by Garry Ryan
After a momentary silence, the Luftwaffe pilot spoke up: “Erzähl mir nicht solche Scheiße!”
“Bloody hell!” said the blonde RAF pilot. “That was an amazing bit of flying.”
The Luftwaffe airman in the tan flight suit said, “Forgive my pilot’s rudeness. We owe you for our lives. You deliberately shot out our engines, yes?” He looked at Sharon and Linda.
Sharon nodded. “Yes.”
“Thank you.”
CHAPTER 18
[MONDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1944]
“We’re here.” Michael’s hand was on Sharon’s shoulder.
She sat up and opened her eyes. The morning sky was orange, red, and pink. The car was stopped in front of Townsend Farm.
They thanked the driver and stumbled out of the Austin. He shifted into gear, and the car putt-putted away.
Sharon tucked her hand inside of Michael’s elbow. I wonder what he will say to Honeysuckle?
They found Michael and Linda’s mother in the kitchen. When Sharon stepped through the door, she saw Honeysuckle’s eyes and realized that the woman already knew.
Michael wrapped his arms around her. She tucked her head up against his neck and held her son tight. “Did he suffer?”
“I don’t think so. Those rockets hit before the people on the ground can hear them. The noise comes after.” Michael sat her down and pulled up a chair to sit next to her. Linda brought another chair to sit on the other side of her mother.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Honeysuckle said.
“The weather held us up. Then Sharon and Linda shot down a Luft-waffe night fighter.” Michael looked across at his sister. “Was that last night or this morning?”
Probably better if we don’t answer that, Sharon thought.
“Does it matter?” Linda asked.
“Does it matter?!” Honeysuckle stood up. “The three of you together in one airplane, dogfighting! Does it matter? We just lost Harry, and now you tell me that you went out of your way to get into a dogfight? What would Sean and I do if you were shot down?”
“Actually, we weren’t in any danger.” Michael pointed at his sister and his wife. “And neither was the crew of the Junkers that was shot down. Sharon was very careful to hit only the engines. The radar operator was kind enough to thank Sharon. He actually said, ‘We owe you for our lives.’”
Honeysuckle looked at her son. “You really are telling me the truth, aren’t you?”
Michael nodded.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost the three of you as well.” Honeysuckle moved around the kitchen. “I told myself that if we could all survive this war. That it would be okay. That we could get back to our lives after the war. Then Harry’s friend called to offer his condolences. That Harry was killed in Woolworth’s. Can you imagine? He was killed because I asked him to pick up a few things for Christmas. Sometimes I think I’ll go mad!”
“So why didn’t you kill those Nazis? They killed my father. They killed your father.” Linda gave Sharon a hard look.
“I killed fifteen men the day my father was killed. It didn’t make me feel any better. Now I think the whole thing, this entire war, has been a huge waste.” Sharon looked back at her sister-in-law.
“The crew of that Mosquito seemed pretty happy with the pair of you. They had no idea Jerry was on their tail. They were meat on the table. If you hadn’t been on the radar set, they would have been killed.” Michael put his arm around his sister’s shoulder.
Linda pushed him away and smiled. The anger died in her eyes as she looked at her mother, then at Sharon.
“It’s good to see you smile.” Honeysuckle touched Linda’s hand.
Sean stepped into the kitchen. “What’s going on?” He wore a brown work shirt and pants.
“We just got here.” Sharon got up to give him a hug. She looked over her shoulder at Honeysuckle.
“I already know about Harry,” Sean said.
“I have to go into Ilkley.” Michael stood over Sharon where she had fallen asleep on the couch.
Sharon lifted the blanket, sat up, stood, and began to fold the quilt as she gathered her thoughts. She looked out the window. It looks to be about midday.
“Sean said he would drive. I thought I’d let Mother and Linda sleep.” Michael handed her a cup of coffee.
She eyed him warily. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “Don’t get used to it.”
Sharon took a sip and closed her eyes. Tastes like home.
Sean stepped into the living room and looked at his sister. “You’re up. Can we go?”
Michael smiled at Sharon as if to say, “He loves to drive and any excuse will do.”
Ten minutes later, she sat in the back seat of the Austin while Sean and Michael sat up front. It’s hard to believe that less than twelve hours ago, I was shooting down a Junkers. Sharon looked out of the window at a flock of blackbirds gathered in the naked, crooked limbs of an oak.
“Where do I drop you?” Sean asked as he shifted up a gear.
The road opened up and the sun shone on the side of her brother’s face. He’s got hair growing on his cheek. She felt an ache in her chest. I hope the war will be over before he’s old enough to fight.
“I need to see the undertaker to make arrangements.” Michael turned to look at Sharon. “Do you want to accompany me to the lawyer afterward?”
“Sean, will you come with me?” Sharon watched her brother’s shoulders.
“All right,” Sean said with a shrug.
“Then I’ll meet you there afterward.” Michael stared out the window and continued to do so in silence until Sean stopped in front of the undertakers.
Minutes later, Sean parked alongside a three-storey brick building near the centre of town.
They both stepped out. Sean followed her to the oak and glass door etched with McGregor and Son. She opened the door and stopped. A brown-haired woman in a white blouse looked up and stopped typing. The woman was Sharon’s age, but taller and stockier. She smiled.
“I’m Sharon Lacey, ummm, Townsend. This is my brother Sean.” Sharon felt Sean brush against her shoulder as he shut the door behind them.
“Of course you are.” The woman got up, smoothed her pleated tan wool skirt, then walked around to the front of her desk. She held out her hand. “Rosemary Lewis. I’ll let Mr. McGregor know that you’re here.” She released Sharon’s hand and went to another oak door with opaque glass in the upper half. Rosemary tapped on the glass and opened the door. “Sharon Lacey-Townsend and brother to see you.”
“Send them in.” Rupert’s voice carried into the outside room.
Rosemary held the door open as Sharon and Sean went inside. The door clicked shut behind them.
Rupert walked around the corner of the desk. He held out his hand. “My sympathies.”
Sharon shook his hand. “It was a shock. I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”
“Sit down, please. Would you like coffee or tea?” Rupert waited until they sat down in the chairs across from the desk.
Sharon looked at Sean. He shrugged. She looked at Rupert in his immaculate navy blue suit, white shirt, and blue tie. “If you’re having coffee, we’d like some too, please.”
There was the creak of leather and metal from his artificial leg as he went to the door. “Rosemary, would you mind bringing us all a coffee?” He closed the door and went back to his desk.
“How did you hear about Harry?” Sharon looked around at the books on shelves and a row of filing cabinets against the other wall.
“Harry? Harry Townsend?” Rupert stared at Sharon as he went to the side of his desk.
Sharon saw him do a mental replay of their conversation. She thought, Oh no. Not more bad news!
“I wasn’t referring to Harry. I was referring to your grandmother. I meant Cornelia.” Rupert looked from Sharon to Sean.
“Harry was killed on Saturday. He was at Woolworths in London on the twenty-fifth.”
Rupert shook his
head. “I’m afraid I’m going to add to your grief. Cornelia died on the eleventh of November.”
“I wasn’t notified?” Sharon leaned forward.
“I found out quite by chance. On the fourteenth, Rosemary learned that your grandmother had been buried in the cemetery.” Rupert sat down is his leather chair.
“Marmaduke.” Sean made no attempt to disguise the anger in his voice.
“I had a letter posted to notify you,” Rupert said.
“It will probably be waiting for me when I get back.” Sharon tried to think, but felt as if her brain was working in slow motion.
“I would recommend that we begin the process of probating the will,” Rupert said.
Sharon looked at him for a full thirty seconds. “How long will that take?”
“Most probably a year.” Rupert turned his eyes to Sean.
Sharon heard the crackle of paper. She turned to Sean, who was pulling a folded manila envelope from his jacket pocket.
“Harry was home at the end of October. He gave this to me to give to you the next time Sharon and I came to this office.” He stood, leaned across the desk, and handed the envelope to Rupert.
The lawyer opened a drawer and pulled out a silver letter opener. He slit the top edge of the envelope, pulled out the contents, and began to read through what appeared to be a series of documents. He frowned. His eyes grew hard. He looked at Sharon, then at Sean. “These are quite extraordinary. I need to have Rosemary prepare some documents for you to sign to initiate the probating of the will. I also need to consider the import of these.” He held up the papers he’d pulled from the envelope. “Could I impose upon you to return in one hour?” He waited for a response.
“We’ll be back in an hour.” Sean took Sharon’s arm and went outside. She looked at him as he said, “Come on. Let’s get something to eat across the street. I’ll keep an eye out for Michael.”
Sean took her inside the pub and sat them near the window. He looked at his watch and ordered for them.
Sharon sat and stared out the window, watching people and vehicles amble past. I thought I was handling it all. Harry being killed. Not being able to say goodbye to him. Now not being able to say goodbye to Cornelia. She looked at the backs of her hands, half expecting to feel her mother’s hands taking hold of her, offering her comfort.
Ten minutes later, a steak and kidney pie was put in front of her. She took a bite. It tasted like paste.
She didn’t notice when Sean got up.
A minute later, Michael sat down beside her. She heard him ask, “What’s the matter with her?”
“McGregor told her that Cornelia died,” Sean said.
“Cornelia? When?”
“Two or three weeks ago.”
Sharon felt Michael put his arm around her shoulder. “Sharon?”
She saw the concern in the lines across his forehead, but could think of nothing to say.
“McGregor wants us to go back in about half an hour,” Sean said.
Sharon felt Michael move closer. “Would you like spot of whiskey?”
She turned to glare at him.
“At least that’s an improvement over catatonia.” Sean began to laugh.
Michael rubbed Sharon between the shoulders. She looked at her palms, brought them to her face, and began to weep.
Thirty minutes later, Sharon had washed her face with cold water before they went back to see the lawyer. She knew the aftermath of her grief was a stain on her face.
As the three of them entered the office, Rosemary said, “I’ve made coffee. Would you like some?”
“Yes, please,” Michael said.
Rosemary got up at the same time as Sharon. The secretary poured coffee into a bone china cup and handed it to Sharon. Rosemary did the same for Michael and Sean.
Sharon added sugar and cream, then looked at Rosemary. “You’ll join us, won’t you?” Rosemary looked over her shoulder. “I’ll tell him I insisted,” Sharon said.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Rosemary poured another cup, sipped it black, and looked at Sharon. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
Sharon held her cup near her chin. She could think of nothing to say by way of reply.
“Rosemary Lewis. Daughter-in-law to Margaret Lewis.” Rosemary held the saucer and cup and waited.
Sharon tried to think. She remembered a rough woman in a two-door Morris van and the stink of chicken feathers. “How is your husband?”
“He’s back from Italy. Healing up from shrapnel wounds. He’ll be fine.” Rosemary pointed at her chest. “That makes us related in a roundabout way. Your mother was kind to Margaret. She never forgot it.”
“How is Margaret?” That’s it! Rosemary’s husband Bill is Uncle Marmaduke’s illegitimate child!
“Still selling chickens and milk in her Morris van. Happy that Bill is back and not likely to be called up again.” Rosemary took another sip of coffee.
“You’ve been kind. Thank you.” Sharon felt close to tears again.
“Margaret and Honeysuckle talk at least once a week. We’re all very proud of you. We know what you’ve done. We know that Mar-maduke has stayed safe at home, sitting on his fortune, while you, Linda, Harry, and Michael have been fighting for us. Everyone says your mother would be proud.” Rosemary saw the tears in Sharon’s eyes. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”
Sharon reached out with her left hand and touched Rosemary’s arm. “Actually, you’ve made me feel much better.”
“She shot down another one last night,” Sean said. Sharon glared at him. “She always starts to perk up when she gets her wind up. She’s furious that I’ve mentioned it.” Sean smiled.
The door to Rupert McGregor’s office opened. “Sorry for the delay.” He held out his hand. “Michael. Good of you to come. My condolences.”
They filed in, Rupert shut the door behind them, and creaked over to his desk. He put both hands on the arms of the chair and lowered himself into the chair. “These documents provided by Sean are remarkable.” He looked up at Sean. “By the way, have you read them?”
Sean shook his head no and looked at his sister.
“Much of what I’m about to say falls under attorney-client privilege. Will anything we say be repeated outside of this room?”
Sharon looked at Michael, who smiled, and Sean, who shook his head. “Understood,” she said.
“Apparently, Marmaduke Lacey and his wife were quite close to Norah Elam and Diana Mosley; both were interned in Holloway Prison.” Rupert picked up one of the documents as if offering it into evidence.
“Father always said that Marmaduke had backed the wrong horse in this war,” Michael said.
Rupert held up another document. “He also profited handsomely because of it. A very astute businessman. Being connected with the fascists before the war and profiting from it mightily from the safety of Lacey Manor will not sit well if word of this gets out.”
“I want nothing to do with Marmaduke,” Sharon said.
“And I’m sure he wants less to do with you. These documents, however, may assure you of a substantial inheritance. I believe an American might call it leverage.” Rupert looked directly at Sharon, then lifted his artificial leg up off the floor, adjusted it, then dropped it with a thunk. “It will give me great satisfaction to see Marmaduke Lacey separated from a sizable portion of what he values most.”
“What does he value most?” Sharon asked.
“Money and status, of course.”
CHAPTER 19
[WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1944]
“Antwerp has been under heavy V-2 rocket attack for the past two days.” Petrie sat in the front seat of the Rolls-Royce. He barked rather than spoke, and Sharon was sure he was used to being obeyed. She’d noticed how the others at Harry’s funeral had deferred to him. And how Michael didn’t argue when Petrie announced that the three of them would ride east to Leeds in his car.
Sharon looked neither right nor left. Michael sat on one side and Linda o
n the other. They hadn’t discussed the funeral. I know they’re both thinking that the coffin was a little light. The funeral director had advised they have a closed coffin, which I’m sure meant that there was very little of Harry left to bury.
Petrie turned around to reveal a square jaw, grey, close-cut hair, and moustache. He looked at Sharon. “You’re Lacey?”
Sharon nodded. “That’s correct.”
“Shooting that Junkers down without killing the crew provided us with some valuable intelligence. Good work.” Petrie glanced at Linda.
Sharon cocked a thumb in Linda’s direction. “She picked the Junk-ers up on radar.”
“And I would have killed them.” Linda continued to look out of the window.
“So you’re the bloodthirsty type, are you, Miss Townsend?” Petrie didn’t smile, but there was humour in his voice.
“The Nazis killed her father and mine.” Linda met Petrie’s gaze.
“And to those in the know, Lacey here is reported to have ten victories in the air.” Petrie shifted his eyes from Linda to Sharon.
“You are very well-informed,” Michael said.
“A necessity of my profession.” Petrie turned to his driver. “We’ll drop them off at RAF Leeds so they can catch their ride back to White Waltham.” He turned to face the trio in the back seat. “That should have the three of you back in time for supper. It’s certainly odd to have a group like you lot in the back seat of one car.”
Sharon asked, “What do you mean?”
“Three people who have done remarkable things, yet will probably never have their work recognized in the papers or on the radio.” Petrie faced forward and was quiet for the rest of the trip.
Douglas was waiting for them at the Leeds airport. As they settled in the cramped seats of the Anson, he said, “Mother got a high-priority call to pick up the three of you. What have you been up to this time? A meeting with ministers of state?”
Sharon looked out the window.
“My father’s funeral,” said Linda.
“Oh.” Douglas turned and busied himself with starting the engines and operating the aircraft.
