He found energy from somewhere, and he began to gain on his cousin as they pounded along the road. A car passed and hooted. They took no notice. He was catching Tim now, though the breath was jagged in his chest. Tim was passing the church on the right, but James was only twenty seconds behind. There were sheep in the pasture beyond. Uncle Aub had put them out now the snow had cleared. There were crows pecking at the ploughed field on his left. They’d have to get the bird scarers out.
He was tiring, his legs were about done, he had to think of one step, and then another. One. Another. He had no shovel this time, no garlic-stinking officer . . . He reached the turn to the beck. Tim was still ahead but he was slowing. James powered on. Tiring, was he, the beggar? Well, he damned well wasn’t, because the fury was back, driving him on. There were just over a hundred yards to the beck, and now he was pounding along the lane. The cobwebs in the hedge shuddered. He was drawing close. He was passing.
He snatched a look at Tim’s face, but saw only a burgeoning sadness and disappointment, while in himself there was searing triumph. The beck was ahead. He could see it, and he was going to beat the bastard. The sun was glinting on the still surface, just as it used to. For a moment he heard their laughter, and Bridie’s call, ‘Wait for me.’ He remembered their pace slowing, heard her panting as she reached them and they ran on, together.
In that second, the fury that had fuelled him since his return dissipated.
Now, he was the one slowing, and steadily Tim drew alongside, matching him pace for pace, until they reached the bank, together. As one, they bent over, gasping for breath.
‘I’m getting too old for this,’ Tim said, straightening, and dragging out his cigarettes, offering them to James.
He heaved himself upright and took one. Tim lit them with his lighter. ‘What happened to you, bonny lad?’ James asked again.
‘Life,’ Tim said flatly. ‘Life is what happened, but what keeps me going is Easterleigh Hall, and the people in it. That’s all you need to know, James. Just be happy you’re home. You owe me nothing. It’s been a good result and led me to what should be done.’ He seemed tired.
James didn’t understand. ‘You’re still going to the Hawton meeting hall, I hear?’
Tim paused, inhaled, exhaled. ‘Yes.’ That was all.
They walked back together, side by side. ‘The nightmares will fade,’ Tim said.
‘Yours have, then?’
‘Listen.’ Tim stopped, turned James around, gently. ‘You don’t want to know about my nightmares. You don’t want to know about my life, not for now. It is enough that you see that I am still a fascist, but perhaps we can still be cousins. I love you, James. Remember that. I’ll use my contacts to do what I can for your friends.’
They walked on together. James said, ‘I don’t und—’
Tim put up his hand, it still trembled. ‘We’re who we are. Get better, James, go to university, make a good life. Look after our family, if ever I can’t.’
Neither spoke again until they reached Tim’s motorbike. James waited while Tim put on his gloves, his leather helmet, his goggles. They shook hands, but it wasn’t enough for James. He pulled Tim to him. ‘I don’t know what the hell is going on, but something is. No matter who or what you are, I love you, and you need to take care.’
Tim pushed James away, mounted his motorbike, and thrust down on the kickstart. The engine fired. ‘Thank you, but it’s better if you hate me. Do you understand?’
For a long moment they looked at one another. ‘I hate you,’ James said. ‘Don’t worry, I hate you, very much.’
He watched Tim power down the drive. He didn’t understand what was happening in Tim’s life but he was left with a sense of the complexity of the world, and a feeling that a game was being played, one that was reserved exclusively for the lonely and the brave.
Bridie listened to the chatter as Evie and Ver prepared breakfasts for those who had risen late. Annie, her work at the Neave Wing done for the moment, hugged a mug of tea and said, ‘Honestly, Matron and Sister Newsome are driving me scatty, fretting that David’s burning the candle at both ends, what with the horses, and Estrella. Silly old dears don’t seem to understand that the best thing in the world is for him to have a pretty girl sitting on his knee, as long as the brake’s on, of course.’
Evie laughed, jerking her head at Bridie. ‘Steady, less talk of s-e-x in front of the young ones.’
‘Mum,’ Bridie protested as the women burst out laughing.
Annie spluttered, ‘Oh, Bridie, calm down, girl.’
Bridie shook her head. They were totally impossible, but she loved the lot of them, daft beggars.
She heard James then, rushing down the steps, whistling. They all looked at one another. He hadn’t whistled since his return, so it had done him good to thank Tim. Well, good for him, because Bridie still found it difficult to be grateful to a bloody Nazi, because that’s how she thought of him, and she was furious with James for getting in a situation where the family had to kowtow to someone like that for help. He should damn well have put up with prison.
He bowled in as though nothing had happened, calling, ‘Any coffee on the go?’
Bridie slammed the kettle on the hotplate.
Her mother looked at her. ‘Bridie?’
‘Your bacon’s burning,’ Bridie snapped.
James looked from one to the other. ‘Did you get out of bed the wrong side, Bridie?’ he laughed.
‘Well, that’s better than getting into bed with the wrong side.’ She barged past him. ‘I saw you, all over him. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.’
James was after her like lightning, and caught up with her in the doorway. ‘Oh, shut up, Bridie. Look further than your—’ He stopped. ‘Just shut up, and grow up. He helped, when he didn’t have to.’
‘He’s showing off, being the big hero, can’t you see that? Look at Uncle Jack and Aunt Gracie, they’re all over him like a rash.’
She ran off now, wanting him to follow her, wanting to wail, ‘I love him, and I hate him, and you shouldn’t be friends with someone like that.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Potty had contacted Tim at his office a few days before James had arrived home, asking him to return his call at his convenience, as there was a problem with his laundry. Tim telephoned him back from a public telephone, feeling ridiculous. Potty told him that they had located Dr and Mrs Gerber, the previous occupants of Heine and Millie’s apartment. Plans were being drawn up for their exit from Germany. ‘Is that sufficient?’ Potty asked. ‘Or would you prefer them to be safely ensconced on our shores?’
Tim had thought of Sir Anthony’s invitation on the mantelpiece in his bedsit. ‘I trust you.’
‘Thank you,’ Potty replied.
Tim explained that he had received yet another black tie invitation from Sir Anthony, which he would accept. It was a bit late in the day, but he was such a nice bloke, he wouldn’t mind. Tim still had his fascist badge and was attending not only Hawton BUF Meeting House but the one in Newcastle. They were pleased to have him because membership was down, apparently. The violence of the marches in the East End had put people off.
‘Indeed, though we know without a shadow of a doubt that their friends, the Nazis, are still donating funds. Is this to support them if – well, if it comes to fisticuffs between Germany and us, one wonders, dear heart?’
Tim’s grip tightened on the receiver. One did indeed wonder.
Potty was still talking. ‘So we must continue to keep them under very close surveillance. Remember, you are re-injected with enthusiasm by your time in Berlin, and the excellent people you’ve been meeting, the help they’ve given you with James. Remember also that you speak no German, if any should slip into that language. Just listen, and report.’
Someone tapped on the window of the telephone booth. ‘Just a moment,’ Tim said into the receiver.
He opened the door to an irate elderly woman. ‘So sorry, it’s my mam. She’s worri
ed about my da so I’m having to talk her through the process. She’s rather a grumpy old soul, but I must do this. Would you mind waiting, just a moment.’
The woman standing there in her headscarf smiled. ‘Aye, lad, you help her. I’ll wait.’
‘Hello,’ he said into the receiver, feeding coins in for more time.
‘This is your grumpy old mam talking.’
They laughed. ‘So, off you go to Sir Anthony’s little soiree, and though I cast no aspersions on his good intentions, knowing him of old – at school together, we were – I have severe doubts about the paths some others might be treading. Eyes and ears, dear boy. Incidentally, we have an account at Norton’s in Newcastle. Nip along for a decent dinner suit.’
‘We?’
‘Don’t be obtuse, dear heart. The SIS, of course. Secret Intelligence Service. Report, please, soon.’
The dinner was at Sir Anthony’s club in London on 13 March, and Tim enjoyed the food, but not the company. He sat next to Lady Margaret and opposite Herr Bauer, who was a guest – again. Somehow he wasn’t surprised and felt sorry for his da, who must have no idea of his friend’s connections. Or was this indeed still a Peace Club? He looked at Sir Anthony, so good and kind. Yes, surely it was, or at least from this philanthropist’s point of view, and perhaps from Bauer’s? Perhaps.
Lady Margaret was in full neigh, and Tim brought himself back to the point, fixed admiration on his face and dripped it over her, as she toasted the latest donation from ‘our friends’. At the end of the table Sir Anthony smiled at her, but it didn’t really reach his eyes. He looked as though he’d lost more weight. Tim toyed with his food, as Lady Margaret asked about Berlin.
‘Wonderful,’ Tim said. ‘So exciting. The flags and banners, the night clubs. Though I haven’t been for a few months.’
Lady Margaret patted her hair, which was going grey at the temples, and perhaps it was thinning a little? She had put it up in some sort of bun. Tim couldn’t get the picture of Fanny’s mane out of his head. Bridie would laugh if he told her. James too. He found the thought grounding.
Lady Margaret was talking, ‘Such a fine body of men, so blonde and tall. It must be so much purer in Berlin now that all – for surely it is all – the Israelites have left. One does so wish,’ she stopped, lifted her glass of German hock at Tim, and then Herr Bauer, ‘that we find the will to similarly cleanse our country.’
Tim lifted his glass and touched it to his lips, but he couldn’t drink to it. Across from him Herr Bauer toasted Lady Margaret. ‘Perhaps you will be able to visit Berlin soon, Lady Margaret.’ He replaced his glass. Sitting next to Herr Bauer was a faded older woman, and next to her was a man Tim thought he recognised, but he didn’t think they’d been introduced. Perhaps he just hadn’t heard in the hubbub of chat.
Sir Anthony said, ‘I suppose Germany has had to sort out its internal affairs; it was in such a parlous state, economically and politically. I do know that many communists are Jews, and that they owe their allegiance to Russia. As such, I can see that they can be considered a threat. I believe your father, Tim, has experienced some extreme action by communist union representatives, and they have been voted out.’ He sighed. ‘One must hope it truly is all for the good.’
There was a silence, which Herr Bauer broke. ‘Your cousin is home, I believe, safe and well.’
Tim smiled, and it was he who lifted his glass now. ‘Yes, my step-father arranged his release. It helps to have people who know people.’ He sipped the hock. He supposed it was good, but a beer would be better. He could take a bloody great gulp of that to wash the distaste from his gob.
Lady Margaret sipped her wine, replaced her glass carefully and said, ‘I so admire you, Tim. You seem to have escaped the Easterleigh Hall curse of celebrating the common man, and I do mean common. I had this argument so many times with your Aunt Evie and Aunt Veronica when we fought for votes. They wanted universal suffrage, whereas I agreed with Emmeline and Christabel, who felt that it should be restricted to women of a certain education. Herr Hitler sees that most clearly. Only those with breeding and education can understand what needs to be done, and have the courage to do it.’
Sir Anthony said, ‘I won’t hear a word against all that Easterleigh Hall does, any more than young Tim, I suspect.’
A silence fell. Lady Margaret flushed and looked confused. She gestured for her glass to be refilled. Tim smiled, though he actually wanted to shove Lady Margaret’s face into her veal in white wine. It wouldn’t spoil it because it wasn’t a patch on Bridie or Evie’s, but instead he said, ‘I can just imagine the battles you had, Lady Margaret, and what’s more, perhaps because times were different, you were able to overstep the mark, and live to tell the tale.’
Sir Anthony nodded. Across from him, Herr Bauer raised his glass. ‘Very adroit.’
Lady Margaret didn’t understand the irony and tittered. The conversation resumed along familiar lines, until the faded woman asked Tim if he had attended the theatre in Berlin the last time he was there? He shook his head. She was on her fourth glass of wine, though had not eaten very much. ‘We attended on our last trip, didn’t we, George?’
George said, ‘Mr Forbes doesn’t want to hear about that, my dear. All far too boring.’
But Mr Forbes did. Tim said, ‘Sounds interesting, so perhaps I should go again soon. Yes, I think I will. What did you see?’
George laid his hand on his wife’s. She shrugged him off. ‘Don’t be a bore, George.’
No, please don’t, George, thought Tim. I’d love to know when you were there and who you met, because it had come to him at last that this was Sir George Edgers, a high-up in the Foreign Office, which was where Sir Anthony also worked. ‘Do go on, Lady Edgers,’ he urged.
Lady Edgers did indeed go on. ‘Oh, what is the theatre called? Well, never mind. You go onto the Lutherstrasse, in the Schöneberg district, you know, not far from the Kaufhaus des Westens department store, which you and Herr Bauer will know as KaDeWe. My dears, on stage were girls in perfect unison doing the cancan, wearing costume after costume. Their marching matched the SS for perfection, honestly it did. Our hosts were tapping in time. So smart in their uniforms.’
Tim let her talk, but they left soon after. Lady Edgers, Sir George decided, was unwell. Tim thought, not so, dear heart. She’s absolutely drunk out of her mind. Oh God, he thought, I’m becoming Uncle Potty.
Lady Margaret’s friend, Freda Wilson, sat the other side of Herr Bauer and she was wittering about Spain, and the marvellous progress of Franco. He’d like to put her in a room with James. At the thought of James he smiled slightly. He was safe, they had shaken hands, James had told him he hated him very much, just as he had asked. But it wasn’t hate. Not any more.
On his way home from the railway station in the small hours, he asked the taxi to drop him off at the telephone box. He phoned through his report to Potty, and slept well, feeling he was fighting back, and knew where he was going.
The following evening, the wireless carried the news that the Nazis had annexed Austria. Potty wrote him a note: ‘And so it begins. Suggest a trip to Berlin, very soon. Mr Andrews will not object.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
A few days after Sir Anthony’s dinner party, Tim’s telephone buzzed in his office. He left his design board and crossed to his desk, his mind on the dynamo that the Royal Navy required updating, as soon as possible. Since the Anschluss there was a sense of urgency, where before there was none. It had seemed to be reiterated in the frenetic screaming of the gulls as he had hurried to work early this morning.
‘Good morning, Anthea,’ he said into the receiver.
The telephonist they now employed said, ‘Nothing good about it, young Tim. I have a private call for you, from someone who calls himself Sir Anthony Travers, and you should tell your friends to stop using silly names. Also, you need to get yourself a home line. I’m not your private secretary. Or, on the other hand, you can take me out for a drink.’
H
e laughed. ‘A drink would be cheaper.’
‘Don’t bank on that, bonny lad. I’ll put him through then, shall I?
‘Yes, and he is a Sir, for your information.’
‘You still need to get your own home line.’ There was a click. He heard Anthea say, ‘Putting you through, sir.’
Sir Anthony came on the line. ‘Forgive the intrusion, Tim. I’m in a bit of a rush and I know this is a working day for you. I gather from your kind note of thanks that you are to visit your mother soon. I did wonder, yet another little task. A packet. I will send it with my driver, if that is alright. He will wait in your reception to deliver it into your hand, as I feel these things can become lost. Would this be a possibility?’
Tim kept his voice level, ‘Of course. Yes, I am on my way soon as I have some holiday owing. I thought I must try that theatre that Lady Edgers was telling me about. I will ask Anthea to buzz me, and I will come down and collect it. Will it be this morning?’
‘Tomorrow, at eleven thirty. I’m in London, so he’ll drive up with it. Things are looking more, shall we say, uncomfortable, but one must keep the hand of friendship extended, the way open to peace, though . . .’ He trailed off.
Tim said, ‘Are you still there, Sir Anthony?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ He sounded brisk again. ‘I have business in Carlisle tomorrow, and as I say, my driver will take me, and then deliver it to you. My thanks, Tim. My regards to your mother and that . . . and your step-father.’ The line went dead.
Tim replaced the receiver slowly. He had written to his mother just after Sir Anthony’s dinner party, as Potty had requested, with the news that he would be visiting them, to thank them so much for returning James. Potty had also told Tim to spread it around at the dinner party, to see what transpired. And now Sir Anthony wanted him to deliver a package.
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