The Londoners (11 page)

Taking the bull by the horns, she said steadily, ‘My father is German. He was a prisoner of war who married a London girl and never returned home.’

He looked towards her swiftly, his eyebrows rising slightly, ‘German? Is that making things difficult for him? Or for you?’

Relief began to seep through her. From the tone of his voice it was obvious that he didn’t find it a difficulty.

‘Dad used to teach German at one of the local schools and when Hitler annexed Austria he was asked to resign,’ she said hoping that he would realize how traumatic an experience it
had been for her father without her having to say any more. ‘And there was one more horrible incident.’

He had returned his attention to the road and remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

As unemotionally as she was able, she said, ‘Neighbours of ours have taken a Jewish refugee in. Her brother and father were killed by the Nazis and her mother and sister are in a
concentration camp. Dad knew that her English was minimal and when she was introduced to him he greeted her in German.’

He flashed her another quick glance and she said succinctly, ‘It was a mistake.’

‘I can imagine,’ he said with so much feeling that she knew he wasn’t being merely trite.

He turned off the road leading towards the south-west corner of the Heath, heading instead towards Blackheath Village. ‘It’s the “if some Germans are nasty bits of work,
they’re all nasty bits of work” school of thought. Unfortunately it’s a school of thought my grandfather subscribes to with a vengeance.’

As they approached The Princess of Wales pub on the outskirts of the Village he said, ‘Shall we continue this discussion over a couple of shandies? You’re not in a hurry to go out
anywhere, are you?’

She shook her head. Her father would no doubt be wondering where she was but he would think she was perhaps with Carrie and certainly wouldn’t be worrying about her.

He slowed down, parking the car beside the pond across the road from the pub.

‘One thing I’d better tell you now,’ he said as he switched off the MG’s engine, ‘if my grandfather had known you were part German he would never have allowed
Personnel to employ you.’

She sucked in her breath, her eyes flying wide.

He shot her a reassuring grin. ‘Don’t worry. It’s never likely to come to his notice. It’s something you have to know about though, especially if we’re going to be
seeing a lot of each other.’

He opened the door of the car and got out, saying nothing further until he had walked round the car and opened her door for her. ‘The problem is,’ he said, offering her a helping
hand, ‘my father was killed in Flanders in one of the last battles of the war. He was an only child and Grandfather has never totally recovered from his grief, nor has he ever been able to
bring himself to even speak the word “German”.’

‘Then he’s not going to want you to be friends with me,’ Kate said unsteadily, her face pale.

He kept hold of her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm as he walked with her towards one of the many wood benches and tables set outside the front of the pub. ‘He will do
eventually, but it’s going to take time.’ His voice was infinitely reassuring, ‘And time is something we have plenty of. What would you like to drink?’

‘A shandy, please.’

He was so obviously uncaring himself of her German ancestry, so confident that even where his grandfather was concerned any difficulties would be eventually resolved, that the apprehension that
had engulfed her only seconds before was already beginning to fade. Many people held his grandfather’s prejudices, and for the same reason that his grandfather held them; and many more people
held more recent prejudices and, considering the horrors now taking place in Germany, did so quite understandably.

She sat at one of the wooden tables whilst he went inside the pub for their drinks. His grandfather’s attitude to Germany and Germans was nothing out of the ordinary and was unlikely to
affect her in any profound way. As Mr Muff’s secretary she held far too lowly a position at Harvey’s for her German surname ever to come to Mr Harvey’s notice and as to her
friendship with Toby Harvey, that was their own affair and no-one else’s.

London was enjoying an Indian summer and though it was now well after six o’clock and the beginning of October the early evening air was pleasantly warm. The pond lay across the narrow
road from The Princess of Wales and, as always in daylight hours, a scattering of children were playing on its banks launching toy boats across its surface. Some were racing their boats against
each other, others were trying to torpedo them with sticks and stones. Among the latter group Kate recognized Billy Lomax, Carrie’s eldest nephew. At eight years old he was obviously leader
of the small gang of boys happily torpedoing everything afloat.

Toby walked across to her carrying two glasses of shandy. ‘Whenever I catch you unawares you always look as if you’re contemplating the theory of relativity or the solution to the
problems of the world,’ he said, amusement once again in his voice. ‘Which were you thinking about this time?’

‘Neither,’ she said, a feeling of heady happiness fizzing through her. ‘I was just watching the children playing with their boats. The little boy in the torn short trousers and
wellingtons is my best friend’s nephew.’

‘He looks a little terror,’ Toby said without the least trace of censure in his voice. ‘Have you nieces and nephews?’

She took a sip of her shandy and then said a little regretfully, ‘No. The only family I’ve got is my father.’

‘And the only family I’ve got is my grandfather,’ Toby said cheerfully. ‘So lack of a large family is another thing we have in common.’

A large shambling figure was walking across the Heath and towards the pond, an alsatian at his heels. Kate had no difficulty at all in recognizing him and with a sinking heart she realized that
Charlie was making a bee-line for The Princess of Wales.

‘I think someone is trying to attract your attention,’ Toby said as Queenie bounded across the road towards the pub and Charlie, ambling in her wake, waved genially in their
direction.

Kate wasn’t remotely a snob but she couldn’t help wishing that Miss Godfrey or Mr Nibbs, not Charlie, had been the first of her neighbours to be introduced to Toby. Charlie, with a
broad leather belt holding up trousers without belt-loops, a collarless shirt and a two-days’ growth of stubble on his chin, looked definitely disreputable.

‘It’s a neighbour,’ Kate said resignedly as Queenie charged straight up to her and slammed two large heavy paws down on her lap. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added, not
knowing quite what she was sorry for but certain that before the encounter was over an apology of some sort would be in order.

‘There’s no need to apologize,’ Toby said, moving their glasses of shandy out of the way of Queenie’s powerful tail, ‘but is that dog safe? A small dog licking your
face is one thing, an alsatian licking your face seems a little risky.’

‘She’s perfectly safe with people she knows,’ Kate said, fending Queenie off with as much firmness as she could muster. ‘
Down
, Queenie. There’s a good
dog.’

Queenie, her tail still wagging, did as she was told and, as Charlie approached them, transferred her attentions to Toby.

‘Bit of a surprise seeing you ’ere, petal,’ Charlie said as Queenie sniffed Toby’s ankles and he obligingly scratched the top of her head. ‘Does your Dad know
you’ve started boozin’?’

‘I’m not boozing,’ Kate said, wondering if, after this initial experience, Toby would ever ask her out again, ‘I’m having a shandy, that’s all.’

‘And I’m goin’ to ’ave a pint of mild,’ Charlie said, his pleasure at the prospect obvious. ‘Look after Queenie for me for a minute. The landlord
doesn’t like her going inside. Not after she peed on his floor.’

As Charlie pottered off into the pub, Kate wished fervently that the earth would open and swallow her up. Seeing her embarrassment, Toby said comfortingly, ‘Don’t look so mortified.
A bit of plain speaking never hurt anyone.’

Queenie was now sitting companionably at his feet and Kate prayed fervently that when Charlie re-emerged from the pub he would take his drink, and Queenie, and sit at a table some distance away
from them.

He didn’t. Instead, with a pint of mild ale in either hand and a shallow bowl tucked under one arm, he sat himself companionably down at their table.

‘I’ve already got a drink, thanks very much,’ Toby said pleasantly as Charlie set both glasses down on the table.

‘I dare say you ’ave and it’s a good job too ’cos this is for Queenie,’ Charlie said equably, proceeding to pour a pint of mild into the bowl he had brought out of
the pub with him. ‘I used to let Queenie drink from the glass,’ he added confidingly, ‘but ’arriet said it weren’t hygienic and so now the landlord keeps a bowl for
’er.’

‘Harriet?’ Kate asked, wondering for how long they were going to be saddled with Charlie’s company and unsure whether Charlie was referring to Carrie’s mother-in-law.
‘Don’t you mean Hettie?’

‘No, I don’t.’ Charlie set the bowl and its frothing contents down on the ground for Queenie. ‘I mean ’arriet.’ He took a deep drink of his mild ale, wiped a
line of foam from his top lip with the back of his hand and said to Toby, ‘It’s ’er ’avin’ bin a teacher that makes ’er so particular. Still, it don’t do
no ’arm to ’umour ’er. I like keepin’ people ’appy.’

‘Are you referring to Miss Godfrey?’ Kate asked, unable to even imagine Miss Godfrey in a public house, much less imagine her in one in Charlie’s company.

‘Well I ’ain’t referring to the Pope,’ Charlie replied reasonably. ‘And when are you goin’ to introduce me to your friend? ’arriet’s very hot on
introductions. She says it’s a mark of good manners.’

‘Toby Harvey,’ Toby said, aware that Kate had been rendered temporarily speechless and stretching his hand across the table towards Charlie. ‘I’m very pleased to meet
you.’

‘And I’m very pleased to meet you,’ Charlie responded as Queenie settled herself comfortably at Toby’s feet. ‘The only Harvey I know of is old man Harvey who owns
the construction company in Greenwich. You wouldn’t be a relation by any chance, would you?’

There was a hair’s breadth of hesitation and then Toby said, an edge of reluctance in his voice, ‘I’m his grandson.’

Charlie’s bushy eyebrows rose high and Kate understood why Toby had been reluctant to admit to the relationship. It was because, once he had done so, there was no knowing quite what
reaction he would meet with.

Charlie was impressed but not overawed. ‘Blimey!’ he said graphically. ‘I didn’t know I was in such ’igh-flyin’ company. What are you doin’
boozin’ ’ere? Why aren’t you at the Ritz?’

Toby grinned. ‘The beer’s better here,’ he said with the easy friendliness which Kate found so attractive.

Charlie chortled appreciatively. ‘Is that a fact?’ He took another deep drink of his pint of mild ale, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand again and said with an air of
profound wisdom, ‘You learn something new every day, don’t you?’ Another thought occurred to him and transferring his attention to Kate he said, ‘Does your dad know the kind
of company you’re keepin’?’

Kate was just about to tell Charlie that whether her father knew or not was none of Charlie’s business but as she drew in breath to do so Toby said quickly, ‘We’re going to
Kate’s home when we leave here so that she can introduce me to Mr Voigt.’

‘Then that’s all right then,’ Charlie said, happy that the proprieties were being observed. He drained his glass of beer and to Kate’s vast relief rose to his feet.
‘Seein’ you two are obviously courtin’ I’ll take meself off,’ he said, happily oblivious of the flush of embarrassed colour his words had brought to Kate’s
cheeks. He nudged the recumbent Queenie with a hob-nailed boot. ‘Come on, Queenie girl. Two’s company, three’s a crowd and we’re intrudin’. Let’s pay a visit to
The Three Tuns and see what the beer’s like there.’

Queenie lumbered to her feet, Toby gave her a final affectionate pat and together, man and dog ambled off in the direction of the pub situated more centrally in the Village.

The moment Charlie was safely out of ear-shot Kate said awkwardly, still burning with embarrassment, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what gave him the idea that we were courting . .
.’

‘Probably because we are,’ Toby said, taking hold of her hand and squeezing it tight. ‘At least, I hope we are. And as Charlie so properly pointed out, under the circumstances
it’s about time I met your father.’

All her embarrassment fled. Happiness so deep she couldn’t in a hundred years have found the words to describe it suffused her.

As they rose from the table and began to walk back towards his car, their hands still tightly clasped, she wondered how Carrie could have been so prosaic about her feelings for Danny. The
sensation Toby engendered in her was far more than one of his merely ‘suiting’ her. It was heart-stoppingly wonderful; utterly magical.

Although dusk was now fast approaching, Carl was taking advantage of the last hour of daylight and was dividing and re-planting large clumps of campanulas in the front garden
when Toby’s MG roared spectacularly into Magnolia Square and slowed to a halt only yards away from him. He looked up from his task, startled.

So, too, to Kate’s chagrin, did Miss Godfrey, busy dead-heading the last of her roses; Mr Nibbs, who was trimming his hedge; and Jack Robson who was cleaning and polishing his motor
cycle.

As Toby walked around the car to the passenger-seat door and opened it for Kate, Carl put down his gardening fork and with a slight frown of puzzlement walked down the short garden pathway to
the gate.

Wishing he hadn’t done so, wishing he hadn’t been in the garden at all, Kate stepped out of the MG well aware that not only had she and Toby become a focus of interest for Miss
Godfrey, Mr Nibbs and Jack Robson, but that Hettie Collins had twitched her net curtains back for a clearer view and that an avidly interested Mavis was fast approaching, Beryl skipping in her
wake.