The Darkest Hour (32 page)

‘Good idea.’ Eddie put the cups on the table. He reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. ‘Can I offer you one, Mrs Lucas?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘Leave it till you’ve had a scone, Eddie,’ she said sharply. ‘If we eat a bit of something now, then we can leave supper until late when Dudley comes in from the fields. I’m feeding the girls tonight too.’ They had three land girls now, two sleeping upstairs in the spare room of the farmhouse and the third billeted in the village. Outside, the generator roared into life suddenly and for a moment the house seemed to shake, but the skies remained empty.

Evie walked with Eddie to his car after they had finished their tea. ‘That was kind of you to give me the camera,’ she said as they stood in the yard. She didn’t look at him, watching the hens scratching round in the dried mud by the gate instead. He caught her hand.

‘It’s a pleasure, Evie,’ he said gruffly. ‘You know I like to make you happy.’

She gave him a quick glance. ‘I know,’ she said. She gently removed her hand from his.

‘As I said, you’ll be hearing from the War Artists any day,’ he said.

She laughed rather grimly. ‘I am so pleased. But they’re still not giving me an official listing –’

‘Give it time, sweetheart. They will.’ He pulled open the door of the car and set one foot on the running board. ‘They like what you’ve done. The picture of the women in the factory is going to be exhibited.’

‘You didn’t tell me that!’ she cried.

‘I only heard yesterday.’

‘Where?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe London.’

She stared at him speechlessly.

He smiled and reached to touch her cheek. ‘That would please you, eh? Fame at last. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear any more.’ He reached forward and gave her a quick kiss on the lips then he climbed into the car and pulled the door shut. ‘TTFN!’ he called.

She watched the car disappear down the lane in a cloud of dust and turned dreamily towards the house. Her mother was standing watching her. Evie skipped towards her. ‘Eddie had some good news. The War Artists Advisory Commission is going to exhibit one of my paintings. Possibly in London!’ She executed a small pirouette.

Rachel smiled. ‘Congratulations, Evie. That is good news.’ She studied her daughter’s face for a moment. ‘You’re not fond of Eddie, are you, Evie?’ She couldn’t hide the sudden anxiety in her voice.

Evie stood stock-still. ‘No!’ she said sharply. ‘No, I’m not. Not since Tony.’ A shadow crossed her face. ‘But Tony didn’t want me, and it appears that Eddie does.’

‘It doesn’t have to be either, Evie,’ Rachel said. ‘Dozens of young men will fall in love with you, my darling. You will have the choice of all of them. Don’t settle for Eddie just because he gives you expensive presents.’

Evie frowned crossly. ‘I would never settle for Eddie. He and I have a business arrangement.’

‘Oh, is that what it is?’

‘You know it is. He sells my pictures and he knows all the important people in the art world.’ For a moment Evie’s face was very sober and her mother saw an expression there she didn’t remember ever seeing before. Mature. Hard. Determined. ‘Don’t worry about Eddie, Mummy. I know exactly how to handle him.’ Evie stepped past her into the kitchen. ‘I’ll go and change and help the girls until it gets dark.’

In her bedroom Evie sat on her bed, the camera in her hands. It was heavy, obviously expensive, with complicated shutter mechanisms. Quietly she put it down on the pillow and she walked over to the window and stood resting her elbows on the sill, looking out across the yard towards the fields. The clouds had drawn closer now and were full of portent. There was still no sign of aircraft anywhere. The enemy wasn’t coming tonight.

For a long time she stood there staring out, then suddenly she turned towards her desk and rummaged in the drawer for some paper.

Darling Tony,
she wrote.
I can’t bear this. Please, please can we talk?

At Westhampnett the CO called Tony into his office. ‘A bit of a change for you, old boy. We’ve a bod from the Air Ministry coming down to do some portraits of you chaps. I’ve put you on the list.’

Tony flinched as though he had been hit. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Station Commander’s orders, I’m afraid. We can’t argue. I’m being done as well.’ He glanced at Tony. ‘I know this is not particularly tactful and all that, but we have to do what we are told. Evie is not official.’

‘Evie and I are over. She hasn’t been down here for days.’

‘No. So, we have to submit to orders. I am told this chap won’t take more than a couple of hours on each picture.’

Turps Orde was a man in his early fifties. He settled Tony down on a stool in the front room of the old house they used as a Mess and reached for his sketchbook and charcoal. ‘So, you’re one of the chosen few.’ He had a friendly manner and put Tony at his ease. ‘I’m told your girlfriend is a painter too.’

Tony nodded Glumly. ‘She’s had paintings commissioned by the WAAC.’ No point in telling him she was no longer his girlfriend.

‘Good for her. I shall keep a lookout for her work.’ Turps reached for a piece of white chalk and began stroking highlights into his drawing. ‘I’m having trouble doing portraits of you chaps. By the time the thing is finished you’ve probably been awarded a new medal.’ He peered over his glasses.

Tony shook his head, embarrassed. ‘Not me.’

‘Ah.’ Turps grinned. He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Perhaps we should leave a space. I only sketch the best, you know, and a little bird told me there might be something in the pipeline for you, young man.’

Lucy was standing by her desk in the window. It was ten minutes since she had put down the phone and she was still staring out towards the floodlit spire of the cathedral which she could just see beyond the rooftops of the houses on the far side of the road. Huw was out. Before Robin had gone she had left a message begging Huw to come. Now there was nothing to do until she heard from him.

She glanced over her shoulder at the living room door. She had closed it behind her, leaving the kitchen across the landing with every light switched on and the radio playing quietly.

She paced up and down restlessly for a few minutes, then sitting down at last she reached for the pile of files on her desk. She still wasn’t sure about what she was going to tell Mike and she was filled with foreboding. She didn’t want to destroy their relationship. She paused, frowning. They didn’t have a relationship; they were more like colleagues in a project. But whatever it was she didn’t want to spoil it. The whole thing depended on her and Mike having complete trust in each other and now the mysterious Christopher was threatening to blow the whole thing out of the water. She couldn’t afford to let that happen. With a sigh she pushed aside the files of documents and pulled Tony Anderson’s log book towards her. Tony, whose face had been obliterated from Evie’s portrait. Was she even sure it was Tony in the picture? No. Of course not. She wasn’t sure of anything. She riffled through the book gently to see if there were any photos stuck in between the pages. There were a few pieces of paper, she had noticed before. Folded notes, one or two receipts at the end of the book which he had obviously tucked there for safekeeping and one letter on thin blue paper. Lucy unfolded it and caught her breath.

Darling Tony,

I can’t bear this. Please, please can we talk? I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you. I had a letter from your mother this morning. She sounded so kind. She said you had told her all about me and that then you had written to her and told her that our engagement was off. She thought it was my fault. She said you were unhappy.

I’m unhappy.

Please can I see you? I am going to ride down to the airfield gates this evening and bribe one of the guards to give you this. If you can, come up tonight.

I’ll be waiting. E xxxxxxxxx

Lucy stared down at the flimsy sheet of paper. It had been folded and unfolded so often that it was falling apart at the creases. Had he gone? Had Tony gone up to the farm? Had they made up their quarrel?

The sound of the front doorbell from the gallery below made her jump. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was nearly nine o’clock.

Huw looked exhausted when she pulled open the door and let him in. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late. Duty called. I had to go to the hospital,’ he said as he followed her upstairs, ‘but you sounded so distraught I felt I should come as soon as I could.’

Lucy felt a pang of guilt as she ushered him into the kitchen. ‘I am really sorry. I didn’t think. It wasn’t late when I rang,’ she defended herself.

He put his hand on her arm. ‘It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t complaining.’ He smiled. ‘I was just worried that you had had to wait so long on your own. It sounded as though there had been developments.’

‘There have.’ Lucy glanced at the studio door. ‘Let me show you.’

On the threshold of the studio she paused and took a deep breath before reaching in to flick on the lights. She led the way over to the painting on the easel and stopped dead.

‘What is it?’ Huw asked. He scanned her face and following her gaze turned to look at the picture. ‘Is something wrong?’

She shook her head slowly. ‘No, nothing is wrong.’ Her voice was flat. There was no damage, no fresh paint. The young man’s face, as cheery as ever peered over Evie’s shoulder, unblemished. ‘The whole corner of the painting was damaged,’ she whispered. ‘His face had been painted out.’ She lifted a shaking finger and pointed. ‘The picture was scratched. I found it on the floor.’ For several seconds more she studied the portrait then she turned round to face him. ‘Robin was here. He will tell you. He saw it. He helped me pick it up. He touched the wet paint and got some on his finger.’ Again she faced the picture. She stepped up to it and examined it even more closely. ‘It was so violently done I was afraid. We both were, and we decided it must have been an intruder, a real person, Huw, who had come in along the roof, perhaps, or slipped up from the gallery. Someone determined to destroy the picture, or at least the image of the young man. But now –’

‘Now?’ he responded gently.

‘It wasn’t, was it? Not a real person. A real person couldn’t have made all that go away. But,’ she gazed at him helplessly, ‘it wasn’t Ralph.’

‘What makes you think it wasn’t Ralph?’

‘I could sense it. I could feel it. It was a different –’ She paused. ‘A different sense,’ she repeated lamely. ‘As though …’ Once again her voice petered out. ‘That was why Robin and Phil stayed with me last night. I was suddenly so afraid.’

Huw waited several seconds. ‘As though what?’ he prompted again.

‘It was someone quite different, that’s all I know. Ralph is anxious, helpless, frustrated. This man was angry and strong and threatening.’

‘You are sure it was a man?’

She nodded. Her back to him she approached the easel again. She bit her lip. ‘Oh, yes. It’s a man. No woman would have done this.’

Huw looked sceptical for a second, but he kept his thoughts to himself. ‘And you were afraid,’ he said gently. ‘Both of you? How did Robin react to all this?’

‘I told you. He thought it was a real person. So did Phil.’

‘And they were prepared to leave you here alone?’

‘No. They wouldn’t go until I rang you.’ She turned at last and smiled a little sheepishly. ‘I told them you were on your way or they wouldn’t have gone.’

‘I’m sorry it took me so long.’

‘It didn’t matter. I was safe in the living room.’

‘You didn’t sense him in there?’

‘No.’

For a long moment they were both silent, then Huw let out a drawn-out sigh. ‘I will pray for the repose of the soul of whoever is haunting this place. That is all I can do, Lucy. Would you like to stay in here while I do it?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’

Huw smiled. ‘Fair enough. I will join you shortly.’

In the doorway Lucy hesitated for a moment. Why not join him? Why not support him with a murmured prayer even if she didn’t think it would do any good? But what was the point of that? It might dilute whatever it was that he believed.

But, if she didn’t believe in him why had she rung him?

Why had she rung him if, with part of her brain, she believed Robin; that whoever had done this was a real person, someone who had set her up? Someone who was determined she should abandon her research and leave Evie to her anonymity. Someone who was trying to scare her to death. Mike, or more likely, his cousin, Christopher Marston.

With a small perplexed grimace of confusion she made her way into the kitchen, gently pulling the studio door closed behind her. Reaching for the kettle she turned up the volume on the radio so that she couldn’t hear anything that was happening behind the door.

Moments later she heard a shout followed by a crash. Footsteps pelted across the floor and someone was scrabbling frantically with the door handle. Frozen with terror for a second she couldn’t move, then she ran towards the door just as it flew open and Huw almost fell into the kitchen. His face was ashen. Turning, he dragged the door shut then he staggered to the table and sat down. She could see the gleam of perspiration on his face. His hands were shaking as he brought them together on the table top and clasped them. She wasn’t sure if he was praying or trying to steady himself.