Red Joan (5 page)

‘What are you doing tomorrow evening?' Sonya asks suddenly as they turn in through the college gates.

‘I thought I might go to the fundraiser for the new building.'

Sonya laughs. ‘Really? Don't tell me you've been enticed by the raffle.'

‘Just the cake sale. Aren't you going?'

‘No, and you shouldn't either. I'm going to see some films at the Town Hall with my cousin.' She pauses and looks at Joan, and her expression is scrutinising but also curious. ‘Why don't you come along? I think you'll like them.'

Cambridge, 12 October 1937

 

To: The Chief Constable

 

Sir,

I beg to report that at 7.30 p.m. on the 12th inst. with Detective Constable BRIGSTOCKE, I went to the Town Hall, Cambridge, where we witnessed the exhibition of two films by KINO entitled
The Factory Lights
and
If War Should Come
.

The meeting took place under the auspices of no particular organisation, but there was undoubtedly a Communist Party flavour to it.

The former film,
The Factory Lights
, depicted a number of scenes purporting to have happened during the Revolution in Russia, and the second
If War Should Come
showed the Soviets' fighting services in action against an imaginary enemy. In neither film was there anything to which objection could be taken, although these films are under consideration for re-categorisation as banned material in line with previous films distributed by KINO.

The audience numbered approximately 300–350, the majority of whom were strangers to me.

I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

J.W. Denton

 

Joan is tired. It has been a long afternoon and the light outside has faded. ‘How much longer do you intend to keep me here?'

Ms. Hart glances at the clock. She purses her lips. ‘There's a lot to get through before Friday.'

Joan looks up at her, suddenly struck by the thought that if the announcement is delayed indefinitely, then it might never come to anything. She might die of natural causes first. ‘But why Friday? It's not set in stone, is it?'

Ms. Hart does not look at her. She underlines something in her notes, and then repeats the action three times. ‘I've already told you that your name is being released on Friday in the House of Commons. If you're going to present anything in your defence, you must say so before then in order for it to be admissible.'

‘But that's what I mean, why Friday? Surely the agenda in the House of Commons can be changed.'

‘No, it can't,' Ms. Hart says.

‘But—'

‘I'll ask you again. Would you like us to call a lawyer for you? You're perfectly entitled to have one. There's legal aid—'

Joan interrupts with a shake of her head. She is acutely aware that any solicitor she calls is likely to be acquainted with Nick, or will at least know of him. She is not prepared to take that risk. ‘No. You don't have to keep asking.'

Ms. Hart looks at her, and then glances at the screen behind Joan and raises her shoulders in a small shrug. ‘It's my job to ask.' She pauses. ‘All right, let's get on.'

‘But I would like to know where I'll be sleeping tonight.'

‘You'll be allowed home. We'll take you in the car. As I said before, at present you haven't been arrested, but there will be restrictions on your freedom until such time as the Home Secretary has considered your case. You'll be under curfew, of course, and tagged.'

‘Tagged? Like a teenage delinquent?'

There is a pause. ‘No, Mrs. Stanley. Like any person whose whereabouts are of extreme interest to the Security Services. It will only be until Friday.'

‘And then?'

‘Well, that depends, of course.'

‘Of course.' Joan looks down at her hands, resigning herself to the prospect of further questioning but also allowing herself to feel a tiny bit encouraged that she will be allowed home at the end of the day, albeit tagged. Reluctantly she takes the police report handed to her by Ms. Hart and peers at it through her reading glasses. There is an advertisement stapled to it, a small square of paper—
See the Mighty Red Army in Action!
—which attempts to entice audiences with promises of mass parachute descents. A KINO Films production, admission 5d, pay at the door.

Ms. Hart is watching her closely. ‘Were you there?'

‘How would I know?' Joan retorts, her voice raised in exasperation. ‘This was nearly seventy years ago. You can't possibly expect me to remember whether I was there or not.'

‘So you might have gone?'

‘I said I don't remember.'

‘But you're not denying there was a possibility that this was the sort of event you might have been attracted to.'

Joan opens her mouth and closes it again. ‘Everyone went to that sort of thing in those days.' She stops. There is a flush in her cheeks. She does remember this particular film—how could she have forgotten it?—but it is alarming to see that they might know this too. How could they? How could her presence have left a trace? ‘I really don't remember. And I don't understand why it's so important.'

Ms. Hart looks at Joan. Her expression is concentrated. ‘Was that the first time you met him?'

‘Who?'

‘Leo Galich.'

Oh. The sound of his name is like an explosion in her chest. It has been so long since she heard anyone say it out loud. She is aware of Ms. Hart's pen hovering above her notepad, the small red light on the camera in the corner of the room and the unseen presence of Mr. Adams behind the glass screen, unmoving, listening.

 

When they arrive, Joan is surprised by how many people are already thronging into the hall. She and Sonya pay their entry fee and are given small scraps of paper in lieu of tickets, but there is no definite seating system. The lights are set low and young men are carrying benches into the hall from a side storage room. There is a drinks stand at the back with a large metal tea urn and rows of mismatched mugs. It is nothing like the cinema in St. Albans, with its velvet seats and feature ceiling that changes from dusky clouds to starry night sky during the course of the programme, and where the whole auditorium is perfumed with Yardley's Lavender. And very different too from the rarefied atmosphere of the fundraising event they passed on their way out, the bazaar stalls in Peile Hall being set up by the girls under the supervision of Miss Strachey, the college Principal, a long, thin, clever woman with short hair and round glasses who would not know what to make of all this confusion.

Joan and Sonya find seats towards the rear of the hall and Sonya goes to get them a drink before the film starts. Left alone, Joan folds her hands on her lap in an attempt to appear relaxed in this strange environment, and she casts her eyes around, trying to guess which one Sonya's cousin might be.

It is several minutes before she spots someone whom she is almost certain must be Leo. He has a shock of dark hair that stands out against the bright whiteness of his collar, and the same translucent, almost golden, skin as Sonya, the same dark brown eyes behind the wire-framed spectacles, the same tall, willowy frame. He is standing just in front of the stage, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets so that his jacket bunches slightly. He is with a group of three other men, and he is listening to one of the others intently, his whole body inclined towards the speaker as if he could not bear to miss a single word, and it is this that makes Joan absolutely convinced that this must be him: he has that same impression of energy, or perhaps enthusiasm, that she finds so appealing in Sonya. She watches him from a distance, absently at first and then more deliberately as he tilts his head in response to the other man's words. How wonderful to be listened to like that, she thinks.

He seems to spot Sonya as she carries the two mugs of tea back to her seat, and he strides towards her. He knows he is being looked at. Not by Joan (although, yes, she is looking at him) but by others in the hall too. Women with handbags clasped on their laps glance up at him as he passes, while a row of girls from the teacher training college in Bedford (she can tell by their textbooks) cross their legs almost in unison, causing a shadow of a smirk to flutter across his face. When he reaches Sonya, they kiss on both cheeks in the European manner. He seems to say something about the fur coat she has borrowed again this evening, running his fingers along the soft arm of it, and Joan waits for Sonya to turn and acknowledge her, but Sonya does not. She says something else and then laughs, spinning away from him and continuing back towards Joan.

‘Was that him?' Joan asks once Sonya has squeezed along the pew to her seat, her voice sounding tight and not as casual as she'd like.

‘Who?'

‘Your cousin.'

Sonya hands the two mugs of tea to Joan while she takes off the fur coat. ‘Yes. Pretty, isn't he?'

Joan opens her mouth and closes it again. Yes, she thinks, that is exactly the right description. Admittedly he is not as rugged as Gary Cooper but there is something so smooth about him, so perfectly symmetrical, that it wouldn't be quite enough to call him handsome. ‘Is he? I didn't notice.'

‘Well, you'll have another chance in a second. He's coming over now.' Sonya leans back, waiting for him to approach. He slips into the pew in front of them and turns to Joan, holding out his hand for her to take.

‘You must be Joan,' he says, giving a small bow. ‘I've heard all about you.'

Joan feels her cheeks flush and is relieved when Sonya interrupts by batting Leo on the arm with the back of her hand. ‘Why do you always insist on bowing like that? Sometimes I wonder if you're not the most middle-class person I've ever known.'

‘How many times must I tell you?' Leo says, talking to Sonya but still looking at Joan, ‘I am a socialist, not an anarchist. We must keep some decorum.'

There is a sudden burst of noise as the volume of the sound amplifiers is turned up too high, and then adjusted back down. The screen flickers. ‘Oh look, Leo, it's starting.' Sonya tugs at his arm, impatient for him to move out of the way.

Leo glances at her and nods, but instead of moving out of the way he leans further towards Joan so that Sonya is momentarily excluded from the conversation. His sudden proximity, the nearness of him, causes her to wonder if she is having a small heart attack. ‘I hope you find it interesting. You must tell me what you think afterwards, if my cousin will allow it.'

‘Of course,' she says, managing to compose herself sufficiently to lower her eyes a little so that she can look up at him through her mascara-dusted lashes, but he does not stay to appreciate this performance. Instead he turns to pat Sonya abruptly on the shoulder and then strides back to his place at the front of the hall.

The evening begins with a rendition of ‘The Red Flag' which is accompanied by clapping. Once the action begins, it takes Joan a short while to work out that there are actually seven or eight main characters (Joan cannot be altogether certain) played by only three actors with varying degrees of facial hair and accented speech by which they are intended to be distinguishable from one another. It is called
The Factory Lights
, and seems to have a mildly scandalous plot about a woman who is obliged to share a small apartment with two men as a result of a housing shortage in an industrial town in Russia.

Halfway through, the reel runs out and the screen glares white. There is a moment of silence while the second reel is fitted into the projector.

‘Well?' Sonya leans in and asks Joan in a loud whisper.

Joan hesitates. What is there to say about it? That it's the worst film she's ever seen and she much prefers
Bright Eyes
? That she hopes Gary Cooper will turn up in the second half? ‘It's interesting.'

Sonya laughs. ‘That's what my uncle taught me to say when I didn't like something.'

Joan starts to protest, but just then the music blares to announce the start of the second half and Sonya sits back, seemingly unconcerned by Joan's response. But what else could she have said? There is no romance, no adventure. She knows she cannot say this to Leo if he comes over to seek her opinion at the end as promised. She must find something more substantial to say to him, something insightful and intelligent.

The second film is shorter and follows almost immediately from the first after another reel change. It begins with a Red Army air drop over Germany in which hundreds of men parachute from aeroplanes like flying ants, and then use sticks to invade a series of German tanks, battering down their opponents with a violence that causes Joan to look away. Near the end of the film, one character turns to another and says: ‘It's not really fair, is it, this battle?'

‘What do you mean?' the other says. ‘That we have sticks and they have tanks?'

The first man shakes his head, and the music softens, pauses, and then builds up gently behind him as he speaks. ‘Would you hit a blind man? We may not have tanks, but at least we know what we're fighting for.'

The camera sweeps backwards as the two men embrace, and there is a burst of percussion to accompany the rush of credits which confirms Joan's suspicions that the acting company was understaffed, and the audience breaks into applause. Joan joins in, not wishing to appear impolite.

There is a buzz of conversation around them as everyone discusses various aspects of the films. What was intended by this scene or that? Was the flower on the factory floor a metaphor for hope or for crushed individualism? Joan listens, and feels chided by these overheard conversations. She did not even notice the flower. She turns to Sonya. ‘I'm not sure I understood all the references.'

Sonya laughs. ‘It's always like that to begin with. It'll be easier next time,' she adds, casting around for Leo. She spots him standing at the front of the room, talking to a slender girl in a black coat wearing a pillbox hat over her blonde curls.