The White Guns (1989) (38 page)

The one in the football jersey was Sergeant Thornhill, the other, his chosen assistant, Sergeant Hughes.

Thornhill said, 'Can't stay here much longer, Taff. Someone might twig us. I've laid on a baker's van for tomorrow.'

The other man yawned and stretched. 'I think we may have struck oil this time. It's more than a bloody knocking-shop, that's for certain, see?'

'I still don't understand how chummy got wind of it. Luck, d'you reckon?'

Hughes thought of Evans's set features, the latent dedication of the man. 'No. Not the type to rely on luck. Any more than he's a bloody Welshman!'

Thornhill stiffened. 'Look, another one!'

An army officer had just left the building, and, after a quick scrutiny up and down the road, hurried away, his cap tugged over his eyes.

'It's that major. RAMC

Hughes chuckled. 'Rob-all-my-comrades, eh?' He became serious again. 'I think the
countess
is into the drugs business too.'

Thornhill nodded. 'That's when it sticks, Taff. Where's the connection? Petty Officer Evans has been watching the place, we know that. Is he after information about Major Maybach? If so, why doesn't he just walk in and threaten the old bag?'

In the driving mirror Thornhill saw some small children hanging about the back of the truck.
'Was wollen Sie?'
When it had no effect he shouted,
'Sod off!'
That worked.

He said eventually, 'He could blow the whole thing, that's what bothers me. The Guv'nor says he can't wait much longer.'

His friend tapped his knee.
'Who's that?'

Thornhill sank down in his seat. 'Quite a reunion, it seems.' He watched Sub-Lieutenant Lowes walk past, look both ways, then hurry up the steps. The door opened and shut, as if the house had swallowed him up.

'I know him. Served in Marriott's boat, along with the one who took charge of that firing-squad, remember?'

Hughes looked at him. 'Are you going to tell me, or do I just have to guess?'

Thornhill's eyes gleamed. 'I reckon the countess has got that subbie hooked. He probably went there to use her –'

Hughes exclaimed, 'Christ, she'd have that little baby for breakfast!'

Thornhill touched his arm. 'Drive on. I think it's time we had a little chat with chummy. Otherwise Evans will be into something he can't handle.' The Bedford growled into life, but Thornhill's mind was still working. 'It'll mean a whole squad, some from Hamburg as back-up.' He glanced at the house as they rattled past. 'I'll tell the Guv'nor.'

Hughes smiled. Just like old times. Major Maybach would have to wait. This job would mean breaking up a whole black-market gang and nailing their contacts. The pale-faced subbie who had walked past the truck without even a glance was probably about to be blackmailed, if he was not in the countess's trap already. Just how did we manage to win the war, he asked himself, and not for the first time.

A white-overalled bill-sticker who was putting up posters about the forthcoming football match watched the lorry from beneath the long peak of his cap.

Evans smiled. Thornhill was good. But not that good. After all, he had never had to contend with the Gestapo or the SS.

He realised with a start that he had pasted the bill upside down. It was not all that surprising, he thought.
Maybach was there.
Less than fifty yards away, in that house. His mission was nearing its close. With a slight frown he daubed the poster with a large V made of paste. As some had done on walls and houses in the Channel Islands, and who, in Maybach's hands, had paid dearly for it.

The children's hospital at Eutin was exactly as Marriott remembered it. He left Heinz with the car and walked past the wards, his mouth quite dry at the prospect of seeing her again.

He was reminded of his thoughts at Penny's wedding, his sense of not belonging there any more. Here it felt vaguely like home, familiar, so that when he had arrived at the barracks he had found himself seeking out faces, waving and greeting those who were still awaiting leave, and did not know what to expect when they got there.

There were several visitors crammed amongst the lines of cots, and then he saw her standing beside the one where he had seen the child, Bernadette. Her sister-in-law was speaking to one of the nuns, her gestures animated, her face quite flushed.

The girl looked up and saw him, her hand going briefly to her throat as if she had caught her breath.

Marriott squeezed himself past two women who were staring down at a sleeping child and reached across the cot to take her hand.

'I heard you were here. I couldn't wait, so I came right over.'

She searched his face with dark steady eyes. 'But you are only back an hour or so since?' She smiled suddenly. Like sunlight breaking through a hill-mist. 'It is
good
to see you.'

Around them other people jostled and apologised to one another as they found their way to the various cots, some clutching small gifts, toys and picture-books. Marriott wondered who visited those other children in the silent wards, with their pain and their fears.

'I got you a present when I was in Flensburg.' He gripped her hand and held it on the side of the cot. 'I'll get it later.' He looked at the empty cot. 'Where's Bernadette?'

She watched him, her eyes troubled. 'We are taking her home today.'

'She's quite recovered?' It was so hard to speak, impossible to avoid the press of visitors, the occasional cries and laughter from the sick and injured children.

'Almost.' She gave the little shrug. 'They need the cot, so –'

She did not take her hand away and Marriott somehow knew she did not care what people thought, even if they had noticed.

There was something wrong. He could sense it between them. And yet it felt at a distance, like a threat.

He asked, 'How is Leisl? She looks excited.'

He felt the hand tighten under his grip. 'What is it, Ursula? Has something happened?'

Once more, the use of her name made her stare at him. She seemed unable to make up her mind. As if she was withholding something.

'I thought of you very much.'

He replied, 'I've still got the rose. It was a lovely thing to do.'

She reached up and held his hand between hers and said huskily, 'There was a man, who came to Eutin on his way home.' Now that she had begun she could not stop. 'A soldier – Ivan had held him prisoner for a year.' She shook her head despairingly. 'Like a skeleton. I did not recognise him and yet he used to be a carpenter here. Poor man. What a welcome. His wife went off with another when she thought he had been killed at the front.'

Marriott waited. It was all too common in war. A girl he had grown up with at home had gone off with a Yank when they had reported her young husband missing in Singapore. That too had been a mistake, and he would likely be on his way back to England right now. Except that in his case the other man had gone, and there was a baby instead.

But there was more to come, and he asked gently, 'Will you tell me, Ursula? Maybe I can help.'

She lifted her chin and tried to compose herself. 'This soldier told us that he saw Lothar, my brother, in the prison camp. He is alive. Sick but
alive!'
She could not keep it up and whispered, 'He is being sent to a work-camp on the Baltic. But he is sick. It might kill him.'

Marriott forced his way around the cot and put his arms around her. For a few more moments they were both oblivious of the curious stares, a few children standing in the cots to watch. Even the nuns who had been chattering excitedly while they examined the parcel of coffee, soap and chocolate which Marriott had brought for them gathered together like crows to peer at them.

Marriott felt her sobbing quietly against his jacket, her tears soaking through his shirt. He held her tightly, protectively, not wanting to release her.
Ever.

You've just about had enough, haven't you?
Aloud he said, 'When you're ready, Heinz will drive you all home.'

She prised herself away and took his handkerchief without answering.

He said, 'Even the Russians can't hold everyone prisoner.'

She looked up at him.
'Ja. ]a.
I know. But a winter would kill him. The soldier said –'

He took her arm as two nuns carried the child from another room. A third nun began to strip the cot without even glancing at them.

At the door she exclaimed, 'I'm so selfish! The news of my brother is good, yes? Yet here I am spoiling your return! Come, you can tell me all about the wedding – I think it was a very grand affair!'

She was acting, and Marriott had the feeling it was not for the first time.

Grand affair?
He thought of the little church hall, Chris the lodger, and the wing-commander who had lost his brother in the North Sea. Penny would soon be in Canada with her Jack. She was doing the right thing. There were too many who were preparing to pick up where they had left off before they had joined up. They ought to be thinking of a future, not the past.

While they waited by the car Marriott handed her the little parcel. 'It's perfume.' He hesitated. 'If it's not right for you –'

She opened it, slowly, prolonging it, and held the little cut-glass bottle to the light. 'It is so
beautiful!'

Marriott watched her, drinking in every moment, each reaction. Like a child again.

She said, 'I will wear it for you.' She spoke so firmly that Marriott impetuously gripped her arm.

Heinz, who lounged against the car, his arms folded, missed none of it. On that last drive down from Flensburg Marriott had told him to stop at a big NAAFI shop in Schleswig. He had come out eventually with that same parcel and a huge bag.

When Heinz had dropped the lieutenant at the barracks he had been astonished when he had handed him the large bag and had said awkwardly, 'For the family.' Then he had walked away, embarrassed perhaps by his own kindness. The bag had been filled with cream cakes and custard tarts of the sort apparently very popular with the Tommies.

A toy for little Friedl, chocolate too. It had been like Christmas three months early. Like one his daughter had never seen in her life. Now as he watched the dark-eyed girl and the grave young lieutenant he thought he knew why, even with all against them, fate had guided them together.

And later that evening, when Heinz returned to the ancient
Gasthaus,
he knew he was not mistaken.

Marriott stood by the door and looked at the sky. It was already much cooler. She was probably thinking about her brother. Found alive, and yet still beyond reach.

He said, 'I have to go to Hamburg tomorrow, to the harbour.' He took her very gently and pulled her against him. He could feel the tension in her body, like fear.

Into her hair he said, 'I will never harm you, Ursula. I promise.'

She raised her face slightly and he caught the scent of the new perfume on her skin.

'I know. Do not be angry. It is only that I do not understand –'

He kissed her very carefully on the cheek and held his mouth there. Then very slowly she moved her head until their lips touched. He felt her trembling. Afraid of love? Or fearful of what it would do? Then he walked to the courtyard and called, 'I shall see you soon!'