by Peter Rimmer
“Where’s that?” asked Gregory L’Amour.
“To the north of us. An Englishman called Cecil Rhodes colonised the country in the time of Queen Victoria. I’m a Boer, if that means anything.”
“Not really. But I sure as hell would like to visit with you at Uxbridge. You say it’s a bomber station?”
“That’s right.”
“I can’t yet fly a plane but I sure can row a boat. In Chicago you learn to row a boat before you ride a bicycle.”
“Where’s Chicago?”
“You’re joking?”
“Matter of fact I’m not. I know nothing about America. We Boers have been nicely isolated from the world for three hundred years. Every time we tried to get away from the British they followed. Right up to the Old Transvaal.”
“You can fill me in tomorrow in the car. I’m sure Genevieve will want to stay here with Tinus. If you Boers tried so hard to avoid the British, what are you doing here?”
“Flying aeroplanes. Only snag is, I throw up before every flight. Tightens the nerves. The boat’s half a mile downriver. We’re going for a row. Part of the tradition.”
“I have an idea,” said Tinus, who liked the idea better of being left alone with Genevieve. “Why don’t I give Uncle Harry a ring? He knows everyone in the RAF. One of our most famous pilots in the war, Gregory. Twenty-three kills. If he doesn’t know the commanding officer at RAF Uxbridge, the chances are the CO will have heard of my uncle. A bit of good publicity shouldn’t hurt the RAF’s recruitment. Uncle Harry says they are looking to train new pilots right now. If the press find out you want to be a pilot, Greg, every lad of eighteen will want to join up. You mind if I phone my uncle and suggest he lets the papers know where you will be? You’ll have to wear the right gear to fly in one of our bombers. Make a sensational photograph.”
“Can I say I’ll join your air force if Germany starts a war?”
“Why not? Frighten the holy shit out of Hitler. Giving Hitler the Sudetenland without even asking the Czech leaders is a recipe for disaster, according to Mr Bowden. I think we’re in for a fight and so does Mr Bowden”
“Who’s Mr Bowden?” asked Gregory.
“My philosophy tutor. He says Hitler won’t stop with the Sudetenland. He’ll march in and take the whole of Czechoslovakia that isn’t occupied by Hungary.”
“He thinks it’s that bad?”
“Said to me it’s all a matter of time.”
“You think my promise to join the RAF would turn the tide?” Gregory L’Amour was grinning at Tinus, quite sure his leg was being pulled.
“Definitely. Can’t you imagine the threat of the hero of the Battle of Hastings, instead of wading ashore, flying a Hurricane over the Channel? Genevieve told me her film had been shown in Germany with subtitles. They’ll shudder in their boots in Berlin, Mr L’Amour. The fact you are an American will send a message that won’t hurt either. Later in life you can claim you were the man who singlehandedly stopped this German aggression, or whatever history will call the looming shindig. Mr Bowden says Hitler has his eye on Poland next. That Poland is the rub. We have a treaty with them that if either country is attacked, both countries are equally involved. That if Germany invades Poland, Mr Bowden says, we will be at war.”
“You should be in Hollywood, Tinus. Have you ever tried to write a film script? You have a vivid imagination. You better go and phone your uncle. If I can stop people really killing each other, I’m in. After we filmed each battle scene in Keeper of the Legend the corpses got up and went for their lunch. That’s how I like to experience war. The real thing would frighten the crap out of me, not this Adolf Hitler.”
Like many things in Tinus’s life that started as a joke, even if underneath the image of Gregory L’Amour being more to Genevieve than a co-star evoked in him strong feelings of jealousy, as if someone was trying to steal his possessions, the idea took on its own momentum, swallowing up their idea for a row on the river. With Andre’s urging, Tinus went back to his digs where he lived with Mrs Witherspoon and used her phone to call Hastings Court, no one being at the Air Ministry on a Saturday afternoon.
While Tinus talked on the phone, Andre talked to Mrs Witherspoon, who had been his landlady when he was up at Oxford on a Rhodes Scholarship, making the kindly woman beam all over her face. Having never been to a cinema, Mrs Witherspoon was unaware of the reason for students gathering outside her home, someone on their walk back from the river where they left the car to enjoy the sunshine having recognised Gregory L’Amour, who twice on the way had been asked to sign his autograph.
Anthony had answered the phone at Hastings Court and gone off to find his father. Ten minutes later it was all arranged, Uncle Harry promising Tinus the CO of Uxbridge would fall in with the plan to give the RAF’s recruitment drive an unexpected boost.
“You should think of going into the publicity business, Tinus. This one has lots of potential. Does Genevieve want to go down to Uxbridge? She’d better. The two of them photographed together will make for an even bigger story. What a brilliant idea. I’ll get hold of Horatio Wakefield. His wife thinks she owes me a favour for bringing her a patient. I’m sure William Smythe will love to see Genevieve. Bruno Kannberg of the Daily Mirror owes me a favour for letting him and his lady stay at Hastings Court where he wrote the book on Genevieve that has made them so much money. I’ll think of some others. Timothy Kent will have some ideas. Pilots, Tinus, we need more pilots. The machinery is under control. What did you think of the PM’s speech?”
“Mr Bowden thought it a load of rubbish.”
“Only time will tell. Tomorrow at three in the afternoon at RAF Uxbridge.”
“Uncle, you haven’t even spoken to Andre’s CO.”
“I don’t have to ask him, Tinus. Now be a good chap and look after your guests. Take them for a row on the river.”
“Is the dam still on hold?”
“For the moment.”
“So Chamberlain was talking rubbish?”
“In the sense of the words, yes. In the meaning, no.”
“You’re talking like a politician.”
“Just get L’Amour to Uxbridge at three tomorrow afternoon. How are you, Tinus? I want to talk to you about your career. You’ll be coming down here, I hope, when you’ve finished at Oxford. Then we can talk. Lovely day for a change. Give my love to Genevieve. How’s the car going?”
“Like a dream. Andre hasn’t bought himself another car.”
“Some of the other pilots will have cars on the station.”
When William Smythe received his call he was not sure whether it would be better for his peace of mind to deny Harry Brigandshaw and so avoid seeing Genevieve.
“Are you still giving our American friends a run for their money, William? I’d suggest you be more kind to them. All businessmen are jealous if they can’t break into someone else’s market. Do you really think they are trying to chase us out of our colonies? I bought a house in Cape Town last year as a funk hole for my family as Tina hates the isolation of Elephant Walk. There isn’t much of a market for America in Rhodesia and our tobacco isn’t exactly competition for their farms in Virginia. Anyway, we have our plate full and shouldn’t worry about the empire and American intentions. I rather think we are all part and parcel of the same big picture, so it wouldn’t matter. Britain is still the largest foreign investor in America according to CE Porter. No one knows the exact figures but the idea sounds reliable. Everyone in business is chasing everyone’s tail. Three o’clock at RAF Uxbridge. You’re a good chap, William, so don’t let me down. Don’t you want to see Genevieve? I had the idea you were sweet on her. Do I have your word?”
“Of course, Mr Brigandshaw.”
“It must be Harry by now. How long have we known each other?”
“Was it true Herr Henning von Lieberman, your old friend’s cousin, was working for the Nazi Party when he was seeing Janet?”
“No idea what you are talking about.”
“Didn’
t you suggest Janet could help cure his stutter?”
“I help a lot of people, William. Horatio should remember. I can’t remember everything. Good heavens, I was fifty this year, or was it the year before? See what I mean?”
“My informants said you had him tailed the whole six weeks he was staying at the Savoy.”
“Sorry, William. You’ve lost me. Will you phone Horatio and bring him down, or must I give him a ring? He’ll need that chap Gordon Stark with him to take the photographs.”
“Your memory for detail is remarkable, Harry.”
“Do I detect a little cynicism, William? I suppose you’d have to be a little cynical as a newspaper reporter. Goes with the job. Old minds remember some things and not others. Usually the trivial.”
“I’ll bring Gordon with Horatio in my own car. Do we need a pass or something?”
“Just your press cards. They’ll know you’re coming at the guard room. The SPs will have your names. In the RAF we call them Special Police. The army calls them Military Police.”
“Your good memory again, Harry. How are the kids?”
“Like all children, they want their own way. Listened to you on the BBC Empire Service the other day. It gives me pleasure to see a man get on in this life. All you need now is a wife and children. Bachelors have too much fun. Not enough responsibility.”
“Are you going to be at Uxbridge?”
“Whatever for? Anthony is playing for the Colts first eleven. Radley against Cranleigh, where my old friends Colonel Makepeace and District Commissioner Holmes went to school. They’re back in Tanganyika. Spent some of their home leave with us. Such a small world isn’t it, William? Anthony is not going to be as good as Tinus or Andre at cricket but playing the game is what really counts.”
A moment later the phone went dead in William’s hand, making him smile. Harry had a bad habit of not saying goodbye. It was, of course, he told himself, as he asked the operator at the exchange to get him Horatio Wakefield’s number, the three of them all together; himself, Tinus Oosthuizen and Gregory L’Amour. Maybe Harry was right. He should repair his bridges with the Americans. Writing up Gregory L’Amour as a future hero would make some amends. So what if the empire went down the drain? All empires went down the drain in the end leaving most of the people pretty much the same, trying to scratch a living. With the advent of the aircraft the world was growing smaller. The Royal Navy would be unable to button up the new world. Evolution. The trick in William’s mind was not to be left behind. Thinking of Glen Hamilton in America, who would syndicate the L’Amour story and scratch him more than a living, he remembered again how much he owed to Harry Brigandshaw for introducing him to the American.
Then he spoke to Horatio and made the rest of the arrangements. It would be good to see his old friend again, so that was something. Maybe Gordon Stark could be persuaded with Mr Glass’s permission to sell him for a small sum the best of the photographs for the American newspapers. His life would go on with or without Genevieve, as he had found out with Betty Townsend, even if she was more serious than him. Seeing it was a weekend and Betty did not have to be in the office to answer his telephone, he would take her with them to see the aeroplanes. She would like that. Hopefully, Genevieve would not, something he rather doubted. When a woman did not care two little bits, trying to make her jealous with another woman was an act of futility, which just about summed up his whole relationship with Genevieve.
Once they were out on the river, no one took any notice. Genevieve had produced a hat that shaded her shoulders as well as her head. To the onlookers walking the river banks they were four students out on the water for a late afternoon row, laughing happily among themselves without a care in the world. In the middle of the river, steel craft, propelled by long, big-bladed oars, shot past them, the rowers in tight running vests taking no notice of anything other than their rowing. Tinus and Andre gave a running commentary on the colleges of the rowers out practising for the upcoming inter-college regatta at the end of the month.
“The Boat Race was in the spring,” said Tinus. “We won, of course. If these chaps do well in the regatta they may get a place in next year’s Oxford crew. To get a blue for rowing is the biggest accolade a man can get up at Oxford or Cambridge. Sort of lives with you for the rest of your life, Greg. You see old men wrapped in their rowing scarves all the way up and down the river from Putney when we have the Boat Race. It’s a bit like the FA cup at football. There’s only one of them in the world… You row very well. Never sculled myself, neither has Andre. In Africa we stay on the banks of the rivers. Too many crocodiles and hippos.
“My Uncle Harry hit a hippo once, landing a seaplane on a river in the Congo. They were trying to get away from a storm or something. Killed his best friend, Iggy Bowes-Lyon, who flew with him in the war. You may have read about it. Uncle Harry went missing for a couple of years. The only one to come out of the jungle alive.
“Now that saga would make a good film, Genevieve. Why don’t you ask your Uncle Robert or his wife Freya to write Hollywood a good script?… Don’t the weeping willow trees look beautiful at this time of evening, drooping their wands into the river? Just the right spot for a picnic. Let’s take her ashore and see what Mrs Witherspoon put in the hamper. She’s such a dear. Andre found her first. I tell her that, after my mother, she would have been my next choice.”
“I told her the same, Tinus,” said Andre, as the old rowing boat glided into shore. “This all brings back such good memories. The Thames on a summer night when it isn’t raining has to be the most beautiful place on earth.”
“I’ll still take the Zambezi with the game coming down to the water to drink at dusk, the small ones keeping a good look out for the lions. England is pretty. Africa is majestic. Vast. So much of it. The bush goes on forever. It’s a different feeling alone in the bush, part with the animals, just one of them, as much afraid of the lions as the rest of them. One day, Greg, if you give up being a film star you should come out and visit us in Rhodesia.”
“Why do I have to wait? I’m finding a whole new world right here and it’s wonderful. My father’s never been out of Illinois. Thank you, Genevieve. This is the best day of my life.”
“She looks so beautiful,” whispered Tinus, as the late sun, caught in under the picture hat, set off Genevieve’s eyes, making her cheeks glow with the colour of a rosebud.
All three men stopped rowing the boat towards the weeping willows to look at her, making Genevieve spread her hands and open fingers over her face.
“Stop staring. You make me think of Gerry Hollingsworth, the one-time Louis Casimir who always stared at me and never said a word.”
“Why did he change his name?”
“He’s a Jew, Greg. Trying to protect his family. Why he came over to America. It’s not good being a Jew at the moment in Europe. Why do people hate like that? What’s the point? He may stare at me but so are you, even if the stare is a little different. He’s the same. Having to run away must be terrible. His grandfather came to England from Hungary to get away. Why don’t people like the Jews? I don’t understand. Someone said it’s because they crucified Jesus which was wrong, surely. I thought it was the Romans. Two thousand years. How long can you go on hating someone? People who do that must be sick. Poor Mr Hollingsworth. Now you know why he changed his name, so no one in the future will persecute his family for being Jews. Poor man says he can’t even go to shul anymore… Who put two bottles of wine in the hamper?”
“I did,” said Gregory. “I had them stashed in the rental.”
“Good thinking,” said Andre. “Who’s going to jump out first? In England at this time of the year it doesn’t get dark until ten. The twilight. Wine in the twilight, that some like to call the gloaming. Gloaming sounds better. Someone told me it’s very old English. Before Chaucer.”
“Let’s stay out until it’s very dark,” said Gregory. “There’s always reflected light on a river to row by. Just remember where I parked the car. Wh
at’s the weather going to be like tomorrow for flying, Andre?”
“Perfect.”
“It’s just so good to be alive,” said Gregory L’Amour as he jumped off the boat, holding it steady for the rest of them to come ashore without getting their feet wet.
When Bruno Kannberg put down the phone and told his wife, her whole face lit up.
“Can I come with you, darling? Gregory L’Amour! Could you get a photograph with me and Gregory L’Amour together?”
“Harry Brigandshaw’s nephew will be there. You remember, we met him at that restaurant in Greek Street where they break all the plates. It’s Sunday tomorrow so you don’t have to work. You may have to stay in the car if the RAF don’t allow you onto a bomber station without a press card.”
“I’ll smile at them. I’m your wife. Don’t they allow journalists’ wives? Genevieve will talk them into it, darling. I can’t wait. Are you sure Arthur Bumley will lend you his car? Film stars are so exciting. It was so clever of you writing Genevieve’s memoirs. Do you think we are going to get some more money from the book? I can ask Genevieve. There should be more by now. Maybe you can offer to write a book about Gregory L’Amour and we can go to America if he’s sailing back next week. On the same boat, wouldn’t that be lovely? Just as well I haven’t fallen pregnant.”
“What about your job with the solicitors?”
“Oh, they won’t mind. Shorthand typists are ten a penny.”
“And the boat fare?”
“He’d pay for that if he wants a book. Lucky you had your name on the back cover. They should know who you are in America. I just can’t wait. Do we know which boat they are sailing on? I’ll bet it’s a big one. First class. We’ll travel to America first class.”
“The flat, Gillian?”
“Pay a few months’ rent in advance. Max Pearl will publish a book on Gregory L’Amour, I’m sure. Jump at it. We can ask him to cable us an advance against the royalty. This time you can keep the whole ten per cent royalty. Gregory L’Amour won’t want any. He’s rich enough as it is.”
