The Very Thought of You (41 page)

While Frances stayed with Beau to go over the paperwork, Catherine went to find Grandmère to tell her the plans. She guessed she would be in the kitchen with Madame Farcy, the two of them having become cooking rivals but fast friends, and neither was pleased when Catherine announced their imminent departure.

‘You see,
chérie
,' Grandmère said, ‘I thought that perhaps I could stay here a little bit longer and then perhaps return to my home. It has been so long and I miss it so very much.'

‘But, Grandmère,' Catherine said, ‘you can't manage there on your own – you know that. Come back to England with me, and then perhaps next spring or summer, Maman and I will come back with you and see what we can do. Maman might even want to stay – she was talking about it after my father died.'

‘Was she?'

Catherine nodded, her fingers crossed behind her back. Maman had never mentioned the idea, but now she came to think about it, maybe she would like to go home.

‘Your granddaughter has spoken wisely,' agreed Madame Farcy. ‘We have become good friends, yes, but your daughter needs to see you now. I think she has been very worried for years and your presence will comfort her.'

Catherine nodded her thanks to Madame Farcy over Béatrice's head, for it seemed that the housekeeper's words held far more sway than hers.

The day of their departure, Frances bumped into Guy in the bedroom corridor. He was coming out of his room, dressed ready for the fields. He was carrying a shotgun and Frances knew that he was going after rabbits. She longed to go with him.

‘We're leaving after lunch,' she said.

‘I know,' he answered, and to her delight, he looked rather dejected.

He lingered, awkwardly, the gun crooked over his arm as though trying to decide what to do next; then he turned and opened his bedroom door. ‘Frances,' he said, ‘come in here. I have something for you.'

‘What?' she asked, astonished.

‘Come.'

She followed him into his room, half the size of the one she shared with the girls, and spartan to the point of being barely furnished. He propped the shotgun against the wall and opened the top drawer of his cupboard. ‘This is for you,' he said, producing a square velvet-covered box. ‘To thank you for helping me.'

‘I don't need thanks, Guy,' Frances said. ‘Honestly, I've loved every minute.'

‘But I want you to have it.' He pushed the box into her hands. ‘It was my grandmother's. She left everything to me to be handed on to my …' He didn't finish the sentence.

Frances gasped when she opened the box. Even in the poor light, the diamonds on the Edwardian tiered necklace sparkled. ‘I can't take this,' she whispered. ‘It's beautiful but far too much to give away. It must be worth a fortune.'

He shrugged. ‘Manon hid it in the well when the German general was here. She hid many things. Farcy is still digging up silver spoons and forks that she buried. But now it is for you. I can't imagine it being worn by anyone better. You have the perfect neck to wear it.'

‘Thank you,' she breathed. ‘Thank you so much. I don't know what to say.'

‘Well, perhaps,' he grinned, ‘don't speak. Just kiss me.'

‘My God, yes,' she laughed, and allowed herself to be taken in his arms. They kissed until she was breathless, and then he broke away and went to lock the door.

‘Shall we?' he said, looking at her and jerking his head towards the bed.

The decision took a split second. Years of abstinence and longing needed to be washed away. ‘I'd love to,' Frances giggled, knowing that she sounded like a silly girl, but at that moment, beyond sense.

He was a virile lover, desire making him strong, and she, relieved of her customary persona of complete control, abandoned herself willingly to his touch. It was a joining of two like-minded people, each finding pleasure in the other.

Afterwards, lying satiated in the narrow bed, he said, ‘It was not necessary to do that as a thank you. Please don't think that.'

‘I'm not,' Frances smiled. ‘What I'm thinking is … well, what I'm thinking is that it's ages since a man made love to me. I'd forgotten how wonderful it felt.'

‘You have had lovers before?'

‘I have had one lover before,' she corrected him. ‘He was someone I adored.'

Guy propped himself up on one elbow. ‘He was?' he repeated.

‘He was killed at Dunkirk. Four years ago.'

‘Oh.' Guy lay back, and Frances thought about Johnny Petersham. God, we were so young, she remembered, but so in love. I thought I'd die when he was killed.

‘You are thinking about him,' Guy murmured. ‘I hope it brings happy memories as well as sad.'

‘It does.' Frances turned her head to look at him and wondered, then thought, What the hell – I might never see him again. ‘And I have more than memories,' she said slowly. ‘I have a son.'

‘But,' Guy frowned, ‘you said lover, not husband.'

‘I did. We were never married. But he left me a beautiful boy. And so my lover will never be forgotten.'

Guy sat up and gave her a searching look. ‘You dedicate your life to his memory?'

Frances laughed. ‘No, I don't. I remember him, and how we were together, but that longing I used to have has gone. Other thoughts fill my life now: my son, my house, the Bennett Players. I am not the sort of person who dwells on sad memories; there isn't time for that.'

‘Yes,' Guy said. ‘Sad memories take up too much time. So, now, I put all that behind me and I will use my gun only to shoot rabbits and pigeons.'

‘Then Gautier was the last human?'

He frowned. ‘What are you saying?'

‘I'm saying that you set him up. Catherine told me that you made a phone call after she asked you to take her to the farm. I think that you were able to contact him. And you meant to kill him.'

He was silent, then said, ‘That is quite a charge.'

‘It is,' Frances said, knowing that she was treading on dangerous ground but almost not caring. ‘And I'm saying it because I know that was what I would have done. The man had to die. The only pity is that you missed.'

He shook his head slowly, and then, when she thought he was going to deny it, he said, ‘
Mon Dieu
, but you are ruthless. We could have used you in the Resistance.' Then he laughed and said, ‘We are very alike, you and I.'

She let out the breath she'd been holding and said, ‘Yes, we are. But now I must get up, and so must you.'

He scrambled out of bed, half naked and unembarrassed as he wandered around the room picking up his clothes. ‘But, Frances, have you time before you go to shoot a few rabbits?'

‘Oh yes,' she grinned, getting out of the tumbled bed and dragging on her pants. ‘Now you're talking.'

Later, standing on the swaying landing craft, holding on to the sides while the grey sea raced them home, Frances nodded slowly. So much has happened. And what next?

‘Frances!' Beau was calling from the bus and she turned away from looking out to sea. ‘What now?' she said to Catherine, and the two of them climbed down the metal stair and got into the bus. Everyone was staring at the locked suitcase that was Captain Fortescue's home.

‘Good heavens,' said Frances. ‘How the hell did this get in here?'

‘I don't know,' said Beau. He looked as bewildered as the rest of the company, including Béatrice, who was obviously wondering why everyone was staring at a suitcase. ‘Colin dropped a franc and it rolled behind the wicker baskets. The suitcase was jammed in beside them.'

‘Baxter never went anywhere without that bloody doll,' Tommy said, and he fingered the lock.

‘You said he flew home earlier in the week,' said Catherine. ‘Did you see him go?'

‘I didn't. Robert told me. It was on the day he went. The last time I saw Baxter was the night after we came back from the field hospital; he was having a meal in the officers' mess. But that was it.'

Catherine thought back. Robert had arrived at the chateau on that morning and had parked his Jeep beside the bus. Was it possible that he had put the case on board? ‘I think we should open it,' she said.

‘We can't,' Beau objected. ‘It's his private property.'

‘I don't think it is any more. D'you know, I'm pretty sure Robert left it for us to find.'

‘But why?' said Frances.

‘Because I think Baxter went back to England in handcuffs.'

‘Handcuffs?' Beau gave a sick little laugh. ‘That's a wild accusation, and one I wouldn't expect from you of all people, Catherine.'

‘Come off it, Beau.' Frances gave him an irritated look. ‘We all knew what he was doing to you. He should have been arrested months ago.'

Beau sat down heavily on one of the seats. ‘You all knew?' he asked.

‘Sure, boss,' Colin laughed, and Tommy nodded.

‘The man was a cad, sir,' roared Godfrey. ‘Not fit to draw breath.'

‘So,' Frances said. ‘We'll open it, and if that horrible doll is still inside, I think we'll bury him at sea.'

‘Oh yes,' Catherine laughed. ‘What a pity Della isn't here.'

Frances lifted a trapdoor in the floor of the bus where there was a compartment for tools and pulled out a tyre iron. ‘Give it here,' growled Colin, and slotting it behind the lock, he gave a heave.

Snap! the lock burst open and Captain Fortescue's painted eyes gazed up at them from his velvet pillow. They stared at it, almost waiting for it to speak, but knowing that of course it couldn't. Nobody really wanted to touch it, but Frances, brave as ever, put her hand inside the case and grabbed it. ‘Out you come, you little bastard,' she said, and pulled it away from the pillow. A crackling noise came from beneath the purple velvet and Tommy, curious, lifted it up.

‘Wow!' There was a collective intake of breath as the crackling sound was revealed to be that of hundreds of notes: pounds, francs and dollars. The proceeds of Eric Baxter's blackmail and black-market activities during the tour. ‘Bloody hell,' said Tommy. ‘There's a small fortune here.'

‘Yes, well, we'll have that,' said Frances. ‘It'll compensate us for all the nastiness that he's put us through.'

‘D'you think we should?' said Beau nervously. ‘Suppose he comes looking for it?'

‘He won't.' Catherine was sure now. Robert had done this deliberately. ‘And you, Beau, more than any of us, deserve a reward.'

So while the boys divided the money into seven equal piles, Catherine and Frances took Captain Fortescue and his suitcase on deck. Curious sailors watched as the suitcase went overboard and bobbed away behind the boat. ‘Now for you,' said Frances to Captain Fortescue, and held him up over the grey, rippling waves.

‘Wait,' said Catherine. ‘There's something sticking out of his back. Like the edge of a piece of paper. Can you see?' The two girls squatted down and opened the back of the doll, where all the mechanisms that moved its eyes and ears were housed. Inside, there was a small notebook and an envelope. Catherine opened it. ‘
Mon Dieu
,' she said, as she withdrew two small black-and-white photographs.

‘What are they?' Frances asked. ‘Let me see.' She held up the photographs. ‘Oh Lord,' she whistled. ‘That's Beau,' she whispered, ‘and d'you see who he's with? Whom he's kissing?'

Catherine nodded. The two men in the snaps were semi-naked and there was no doubt that they were in a loving embrace. ‘There's a signed photo of him at Beau's flat,' Frances whispered. ‘You've seen it, along with all the other celebrity pictures. If this got out, he'd be ruined. Even his fame wouldn't save him.'

‘That's why Beau kept paying Baxter. Not only to save himself, but' – she pointed to the famous face – ‘for him as well. He must really love him.'

‘And the notebook? What's in that?'

‘It's names, dates and phone numbers,' said Catherine. ‘I recognise some of the names.'

‘Alright,' said Frances, standing up. ‘We'll give the snaps to Beau and the book to Robert, next time we see him. And this creature' – she held up Captain Fortescue – ‘is going for a long swim.'

The coast of England was in sight as the girls heaved the wooden doll over the side. It fell into the sea with a satisfying splash and then floated away.

‘It's a pity we couldn't chop it up,' sighed Frances. ‘Della would have loved that.'

Two days later, they went to see her in St Thomas' Hospital. She was still very ill, but more awake and aware of her surroundings. Ma Flanagan, looking unbelievably smart in a fox-fur coat and a black felt hat, was sitting by her bedside when the girls came into the side room where she was being nursed.

‘Oh Jesus and Mary,' cried Ma, ‘isn't it grand to see you.' And she fell upon the pair of them with hugs and kisses.

‘Get off them, Ma,' said Della. ‘They've come to visit me.'

She was ash pale, her eyes huge in her thin face, but she was breathing easier and didn't seem to be in as much pain. ‘Tell me everything,' she demanded after they'd kissed her.

‘Where to start?' said Frances. ‘There's so much.'

‘Listen,' said Ma, ‘I'm going to find a decent cup of tea. You girls can keep my Delia company for a while. They won't throw you out. This is a private room.' She gave Della a kiss and said, ‘See you later, darling.'

It took quite a time to tell Della all that had happened. ‘I knew that bloody doll was haunted,' she said, and squealed with laughter. ‘Poor Beau, but what a silly bugger.'

‘This is for you,' Catherine said, handing her a brown envelope with her share of the money. ‘Everyone has had the same. It's quite a lot.'

‘Yes,' Frances grinned. ‘It'll help at home.' She frowned. ‘Della, did you know that your friend Jerry Costigan has been down to Parnell Hall? He's trying to buy some of the paintings, and probably that's not all. My father's already sold him the Meissen tea set.'