This Was Tomorrow (30 page)

He did his best to get down the breakfast Frau Kranzer had prepared for him, feeling a little faint and queasy. They conversed spasmodically in German, listened to the radio, which revealed nothing new, and Frau Kranzer cleared away, and the long day’s waiting began.

Luncheon time came, and he ate another unappetizing meal, and went back to his book. Outside, the streets ran with rain, and darkness came early. However she had travelled, Evadne was now in Berlin, and apparently no one had seen her arrive. He had nothing to tell Stephen, and dared not communicate, anyhow.

A cold supper with the hot ersatz coffee came and went. Jeff had stopped shaking and gone into a numb calm, feeling that the summons might never come. When at last there was a knock on the door they all looked at each other tensely for a moment before Herr Kranzer went to see what it was. He admitted another nondescript man, younger, stouter, who acknowledged Jeff’s presence with a kind of bow and said in careful English, “I have the honour.”

“
Er
sprecht
Deutsch
,”
said Herr Kranzer briefly, and the newcomer made Jeff another bow and began to explain in German that the man they watched for had been seen to enter the Chancellery, where he was a frequent visitor in the normal way, had remained there several hours, and was then followed to a block of flats where he apparently kept an establishment of some kind in addition to his official living-quarters which were in the Kurfürsten Strasse, and he had not yet come out again.

Jeff was by then on his feet.

“Can you take me there?” he said.

Herr Kranzer insisted that they wait till by his own devious ways he could notify Johnny of the address and arrange transportation there for Jeff.

“Can’t you telephone the office?” Jeff asked impatiently, and the stout man murmured that Herr Malone’s ’phone was no good, and anyway it would be better later in the evening, and Herr Kranzer vanished through the door.

Frau Kranzer brewed more of the bitter coffee, which was at least hot, and they sat sipping it. Jeff’s palms were wet, and he moved very gently, but was still in command of his breathing. The weight of the little gun in his coat pocket seemed to hold him steady.

When Herr Kranzer came back he said that a car was waiting outside to take them to the address, and it proved to be a Press car with an American driver at the wheel. Jeff got in, followed by the stout man, who gave directions to the driver and they passed through ill-lighted streets and stopped in front of a large, well-kept block of flats in a much better part of town. It was still raining. An inconspicuous man strolled out of the
doorway and went off down the street, making no sign of recognition to Jeff’s companion, who nevertheless said with satisfaction, “Still there.” He told Jeff to go up one flight and take the second door on the left. “Make noise,” he said. “Ring the bell long. Rap on the door. Like the police.”

“We’ll wait here,” said the American at the wheel. “If I hear anything unusual or if you don’t come back in a reasonable time I’ll come in after you, of course.”

In the excitement of Herr Kranzer’s return and his own departure, Jeff had neglected to get another dose from the bottle. Now as he mounted the stairs he felt his heart skipping in his side and paused a moment to steady his breathing. My first real job as Bracken’s substitute, he thought, and if I conk out now I’m done for. He’ll put me behind a desk somewhere and that will be that. I’ve got to come through this. This is the dress rehearsal…. If I sound like the police they’ll hide her, he thought, as he reached the door. But if I sound like an ordinary caller, perhaps at the wrong door…. He rang modestly, and waited, and rang again, briefly. The door was opened a crack and a stout, elderly housekeeper looked out at him.

“No one at home,” she said in German. “What do you want?”

Jeff threw his weight against the door, knocking it open, and walked into the first room he came to, his hand on the gun in his coat pocket. The room was well furnished with comfortable modern stuff and a single shaded lamp showed a girl in a print dress flung down in a corner of the sofa crying. She lifted her head and stared at him, with tears shining on her face. It was Evadne.

“I’ve got a car downstairs,” he said. “Come on.” And then, conscious of another presence on his left, he found the gun already out in his hand and covering Victor in the doorway of a darkened room beyond, and heard himself saying, “Stay where you are, this thing might go off,” just like the movies. With his free hand he reached out to a light switch in the wall beside him, and the overhead chandelier came on. Victor was wearing uniform, but his tunic and necktie were off and
his shirtsleeves hung loose at the wrists with the cuff-links unfastened.

“How did you get in here?” he demanded angrily.

“Surprise,” said Jeff. “Get going, Evadne. I’ll follow.”

“She has made her choice,” said Victor. “She came here to me. Now she stays.”

“You can’t keep her here against her will,” said Jeff, the gun very steady and a pounding in his ribs.

“She belongs here now,” said Victor. “She has chosen.”

“Tell the man where you belong, Evadne,” said Jeff softly, and she spoke dazedly, her eyes on his face, his eyes on Victor.

“Honestly, Jeff, I thought I knew what I was doing—but it’s no good now, I—”

“I’m not going back without you,” said Jeff. “We’ve gone to quite a lot of trouble over you, one way and another—”

“I’m s-sorry—” But she did not move from the sofa, her hands braced against it as though to save herself from falling, her eyes on Jeff, who never looked at her.

Jeff felt time slipping away, and thought of the man in the car—how long would he wait before he decided it was unreasonably long, and come in after them? What would happen if Victor, caught at a disadvantage now with his gun out of reach, managed to put up a fight for her? He decided to take a long chance.

“Well, maybe we all made a mistake,” he said, trying to sound casual. “We had a sort of idea that you’d been sold a bill of goods somehow, and might be glad to see someone from home. Of course, if this is the way you really want it, I apologize for butting-in. It’s a little hard for anybody raised in our family to understand your so-called choice, but I guess you’re old enough to decide these things for yourself—” He began to back towards the door.

“
No
, Jeff
—wait
—!” At the very last moment of his bluff she had hurled herself from the sofa and across the room, landing hard against him with desperate hands clutching his coat-sleeve. “
Don’t
leave
me
here
—”

Victor made a quick movement, and Jeff said, “
Quiet,
you!
You’re lucky it’s me tonight, I know a man who would let fly with this thing if he were in my place.” He motioned to the right with the nose of the gun, imperatively, Evadne held with his other arm out of the way. “Move over, Victor—away from that door—more, so I can see you from the hall—
move
,
I said!” And as Victor gave ground to the right, away from his own gun belt, Jeff said to Evadne, who was clinging to him and crying weakly, “There’s a car downstairs—driven by an American in a soft hat. Be sure it’s the right car before you get into it—tell him I’m right behind you—leave that hall door open as you go—” He pushed her towards it and she fled, weeping. “Maybe a little more to the right, Victor,” he suggested, beginning to back towards the hall door. “It would be awful easy now to let you have one for Steve. Still, we don’t want to call attention to this, do we.” He felt the casing of the outer door against his shoulder, turned quickly and ran down the stairs. Evadne was in the back seat of the car and its engine was humming. The stout man had disappeared. “Jump for it,” said the man at the wheel gently, and as Jeff slammed the rear door the car got under way, and he gathered Evadne’s shivering body into his arms.

“All right, we made it,” he said soothingly.

“He’s got my passport!” she chattered hysterically. “I hadn’t any money, and he’s got my passport!”

“We’ll get you another one,” he comforted her. “The Embassy will fix it.”

“How did you get here so soon?”

“Well, believe it or not, Stevie raised such hell in London that the rest of us couldn’t get any sleep till we found you for him.”

“He—he doesn’t—’ She had no voice, no words, and buried her face against him and began to cry again.

“Take it easy,” said Jeff, patting her, and he took out his big white handkerchief and tried to wipe her face. “How did you get into Berlin, anyhow, we were watching for you?”

“Victor said a man would meet me at Ostend. We came all the way from there by car—one of the big black ones.”

“Without stopping?”

“Almost. It must be five hundred miles. I was nearly dead.”

“Then you—must have arrived last night,” he said, feeling his way.

“Yes.”

“At that flat?”

“Yes. But it was all right then, though I was never left alone and there wasn’t any telephone. I wanted to ring up Camilla but they kept putting me off, which seemed very queer, and Victor didn’t come till this evening. He talked to the others a few minutes and they went away—he said there had been a hitch, but that I was to attend a meeting with him tomorrow. I said I wanted to let Camilla know I was here, and he said that was impossible, and then it began to dawn on me—”

“Mm-hm,” said Jeff tactfully. “There, now—nothing more to cry about, the Marines have landed. Did you see me pull that gun on him, just like Humphrey Bogart? I never knew I had it in me—” He sat holding her, soothing her, while she got quieter, and he felt his own nerves settle back into the groove. They had made it, yes, without a fight. But he had made it in a very special way all his own. His heart had held out. He had stayed on his feet. It was an extra victory that no one
else could appreciate—no one but Sylvia. He could go back and tell Sylvia that because of her he had lasted out the scene in Victor’s rooms. He couldn’t have explained it, even to Sylvia, but he was convinced that she herself had seen him through. Because of her, because they had dared to go ahead and get married and be happy, his heart had not failed him tonight. With Sylvia behind him, he could do what other people did. He could take it. He was getting well. Maybe next time—whatever it might be—there wouldn’t even be those sickening moments of doubt. Maybe by the time they got this war he would be in shape for it. Thanks to Sylvia.

The car stopped and looking out he saw that they were in front of the British Embassy. The driver got out and opened the door and they helped Evadne to step down to the pavement
and walked her between them towards the building. She recognized the place as they went up the steps and hung back.

“Why are we coming here? Everybody will be in bed.”

“They’re expecting us,” said Jeff, and rang the bell.

“But I want Camilla,” she said, and choked.

“All right, we’ll have Camilla here in no time,” he promised, as the door opened before them and he half carried her over the threshold.

Evadne was put to bed at the Embassy, and they sent for an English doctor as well as for Camilla. He spent some time with her and left her under sedatives with Camilla sitting beside the bed. She was still pretty well knocked out the next day, though she roused to catch gratefully at Bracken’s hand and mumble that she wanted to go home, and fell asleep again comforted by the enduring family tradition that everything was under control as soon as Bracken showed up. He went back to Prague that night, but it was Thursday again before the doctor was satisfied and Jeff and Evadne boarded a plane for Croydon.

Wearing a hat and coat borrowed from Camilla, who had gone to Prague the same morning with Johnny, Evadne sat drooping in her seat, lost in depression and her sense of failure and betrayal. Jeff had asked no more questions and she was grateful for that. Stephen was the one she would have to find answers for. She was glad that because of the mid-week matinée she need not see him till after Jeff had had time to tell him the story of what had happened in Berlin as far as he knew it. But there were things that only she could tell, and she both longed and dreaded to see Stephen now. Everything Jeff said made it plain that Stephen had not washed his hands of her, as she felt he had every right to do. She wondered if by now he had seen Hermione, who finally had grounds for anything she chose to say and would surely make the most of it. She wondered how she could hold her head up at all, now, and
where she could start again to live, and what there was to have faith in.

To her great relief, Virginia was waiting at Croydon with a car, into which Evadne was bundled with no delay and carried off to Farthingale, weeping piteously most of the way because it was so good to see the familiar road again, as though she had been away for months. Jeff went on up to London to see Sylvia and Stephen, and would drive down with them to Farthingale after the performance on Saturday night. So it was only two days till she would have to face Stephen and tell him—whatever he wanted to know. Perhaps, when Jeff had finished, Stephen wouldn’t come to Farthingale….

Shaking with nerves and crying again for sheer relief, Evadne went to bed in her own room at Farthingale, and slept the clock round. She woke to find Virginia sitting by the window with a book, and as she stirred Virginia came and sat down on the bed and put her arms around her.

“What a sleep,” she said. “You must be starved.”

Evadne’s clasp was convulsive like a child’s, her face was hidden.

“I was still full of dope, I think. Mummy, that Embassy doctor—”

“Yes, darling, I know, and you’re having a nervous breakdown or something very like it. We’ll get our nice Dr. Fielding tomorrow, you won’t mind him.”

“I thought I’d never stop shaking.”

“But you have stopped now. You’re home again, remember?”

“Has the war started yet?”

“Not yet, darling.”

“But it’s coming.”

“I’m afraid so. This house is going to be a warden’s post—down here in the country. Doesn’t it seem fantastic? All we shall have to do here is issue gas-masks to the village people and arrange about feeding and billeting evacuees, and that sort of thing.”