The Darkest Hour (39 page)

Evie had been stacking bowls on a shelf. She turned, astonished. ‘What have I done now?’ She walked across to check the bags of curd dripping into pans on the table. ‘I am painting again. It takes some of my time. It has to!’

‘It’s not that, Evie. He is proud of your painting. But I told you before, it is the fact you are still spending time with Tony.’

Evie stared at her. ‘I haven’t seen Tony for ages!’

‘Oh!’ Rachel looked genuinely surprised. ‘I thought –’

‘You thought wrong! He hasn’t even phoned me.’ Evie turned away but not before Rachel saw the hurt on her face. ‘Eddie thinks he’s taking some other woman to dances. That should please you and Daddy!’

‘I see.’ Rachel’s cheeks coloured slightly. Her interception of Tony’s calls had left her feeling guilty, but anything was better than Dudley’s rage at the mention of the boy’s name. ‘I’m sorry, Evie. I know it’s hard, but your father seemed so angry about him I thought he must have been up here again.’ She picked up the cream jug. In the doorway she turned. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He won’t go and see the doctor,’ she said sadly. ‘He is exhausted and angry and short-tempered with everyone. He gets these pains –’ She put her hand on her heart.

Evie stared after her as her mother walked back across the yard and disappeared into the kitchen.

That was as near as her mother had ever come to admitting how stressful life was now at the farm.

‘The CO wants to see you, old son.’ Peter Warrender, his new room mate, put his head in to their bedroom where Tony was lying on his bed, dozing. They had spent an exhausting few days on almost constant alert, with patrol after patrol in the face of increasingly heavy enemy attacks on Portsmouth.

Tony opened his eyes. ‘Can’t a chap have forty winks in peace?’

‘Nope. At the double, there.’

Tony groaned. He levered himself off the bed. ‘Will you get a beer lined up for me at the bar? If I am to be skinned alive I will need it and if I fail to survive you can drink it for me. Where is he, in the office?’

Peter nodded and disappeared from view.

Don Irving was seated at a desk covered in papers and forms, a heap of log books to one side, an overflowing ashtray by the telephone. The room was full of cigarette smoke.

He looked up as Tony entered and waved him to a chair. He looked very serious. ‘How are things, Tony?’

Tony moved uneasily in the seat. ‘All right?’ It was a question rather than an answer.

‘In all aspects of your life?’

Tony frowned. ‘What have I done?’

Don grinned. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest.’ He leaned forward on his elbows, his chin cupped on the back of his hands, studying Tony’s face. ‘Is there anything worrying you? More girlfriend trouble? I’ve noticed Evie Lucas hasn’t been coming down to the base. I’m glad she’s stayed away. As you know, she’s been getting some unwanted attention from the powers that be.’ He paused, then seeing Tony colour slightly went on, ‘This is not normally any of my business, old boy, but if it impacts on the safety of one of my pilots then it is. I’ve been tipped the wink that maybe someone out there is out to hurt you.’

Tony’s mouth dropped open. ‘I don’t understand!’

‘No, neither do I exactly, but I’ve been told to warn you that there may be someone, somewhere, who does not wish you well. It would be good if you were to have eyes in the back of your head, which I would expect anyway if you value your scraggy neck!’ He grinned again. ‘If this is something to do with Evie ,’ he added, ‘it’s a rotten shame, but better just leave it for a bit, eh?’

‘Are you saying her father –’

‘I’m not saying anything.’

Tony chewed his lip for a moment. ‘Maybe there is something I should tell you. I’ve been wondering, to be honest, if I should tell someone.’ He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably as though already feeling a presence behind him. ‘Dudley Lucas caught me going up to the farm a few days back. It was after midnight.’ He looked down as he saw his CO’s expression. ‘It was before A flight was put on early standby. My flying wouldn’t have suffered. The thing is, he was outside, fully dressed, with a scarf pulled up over his face and, well, I think he was up to something.’ Tony scowled. ‘I kept telling myself that after all he is a farmer. He was probably out delivering a calf or something, but it just didn’t feel right. He was being,’ he hesitated, ‘furtive. You don’t think,’ again he stopped uncomfortably, ‘you don’t think he’s a spy, do you?’

‘And trying to kill you to cover up the fact that you saw him?’ Don ran his fingers through his hair.

‘Kill me?’ Tony stood up. ‘You’ve been trying to tell me someone is trying to kill me?’

‘Well, you already know the entire Luftwaffe is, but yes, I suppose I am saying that.’ Don came round his desk and perched on the corner of it. ‘This is a bit beyond me, Tony. Normally I would say this is all imagination, but as someone else has alerted us to this, I can’t ignore it. An argument over a girl is one thing, but now after what you’ve told me.’ He sighed. ‘I think I will have to go to someone else about this. It is potentially very serious.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’ Tony was growing ever more agitated. ‘If someone is trying to kill me –’

‘If someone is spying for the enemy,’ Don corrected gently. He whistled through his teeth. ‘All right.’ He was suddenly resolute. ‘I will talk to the powers that be, and in the meantime, be careful. There is no suggestion that anyone on our squadron is involved in this, but when you are taking part in a general mêlée, with planes from other bases, watch your tail even before you get near the bandits.’

Tony headed for the door. He stopped and turned. ‘You will tell me if you find out anything?’

Don nodded. He waited for Tony to close the door behind him, then he reached for his telephone.

To Lucy’s relief there was no sign of anyone in the cottage. The garden was deserted, the only sound the excited gossip of the family of swallows sitting in a line on the telephone wire. She still hadn’t seen Mike since their meeting in the gallery and she had arrived full of trepidation.

The envelope full of old letters had been slotted into the back of a tattered volume on Renaissance art. Lucy wasn’t sure what had made her pull the book out, but a cascade of cuttings had dropped around her feet as she did so, and with them this torn, crumpled envelope.

Her heart beating with excitement she carried the whole lot to the table and pulled up her stool. She had arrived at Rosebank Cottage as the morning sun disappeared behind a bank of cloud and the studio was shadowy as she let herself in.

One by one she pulled the letters from their hiding place and carefully unfolding them, laid them out before her.

The first, dated October 1940, was from the War Artists Advisory Committee, signed by E. M. O’Rourke Dickey, who if Lucy recalled correctly was the secretary, offering the sum of twenty guineas for three of Evie’s paintings:
The Market Never Closes
;
Southampton Defies Danger
; and
Girls Pull Together
. There was no clue as to what the paintings depicted, though Lucy felt the titles were probably self-explanatory. She didn’t recognise any of them.

The next letter on flimsy airmail paper was from someone who signed themselves P. Dated March 1941 it was obviously one of her friends from the Royal College, now evacuated to Cumbria.
Evie darling, you would love it here. The hills are so dramatic and the light is almost perverse in its intensity, but oh the boredom! We have nothing to do but paint!!! I think some of the chaps are planning a party though. Things could improve
.

This was like striking gold. These letters were part of a commentary on Evie’s painting life. Lucy drew the next one closer and caught her breath excitedly. She recognised the writing from his log book.

My darling I hardly dare write to you. Everyone and everything seems to be against us. Please tell me you don’t feel the same. I miss you so much. I have spoken to your mother twice on the phone and she said you weren’t there, but you never rang back.

I wonder if your dad ever told you I had a run-in with him one night and he sent me away. I think I put my foot in it seeing him outside at that hour but I could hardly pretend I was there for a casual walk. I am going to post this before we take off this morning and hope you get to it before anyone else in your house. You can always write to me c/o the Mess at WH. Don’t mention to
anyone
that I’ve been in touch. I love you so –

Lucy turned the page but that was all. Nothing else. The second page was missing.

She read it again, a lump in her throat, then, putting it gently aside she looked at the other documents. There were two receipts. She stared at them.
The Fuller Gallery,
Westgate, Chichester
. Her address, though the name of the gallery was different. She found her hands were shaking. David Fuller had paid Evie two guineas each for two watercolour paintings of the cathedral, one at sunset, one with two Spitfires flying past the spire and another of ducks flying at sunset. Where, she wondered, were those pictures now?

She was reaching for the next piece of paper when the door opened behind her. She turned on the stool and found herself face to face with Charlotte Ponsonby.

For a moment they stared at each other in silence before Charlotte stepped inside and shut the door behind her and leaned against it. ‘I thought it must be you when I saw the lights on in here,’ she said.

Lucy glanced past her at the door. ‘Is Mike here with you?’

‘I’m not in the habit of coming down here alone.’ Charlotte was wearing a short pink linen coat over a dress of the same colour and purple high-heeled sandals. She did not look, Lucy thought to herself idly, as though she was dressed for a weekend in the country.

‘He is coming down in the other car but I seem to have arrived first,’ Charlotte went on, ‘which gives us a chance to have a little chat.’

Lucy swept all the papers on the table into a careful pile and tucked them back into the book, then she folded her arms. ‘What sort of chat?’

‘A chat about you and Mike.’ Charlotte moved to the other side of the table and pulling up a second stool perched on it, her eyes fixed on Lucy’s.

Lucy stood up. She picked up the book and held it to her chest defensively. ‘There is no “me and Mike”, as you put it. What on earth makes you think there is? I am working here, that is all.’

‘He is obsessed with you.’ Charlotte’s eyes were hard.

Lucy stared at her. ‘What nonsense! Last time I saw him he was angry with me, but that was the result of a misunderstanding.’ Suddenly she was furious. She was damned if she was going to make excuses to this woman. ‘If you have a problem with Mike I suggest you take it up with him. He and I barely know each other. We’ve had lunch twice and on every occasion we have met it has been to talk about his grandmother. If you are feeling insecure in your relationship, I suggest you look closer to home! I doubt if he likes the clingy type.’

She stopped abruptly, shocked at her own bitchiness. Bending over, she picked up her briefcase and laptop bag. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I would hate to be intrusive.’

She turned to the door.

‘Stop!’ Charlotte had risen from her stool. ‘What is that book?’

Lucy still had it clutched in her arms. She held it tighter. ‘It is a textbook on Renaissance art. Probably from Evie’s days at college.’

‘Did Mike say you could take it away?’ Lucy could feel the hostility coming off the woman in waves.

‘Mike said I could take anything I wanted,’ she said with exaggerated patience. It is all going to be returned, I assure you. And I assure you equally that, if it is the monetary value of this book that worries you, it is probably not even worth a fiver. If I tried to sell it, it would fetch nothing; it would be pulped.’

‘Then why are you taking it?’

‘Because I am interested in art; I am interested in Evie. I am writing a book about Evie and anything that interested her, interests me.’ Lucy slotted the book into her bag. ‘Any further questions?’ She held Charlotte’s gaze for a full three seconds and was pleased to see the woman quail slightly.

She opened the door. ‘Have a nice weekend,’ she called over her shoulder as she closed it with care behind her. She hoped she hadn’t sounded too sarcastic.

Mike was standing by her car in the lane. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going.’ She fumbled in her pocket for the keys.

‘You don’t have to.’

‘Oh, I think I do. I have enough to cope with trying to sort out your family, Mike, without being accused of trying to seduce you by your girlfriend!’ Her anger had sparked up again at the sight of him. ‘I’ll keep out of your way for a bit. Perhaps that is best anyway, given your suspicions about my motives!’ Pulling open the car door she threw in her laptop and bag and climbed in after them.

‘Wait, wait, wait!’ Mike grabbed the door handle as she made to pull it shut. ‘What is all this about. What has she said?’

‘Ask her.’ Giving up on the door, Lucy inserted the key into the ignition and turned it.

‘No.’ Mike was still holding onto the handle. ‘I need to talk to you. Now, please. This is crazy, Lucy. What did Charlotte say?’