Heronfield

by Dorinda Balchin

  "Thank you."

  She settled herself comfortably while Tony walked round to the other side of the car where he climbed in without going to the trouble of opening the door. Sarah gave him a sidelong glance, trying not to look too obvious as she took in the smart trousers and cashmere sweater beneath the sheepskin jacket. A lock of brown hair fell over his forehead. He absently brushed it aside, revealing the scar above his left eyebrow from the injury he had received in the cliff fall. Sarah found it strangely attractive, and thought how handsome he looked. She could not believe that this was really her, sitting in a sports car with the heir to this vast estate beside her. Tony turned and smiled.

  "I'm glad you wrapped up warmly. This car looks nice but it can be rather cold. Would you like me to put the roof up?"

  Sarah shook her head.

  "No. I'm looking forward to travelling at speed with the wind in my hair."

  Tony smiled. "Good. Well, there's no point in wasting time here." He started the car and put it into gear. "Right then, let's go."

  The car slid smoothly down the drive and out of the imposing entrance. As they roared through the narrow lanes Sarah found the journey exhilarating. Never before had she felt such complete freedom; until she met Tony, she had only experienced transport in the shape of buses, trams and trains, and none of them came anywhere near the open topped sports car for sheer excitement. She was almost sorry when Tony slowed down as they entered Bath. He drove confidently to the centre of the city, parked the car and climbed out.

  "Come on." He opened the door and helped Sarah out. "Let's go exploring."

  He led the way first to the huge stone building which had been erected over the site of the Roman baths and was now the Pump Room.

  Sarah took a sip of the water and grimaced.

  “It tastes funny!”

  Tony laughed. “Funny taste or not, this water was very special for thousands of years. The Celts probably worshipped here. The Romans believed the springs down below us have special healing properties. People have been coming here ever since in the hope that the waters would heal their aches and pains.” He sipped his water and pulled a face, making Sarah giggle. “Come on, drink up. There’s lots to do and see!”

  Sarah drained her glass. “So much for magical properties! I don’t feel any different at all!”

  Tony laughed. “Neither do I! Come on!” He took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. Sarah clung tightly to him as they made their way down to the remains of the old Roman baths, where she was delighted by the ancient stonework and statues. She ran her fingers lightly over the stonework, tracing the outline of the head of a Roman god.

  "It's hard to believe this has all been here for seventeen hundred years!" She found the concept awe inspiring, and a little frightening. "I wonder if our generation will ever build anything that will last that long?"

  Tony almost said that it was unlikely, as the present generation seemed more bent on destruction than construction. But as he gazed at her face, wide-eyed in wonder, he remembered this was a day to forget wars. He smiled.

  "I’m sure we shall. In the years to come there’ll be a great deal of building, but what we build will be nothing like this. It will contain the spirit of our age. A spirit of hope that will reach out in knowledge and peace, to fill the whole world with beauty."

  Sarah turned her serious gaze to his, knowing he wanted to use the words to wipe away her depression about the war. She smiled, a warm intimate smile and her eyes expressed her gratitude in a way that words could not. She reached out and placed a hand on Tony’s arm, engulfed by a feeling of closeness which she could not find the words to express.

  "Thank you, Tony."

  Her voice was little more than a whisper, yet it seemed to echo in Tony’s mind as he lost himself in the beauty of her eyes and her smile. His mouth felt dry, and he felt dizzy with the desire to kiss the woman beside him. Sarah saw the look of longing in his eyes. She reached up to kiss him on the lips. It was a soft kiss, little more than the brush of the wings of a butterfly, but it made Tony’s lips burn. He knew that he would feel that kiss for the rest of his life. Leaning down he kissed Sarah tenderly, her warm lips responding to his, and for a moment time stood still for the young couple who had found their future in the ruins of the past.

  The rest of the day passed in a dream for Sarah. They lunched at an expensive hotel. Although Tony said the food was not up to the pre-war standard, she found it delicious, revelling in the good food and wonderful atmosphere of the old hotel. In the afternoon they walked along the crescents of Regency houses, through the parks and beside the river. They stood on the old stone bridge which had served the citizens of Bath for centuries, and looked at the spring flowers that covered the banks of the river with their gay colours. Sarah felt a contentment deep inside, a feeling which she had not known since Joe’s death, and she knew she was falling in love. Looking at the strong profile of the man beside her, a young man any girl would be glad to be seen with, she pondered on what the future might hold for her. While she knew Tony was very fond of her, she doubted that he loved her, and if he did he would never entertain the idea of marriage to her. His father was Sir Michael Kemshall, and he would expect his son to marry someone of similar standing. Her brows puckered in a slight frown. Maybe she should not be feeling so happy after all. If she had thought that Tony was setting out to court her, she would have hardened her heart to him knowing that there could be no future for them. But he had crept in beneath her guard. He had been a friend while Joe was still alive and, as any good friend would, had comforted her during her loss. It was during that time that the seed of her love for him had started to grow and she had not realised it until too late. Now she found herself in love with a man who liked her but would find her most unsuitable as a wife. She vowed never to let Tony know the depth of her feelings for him. Over the last year she had learned how to cope with sorrow and loss. She knew the pain that awaited her when their relationship finally came to an end, but she also knew that she was strong enough to cope with the loss and come safely through the other side; Joe’s death had taught her that. She sighed. She would continue her relationship with Tony for as long as possible, and she would allow him to dictate its pace. Never for one moment would she allow him to see that she loved him. When he finally decided to end this little wartime romance in favour of finding a wife, she would be ready for it; even though it broke her heart she would part from him with a smile and in friendship.

  Tony heard Sarah sigh and turned to her, puzzled by her frown.

  "Is something bothering you?"

  Sarah shook her head and smiled, banishing the melancholy thoughts from her mind.

  ”No, of course not. I’m having a wonderful day.”

  "Good." Tony took her hand and led her across the bridge. "Come on, let's find the car. I know a lovely little pub on the way back where we can stop for dinner."

  Sarah smiled but said nothing. Her enjoyment of the day and the happiness caused by finally recognising that she loved Tony was now tempered with sadness as she contemplated her inevitable future alone.

  75

  Tony returned to Beaulieu the following Monday, his heart filled with joy. Friday in Bath had been the beginning of something wonderful for him; when he had kissed Sarah her response had been tentative to begin with but then, when her lips moved more firmly against his, he had felt a deep happiness. He knew Sarah would not have kissed him like that if she did not really care for him. On the way home they had stopped for dinner at a delightful little pub, and kissed beneath the bright stars of a cloudless spring sky. Knowing that his leave would be over on Sunday evening, Tony had arranged to meet Sarah and walk with her over the estates of Heronfield on both Saturday and Sunday mornings. They spent all too brief a time together, but Tony knew he would never forget the happiness he had enjoyed during those few hours. He was gentle with Sarah, sensing she would not want to rush too quickly into a relationship after her loss of the previous year, but t
hey had held hands when they walked, and kissed gently in the quiet secluded places where Tony had played as a boy. He had felt they were drawn even closer together. There was some sort of inevitability about their relationship, a rightness which meant that once the war was over, they could spend the remainder of their lives together.

  Now Tony stood outside Captain Dawson’s office, nervously shuffling his feet as he awaited the interview which he had requested. He had wanted to go back to France ever since he was found fit again, but now he felt an added incentive. He knew he could not ask Sarah to marry him while he was working for the SOE. The chances of him not coming back were too great, and he did not want Sarah to suffer again the loss of a fiancé, or husband, if she accepted his proposal. As far as he could see, the only thing he could do about it was to get back to France as soon as possible, do his bit to shorten the war, and then come back and ask Sarah to marry him.

  The door to Captain Dawson’s office opened. An orderly left the room shuffling a bundle of papers.

  "Captain Dawson will see you now, Lieutenant."

  Tony nodded. "Thank you."

  Straightening his shoulders, he entered the room and closed the door behind him before standing to attention in front of the Captain’s desk with its neat piles of files. There was silence for a moment while Dawson finished reading the file in front of him. Then he closed it and looked up.

  “Well, Kemshall, what can I do for you?"

  Tony licked his lips. "I want to go back to France, sir."

  Captain Dawson nodded slowly. "I thought as much. Do you think you’re up to it?”

  "I'm perfectly fit, sir, if that's what you mean."

  "I know you're physically fit, Kemshall, but what about mentally? That last incident out there hasn't made you lose your nerve, has it?"

  "On the contrary, sir!" Tony was indignant. "It was a good piece of work, faultless except for the accident. That's part of the reason I want to go back. I managed to set up a small team and we worked well together. I know that those people are waiting to do something else towards driving the Germans out, and I want to go back there to help them. Without the right kind of guidance, they’ll either end up doing nothing or, which is more likely, take too many risks and end up losing their lives. I can channel their enthusiasm in a way that will help to shorten the duration of this war."

  Captain Dawson leant back in his seat. "You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?"

  Tony grinned. "I've thought about little else since I got back, sir."

  "Well, then you'll be glad to hear that we shall be sending you back."

  Tony’s grin widened.

  "When do I leave, sir?"

  "In a month. This time we want you to set up a proper group. Your aims are not specific, merely to harass the enemy at every opportunity, and to pass on any intelligence you may come across."

  “Yes, sir." Tony frowned. "Can't I go back sooner than that? A month is a long time."

  "That’s how long it will be before we get our new lot of radio operators ready to go. You’re taking a radioman with you this time, and he’ll be in charge of the transmitter. His only contact will be with you, so if he gets taken we won't lose the whole group."

  “Yes, sir. I'll see if I can come up with some letter-boxes during the next month."

  "Good man." Dawson smiled. "You know as well as anyone that a good contact point is essential. You can spend the next two weeks here, giving pep talks to the new recruits, before taking a couple of weeks leave. By that time you should have a cover story sorted out for your family."

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  "That will be all."

  Tony saluted, turned and left the room.

  .

  Two days later, Tony was called back to his commander’s office. As he entered his eyes fell on a plump woman, aged about thirty, who sat opposite the desk. Her short dark hair framed a homely bespectacled face. She reminded Tony of the matron at the boarding school he attended as a child - plump, warm, familiar - a person to feel at ease with. Tony saluted the officer behind the desk.

  "Ah, Kemshall. I would like you to meet Lieutenant Anna Weston."

  The woman rose and held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you Lieutenant Kemshall."

  "You too." Tony took the proffered hand, noting the lack of uniform. "Lieutenant Watson?"

  The woman smiled and nodded.

  "Allow me to explain." Dawson waved Tony to a chair, and the two younger officers sat down. "Lieutenant Watson will be your radio operator in France. She has completed basic training and parachuting quite well, but passed out of our wireless school as top of her class. She's a natural."

  Anna smiled at the compliment but said nothing. Captain Dawson continued.

  "She has another couple of weeks to go to finish sabotage training then you’ll both get ten days’ leave before flying out." He perused the two agents. "Any questions?"

  “No, sir."

  "None at all, sir."

  "Good. Right, Kemshall. From now on you’ll only refer to Lieutenant Watson by her code name - Angeline. She’ll only be here for a couple of hours, so I want you to go over some maps of Saint Nazaire with her and sort out your post-boxes."

  “Yes, sir." Tony rose to his feet and saluted, closely followed by Angeline. As they left the room he turned right down the corridor and made his way to the map room.

  "What made you join SOE?" he asked.

  "The same things as you, I would imagine." Angeline smiled. "My father’s a business man. Between the wars, we lived on the Atlantic coast of France, a bit further south than Saint Nazaire but I know the area quite well. I loved living there. I hate to think of the Germans trampling all over my favourite places; so I'm going out there to get rid of them."

  Tony laughed. "You're right. I suppose we’re all doing it for the same reasons." He stopped and opened the door to the map room. "Please, come in."

  They stepped inside. Tony went to a unit filled with map drawers, opened one and withdrew a map of the Saint Nazaire area. Spreading it out on the large table in the centre of the room, he weighed down the corners.

  "Right." He took a deep breath. "Obviously neither of us should visit the other’s safe house in case we’re followed, so I've thought of two post-boxes where I can leave messages for you. The first is here." He jabbed a finger at a church on the northern edge of the city. "You’ll be living somewhere in the outskirts of Saint Nazaire, so this is ideal. I shall leave any message inside the fourth prayer book from the aisle, in the third row from the back on the left hand side. The message will be placed there some time in the morning, so you should never be in the area then. Try to cycle past everyday sometime after 2p.m. - you could be on your way to the shops, a café, anything really, just make sure that you have a destination in mind, in case you're stopped."

  "Do I have to go into the church every day? Won't that be a little suspicious?"

  "You're right, it would be. If there’s a message for you I will leave fresh flowers on the second grave from the gate on the left. But don't only go in if there is a message. Go in sometimes when there are no flowers there. That way no-one will be able to see a pattern in your visits."

  Angeline nodded. "What if someone else puts flowers on the grave?"

  "It's highly unlikely. I know that church, and all the graves in that area are over a hundred years old."

  "Is that the only letter box?"

  Tony shook his head. "No. The other is here." He pointed to a small fishing village some two miles north of the city. "I'll leave messages there some time before 10 a.m. and you can use the excuse of going out there to see if you can buy fresh fish for dinner. People will cycle miles for good food in France at the moment. Make your pick-up after 11 a.m. There’s a rotting boat at the end of the dock - the Jeanne d'Arc - and you’ll find the message slipped down behind the nameplate. It’ll be easy enough to lean against the boat while watching the fishermen, and pick it up then. If there's a message there you’ll see an e
mpty wine bottle fifty yards further along the wall."

  Angeline nodded. "I think I've got all that." She had made brief notes as Tony spoke. "I'll memorise and destroy these instructions."

  "Good."

  "Will you be the only one leaving messages?"

  "Yes, it's safer. I have four other people working with me out there, but I don't want to take the chance of you seeing them. The less contact between us, the less danger there is. Though, of course, I’ll give details of the drops to one other member of the group, in case something happens to me."

  Angeline nodded. "Good idea. How do I get in touch with you if I have a message for you?"

  "If I give you a message that will need a reply from London, put the reply in the church - same book, same routine - and I'll pick it up between eleven and twelve the following morning. Any message that comes from London unexpectedly and needs to reach me urgently should be left here." He pointed to a small farm track on the map. "Two hundred and fifty yards down that track is a rotting log. Leave the message in the north end of the log and a handkerchief caught in the bush at the end of the lane. I'll check the bush every afternoon."

  "Right." Angeline smiled. "That's it, then. All I have to do is finish learning how to blow things up, then we can be on our way."

  Tony smiled. She was not what he had expected in a radio operator at all. She looked more like a schoolteacher than a spy, which wasn't a bad thing. Yet she was full of enthusiasm and obviously knew what to do. He felt instinctively that he could rely on her. Angeline smiled at him, a little nervously.

  "I hope you don't mind me asking, but haven't you already been out there as an operative?"

  Tony nodded. "That's how I've managed to get a group together already."

  "What was it like?"

  "You have to be on your guard all the time, and it’s strange to see the Germans walking about as though they own the place. Knowing what they would do to me if I was caught kept me on my toes, but at least I had friends who knew what I was doing there, who I could talk to if I felt it all getting on top of me." He frowned. "You know, it's you I really feel sorry for."