by Sam Michaels
Georgina sat quietly in the back of her car, mulling over what had happened. Nothing. Nothing had happened, so why did she feel so bad? She knew the answer. It was because she had wanted it to. She longed for David to be more forthcoming and take control. But he had too much respect for her and she knew he’d never push her. Good, she thought, good, and reminded herself that since Kevin Kelly’s death, David Maynard was the most feared man in the country.
*
That evening, at The Penthouse Club, Benjamin warmed the dressing room with a small gas heater in preparation for Nancy Austin’s visit. Aubrey and Cuthbert had begged him to see her and, after agreeing, he thought it best to keep her out of sight. It was one thing for Georgina to visit the all-male club – the customers adored her style and beauty, and Ivy was part of the furniture – but he didn’t want to rattle them by having another woman in their place. Benjamin had told his friends to bring her in early, before the club would be filled with revellers. And right on cue, Ivy showed the threesome into the back room.
‘Benny, baby, dahling, you look ravishing,’ Aubrey gushed and kissed each of Benjamin’s cheeks.
‘Thanks for seeing us,’ Cuthbert said, less flamboyant than his lover. ‘This is my sister, Nancy.’
Benjamin eyed the woman, surprised at how skinny she looked. In fact, her expensive bias-cut dress hung off her like a coat hanger and her head appeared too large for her bony shoulders to support. But her glossy blonde hair, the same colour as her brother’s, was a redeeming feature, and her large, doe-like brown eyes were appealing, though sad-looking, as if filled with unshed tears.
‘It’s very nice to meet you, Mr Harel,’ she said softly and held out her hand to shake his.
‘Likewise,’ Benjamin answered and offered her a seat. ‘So, who would care to shed some light on what this is about?’
‘It’s ghastly, Benny, just ghastly. I’ll let Nancy tell you,’ from Aubrey and he waved his hands dramatically in the air.
Benjamin looked at the woman, waiting for her to speak.
‘Nancy’s life is in danger,’ Cuthbert said, ‘and she needs your help.’
‘Me… but how can I help? And why is her life in danger?’
Aubrey tutted, then said, ‘Just tell him, Nancy, tell him everything, just as you told us. You can trust Benjamin, I promise.’
Nancy looked down at her hands clasped on her lap. ‘I’ve been having an affair with Harold Conte. He works in the House of Commons, a barrister. I met him there six years ago when I was training in law. Anyway, I progressed from his assistant to his mistress. I used to be friends with his wife, Constance, but once the affair started, Harold thought I should keep my distance from her.’
‘Oh, goodness, a love triangle,’ Benjamin said and rolled his eyes.
‘No, nothing like that,’ Nancy continued. ‘Harold’s real name is Araldo. He’s Italian, and as I came to learn, a fascist and Nazi sympathiser. But it wasn’t until very recently that I discovered how involved Harold is.’
‘Now this is getting interesting,’ Benjamin commented and sat forward in his seat.
‘Constance, you remember I told you that she is Harold’s wife, well, she had her suspicions that her husband was being unfaithful and started doing some snooping. Only she discovered more than she’d bargained for. She found out that Harold is in an elite group of top officials, policemen, politicians, even army officers. This group call themselves the Fylfot. The Fylfot is the symbol of the Nazis.’
‘What, the swastika?’ Benjamin asked.
‘Yes. Constance delved deeper into the group’s activities and uncovered a shocking plot. They’ve been collaborating to place themselves in high positions of power under Hitler’s rule when, as they believe, Germany will defeat Britain.’
‘You mean they’re working for Adolf Hitler?’
‘I don’t know if they are working for him directly but there are certainly links there. She told me she found secret documents taped under Harold’s desk but couldn’t understand them as they were written in German. So, yes, there’s been contact of some kind. And the Fylfot group are being bankrolled by the Nazis. Constance believes that Himmler’s SS have been forging British bank notes and laundering the money to pay for German favours.’
‘Nancy, you must go to our intelligence services at once!’ Benjamin exclaimed.
‘But, I can’t. Who’s to say that there aren’t German or Italian spies working in government? I wouldn’t know who to trust. I could be killed,’ Nancy replied and pulled a handkerchief from her handbag to dab the tears falling from her eyes.
‘I’m confused. What makes you think that they want to kill you?’
‘They murdered Constance and it’s my fault. When she found out about her husband’s involvement in the group, she came to me. I was as shocked as her. I swear, I knew nothing of this treachery. But two days later, I found a note under my door informing me that Constance was dead. The note told me to be careful. In other words, they’re coming for me next.’
‘How do they know that you know?’
‘Because Harold visited me and took me for dinner that evening and naturally, I asked him about it. He laughed in my face, said I was ridiculous and demanded to know who had told me such nonsense. Regrettably, I believed him and explained about Constance coming to see me.’
Benjamin pushed his glasses up his nose and bit on his thumbnail. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked, looking around the room from Nancy, to Cuthbert and then to Aubrey. ‘I don’t need to know any of this,’ he said, panicking as the gravity of her story began to sink in.
‘I’m sorry, Benjamin, but my sister needs protecting. We didn’t know who else to turn to,’ Cuthbert said.
‘How can I protect her?’ Benjamin asked incredulously.
‘You can’t, Benny, but your glorious boss could,’ Aubrey answered.
‘I have money, a little, but I can pay,’ Nancy offered urgently.
As if money was going to soften the blow, Benjamin thought sourly. He couldn’t believe they’d dragged him into a world of espionage and Nazis and the SS. He almost had to pinch himself to make sure he was awake and not in a far-fetched dream. And to top it all, they wanted him to involve Georgina too. ‘Does anyone know where you are?’ he asked.
‘No, just us,’ Nancy replied.
‘If you really believe he killed his wife and wants you dead too, why didn’t he murder you then and there?’
‘We were out, dining in public, and then Harold said he was feeling unwell and left. I think he probably went to discuss the breach with the Fylfots and they must have decided that Constance had to be eliminated and now me.’
Her story did seem to make sense, which worried Benjamin all the more. This group sounded efficient and ruthless. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I’m not prepared to put Georgina at risk.’
Cuthbert sprung to his feet and ran his hands through his hair. ‘Please, Benjamin. I’m desperate. Nancy is the only family I have and your boss is the one person who could protect her.’
‘We realise it’s a huge ask, Benny, but what other choice do we have? We can’t stand by and let them murder Nancy, now can we?’
Benjamin chewed the side of his mouth. ‘No, I suppose not, but I don’t think Georgina will be happy with me taking this to her doorstep.’
‘But you’ll do it?’ Cuthbert asked hopefully.
‘Yes, I guess so,’ he answered with reluctance. And now he also knew the truth about Harold Conte and his group of Nazi collaborators, he feared for his own life too.
*
Charlotte huddled in a shop doorway, her arms hugging her cold, malnourished body. But at least she had some new decent clothes and a coat. She’d been fortunate to find them when looting a bombed house and had gotten away before the coppers had come. Unfortunately, whilst scavenging, she’d also found a child’s dolly with singed hair and had no idea if the child who owned the dolly was under the rubble. But Charlotte had seen death several times
. The bombs had rained down night after night, pummelling London and killing men, women and children. Dead bodies being carted off on stretchers were a usual sight. Seeing casualties with bandages, blood, burns and crutches seemed normal. But Charlotte would never get used to it and the images were burned onto her brain, scarring her soul.
‘Fancy a good time?’ she offered to a passing man, hoping her newly acquired attire would bring her more business.
The man ignored her but at least he didn’t throw her a tirade of abuse. Or look at her like she was dirt. She’d become accustomed to men degrading her and women sniping at her or looking down their noses with disgust. She’d even had men urinate on her when all she’d been doing was trying to get some sleep. It had become a part of her everyday life.
She stamped her feet in an attempt to warm the blood in her numb toes. She looked down at the holes in her shoes and hoped it wouldn’t rain again. It was uncomfortable having cold feet but even worse when they were wet and the cardboard in her shoes did nothing to keep out the rain.
Two women hurried along the street. They hadn’t seen her in the shop doorway and as they approached, Charlotte was sure she recognised one of them.
‘Daphne,’ she said as she stepped out in front of them.
The women stopped and eyed her.
‘Daphne, it’s me, Charlotte… remember?’
‘Do you know this girl?’ the older woman asked Daphne.
Charlotte had seen recognition in Daphne’s eyes so was hurt when she denied any knowledge of knowing her.
‘You do know me,’ she protested. ‘From Gordon’s hat shop. We had hot chocolate in the café that looks like a ship.’
‘I have no idea what she’s talking about, Mother,’ Daphne said looking daggers at Charlotte.
‘I should hope not,’ Daphne’s mother said indignantly and marched off with Daphne in tow.
Charlotte watched the women in their fancy clothes, probably on their way to their extravagant home. She shouldn’t have been surprised at Daphne denying they’d ever met. No-one would want to be associated with a homeless tramp and whore.
Desperate for food, cold, tired and afraid, she decided it was too quiet where she was and headed towards the Kings Road. She’d be more likely to pick up a punter there but would have to be careful of the other women who worked the area. The Kings Road was a good patch but the prostitutes didn’t like to give over their business to outsiders. And the men who controlled the streetwalkers were even more protective, readily dragging off any woman without a pimp and giving her a good hiding. Charlotte had picked up a few customers from the Kings Road but she’d also been chased off several times, her chipped tooth a reminder of one of the bashings she’d received. But she was willing to take her chances again.
As she walked along the dark streets, they felt lonely and threatening. She kept her wits about her, ready to fight anyone who might try and jump her, and her ears open for the sound of the air raid sirens. She was grateful when she saw a warden coming her way. He offered a few moments of safety.
‘You should be at home, young lady,’ he said, shining a dim torch in her face.
Charlotte squinted against the light. ‘I ain’t got a home,’ she said.
‘Have you been bombed out?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. Three nights ago,’ she lied.
‘Don’t you have any family you can stay with?’
‘No. Me mum and dad were killed, so was me gran and me little brother,’ she said, squeezing tears from her eyes.
‘Where was your house?’
‘Battersea. I’ve been wandering around for days. I’m not sure where I am.’
‘You’re in Chelsea, pet. You should get yourself down one of the rest centres. There’ll be people there who’ll be able to help you. Do you know where to go?’
‘No, I don’t.’
The warden gave her directions and for the first time in as along as she could remember, Charlotte felt a glimmer of hope. As long as she stuck to her story, she’d be offered shelter, food and clothing. He took a notepad and pencil from his pocket and scribbled a map.
‘Here you go, it’s only three streets from here. Do you think you can find it or would you like me to walk you there?’
‘Can you walk me, please? I’m ever so scared.’
‘Yes, of course. It’d be my pleasure. This way. Now, watch your step, it’s dark.’
They turned a corner into a residential street. The houses looked tall and she imagined the wealthy owners inside, sitting around warm coal fires with full bellies and comfortable beds to turn into.
‘They’re good on this street. All of them use blackout curtains. I never have to tell any of them to turn their lights out. The same can’t be said for the lot on the next street,’ the warden said. ‘Right rowdy, they are. More money than sense, I reckon.’
Then, the sound Charlotte had come to dread screamed out.
‘This way,’ the warden said and started to run. ‘Keep up, I’ll get you to a public shelter.’
Charlotte didn’t feel she had the strength to run but she put in a good effort though the warden slowed his pace for her. A man passed them, running faster, and another two came from an adjoining street, all of them dashing for cover.
‘We’re nearly there,’ the warden said. ‘Don’t you worry, miss, I’ll look after you.’
Charlotte, breathless, looked skywards as she ran. There, silhouetted in the night sky by a searchlight, she saw the distinctive outline of a plane. The Germans were directly overhead, spurring her on to run faster for the safety of the shelter.
‘They’re right above us,’ she screamed in panic.
‘Don’t worry, they might pass over,’ the warden replied but Charlotte didn’t think they would. The planes were low; she could hear their engines humming. She’d seen them fly that low before and then they’d dropped their bombs.
A voice ahead shouted. ‘Take cover!’
Charlotte felt herself being heavily shoved down some stairs. She lost her footing and as she tumbled down into the basement entrance of one of the tall houses, she realised the warden had pushed her down there. Scrambling to her feet, she looked for him but he was nowhere to be seen. Feeling afraid and very alone again, she hurried up the stairs. Then she heard a terrific explosion. The blast sent her flying backwards and she fell back down the steps, landing in a shocked heap at the bottom. She sat there, with no idea how long for. It could have been seconds or hours. Time had stopped. She realised her body was trembling and even in the darkness, she could tell her new coat was in shreds. The warden. Where was the warden?
In a state of shock, Charlotte stumbled to her feet and warily climbed the steps. Her legs felt strange, weak and trembling, causing her to falter and lose her footing. The concrete step scraped the bare skin on her shin but she wasn’t aware of any pain. ‘Where are you?’ she whispered in a dazed state. Walking unsteadily down the street, the smell of burning filled the air. Smoke and dust impaired her vision. Debris from fallen houses lay in the street. She tripped again, over what, she wasn’t sure. Bricks, plaster, and bits of wood were scattered everywhere. She heard moaning. Sirens. Flames crackling. Screams. Shouting. ‘Warden… where are you?’ she called, frantically searching.
Her hand reached out to a wall and she steadied herself before retching. She had nothing in her stomach to vomit, and her spittle was dry with brick dust. It was then that she noticed the wall she was leaning on was just a pile of bricks where a house had once stood. She stared at the pile of rubble that had once been one of the tall houses. The chimney breast stood proud and she could see an unbroken mirror. How odd that the mirror hadn’t smashed, she thought, ignoring the dead bodies that lay partially covered by bricks and mortar. She could see them. A woman holding a baby. Part of the baby’s face was missing. She knew they were there but her eyes refused to look.
‘I must find him,’ she murmured, moving on. And then she did. He was just feet away, sitting against a tree. She ra
n towards him, relieved and joyful. Her rescuer. The only person to have shown her any respect or kindness in such a long time. Charlotte knelt beside him. ‘I bet you thought you’d got rid of me,’ she said with a nervous laugh. ‘You saved my life,’ she added gratefully.
The warden didn’t answer.
‘My coat’s ruined,’ she moaned.
Nothing came from the warden.
‘And the street is a right mess,’ she tutted.
But still the warden didn’t speak and Charlotte knew he never would. Most of his head had been blown off and so was his left arm.
‘I’d better go and see if I can find that rest centre,’ she said, blotting out the horrors of his mutilated body. ‘If it’s still standing.’
She rose to her feet, giving the warden one last glance. When would her nightmare ever end?
Charlotte made her way to the centre but when she arrived, she could see the building had been badly damaged. Her hopes of finding any shelter were dashed and she found herself wandering aimlessly, away from the mayhem of burning buildings and lifeless bodies. She ran her fingers through her hair. It was matted with dirt and dust and felt as if it was standing on end. She’d been caught in the blast but thanks to the warden, had come away unscathed, though the same couldn’t be said for her new clothes. She stopped for a moment to study her coat. The once pink wool was now black. The arm was holding on by just a thread. Her dress underneath was ripped at the waistband, causing the hem to hang lopsided, longer on one side.
Tears filled her eyes. She knew it didn’t really matter about the state of her clothes; she was lucky to be alive. But all the while she concentrated on them, she could fight the images invading her mind. The dead woman and her baby and the warden’s almost headless body. They were real, but she’d try and pretend she hadn’t seen any of it. She tucked the ripped skirt part of her dress into the waistband. It would have to do for now.
