. The station men know me. If there’s a diversion or a delay they pass it on. They’re good chaps. Look, we could get a cuppa here if you’re desperate, or I’ll take you straight round to Griffon House – it’s up to you.’
Dimitri answered for them. ‘I think we should like something that will go to our toes very quick. Is there whisky, maybe? I do not hope for vodka.’
‘Right, Major, let’s see if we’re in luck.’
The buffet was steamy from the tea urn, and blissfully warm. Private Sanderson had obviously done this before because she did not wait at the counter but ducked under and went behind the scenes, bringing a few filled rolls on a tray set with cups and a pot of tea. ‘Don’t look so worried, Major. Money has changed hands.’ A small, thin woman, wearing a tea towel tucked into her belt, came over, plonked a milk jug on the table and said confidentially, ‘No good asking for no more, Miss Sanderson. There’s two good doubles in there.’
Sharing the whisky between two cups and pouring herself tea, Electra said, ‘Cheers. Welcome to Portsmouth, Miss Anders, Major Vladim. Anything you need over the next few days, you can get me at this number. She handed over a piece of paper. ‘But I expect Lieutenant Hatton will… well, you know… brief you… sort things for you.’
Dimitri tossed the whisky back and consumed all the rolls after a half-hearted offer to the women. Sanderson produced a packet of Black Cat cork-tipped cigarettes and told them to help themselves. Then Dimitri got up and, leaning over the counter, rumbled words quietly to the waitress, who shook her head sadly at him. Eve watched him out of the corner of her eye. Whatever it was he wanted, he would probably get.
He returned to the table where their driver was pouring tea for Eve. She indicated the pot to him but he shook his head and winked at her. ‘I wait for more milk to come.’
‘Dimitri, you really are the limit. Not in England two minutes and you’re making your “little arrangements” just the way you did in Barcelona.’
Electra Sanderson showed concern. ‘Was it bad?’
Eve and Dimitri glanced at one another. Eve said, ‘It was bad.’
‘I wanted to volunteer, but The Dad wouldn’t agree.’
This woman was thirty if she was a day, but Eve said in an even tone, ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have asked him.’
‘I know. I didn’t ask him about this job. I just went to a friend and said, Can you do with a good driver, and he said yes he could. When I turned up at home in my uniform, The Dad didn’t bat an eyelid.’
‘Here’s your milk then, sir, but honest, the cow’s run dry.’ The waitress grinned cheekily at Dimitri. ‘Miss Sanderson, you tell him, it’s no good him come here doing that charm stuff with me. One and six, sir. War-time prices, I’m afraid. Everything’s going up.’ When she gave his change, he pushed back a note. ‘No, sir, that’s too much.’
‘Is for you, please.’
‘No, sir, I’ll take a tanner if you like, but that’s a ten-bob note, you understand?’ speaking slowly, emphasising as one does to a foreigner. ‘Ten bob’s a lot of money. Don’t you never tip nobody more than a shillin’, and that’s too much.’
‘Amy, you are not nobody, you are saviour of this poor traveller who have such a big body to keep warm. Please, Amy, you take ten bob. Buy some flowers.’
‘Oh, all right then, if you insist. Flowers? Not bloody likely! They tells you not to hoard nothink, but everybody is. I’m putting a few hanks of wool to one side. And I know where I can get a couple of pounds of red three-ply. Thanks, sir, thanks very much.’
‘Red is my favourite colour, Amy.’
The girl laughed, ‘Then I’ll knit you a pair of socks.’
He held up one large foot. ‘This size?’
Amy smiled. ‘Lord, sir, that’s some plates o’ meat, all right. I reckon I’d have to buy up the whole stock of wool – be like knitting a pair of dinghies.’ And tucking the note into her blouse pocket she went smiling back to her steamy tea urn.
Charm, and more charm – Eve hadn’t seen much of that from Dimitri for weeks. The decision to leave Lavender Creek had been right. Both of them were coming back to life. It was ages since they had made love with any enthusiasm. But when he’d said ‘big body to keep warm’ she’d had a stunning recollection of its vitality, its solid virility.
Sensing that her mood had changed, he caught her eye and gave her a wink, then turned to the driver.
‘Has been very nice meeting Portsmouth. Thank you, Miss Sanderson.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Eve. ‘I didn’t know what to expect, coming back to England, and this half-hour has given me time to get my breath.’
They all rose from the table and Sanderson led the way with a bright torch. ‘Steps here, mind the sandbags. Sorry about the train journey. We seem to get more funny ones than the regular ones these days. We all grumble, but don’t like to in case it’s a troop train or something that’s been the hold-up. Oh good, the moon’s come out again. Makes it easier to get about.’
Moonlight showed that the transport was a large car painted over in messy-looking matt camouflage. Even so, the styling was unmistakable.
‘Nice car,’ Eve said.
‘It was The Dad’s. People are asked to give up their cars, so he told me to take it. I look upon it as his seal of approval of me leaving home. He doesn’t know it’s been camouflaged, but he knows that I’m a depot chauffeuse. It absolutely drinks petrol so I expect it will soon have to be put away for the duration.’
Eve smiled to herself. She wouldn’t bet on it. There would always be some VIP who would expect to be driven around in a car the size of his opinion of himself.
‘Would you like to sit up front, Major? Plenty of leg room for you.’
Eve knew a well-maintained engine when she heard one. It ticked over like a Swiss watch, then slipped smoothly into gear and they slid away into the unlighted streets. Vehicles approaching from the opposite direction came into view as slits of light and passed by still with hardly any headlight showing. What must it be like when there was no snow and no moon lighting up the roads? Barcelona had had its streets blacked out, but it felt very strange to be back in her own home town in the same state. The last time she had seen it at night the harbour had been a-glitter with ships dressed over, and seafront and pier lighting.
* * *
Griffon House was ten minutes’ drive from the station. Even in the cold moonlight Eve saw nothing that she recognised except the seashore. But then this hadn’t been her stamping ground. Here there were streets of large three- and four-storey terraced villas. It was only on very special occasions that girls from her old part of town kicked up their heels here. Just one building she thought she recognised – the great lumpen hotel where she had once gone to meet David Hatton. Ages, ages, ages ago. She couldn’t stop the frisson of thrill as they passed by. What the hell, that was all done with ages ago. What he had done – satisfying his curiosity about her early life – wasn’t so bad. It was that he hadn’t understood why he should not have done it. Her childhood was her own, and he had assumed that it was all right to delve into it.
The sky had cleared so that the moon was highlighting the curling tops of the waves, their sound like the shushing wind in pine trees. It was a bitterly cold sea, but its sight and sound touched the scar of a day in Spain as near perfect as Eve had known. Later, it had bled tears, and even now was tender when touched.
Sanderson flashed her lights and heavy gates were opened by a soldier wearing a red armband and white flashes, whilst another came close to the car window. ‘Evening, miss. Everything OK?’ he said, looking briefly at a pass she held up. ‘Thanks, miss. Two more for the Skylark.’ Torch-lighting a list on a clipboard, he peered in at Dimitri and Eve. ‘Major Vladim? Right. Miss Anders? Right.’
‘Yes, yes, Corporal, get a move on. My passengers’ feet are cold as Sno-fruits.’
Genially, and in a low voice he said as he tapped his two stripes, ‘Not so much of the “get a move on”, Miss Sanderson.’ Stamping his iron-studded boots on the stone driveway to illustrate that he was the expert on frozen toes, he waved them through. ‘Now, you go careful, Miss Lee, or your dad will come to hear about it.’
As she manoeuvred th
e car along the narrow driveway, Electra Sanderson said, ‘I… um… should explain. That sort of exchange doesn’t usually go on, you understand. Griffon House security is really taken very seriously. It’s just that he was in the TA – the Territorial Army, volunteers – then he became the local bobby in my village. You could trust your life to Corporal Miles. But I wish that he wouldn’t call me Lee. He wouldn’t get away with it in the regular service but personnel here aren’t your regular people. But of course you would know that. Here we are then.’
The earthy smell of laurel hedge with tom-cat undertones overlaid that of the smell of the sea just a few yards across the road. Eve let the informal Sanderson and Dimitri off-load the bags, placing them in the shelter of a high, wide porch. This was a very grand house indeed: massive double doors with stained-glass window-lights, heavy brass knocker, a bell pull as well as a central brass door boss almost as big as a football, suggested ‘Only persons of rank may enter’. Who had lived here? This must be the grandest house on the seafront in the town where Eve had lived until she was a young woman, yet she wasn’t aware of its existence. But why would she be? This was not a place for a working-class girl.
These comparisons of class and rank had always been part of her thinking. I must stop it, I must stop it, she thought.
Easier said than done for anyone nurtured from birth in the English class structure. As a child Eve had only been able to articulate her sense of inequity as ‘It’s not fair!’ Now she could write pieces for left-wing papers, and argue her corner.
‘Thank you for your help, Major,’ Electra Sanderson was saying. ‘I’ll ring for somebody to let you in, then I’ll be off. I expect I shall see you whilst you’re here.’
The Face of Eve Page 3
