Eddie jumped out of the cab first and took the case from the front seat. ‘You look worn out, Claire,’ Vera Halliday said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, Miss Halliday. I’m a bit run down, but it’s nothing a few early nights won’t put right.’
‘And a few good meals,’ Vera said, concerned. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Night,’ Claire waved, and ran up the steps to where Eddie was holding the entrance door to the apartments open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
As she neared the top of the Strand, Claire wondered if the Prince Albert Theatre, where her sister Margaret was a dancer, had been repaired. The last time she passed by the windows were boarded up. In a letter at the time, Bess said Margaret had been delayed on the Strand, signing her autograph for a fan, and hadn’t arrived at the stage door until after the bomb had exploded. Apparently, Margaret had turned into Maiden Lane as the upper floor of a building opposite collapsed, killing two of her friends. Margaret had suffered a nervous breakdown and spent time in hospital. Claire wished she had been able to visit her, or go up to Foxden when she was recuperating there, but it hadn’t been possible. It wasn’t now. She was pleased to see the glass had been replaced and there were large framed posters advertising future shows. Claire stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh my…’ she gasped. Bursting with pride she saw Margaret, or Margot as she was known in the theatre, in a beautiful gold evening dress, smiling out of a huge poster. Claire put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from shouting, ‘That’s my big sister!’ Next to Margot’s photograph was one of the company, with Margot in the centre at the front, and next to that a poster advertising the forthcoming show: Margot Dudley and the Prince Albert Theatre Company, opening soon in a revue of popular songs and sketches.
Claire opened the theatre’s main door and took a peek inside. On the wall opposite was another photograph of Margot in a gilt frame. To hell with it, Claire thought. She opened the door and stepped into the foyer. Once inside, her eyes met a vista of maroon and gold. The wallpaper was Regency stripes. She walked over to a maroon-coloured seat that ran the length of the wall on the far side of the foyer and sat down. The curtains at the windows and doors were velvet, the same colour as the seat she was sitting on. She wanted so much to see her sister, but she didn’t trust herself not to tell her about Mitch and Aimée.
With a heavy heart, Claire pushed herself off the plush velvet seat. She wandered casually around the semi-circular foyer looking at the photographs on the walls. When she got to the door she looked over at the box office. The round wall clock hanging above the glass window, with its porcelain face and Latin numerals, told her it was time to go. Claire turned, smiled up at the framed photograph of Margot hanging above the seat where she had been sitting, and left.
Once outside she turned into a narrow passageway at the side of the theatre. With her head down, she moved quickly. She didn’t want to bump into Margot; she would be sure to want to know what she’d been doing for the last four years. She turned into Maiden Lane, then Southampton Street, and strode through Covent Garden. At the top of Macklin Street she went into a café, ordered a cup of tea and found a seat near the window. One day perhaps, when the war was over, she might be able to tell her family about her work in France, the brave men and women of the Resistance, and about her second family. Though according to the Official Secrets Act, that day might never come.
Claire arrived at the SOE and was shown into the colonel’s office. After her last debrief she had bumped into Mitch on the way back to the station and they had gone to a café for coffee. She wished that would be the case today, but… She swallowed hard. She was anxious to know if the colonel had heard anything, negative or positive, about the man she loved. She would ask him as soon as her debrief was over.
‘Miss Dudley!’ The colonel stood up as Claire entered and gestured to the usual chair in front of his desk. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The colonel began by congratulating her on the detailed intelligence she’d sent via wireless operators in Gisoir and Paris, until six months ago. He mentioned finding another safe house in Paris, the successful deliveries she had made to various Resistance groups, and the sabotage work she had done with the Gisoir Resistance cell.
The colonel looked down at a folder on his desk that was date-stamped in red, 1941. ‘The last time you graced us with your presence it was forty-one.’ Here comes the ticking off, Claire thought. ‘The intelligence you gave us confirmed what we had been told by our operatives on the Eastern Front – and the winter did the rest. It was a close call.’ Colonel Smith shook his head. ‘So what’s happening in France?’
‘The sabotaging of German troop trains has been a success. The Germans are still transporting Jewish citizens to concentration camps. Some of the transport trains were sabotaged, but few people tried to escape. I’m afraid those who did were shot.’ Claire looked down and took a second to compose herself. ‘The Germans cracked down on anyone who didn’t visibly toe the party line, but it was more than that. Some Resistance groups were compromised earlier in the year; some disbanded temporarily and their members joined other groups. Some, mostly Maquis groups, went into hiding in the hills. At the same time several wireless operators were arrested; one in Bloir and two in Orleans. The Maquis in Paris Central, who I met when I first went to Paris, got a message through saying they had seen white surveillance vans trawling the avenues between five-thirty and seven at night – when people have arrived home from work. After that our wireless operator, Jacques, went quiet for a week. When he began transmitting again he varied the time, as you know.’
Colonel Smith nodded. ‘Did you see any surveillance vans in Gisoir, or the surrounding area?’
‘No. I’m sure if there had been, someone from the Resistance would have seen them. They’re big and they have huge circular wireless detection aerials on the roof.’
‘Not discreet then?’
‘No. Such vehicles are rare and would be spotted easily in a small town like Gisoir.’ Claire watched as the colonel closed several folders and stacked the remainder. She wondered why he hadn’t mentioned Mitch. He’d had her report, but even so… She began to panic. Any minute now he’s going to stand up and shake my hand. And if that happens I shall have to leave without asking him if he has any news. She needed to speak now, or it would be too late. But before she had time, the colonel leaned forward, a puzzled look on his face.
‘Why are you wearing a wedding ring?’
Thrown by the question, Claire lifted her hand dumbly and looked at Édith Belland’s thin wedding band on her finger. ‘It isn’t mine,’ she said. ‘Madame Belland gave it to me after Captain Mitchell was taken in for questioning.’
‘So you are not actually married?’ he laughed.
‘No, sir!’ The nerves on the top of her stomach began to tighten, taking her breath away. She cleared her throat and forced herself to laugh with him. What was the colonel insinuating? Did he know about her relationship with Mitch? She hoped not, or he wouldn’t let her go back to France. ‘I’d forgotten I had it on.’ Taking the ring off, she laid it on the desk. ‘It was Édith Belland’s idea. She said, after Captain Mitchell was taken by the Gestapo for questioning, that now I was on my own, and German soldiers had no respect for French women, I would attract less attention if I wore a wedding ring.’
‘And if you were stopped and your papers checked?’
‘I’d say it was my mother who gave me the ring because she thought as a young woman on my own I’d be safer travelling.’ The colonel’s brow furrowed. He didn’t look convinced. ‘Frédéric Belland’s fiancée was raped and killed by a gang of drunken German soldiers. It was Captain Mitchell and I who found her body. It was after that that Édith gave me the ring.’
‘Reason enough,’ the colonel said.
‘Yes, sir. And I shall wear it until Captain Mitchell returns.’ It was now or never, Claire thought. ‘Have you had any news of Captain Mitchell, sir?’
> The colonel took a folder from his desk, opened it, and took out a sheet of paper. He ran his eyes over the page and replaced it. ‘Captain Mitchell was moved from Périgueux prison to a prison camp in Mauzac some months ago, along with--’
‘Months ago? The Bellands and I have been out of our minds with worry. Why weren’t we told he’d been moved at the time?’
‘Because we didn’t know until recently.’ Claire nodded apologetically. ‘Captain Mitchell and another Canadian airman, two RAF pilots, and two French resisters were moved to the camp in Mauzac at the same time. Shortly after arriving they escaped. The details are sketchy, but they made their way to the Pyrenees where they met up with an MI9 chap and a courier who took them over the mountain and across the border to Spain.’
‘So Mitch – Captain Mitchell – is in Spain?’ Claire wanted to jump up, run round to the other side of the desk and throw her arms around Colonel Smith, but she knew she had to control herself. So, although her heart was bursting with happiness, she said, ‘Thank goodness,’ as casually as she was able. ‘When is he expected back?’
The colonel replaced the folder and a dark worried look crossed his face. ‘I don’t know.’ Claire felt her pulse quicken. There was something wrong. Colonel Smith put his pipe to his mouth and held it between his teeth. Claire wanted to scream with impatience as he struck a match, put it up to the flakes of tobacco in the bowl and sucked several times, making a popping noise each time he drew in air. At last he said, ‘Three men arrived in Barcelona. Captain Mitchell was not one of them.’
‘What?’ Claire began to tremble. ‘You said six men escaped from Mauzac, so what happened to the others? Were they captured?’ Colonel Smith didn’t answer. ‘Are they dead or alive? Sir?’
‘We don’t know. They were ambushed outside a small border town by German snipers. According to MI9, one RAF officer was shot in the head and, they assumed, died instantly. Two other men, both wearing civilian clothes, took body shots and went down. He didn’t know if they were dead or only injured.’
Dread flooded Claire’s mind and the colour drained from her face. She thought her heart would stop beating, but she had to ask the question: ‘Was one of the men Captain Mitchell?’
The colonel’s gaze fell on the document in front of him. ‘I’m afraid so.’ He looked up at Claire. ‘Captain Mitchell was one of three men left behind.’
‘MI9 left him?’
‘They had to. They had no way of telling if he was dead or alive. By going back, the lives of the courier, the MI9 chap and the other escapees would have been at risk. You know the score, Miss Dudley.’ The colonel stood up, pushed away his chair and walked round the desk. He offered Claire his hand and she took it shakily. He helped her out of her chair.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. When they got to the door, Vera Halliday opened it. Shaking the colonel’s hand again, Claire said, ‘Would you let me know if you hear anything more about Captain Mitchell – anything at all?’
‘Of course.’
She rubbed the top of her thumb on the inside of her wedding finger, a habit she’d acquired to check the ring was still there. It had never been a tight fit, but since she’d lost weight it had become loose. It wasn’t there. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ she said, running back to the desk. ‘Édith Belland’s wedding ring. I’ll need it when I go back to France.’ She followed Vera Halliday out of the office and along the corridor.
‘You don’t want to go back to France right away, do you, Claire?’ Miss Halliday asked.
‘I certainly do. And I shall keep going back until I find Captain Mitchell.’
As she opened the front door to the apartment block Claire saw Eddie going up the stairs. Eddie looked over her shoulder and stopped. ‘How did the meeting go with you-know-who?’
‘You-know-who,’ was all Claire said before her legs gave way and she fell to the ground.
‘What on earth?’ Eddie flew down the stairs and dropped to her knees. ‘What is it, Dudley?’
Claire hung onto Eddie and sobbed. ‘Mitch has been shot.’
‘Come on.’ Eddie took Claire by her arms and slowly pulled her to her feet. Taking Claire’s weight, she walked her across the foyer to her apartment. Inside, she pulled Claire’s coat off and threw it across a chair. ‘Sit down,’ she said, leading Claire to the settee. ‘Will you be all right for a second? I think it’s time to open the medicinal brandy.’ Claire nodded and Eddie ran upstairs to her flat.
On her return Eddie took two glasses from the sideboard and poured them both a large brandy. She put one glass into Claire’s hand and the other on the small occasional table, before going over to the fire. It wasn’t giving out much heat, so she added a couple of logs and a pan of coal, before joining Claire on the settee. She took a sip of her brandy. Claire took a swig and almost choked. ‘Steady on, old thing. Best to sip it.’ The wood crackled. The fire had taken hold and flames licked at the coal. It would soon be warm.
The two friends sipped their drinks and watched the flames flicker up the chimney. ‘They left him for dead in the Pyrenees,’ Claire said, suddenly. She took a shuddering breath. ‘He had been shot and they left him,’ she cried.
Eddie took Claire’s glass and put it on the table with her own. She put her arms round her friend and Claire clung on to her, as a hurt child would, and sobbed. When she had worn herself out, Eddie slipped from the settee, put a cushion under Claire’s head and lifted her feet up. She then took a blanket from Claire’s bed and put it over her. Sitting on the rug by the fire, Eddie sipped her brandy and watched Claire as she slept.
Claire stirred. She was hot. She felt as if she was suffocating. She gulped air, threw off the blanket and struggled to sit up. For a moment she didn’t remember the meeting with Colonel Smith, or that Mitch was…. She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. She looked around. A fire blazed in the hearth and the blackout curtains were drawn. A beam of light shone into the sitting room from the kitchen. Claire put her feet to the floor and stood up. She crossed to the standard lamp and switched it on. Drowning in a sea of despair, she took her hand from her mouth and let out the pain in a howl.
‘Dudley?’ Eddie rushed in from the kitchen. She pulled out a chair at the dining table and guided Claire into it. Claire took the remains of her brandy and drank it down in one. ‘I’ve made us some supper. Fried Spam, mash, and bread and butter. Is that all right?’
Claire nodded, but said, ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Lift the drinks, will you?’ Claire complied and Eddie threw a tablecloth across the table, before fetching the food from the kitchen. ‘Damn, forgot the bread. Pour another drink, Dudley,’ she said, going back to the kitchen and returning almost immediately with bread and butter. ‘You may need a stiff drink before you sample my cooking.’ Claire smiled thinly. ‘That’s better,’ Eddie said. ‘Now eat!’
Claire ate most of the mashed potato and felt better for it. When they had finished their meal they cleared the table together, leaving the dishes in the sink. Back in the sitting room, they refreshed their glasses and sat by the fire. Claire related the conversation she’d had with Colonel Smith and when she’d finished, Eddie said, ‘With such scant information it’s impossible to know what happened to Mitch.’
‘He was shot, the colonel said. The men who escaped saw him go down. At best he’s stuck on a mountain with snakes and mosquitoes in the day and temperatures below zero at night, and at worst, he’s…’ Claire couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
‘If they fought back, it’s more than likely that they killed the German snipers. In which case,’ Eddie said, ‘Mitch could be found by a Maquis group, or a farmer.’
‘Or not,’ Claire said.
‘Look, Dudley, you don’t know that he’s dead. He’s injured, yes, but you don’t know how badly. You need to be positive. Think about Aimée. Focus on her. And focus on getting fit, so the colonel sends you back to France.’
Claire thought of Aimée and smiled. ‘You’re right. Thank you, E
ddie.’
‘My advice, my friend,’ Eddie said, sharing the last of the brandy between their glasses, ‘is to wait for further intelligence before you write the Canuck beefcake off.’ Claire laughed and wiped the back of her hands across her face. ‘I’m serious, Dudley. There are a hundred things that could have happened.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Claire rolled over and pulled her pillow down until she was hugging it. She thought about Mitch every day, sometimes every hour of every day, her daughter too. She ached to see Aimée and played every minute of the last day they had spent together over and over in her mind. The alarm clock emitted a loud invasive ring, interrupting her reflections. In a state of agitation she reached out and slammed her hand down on the bell. She closed her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest and hugged her shoulders. She had just begun to relive the last time she and Mitch made love when a frantic knocking brought her back to the present. She dragged the eiderdown over her head and buried her face in its quilted satin. ‘Damn!’
With her dream of Mitch interrupted, Claire put her hands over her ears. She could still hear knocking, and moaned. Five minutes later the telephone rang. She jumped out of bed. ‘Mitch,’ she shouted, stumbling barefoot into the sitting room. Fearing the phone would stop ringing before she had time to answer it, she snatched up the receiver, overbalanced, and fell sideways into the armchair. ‘Miss Halliday?’ she said, out of breath.
‘No, Dudley, it’s me, Eddie. Answer your bloody door, will you?’
Claire sighed. ‘Okay…’
‘What the hell are you doing,’ Eddie said, ‘hiding yourself away like this?’ She blustered into the flat carrying a large shopping bag and marched straight through to the kitchen. ‘Put some clothes on while I make breakfast.’ Claire groaned in protest. Eddie ignored her. ‘Eggs, toast, and tea!’ she said, putting lard into the frying pan and lighting the gas under it. ‘It’ll be ready by the time you’ve washed and dressed.’ Claire flopped down on the settee, but Eddie wasn’t having it. ‘Get up, Dudley. You can’t mooch about in your nightclothes all day,’ she said, crossing to the settee and pulling Claire to her feet. ‘Damn!’ she said, sniffing. ‘Something’s burning.’ As Eddie ran into the kitchen, Claire sauntered into the bedroom and dressed.
China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) Page 23
