The Londoners (24 page)

In the long hours of the night the last problem seemed far the most insuperable. Joss Harvey was ignorant of her existence. How could she possibly write to him out of the blue and tell him that
she was bearing his beloved dead grandson’s child? Yet if she didn’t she would, perhaps, be denying him the same kind of joy that she was experiencing. It was a problem she was unable
to resolve and she thrust it to the back of her mind. The important thing at the moment was to establish that she
was
pregnant and only a visit to her doctor could do that.

‘I’m afraid it’s too early for me to confirm absolutely,’ Doctor Roberts, who had brought her into the world, said cautiously. ‘I think there is a
very strong possibility that you
are
pregnant but only in another two or three weeks will I be able to be more certain.’ He fiddled unhappily with his stethoscope. ‘I’ve
known you all your life, Katherine. I would never have expected . . . never anticipated . . .’

‘The father of my baby died at Dunkirk,’ Kate said, keeping her voice steady with difficulty. ‘He had asked me to marry him and I had accepted his proposal. I
want
to
be pregnant. I
want
to be having his baby!’

Doctor Roberts, well accustomed to the romantic idiocies of many of his younger female patients, sighed heavily. ‘You’re not being very realistic,’ he said gently. ‘Your
child will be illegitimate – a bastard. And both of you will suffer for the fact.’

Kate rose from the cracked leather chair she had been sitting on. ‘If I
am
having a baby, it will be much-loved,’ she said tautly, ‘and that is what matters. Not the
fact that it will be born out of wedlock.’

Doctor Roberts pursed his lips and shook his head in disagreement. ‘I wish that were the case, Kate, but I’ve lived too long to believe it to be so. The minute a whisper of your
condition reaches your neighbours you’ll find yourself labelled a woman of loose morals – and be ostracized accordingly.’

Kate gave him a small, mirthless smile. ‘You’re forgetting that I’m half-German, Doctor Roberts. I know all about being ostracized and being ostracized for my morals instead of
my ancestry will merely make a refreshing change.’

Before Doctor Roberts could even think of a suitable response she had walked from the room, her heavy bell-rope of flaxen hair swinging gently against her rigidly straight back.

There were times, at work, when she found the casual gossip about Toby’s death nearly unendurable.

‘Word is that old man Harvey has taken his grandson’s death very hard, very hard indeed,’ Mr Muff said to her the morning after her visit to Doctor Roberts. ‘It’s
understandable of course, particularly when you remember that his son died in the last war, fighting Germans. The poor man has no close family left at all now.’

‘He was piloting a Hurricane,’ one of the typists from Planning and Design said to her when she came into Mr Muff’s office with a memo. ‘My brother is in the RAF and he
says Hurricanes are notoriously unstable at low altitude. If I leave this memo on Mr Muff’s desk will you make sure he sees it? And I suppose he must have been flying at low altitude if he
was flying over a beach. I wonder if he came down on land or in the sea? Either way he wouldn’t have stood a chance, would he? Will you tell Mr Muff that when he’s read the memo Mr
Tutley would like a reply to it straight away?’

That evening, as she walked from the Heath and into Magnolia Square, she felt utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

Hettie Collins, her black hat crammed over her iron-grey curls, was hurrying towards her. The minute she saw Kate she changed direction, crossing the Square abruptly. Kate shrugged her
shoulders. If Hettie chose to react to her as if she were a fully paid up member of the Hitler Youth
Mädchen
there was nothing she could do about it.

She continued on her way, wondering how she was going to endure any more conversations of the kind she had endured that day and she was so deep in thought, her eyes to the ground and not in
front of her, that she didn’t see the open-topped car parked outside her house until she was nearly on top of it.

When it did register on her vision, it did so with so much impact that she felt as if an iron hand had been punched into her chest. It was a blue car, not red, but the young man driving it was
in RAF uniform and there was a big, black Labrador sitting in the seat next to him.

She came to an abrupt halt, her heart slamming against her breast-bone, the blood thundering in her ears.

A young man she had never set eyes on before vaulted from the driver’s seat. Like Toby he was fair-haired, but his face was more fine-boned than Toby’s, almost effeminate.

‘Excuse me, are you Miss Voigt?’ he asked, walking towards her. ‘We haven’t met before but you fit Toby’s description. I don’t imagine there are many girls
with a plait of hair like yours.’

She remained motionless, still trying to recover from the wild, wonderful hope that had, just for a split second, engulfed her.

‘Yes,’ she said hoarsely, coming to terms with the crucifying cruelty of reality. ‘I’m Kate Voigt. Is that Hector in the car?’

Before any reply could be made on his behalf Hector answered for himself, leaping down to the pavement and bounding towards her, his powerful tail wagging frenziedly. ‘It most certainly
is,’ the young man said as she bent down to Hector, pressing her face against his silk-soft fur. ‘And my name is Lance Merton. I was a pal of Toby’s.’

His clipped, plummy pronunciation was most definitely ex-public school.

She stood up straight again, Hector pressed close against her legs, hope of a different kind beginning to stir deep within her. ‘Did Toby leave something for me? A letter . . .’

‘No,’ he said, his smile fading. ‘There was no letter. I’m sorry.’

Once again she battled with disappointment. Then she looked down at Hector and comfort surged through her. ‘Have you been looking after Hector?’ she asked, wondering if it would be
hard to persuade Lance to part with him.

‘Yes, but it isn’t easy. Not on an RAF base.’

‘Would you let me have him?’

‘Consider the deed done,’ Lance Merton said without the slightest hesitation. He cocked his head to one side slightly. Things were going easier than he had hoped. Ever since he had
seen her photograph on Toby’s locker, his complex, introverted personality had been bewitched by her. She didn’t look like any other girl. There was nothing ordinary about her. Her
long, thick plait of golden hair reminded him of the medieval princesses of his childhood story books. Even in a photograph she had exuded an air of inner serenity, a gentleness which he found
profoundly sexually disturbing. Now that there was the added bond of Hector between them as well as Toby, he would be able to call on her again when her grief for Toby had begun to abate. He felt a
sense of deep satisfaction. His purpose had been achieved. He had met her in the flesh and the flesh had not been wanting.

‘I’m glad you haven’t minded my calling on you like this,’ he said, marvelling at how dark her eyelashes were for a natural blonde. ‘My mother has relatives in
Blackheath and I’m being a dutiful son and visiting them for her.’

‘How did you know my address?’

‘Toby told me you lived in Magnolia Square and the photograph of you on his locker was taken outside your front gate. I recognized your neighbour’s magnolia tree.’

For the first time since he had asked if she were Miss Voigt, Kate felt a
frisson
of awkwardness. He had been a friend of Toby’s and had taken the trouble to come and see her. If
her father had been at home she wouldn’t have had the slightest hesitation in asking him into the house for a cup of tea. But her father wasn’t home and despite Lance Merton’s
near-effeminate features, there was nothing effeminate about his personality.

Beyond his uniformed shoulder she could see Miss Helliwell and Miriam Jennings gossiping together outside Miss Helliwell’s gate, their eyes not on each other but on her and Lance
Merton.

If she invited Lance Merton into the house news of her action would be all over Magnolia Square by supper-time. Ordinarily she would not have wasted a moment of her time worrying about such a
prospect, but if she were pregnant she couldn’t afford to be so uncaring. She didn’t want wild, incorrect rumours circulating about her baby’s paternity.

As the awkward silence lengthened, Lance put an end to it, saying blandly, ‘I’ll say goodbye for now and leave you in Hector’s good care. Perhaps next time I’m down this
way I could call on you again?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, feeling more than a little ashamed at her inhospitality. If Carrie had been in sight she could have asked Carrie to join them. Or even Miss Godfrey. But
Carrie and Miss Godfrey were not in sight.

‘Goodbye then,’ he said, shaking her hand with sudden and disconcerting formality.

‘Goodbye,’ she said, wishing that she could reverse her decision and perhaps listen to him talk about Toby.

From the depths of Miss Godfrey’s magnolia tree Billy’s strident young voice ensured that she didn’t do so. ‘Hoy, Kate!’ he called out cheekily. ‘Who’s
your friend, an’ where’s ’is plane?’

‘He’s a beautiful dog,’ Carrie said when Kate formerly introduced her to Hector. ‘It was kind of Toby’s friend to think of bringing him to
you.’

‘I’m not sure he did so with the intention of leaving him with me,’ Kate said doubtfully. ‘He said that it wasn’t easy looking after a dog on an RAF base and I
asked him if I could have him.’

‘Too easy,’ Carrie said, sitting back on her heels beside Hector and giving him an affectionate pat. ‘He came to see you with Hector with the intention of asking you if you
wanted to have him. You simply made it easy for him, that’s all.’

‘Perhaps. It was an odd sort of encounter, over almost before it began. He barely mentioned Toby, except to say that Toby had told him whereabouts I lived.’

‘Perhaps not referring to a friend’s death is his way of coming to terms with it,’ Carrie said helpfully. ‘Danny never says any of his mates have been killed. He always
says they’ve “pegged” it or “snuffed” it.’

Kate, remembering the offhand way Toby had referred to Hector’s original owner as having ‘bought’ it, didn’t disagree with her. And she had more important things to think
about than her odd encounter with Lance Merton. She still hadn’t started her period and that morning she had been violently sick.

‘Did you suffer with morning sickness when you were pregnant with Rose?’ she asked curiously.

‘Not ’alf,’ Carrie said cheerily as Hector nuzzled her ear. ‘It’s the one reason I’m not too keen on having another one. Morning sickness and early mornings
down the market don’t mix.’

‘How soon after you fell pregnant did you start being sick?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Carrie wrinkled her brow, trying to remember. ‘Two or three weeks. Maybe four. Why the sudden interest?’ Before Kate could even attempt a reply
comprehension dawned. Her cat-green eyes flew wide. ‘Good God, Kate! You’re not . . . You can’t be . . . Are you
pregnant?’

For the first time since she had heard the news of Toby’s death Kate felt laughter fizzing in her throat. ‘Yes,’ she said, revelling in her sure and certain inner knowledge,
her face radiant. ‘Yes, Carrie. I am.’

For the next few weeks, with the exception of Carrie, she hugged her knowledge to herself. Apart from suffering from morning sickness she felt perfectly healthy and she was in
no particular hurry to visit Doctor Roberts and be preached at. Nor did she see any need to distress her father any sooner than was necessary. Toby’s grandfather was, however, another matter.
Morally, she was quite certain that she should tell him. Having the nerve to do so was quite different.

‘If only Toby had spoken to him about me it would be relatively easy,’ she said to Carrie for the hundredth time as they sat in deck-chairs in the back-garden and watched Rose trying
to haul herself up on to Hector’s back.

‘How do you know he didn’t?’

‘Because he would have told me.’

There was the merest hint of doubt in her voice. She and Toby hadn’t discussed his grandfather during the precious hours they had shared together in the cottage at Hornchurch. It was just
remotely possible that in one of his last letters to his grandfather Toby
had
told him that he intended marrying, and that he had given his grandfather her name. And if he hadn’t? If
he hadn’t, any kind of meeting between herself and Mr Harvey would be difficult beyond belief.

‘Perhaps it would be easiest to wait until the baby is born,’ Carrie said, reading her thoughts. ‘With luck it will be the dead-spit of Toby and old man Harvey will only have
to look at it to know you’re speaking the truth and that the baby is his great-grandson.’

‘Yes,’ Kate said gratefully, rising to her feet in order to lift Rose away from an admirably patient Hector. ‘That’s what I’ll do. I’ll wait until the baby is
born and then go and see him.’

‘Fat-heads!’ Mr Muff said a few days later as he walked into the office and slammed the cardboard box containing his gas mask down hard on his desk. ‘What
fanciful stories will they think of next! My advice to you Kate is to take absolutely no notice. Treat such remarks with the contempt they deserve.’

From behind her typewriter Kate stared at him in bemusement, wondering if the fat-heads were Hitler and his cronies or Mr Tutley and his colleagues.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said soothingly, keeping affectionate amusement out of her voice with difficulty, ‘but I haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about Mr
Muff.’

‘Really? You haven’t heard?’ Even though it was a hot sunny day he had still come to work wearing his trilby and he deposited it carefully on top of a convenient
filing-cabinet. ‘From the way Tutley’s secretary was talking I thought the gossip had already reached you.’

Kate wound a fresh piece of notepaper into her typewriter. ‘What gossip? Is it local or national?’

‘It’s personal,’ he said, sitting down at his desk and beginning to rifle through his in-tray. ‘And the best way of dealing with it is to ignore it.’