Apportionment of Blame (36 page)

Those two comforting phrases, come and sit down, and make some tea. How often I had heard them both in the past few days.

We went into the living room and I looked round at the three faces. Pam's still drawn, but expectant. Oliver's tense and rather haggard. And then Joyce's. It shone, and I knew that what I had to say would take the shine away. So I looked at her mother instead when I spoke.

“Helen left work that day, and went to see your solicitor. She took the three photographs she had found, and the solicitor confirmed that they were of Ilse Chambers.

“When Helen got back to the station, she was on her way to the car park when purely by chance; she saw Ilse and recognised her from the pictures. So she followed her home, confronted her with the photographs and Ilse invited her in and told her everything. All about Annie being her mother, who her father was. Everything.

“She left Ilse's house just as Doug, Ilse's brother, arrived on his motorbike, and he watched her walk down the garden, cross the road and go into the lane. He immediately thought the worst and guessed that Ilse had told Helen about her background. So incensed was he that someone should discover Ilse's father was German, that he chased after Helen down the lane. But by then it was dark, and he had to go carefully.

“Up ahead he could see Helen stop by the railway crossing, and then she was joined by someone else. They were only shapes to Doug. It was too dark to see, but it made him stop and watch. He heard voices, then a dog barked, and then he heard the train screeching to a halt. In his panic, he ran back to his motorbike and left.

“Ilse was back in the house by this time, probably in her kitchen at the back of the house where it was warm. She wouldn't have heard a thing.”

I paused, but no one spoke.

“The house next to the lane is where Gemma lives. Gemma worked with Helen at Colbox and had become rather infatuated with her.”

“You mean?” Oliver began.

“Yes,” I said. “Again, by pure chance, Gemma went to take her dog for a walk, through the garden gate and into the lane, and met Helen. She spoke to Helen and there was an exchange of heated words by all accounts. Now Monty, her dog, is big. I mean big.” And I opened my arms like a fisherman describing his catch.

“Like all dogs, Monty was very protective of his mistress, and he thought Gemma was in danger. He leapt up at Helen, pushing her back just at the moment the train arrived. Helen lost her footing, perhaps falling over the nearest rail on the track, I don't know, and the train driver had no chance.

“And that's it.”

“Poor girl. Oh my poor Helen,” cried Pam as she began to sob uncontrollably. Oliver moved across to comfort her. Joyce was just looking at me.

“So we know it all now,” she said.

“Yes. All we'll ever know.”

There wasn't anything more to say. But there was more to discover, although there was no way of knowing that at the time.

Joyce and I left Pam in Oliver's arms and went out into the hall.

“I'm so proud of you,” she said.

“Good. I'm glad. But I couldn't have done it without you and a tremendous amount of luck.”

“People make their own luck.”

“All right, then. It was all me.”

She punched me then, on the arm and I grabbed her and we kissed for a very long time.

I left them soon afterwards to their shared grief. There was one more thing to do, and that was to take Ilse to her mother's bungalow and help her sort through the many artifacts in the trunk. In a sense that was nothing to do with me, but I wanted to help.

Having heard what I planned, Oliver had offered to help, and as the trunk was too heavy for me to lift on my own, I was glad to accept. There was no way Pam could resist the chance to come too, so it was going to be quite a family group.

At least that would be a positive end to one part of the investigation, not that it could in any way diminish the sadness of the family's loss.

Chapter 20

P
am
and Oliver arrived bright and early the next day. It looked as if they had enjoyed a good night's sleep and had at least begun the long process of healing and moving on.

They were both wearing jeans and I dared to joke about how similar they looked. Fortunately it was all taken in good part, and Oliver and I began to manhandle the trunk out of the house to the car, while Pam locked up the house for me.

“So where's Joyce this morning?”

“She's at the gym.”

“Mmm,” I said. “I can see I shall need to get fit to keep up with her.”

Pam smiled, and I could see the strain beginning to leave her eyes.

On the way to pick up Ilse the conversation was predictable.

“It will be funny being in the bungalow without Annie,” Pam said.

“I hope you get to see a lot more of it when Ilse is living there.”

“Yes. I hope so, too.”

As we turned into Barn Lane there was a difficult moment when Pam asked, “Is this the way Helen came that night?”

“Come on, darling,” Oliver said. “We have to put this all behind us.”

“I know. I know. But it's so difficult.”

We pulled up outside Ilse's cottage and I went to the door to collect her. It seemed she was getting younger each time I saw her. She looked smart and colourful in a winter coat and smiled as she opened the door.

“Ready when you are,” I said, and she closed the door and followed me along the garden path.

As I held the rear door open for her to join Pam in the back seat, I hoped it would not be too difficult for them to talk together and get to know each other better.

Oliver and I chatted about mundane things in the front, and the journey soon passed.

As I pulled up in front of the bungalow, Ilse repeated what Pam had expressed earlier.

“It's funny coming here on my own. It will seem empty without my mother.”

“You'll soon get used to it,” Pam encouraged her.

“Come on,” Oliver said. “Let's get this trunk unloaded and find out how much work the house needs.”

Ilse had been given the house keys by the solicitor, but before she unlocked the door she just stood and looked at it. She turned to us all.

“Oh dear. This is so strange. I can't really believe this is my house.”

“It's what your mother wanted you to have,” I reminded her. “It's your new home.”

“It will take some time to get used to that,” she said, and she tried the key in the keyhole almost as if she expected it not to fit. But, of course, it did.

Pam went in after Ilse, and Oliver and I struggled with the trunk behind them, leaving it in the hall for the time being.

The bungalow was just as Annie had left it. The furnishings were a little outdated but looked cosy and comfortable. There were family photographs in every room and considering no one had been in for months, it was not particularly dusty, just a fine coating visible on exposed surfaces. But it was very cold.

Oliver and I went into the kitchen to check the water and electricity systems, and all seemed to be working.

“What kind of central heating is it?” Oliver asked.

“Gas, I think,” Ilse said.

We rooted about and found the boiler, relit the pilot light and set the whole thing going.

“It will take a while,” I said, “but we should soon have some heat coming through.”

Ilse was walking from room to room with Pam. They were talking about wallpaper and curtains, so I left them to it. There was nothing useful I could add to that conversation so I went back to the kitchen to put the kettle on in the hope that there was some tea in the cupboard. There was and, what's more, Oliver went to the car to retrieve a flask of cold milk and I was very impressed with his thoughtfulness and efficiency.

“Tea up,” he called and I carried a tray through to the living room. It was still cold in there, but we were all wrapped up, and the tea helped.

The conversation was about practical things. Decorating rooms, tidying the garden, the state of the front gate, which had seen better days.

Ilse was going to have no difficulty getting the work done. She was a rich woman now. She could do what she chose.

“I suggest you leave the house for a day or two to warm up, before you move in,” Oliver said. “It will need a lot of airing and there's no point coming here to be uncomfortable.”

“You are all being so kind,” Ilse looked round at us. “I'm not used to this.”

“I hope you can get used to it,” I said. “None of us lives very far away. We are going to be almost like neighbours.”

Pam began talking to Ilse about the area. What her favourite shops were in Ipswich, how close her parents lived. Ilse began to look quite overwhelmed with all she had to learn and get used to.

“You told me once,” I said carefully, “you don't like the countryside very much and that you prefer living in a town. Well, here you are in the perfect place. A town just down the road, with buses to get you there. Lots to do, people to visit. I think you will be very happy here.”

“I'm sure you will,” Pam added.

“Now,” I said, fumbling in my coat pocket, “somewhere in here I have some photographs for you. You can go through the trunk in your own time. All that's in there is yours.”

I found the three pictures of Ilse herself and passed them across to her.

“There are also some photographs of the cemetery at Brocton. As soon as I get those back from the Imperial War Museum, I'll let you have them. What's this?”

I'd found the newspaper in which the photographs had been wrapped. It had been in my pocket since then and I began to open it out.

“I love old newspapers,” I said. “They always have something interesting in them.”

I unfolded the paper, laid it on the floor and began to read the adverts. They always appeal to me. All the products they show trigger immediate memories of things bought or used during my earlier life. Types of chocolate bar no longer available, outdated models of cars, items priced in pounds, shillings and pence, holidays at ridiculously cheap prices, they are all strangely intriguing.

But this newspaper wasn't as old as all that, and it was not until my eyes reached the top of the page that I noticed the date, 11 May 1991. Even then I made no connection to anything particular until I saw the headline.

50th Anniversary of landing at Eaglesham.

“Look at this,” I said.

They all craned to read the page. The newspaper was the Renfrew Argus and I read with increasing disbelief.

It was a story virtually unknown to me, but as I read it, I found the final mystery being solved before my eyes.

“Listen,” I said. “It says:
Residents of Eaglesham and district were remembering yesterday the strange events which occurred half a century ago
. That would be 1941,” I said and I looked at Ilse who was staring at the page.

“
Rudolf Hess, second only to Adolf Hitler in the ruling Nazi party of wartime Germany, landed by parachute in a field on Floors Farm. When questioned by members of the local Home Guard he told them he was on a mission of humanity, and that his Fuhrer did not want to fight Britain.He claimed to be acquainted with the Duke of Hamilton, having met him during the Berlin Olympics, and that he had come to visit him in order to begin negotiations, through the Duke's auspices, with Winston Churchill in order to end the war
.”

I looked around at the others and you could have heard a pin drop.

I read on.

“
Hess used the name of Alfred Horn at first, but later revealed his true identity. The fact that he was German was always clear as he was wearing the uniform of an officer in the Luftwaffe.His aircraft, a Messerschmitt Me110E, had flown from the airstrip at Haunstetten, close to where it had been constructed in Augsberg. Crash investigators discovered extra fuel tanks fitted in the aircraft, and this confirmed Hess' story that his co-pilot had been due to return directly to Germany. Evidence of severe engine trouble, possibly caused by a collision with a flock of large birds, was also found by investigators
.”

“I remember reading about Rudolph Hess's flight to Britain,” Oliver said.

“Sshh,” Pam insisted. “Listen.”

I looked from one to the other, smiled and continued.

“
Hess is now known to have been a staunch follower of Hitler ever since studying under Karl Haushofer at Munich University. His work in the field of Geopolitics and Haushofer's theory for Germany's future, derived from the earlier concept of lebensraum, had made a major impact on the young Hess, and Haushofer had become a profound influence on his development as a political activist
.
The arrival of Rudolph Hess has been an event shrouded in mystery and conjecture for many years. Upon receiving the news of the flight, Hitler is reported to have become angry, denying any prior knowledge of the flight and accusing Hess of being mentally unstable.
”