by Jan Harvey
‘I don’t know, Sarah. Dad and I wanted a bit of freedom once Cassie goes.’
‘I’d have her if you go away, I only live five minutes from work, so I could cope.’
I knew this had all been worked out way in advance of her ringing. It could have been worse we could have got Anna instead.
‘I’ll think about it, love. Let me talk to Dad.’ I was stalling for time. As I turned back to the magazine, I saw Rory with Scooter and it occurred to me that maybe a dog would be a good idea. All at once, I could see myself walking her across the meadows by the river and I’d certainly appreciate the company in the house. As a girl, I’d had lots of dogs on the farm in Ormskirk, so maybe it was time.
10
The portraits of Sir Reginald and Augusta were looking down on us from the oak panelled walls of the dining room. I’d like to think they approved of us sitting at one end of the long dining table and conversing so merrily. I was seated beside Alice with my back warmed by the fire and opposite Cécile who was obviously enjoying our company.
The candles were cheap tallow and so they dripped thin pools of wax onto the cloth beneath the candelabra, but they made the evening more intimate and homely so no one was concerned. George was much cheered by the company and Alice was talking, for the first time in months, with levity in her voice. As for myself, I was watching Cécile. Her demeanour, at first withdrawn and preoccupied, now seemed to be transforming into the most pleasant of characters. What a happy band we made, for it was even possible to see the future with more hope, and I for one, felt sure that even my horizons were brighter.
We enjoyed a terrine of game, the rabbit and duck shot locally, and a very fine cauliflower cheese. Mrs Hall had done us proud, but then she always made an effort for a homecoming, and this was of course for Alice, her favourite.
It was Alice, much as I expected, who eventually broached the subject of Henry. We had been talking about insubstantial things, none of us wanting to return to the subject of the war or politics, when Alice asked Cécile how Henry had looked when they had met.
‘Was he well? Was there enough in Paris to eat?’
‘No, times were very hard for all of us,’ said Cécile with a sigh. ‘At the beginning the Nazis brought food into the country, I think they believed it would make us accept them more easily. In the early part of the occupation Paris was very much unchanged and people moved around freely, that is unless one caused trouble. They dealt with troublemakers tout de suite, you would say…’
‘Immediately, or on the spot,’ Alice suggested, beating me to it.
‘Yes of course, immediately. It was not easy to avoid the re-tri-bution.’ Cécile looked at me and I nodded to reassure her. She was so eloquent in English and then she would stumble, losing her confidence, but I admired her for making such an effort. ‘We all saw things, from a distance, because it was dangerous to go too close. They would take people from the street, mostly men, and force them into trucks.’
‘What happened to them?’ Alice asked.
‘They just disappeared. There were notice boards and bills posted everywhere saying: “Have you seen this person? Please help me find my husband, my boy.” I used to thank God every day that I had no relatives to worry about, that my parents were already gone.’
‘How awful.’ George said with a grimace. ‘And did none of them return?’
‘Some, occasionally, and usually beaten how you English say “black and blue”, they were sent back as a warning.’
‘How did you survive it, the loss of your liberty and freedom?’ I referred not to her alone, but to the Parisian in general.
‘We had no choice, no escape. They were efficient and very ruthless, and in this way they had a lot of power.’
‘And Henry?’ Alice asked again.
‘Henri was very quiet, moving about like he was invisible. If he saw anything happen, he would fade into the background, disappear like a magician’s trick. I thought he was afraid, that he knew secrets and was frightened of discovery. I was not sure if he was working for the French or the Germans. It did not occur to me that he was English. When you are living in fear, the one thing you never do is ask questions of anyone. It was a rule that is not written.’
‘When did you meet him?’ Alice was fascinated, we all were, but she was leading the way. ‘And where?’
‘I used to stop often for a drink at a café in the Rue Saint-André des Arts and he was sometimes there, meeting someone or other in the back room. At first I saw him once or twice without saying anything, but then it was just after New Year and very cold. I was inside the café and the doors were all closed. I was very sad because I had lost a friend, a very dear friend, who had left Paris and I did not know where he had gone. I was all by myself, sitting with a glass of wine, somehow hoping Henri would come in and see me there. I thought he would be nice to talk to. Then the door opened and he came in and sat near me.’
The room was growing colder, the fire diminishing rapidly as we reached the end of our meal. I knew Grant would not put on more logs because the lounge would be ready for us.
‘As I stood up,’ she continued. ‘I must have been clumsy and I knocked the table, the glass tumbled off and I looked around to see if the waiter had noticed. I felt a bit embarrassed. But it was Henri who stood up and asked me if I was all right and did I feel unwell? I remember most of all thinking that I could not place his accent, it was not Parisian. I presumed he was from Normandy, but I did not know for sure.
‘I told him I was fine but only a bit clumsy and he pointed out that the tail of my fox fur had caused the problem, and then he said it should be shot and I pointed out that it already had been, and we found that funny so we laughed.’
‘He had such a lovely laugh, don’t you think?’ said Alice.
‘Wonderful,’ Cécile replied. ‘It would always cheer me up.’
‘And then?’ Alice was leaning forward, hanging on to every word.
‘And then he asked if I would stay and have a drink with him, and I said yes and asked him where he was from. He told me “here and there,” and I didn’t ask again because in those times everyone kept themselves to themselves.’
‘What sort of things did you talk about?’ asked George. ‘It must have been so nice for him to be able to talk to a young lady.’
‘Oh everything and nothing, as you do when you first meet someone. He was very good at talking about lots of things.’
‘Was he?’ I interjected. This I found most surprising. ‘The Henry I knew was fairly quiet, a restrained sort of chap.’
‘That’s Paris for you,’ said George. ‘City of romance, and don’t forget, old boy, Henry would have had no one to talk with day to day.’
Cécile was watching us converse, her eyes observing us intently.
‘He was very interesting,’ she said. ‘He told me he had lived in Paris for some time and was a businessman.’ She turned to look at George. ‘I asked him about his business, but he told me it was confidential. I did not know at that time of course, but he was very secret.’
‘Did you guess what he was?’ I asked.
‘Was?’ Cécile looked puzzled.
‘Did you know at that point that he was with the Secret Ops?’
‘No, not until the end.’ She suddenly looked terribly upset.
George stood up, sweeping his napkin from his lap as he did so. ‘My dear, we have no wish whatsoever to distress you. Let us leave it there, there will be time enough over the coming days for you to tell us more. Let’s withdraw to the lounge and I shall talk you through my father’s designs for the knot garden.’
Cécile looked immensely grateful as George pulled her chair back for her, and Alice and I followed behind as we walked across to the lounge. It was always a beautiful room and that night never more so. Mrs Hall had laid out a tray of fresh coffee, a sight rarely seen at Lapston at that time,
but it was obviously in honour of our French guest. It occurred to me that Mrs Hall had catered to the tastes of people from far and wide in her long service, so a single French woman would present no challenge, but I made a mental note to thank Mrs Hall when the moment next presented itself.
Whilst George and Alice took Cécile through the garden designs, I considered them, all three, from my place on the sofa. George had lost weight, his jacket hung loosely from his shoulders and there was something of a stoop to him. We were both only thirty-four, but he could have been mistaken for someone much older, and I suspected the same could be said of me too. Of the three of us Alice remained much the same, but without the girlish air we had loved so very much. No one could deny that she was indeed a pretty young woman, but she possessed nothing of the natural refinement of our guest. Cécile stood three or four inches above Alice’s head, her frame altogether lighter, more chic.
They talked and pointed at the sketchbooks, and I could see the pages of intricate watercolours that I knew so well being turned through the gaps between their bodies. How Sir Reginald would have loved to see them enjoying his work, he had taught me so much. I turned to the sofa opposite me and pictured them both there.
Sir Reginald had been an imposing figure and his wife, Augusta, a striking woman, a tall erect frame of such grace and beauty that I remained in awe until the day she died. They had loved me as a son, and I am happy to say I returned their affection. I found the company of my own father, by comparison, difficult and awkward during those rare times I saw him. My mother, being unknown to me because of her early death, was never referred to by either of us. I was sent to school at eight to board where I sought, in teachers and matrons, the love I so craved, but no one ever loved me truly, until I met the Amshersts.
It has often occurred to me, when I find myself dwelling on it, that I have never found love myself because of this lack of fondness and caring when I was so very young, and that is why I will always treasure the memory of Augusta and Reginald and the kindness they showed me.
‘Carrick, dearest, you are floating away again.’ Alice sat down beside me on the couch. ‘Where do you go to, darling, I do wonder?’
‘Here and there,’ I replied, a little irritated by her interruption of my thoughts, I felt they were very much my own concern. She placed her hand over mine quite proprietarily. It annoyed me and doubly so because, at that very moment, Cécile turned towards us. I moved my hand away from under Alice’s and reached for a coffee, leaving her puzzled. I knew this without looking at her, but it was no concern of mine.
‘Carrick, you must tell me about your father and India. It is a long held dream of mine to go there.’ Cécile took a place opposite me and I was delighted, once again, to be the subject of her attention even though there was little I could tell her about the sub-continent.
‘I’m afraid I have never been,’ I told her. I found myself frustrated when I couldn’t expand on the subject and impress her. ‘My father has never afforded me the opportunity to go, much as I would have loved to.’ I sounded like a simpering fool and I saw the disappointment in her face. ‘I’m afraid he was always moving around the country, which made family life very difficult.’ She looked stymied. I scratched around for some way to entertain her further, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and was left stupidly tongue-tied.
George joined us and offered us all a cigarette. Real coffee and cigarettes! The last time I had this combination was in Monte Cassino. I found myself transported rapidly back to Italy and the happy faces of the people we liberated, the unsuppressed joy they felt in being freed. They had nothing yet they gave us everything they had: Coffee, cigarettes, tomatoes, a brace of pigeons and the wine they had saved for the day of liberation. The Jerries were defeated and we marched them through the streets, in their shame, jackets hanging open over grubby vests. Under those helmets were men who looked like accountants and librarians and young bewildered boys who had been forced to grow up too fast. All things considered, and in spite of everything they had done, we treated them well as prisoners of war because we didn’t know then what we know now. I would have dashed every blasted head against the nearest rock if I had been party to the new intelligence. The eyes, the pleading eyes, the wretched dirty faces; the terrified women they had raped; the old men reduced to withered skin and bone; the children, pitifully thin infants with hollow, haunted eyes and the man hanging with piano wire around his neck, from a balcony. Evil, evil everywhere, terrible, terrible–’
‘Carrick, Carrick!’
Alice’s voice was wailing, screeching in my ear. ‘Stop it,’ I told her but she wasn’t listening and her face was swimming before my eyes in and out of focus. I suddenly realised that I was leaning forward and my coffee cup was shaking in the saucer and it was so loud it was deafening. Everyone was staring at me.
‘Carrick, old boy, come on now, it’s all right.’ I felt George’s hand press down firmly on my shoulder. I hadn’t even been aware that he had moved from the sofa. I breathed deeply from the centre of my chest as they had showed me in the nursing home, and when my vision cleared, for it had become blurred temporarily, the room came back to me, the colours were sharp once more and clear. I saw her face and it was full of alarm and pity at the same time. I dropped my eyes and drew in another deep breath. Then, because I was ashamed, I took my leave and wished them goodnight. I was abrupt and appeared ill mannered, and I knew it. Her eyes followed me out of the room as I departed, walking on shaky legs. As the door closed behind me, I heard her ask: ‘Is it very bad?’
I gripped a tight hold of the newel post at the foot of the staircase. The wide flight of steps rose in front of me, and all at once, they seemed to be the most insurmountable mountain imaginable. The feeling of solid wood under my hand was reassuring because my knees felt weak, as if they might easily cave in.
‘May I assist you, sir?’ It was Grant, appearing from the shadows in the hall. How long he had been there I could not tell, but I was very grateful to hear his voice.
‘Yes, Grant, thank you. Would you give me a hand?’
I had known Grant for twenty years since the day he had joined the staff in London. I was unendingly grateful for the solid way he put my arm around his shoulder and the strength in him as he propped me up. Gone was any pretence that I was fit and well, but Grant would be completely confidential, I knew that. It would never be known that I was too weak to even mount the stairs, but what made me feel so very low was that I had let myself down in her eyes.
11
I had let Inca off the lead in the garden and she had come straight back when I called her. She had sat down in front of me proudly and took a gravy bone off me for her trouble. She had the sweetest disposition imaginable and had won me over completely from the start. I had also let her off the lead in the triangular paddock, an odd shaped patch of fenced land at the far end of the village inhabited, until recently, by an elderly donkey, and she had come straight back which convinced me that Inca was an angel.
Now I was slipping and sliding all over a wet muddy field that sloped down to a rambling brook, and shouting for my dog who was about to dive into the water. It was impossible to get a foothold on the greasy soil, even in my wellies. In the end, I had to give up, turn back and follow the path round the edge of the field instead. I could hear Inca splashing and frolicking and, basically, having a wonderful time, whilst I muttered and cursed under my breath about puppies, Sarah and Anna, and that no good ex-police dog handler husband of hers, Fred or Frank whatever he was called.
Suddenly there was long streak of black and a larger dog slid down the opposite bank and landed with a huge splash just where Inca was. I looked up and further along the footpath, the other side of a five bar gate, was Rory waving like an old friend.
‘Hi Martha!’ He was striding towards me, clearly unaware that Scooter and Inca were hidden from view and probably up to no good, or possibly Inca had been kn
ocked over flat and was now drowning.
‘Hi Rory, can you call Scooter?’ I shouted. Rory looked puzzled but he whistled and immediately a huge dripping monster clambered up the side of the bank and came charging over to me. As Scooter arrived at my feet, he shook himself and covered me in dirty, freezing cold water.
‘Scooter, come here,’ Rory shouted, obviously annoyed, and as he did, so Inca appeared and galloped over to him. He caught her collar, and bending down, he led her over to me. She was shivering and I was covered in a spattering of mud, thanks to Scooter. I knew I looked a complete mess.
‘Is this yours?’ Rory asked, suppressing an ungentlemanly smile.
‘Yes, she’s called Inca. That is, we’ve got her on trial for a fortnight, but I think we’re keeping her because Steve, my husband, adores her already.’
‘And you don’t?’ Rory asked as I clipped on her lead.
‘I did until right then, she just vamoosed, running like the wind, and there was not a thing I could do.’
‘So Scooter actually saved the day then?’ Rory was trying in vain to hold back a smile.
‘Yes, good old Scooter,’ I replied sarcastically, but the tone in my voice was lost on the flat-coat who, without any warning, wheeled around in mid-air and knocked me off my feet. I remembered Inca pulling away from me and the grey clouds swirling above me, round in circles, as I landed flat on my back in the mud.
‘Martha! No, Scooter, get away!’
Scooter was standing, looking down on me, ready to play with great gusto, whatever game this was. In the next second, Rory had replaced Scooter’s face and, above him, only those high grey clouds.
‘Are you okay?’ He was holding my hand but, as I tried to sit up, he held me down with his hand on my shoulder. ‘Just give yourself a minute,’ he advised kindly. I had to lie there until the clouds stopped rotating. And then, when I was able to sit up, I felt absolutely winded. ‘He hit you right in your stomach and you fell backwards, straight over. God I’m so sorry. He’s a bad dog at times. It must be because of Inca. He doesn’t know many other dogs.’ Rory looked behind him and groaned. ‘Don’t look now, he’s bonking Inca’s head. Has she been done?’
