Escape by Moonlight (17 page)

‘You scared me to death.’

‘Sorry about that. Is it safe to talk here?’

‘Yes. Let me get this coat and hat off and make some coffee – if you can call it coffee, God knows what it’s made of – and then you’d better tell me why you’re here. Didn’t you make it home after all?’

‘Oh, yes, I’ve been home, but I decided I’d be more useful in France.’

They sat over ersatz coffee and then over wine and omelettes, made with eggs she had brought from Dransville, while he explained what he had been instructed to do. ‘I’m expected to set up a new circuit in the Ardennes area,’ he told her. ‘That means recruiting
resistants
and after that to arrange for supplies of money, arms and explosives to be dropped to them and organise the sabotage of enemy installations and communications.’ He paused. ‘I’ve been told to ask you if you would be willing to help with recruiting and act as a courier until they send me one from London. You don’t have to, of course, it’s entirely voluntary.’ He paused. ‘To tell the truth, I am not sure I should ask. It’s more than a bit risky.’

‘A bit risky,’ she laughed. ‘That’s an understatement,
and it’s a bit different from guiding airmen over the pass at Dransville.’

‘Are you still doing that?’

‘Yes, I’ve just left numbers twenty and twenty-one with Lisabette. What she’s going to say to all this, I don’t know.’

‘She is not to know.’

‘Not to know? You mean the fact that you are in France masquerading as a paint salesman is to be kept from her?’

‘Yes. It’s all to do with security. She would be compromised if the Germans found out about the connection.’

‘And I wouldn’t be, I suppose?’

‘I know it’s asking a lot. In fact, I think I’ll radio London to say you can’t do it.’

‘You will do no such thing.’

‘You mean you want to?’

‘Of course I want to. Where are you staying?’

‘I was going to book into a
pension
.’

‘I shouldn’t. They’re full of Germans. You’d better stay here, at least until we can find you a safe house.’

‘That’s hardly respectable.’

‘Who cares? Besides, you aren’t the first man I’ve had staying here and I don’t suppose you’ll be the last. I’m getting quite a reputation.’

‘Don’t you mind?’

‘No.’ She shrugged expressively. ‘The people I care about and who care for me know the truth. Besides, we need to decide how you’re going to fulfil your brief. I’ll make up the spare bed. Tomorrow I must report for duty at the school, but I think I’ll talk to Giles Chalfont, my principal, about it. He’s involved with the Resistance.’

‘You mean he belongs to one of the circuits?’

‘No, I don’t think so, it’s just a group of people anxious
to make things difficult for the Boche, mostly by printing and distributing an underground newspaper. They may make your first recruits. We’ll need to have a meeting to thrash out the details.’

‘I’ve got a rendezvous with a wireless operator tomorrow.’

‘Right. You keep that and I’ll meet you back here after school is out. We’ll go on from there.’

‘If you’re sure …’

‘I’m sure. I imagine you had no sleep last night, so I’ll make up your bed.’

She left the room and he sat in contemplation. Everything had gone like clockwork so far, but he was not such a fool as to suppose it would always be plain sailing. Justine was a marvel, a real heroine, the way she coped. She made him feel safe and he supposed that was the same for all her escapees, but at what cost to herself? He had really frightened her, hiding behind the door of the flat like that. It was symptomatic of the high tension under which she lived and operated. But he was glad he had found her and even more glad that they would be working together.

Annelise picked the post up from the doormat. Gone were the days when a footman brought it to her on a silver salver. They didn’t have any footmen now; there was only Peters, the butler who was too old for military service, Mrs Baxter, housekeeper-cum-cook, and a couple of daily women coming in from the village to do the cleaning and laundry. Annelise found herself doing much of the housework herself. She didn’t mind that half as much as her well-to-do friends who complained bitterly about the difficulty of hiring and retaining staff, as if they couldn’t live without them. The
last letter she had had from Lady Davenport was full of it. But the letter she had in her hand was not from Serena Davenport, nor anyone whose handwriting she recognised.

She slit it open and another envelope tumbled out and the writing on that she did recognise. ‘Charles! Charles!’ she shouted, running along the hall and into the library where he was working on some accounts. She waved the letter at him. ‘This is from Lizzie.’

He looked up at her excited flushed face. ‘How did it get here?’

‘In another envelope.’

‘Well, open it. See what she says.’

Her hands shook so much she could hardly obey. He rose and took it from her, drew out the single sheet and started to read aloud.

Charles turned the paper over and continued.

He stopped reading and looked at his wife who had flopped into a chair with tears running down her face. He smiled. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart, this is good news, isn’t it? She doesn’t sound at all troubled.’

‘No, thank God.’ She mopped at her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘She must have helped another airman escape, don’t you think? How else did this get here?’ She looked in the envelope in which the letter had come but it was empty. ‘There’s no note.’

‘No, but you remember what Major Buckmaster said when we got the last one. We tell no one.’

‘We can’t not tell Amy and Jack. And Max too.’

‘No, but we’ll wait until we see them face-to-face. Amy is due home next week and Jack will get leave, but as for Max, I don’t know. Do you suppose he’s still in Scotland?’

‘We could write care of Britannia Barracks like we did before.’

‘I don’t think we can, sweetheart. I’m sure Major Buckmaster would say putting pen to paper is too much of a risk. You never know who might see it.’

‘You are probably right’, she agreed. ‘Do you think we could get a message to Lizzie through the BBC?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, carefully folding the letter and returning it to its envelope. ‘I’ll have to take advice about what is permitted.’

Charles took the train to London the next day and went to the War Office where he asked to speak to Major Buckmaster, which caused a little consternation. After a long wait while someone went off to find out where the major was, a rendezvous was arranged in Marietta’s restaurant in Mayfair the following lunchtime. Charles was more than ever convinced the major was involved in some secret work.

Buckmaster was already there when Charles arrived, having stayed at the Ritz the previous night. They greeted each other warily. The major ordered drinks for them both and they sat in red leather chairs in a secluded corner to talk.

‘How can I help you, My Lord?’ he asked, when they had been served.

‘You had better see this,’ Charles said, pushing Elizabeth’s letter across the table to him.

‘Thank you for showing it to me,’ the major said, after reading it. ‘How did it come to you?’

‘I imagine through another escapee. It was in a second envelope posted in London with no indication of who had sent it.’

‘But it is your daughter’s handwriting?’

‘Oh, no doubt of it. I want to do as she asks and send
her a message via the BBC. I thought perhaps you would know how to go about it.’

Buckmaster smiled. ‘I think it can be arranged. What do you want to say?’

‘I just want Lizzie to know we have the letter and are well. I imagine there are rules about what can be said.’

‘Yes, indeed. We have to vet everything. Have you thought of the wording?’

‘How about: “Papa and Mama will save some of Mrs Baxter’s Christmas pudding for Lizzie.”?’

‘Who is Mrs Baxter?’

‘Our cook. She is famous in the family for her puddings.’

‘Then that will do very well.’

‘Is she as safe as she would have us believe? After all, if she is ferrying men over the border …’ He paused, watching Buckmaster’s lean face, but it was inscrutable.

‘She is in the unoccupied zone and so long as she keeps her head down, she should be all right.’

‘And Justine? My wife is concerned for her. She lives and teaches in Paris.’

He tapped the letter. ‘Your daughter says she is well.’

There was something about the way the major said this that alerted Charles to undercurrents. Buckmaster knew more than he was saying. ‘Do you think she is safe?’

‘I have no reason to think she is not.’

Charles smiled. ‘But you would hear if she were not, wouldn’t you?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Let’s not beat about the bush, Major. You would know, wouldn’t you?’

Buckmaster shrugged. ‘I cannot tell you anything, My Lord.’

‘No, I suppose not. I wish I could have a useful job to do, but no one seems to want me. Could you use me?’

The major smiled. ‘It’s a thought. Are you as fluent in French as your son and daughters?’

‘Almost, not quite. My wife tells me I have an English upper-class accent, but I can read and write it well.’

‘There might be a job in the communications room. I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I’ll arrange to have a BBC message sent.’

‘Thank you.’

They rose to go and came face-to-face with Jack and Belinda Davenport, who were being shown to a table.

‘Pa!’ Jack exclaimed, in the way he had as a small boy when caught out in some mischief. ‘What are you doing here?’ Then to Buckmaster, as if remembering his manners. ‘Good afternoon, sir.’

The major smiled. ‘Flight Lieutenant.’ He offered Charles his hand. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ And with that he left them.

‘Pa, what are you up to?’ Jack asked.

‘Nothing, trying to get myself involved, but no one will have me.’

‘I imagine that will please Mama.’

‘Hallo, Belinda,’ Charles said, turning to the girl who was looking very attractive and efficient in WRNS uniform. ‘Nice to see you again.’

‘Nice to see you,’ she said. ‘Jack and I were going to have lunch. Will you join us?’

‘Thank you, but no. I’ll leave you to it.’ Then to Jack. ‘When are you coming home again?’

‘I’ve only got a twenty-four-hour pass this time, not long enough to come home. Are you staying in town?
We could meet this evening.’ He ignored the black looks from Belinda who was expecting to be taken to the theatre.

‘No, I’m going back to Nayton on the four o’clock train. I’d better go or I’ll miss it.’

Jack turned to Belinda. ‘I’ll see my father into a taxi and come back. Order for both of us, will you? Whatever the waiter suggests.’

He followed his father up the stairs to the ground floor. ‘Come on, Pa, what’s going on? The major is the one who warned us about talking. Is he at it again?’

‘No, I went to ask him if he could get a BBC message to Lizzie.’

‘You’ve heard from her again?’

‘Yes, but keep it under your hat. She’s well and so is everyone else.’

‘Good. What message have you asked for?’

Charles smiled and told him. ‘She’ll know it’s meant for her, mentioning Mrs Baxter.’ He saw a cruising taxi and held up his hand to stop it. ‘Come home when you can, Jack. Your mother misses you.’

‘I will, I promise.’ He saw the older man into the vehicle, then turned and went back to Belinda. She was studying a very truncated menu and smoking a cigarette in a long holder. He sat down as the hovering waiter came for their order.

It seemed all wrong somehow. Apart from the fact she was in a smart uniform, Belinda’s life had hardly changed in spite of the war. She still had everything she wanted; money could still buy food and alcohol, good clothes and visits to the theatre and dances. Lizzie was stuck in France and even if she was well, it couldn’t be easy for her. As for
Lucy … Lucy was coping, just. He hadn’t been to see her since the summer; he really must make an effort to go next time he had leave.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Belinda broke in on his thoughts. ‘You’re miles away.’

He forced himself to pay attention. ‘I was wondering what to order.’

‘It shouldn’t take long. Woolton Pie or fish cakes.’

He laughed. ‘Woolton Pie it shall be, but I bet it isn’t as good as Mrs Baxter’s.’

Mrs Baxter’s Christmas pudding. If he started lobbying now, could he get home for Christmas?

‘I saw Jack in London,’ Charles told Annelise after he had recounted his interview with Maurice Buckmaster. ‘He was with Belinda Davenport. They were having lunch in Marietta’s. I didn’t know he was seeing her.’

‘Serena Davenport told me. She is hoping they will make a match of it.’

‘He could do worse, I suppose. Wonder why he didn’t say anything to us?’

‘I don’t think he is in any hurry to commit himself. Perhaps he thinks that with the war and everything, now is not the time to get married.’