All Clear (96 page)

I found Polly and Eileen and Mr. Dunworthy
, Colin thought.
Thank you
, he mouthed silently at Binnie, but she’d already turned back to look at the photograph. Camberley said something to her, and the other women closed in about her, blocking her from his view. The Union Jack women surged into the corridor, chattering and exclaiming.

“Harris!” someone in a bright green hat called. “There you are. I thought I’d never find you. It’s time to go.”

Time to go
. Colin squeezed out of the corridor and walked back through the exhibition toward the exit.
And now all I have to do is get Mr. Dunworthy’s drop to open. If that’s the drop I used. And not get caught by the fire watch. Or, if it won’t open, find another drop. And then find Mr. Dunworthy. And the theater
. But he had the name of it. And the knowledge that he hadn’t been too late, that Polly was still alive.

He reached the exit. It was flanked by a photograph of the King and Queen, waving to the jubilant VE-Day crowds from a balcony of Buckingham Palace, and a life-sized cutout of Winston Churchill making the V-for-victory sign. As he walked through the doorway, the triumphant note of the all clear sounded.

He made his way quickly through the lobby to the ticket desk. “Can you give Ann Perry a message for me?” he asked the ticket seller. “Would you tell her thank you and that the exhibition was extremely informative? And tell her I’m genuinely sorry I wasn’t who she thought I was.”

“Yes, sir.” The ticket seller wrote the message down, and Colin went
outside, thinking about what he had to do. Find out the address of the Regent and how to get there from St. Paul’s, and decipher what “the end of April” meant. The twentieth? The thirtieth? He hoped it wasn’t the thirtieth. Mr. Dunworthy’s deadline was May first. The thirtieth would be cutting it a bit fine.

Binnie had said the raids were bad the night he came. That should narrow it down a bit, unless there’d been raids every night in April. He went down the steps. If he could find out what dates Sleeping Beauty had been performed, that would—

Binnie was standing down by the
Lily Maid
. “How did you get out here?” Colin asked.

“I used a trick I learned from Alf,” she said.

He looked back at the building. “You set the Imperial War Museum on fire?”

“No, of course not. I told them I’d dropped my contact lens,” and when he looked at her blankly, “Contacts are eyeglass lenses which fit directly on the eye. Breakable lenses. They’re all crawling about on the floor looking for it. But I haven’t much time. I wanted to make certain you understood everything.”

“Yes. The Regent Theater. During a performance of the pantomime
Sleeping Beauty.
”

“No, a rehearsal,” she said.

“And you don’t know the date?”

“No, Alf and I tried to work that out. It was after the north transept of St. Paul’s was hit—”

Which had been on April sixteenth. “And there were raids that night?”

“Yes. At any rate, I think so. It’s difficult to remember. There were so many raids. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” She put her hand on his arm. “You mustn’t grow discouraged if you’re not able to find the right date straightaway.”

“Did Eileen tell you that happened?”

“No, and I’m not certain it did, but you seem younger today than you did the night you came through.”

“Is that why you gave me that odd look in the air-raid shelter?”

“The air-raid shelter?” she said, looking suddenly cornered, caught out.

“Yes,” he said. “We were talking about Eileen and then the bomb sound effect went off and the shelter lit up, and you gave me an odd look and said, ‘I wonder if she … that would explain …’ Was that what you meant? That I looked older?”

“It must have been. That’s the worst thing about growing old. One can’t remember what one was talking about five minutes afterward.” She laughed. “I can’t think what else it could have been. Oh, I know—it wasn’t about you at all. Mrs. Netterton said she didn’t remember there being red lights in the shelters, and I had no idea what she was talking about. She’s rather scattered, poor dear. And then when the bomb went off, and there was that red light, I realized that must have been it.”

It sounded plausible, and he’d have no doubt believed her if it hadn’t been for that Evacuation Committee head telling him, “They’d stand there looking all wide-eyed and innocent and tell you the most outrageous fibs.”

But what possible reason could she have for lying to him? She had spent the last six years trudging from one place to another to find him and tell him the truth, not hold it back.

Unless it was something terrible. But she had looked bemused, not distressed. Perhaps something had occurred that night at the theater that she hadn’t fully understood till now.

Whatever it was, it was clear she had no intention of telling him. “I
must
get back before they miss me,” she was saying, looking up at the museum. “They’ll think we’ve run off together.”

“I wish we could,” he said. “
Thank
you. For everything you’ve done.” He leaned forward and kissed her on her cheek, in spite of what it was likely to do to her reputation. “It was above and beyond the call of duty.”

She shook her head. “It was the least we could do for her after all she did for us. She took us in, fed us, clothed us, sent us to school. She was ‘the only one what was nice to us,’ as my brother would say.” She smiled at him. “I doubt if we’d have survived the war without her. And even if we had, I’d have ended up on the streets, and Alf—I hate to think of where he’d be.”

“But I thought—you said he was down at the Old Bailey.”

“He is. Oh, you thought because I said he’d been detained that he was the
defendant.
” She laughed. “Oh, dear, I must tell Alf that. No, he’s had an important case on this week, and the jury stayed out longer than expected.”

“He’s a
barrister
?” Colin said, astonished.

“No,”
she said, and laughed again. “He’s a judge.”

AT THREE, EILEEN PICKED UP COLONEL ABRAMS FROM THE
Savoy in the staff car. “To the War Office, Lieutenant,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she said. She pulled out of the drive onto the Strand and then jammed on the brakes as a man ran straight in front of the car and across the road, shouting, “It’s here!”

“It’s not a V-2, is it?” Colonel Abrams, who was newly arrived from the States, said, peering anxiously out the window.

“No,” she said.
It’s the end of the war
.

And as soon as she’d delivered him to the War Office and he’d gone inside, she drove straight to Alf and Binnie’s school.

“I’ve come for Alf and Binnie,” she told the headmistress. “I need to take them home with me at once.”

“Have you heard something, then?” the headmistress asked.

And what should she answer? The surrender wouldn’t be officially announced till tomorrow, even though it had been signed at three this morning. And the newsagents’ signboards she’d seen on the way had said only,
Surrender Soon
?

“I haven’t heard anything official,” she said, “but everyone’s been saying they expect the announcement at any moment.”

The headmistress beamed. “I’ll fetch them,” she said, and bustled off down the corridor.

She was gone for what seemed like forever.
They’d better not have chosen today to play truant
, Eileen thought anxiously.

She leaned out the door to look down the corridor, and caught a glimpse of a teenaged girl at the end of it, taking her coat out of the cupboard. The girl was tall and graceful, with shining blonde hair.
What a pretty girl
, Eileen thought.

The girl shut the cupboard and turned, and Eileen realized with a shock that it was Binnie.
Oh, my, she’s nearly grown up
, Eileen thought, and then saw the stunned look on Binnie’s face.

She’d seen that look before—on Mike’s face when she told him Polly had already been here, on Polly’s face when the warden told them Mike was dead.

Binnie thinks something dreadful’s happened
, Eileen thought, and hurried down the corridor to reassure her. “It’s not bad news. The war’s over. Aren’t you excited?”

“Yes,” Binnie said, but she didn’t sound excited.

She’d been very moody lately.
Don’t be difficult tonight
, Eileen thought.
I haven’t time for this
. “Where’s your brother?” she asked.

Alf came tearing down the corridor, shirttail out, socks down, tie askew, followed by the headmistress.

“The war’s over, ain’t it?” he said, skidding to a stop inches from Eileen. “I knew it was going to be today. When’d you hear? We been listenin’ to the wireless in class all day”—he glanced guiltily at the headmistress, but she was still beaming—“but they haven’t said anything at all!”

“Come along,” Eileen said. “We need to go. Alf, where’s your coat?”

“Oh, I forgot it! It’s in my classroom. I’ll fetch it.” He tore off down the corridor.

“Don’t tell—” Eileen said, but she wasn’t quick enough. There was a loud whoop from the end of the corridor, followed by the sound of cheering and doors banging open. The headmistress scurried off to deal with it.

Alf came tearing back with his coat clutched to his chest. “Alf,” Eileen said reprovingly.

“It was just on the wireless!” he shouted. “The war’s over! Come on, let’s go. They’re gonna turn on the lights in Piccadilly Circus.”

He caught sight of Binnie’s face, and his grin faded. “You’re lettin’ us go, ain’t you, Mum?” he said to Eileen. “Everybody’ll be there. The King and Queen and Churchill.”

And Polly
, Eileen thought.

“The whole
city’s
goin’. The war’s over!” He appealed to Binnie. “Tell Eileen we must go!”

“Are we going?” Binnie asked.

“Yes, of course,” Eileen said, wondering if Binnie had somehow picked up on her anxiety. “We must be there. Come along, Alf, Binnie.”

Alf shot through the door, but Binnie still stood there, looking resentful.

“Binnie?” Eileen said, taking her arm, and when she still didn’t move, “I’m sorry, I forgot you wanted to be called Roxie.” She’d insisted on the name ever since seeing Ginger Rogers play an unrepentant murderess in
Roxie Hart
. Which wasn’t surprising.

Binnie wrested free of her grasp. “I don’t care a jot what you call me,” she said and flounced out of the school.

Alf was waiting for them at the bottom of the steps, but Binnie marched past him and started up the street toward the tube station. “We’re not going by tube,” Eileen said. “I’ve got Colonel Abrams’s car.”

“Can I drive?” Alf said, clambering into the front.

Binnie stood there, looking at the car. “Don’t you have to take this back to headquarters?”

“They won’t miss it,” Eileen said. “Get in.”

Binnie did, slamming the door.

“And I’m not certain I could get it there. The crowds were already starting to gather in front of the palace when I drove past,” she lied.

“Is that where
we’re
goin’ Mum?” Alf asked. “To Buckingham Palace?”

“No, we must go home first so I can change out of my uniform,” Eileen said.

“Good. I need to fetch my Union Jack.”

“I think you should take the car back,” Binnie said from the backseat. “If you get in trouble, you might lose your job.”

“She can’t lose ’er job, ’cause she won’t ’
ave
a job,” Alf said jubilantly. “And you ain’t got a job drivin’ ambulances no more neither, Binnie. The war’s over. I think we should go to Piccadilly Circus and
then
Buckingham Palace.” He leaned out the window, waving. “The war’s over! Hurrah!”

Her lie about the crowds turned out to be the truth. People clogged the streets, shouting and waving flags. It took forever to reach Bloomsbury.

I’ll never be able to get the car to Trafalgar Square through this
, Eileen thought, parking outside the house.

“I still think you should take it back to headquarters,” Binnie said.

“There isn’t time,” Eileen said, and ran upstairs to change out of her uniform. She put on a summer frock and her green coat and then rang up Mrs. Owens and told her the good news.

“We only just heard,” Mrs. Owens said. “Theodore’s mother just telephoned,” and Eileen could hear Theodore in the background saying, “I don’t
want
the war to be over!”

Of course not
, Eileen thought.

Binnie came out wearing her white dress. Alf was carrying the parrot in its cage. “Can Mrs. Bascombe go with us?” he asked.

“Of course not, you noddlehead,” Binnie said.

“She’s really glad about us winning. She ’
ated
the war.”

“No, she can’t go with us,” Eileen said and sent Alf back to his room.

When he came out, he had his Union Jack and a box of matches, three Roman candles, and a long string of squibs. “Where did you get those?” Eileen demanded.

“I been savin’ ’em up for the victory celebration,” he said, which wasn’t an answer, but it was growing late, and they still had to get to Trafalgar Square.

“You can take the squibs and one Roman candle,” she said, trying to ignore Binnie’s look of disapproval. “And no setting them off when there are people nearby. Come along.”

She hurried them out the door and down to Russell Square—another ordeal. The streets and the station were jammed, and they had to wait through several trains for one there was room enough to squeeze onto.

It was eight by the time they reached Leicester Square. “Off,” she ordered Alf and Binnie.

“Why’re we gettin’ off ’ere?” Alf asked. “We ain’t to Piccadilly Circus yet.”

“We’re not going to Piccadilly Circus,” Eileen said, leading them through the crowd to the Northern Line platform. “We’re going to Trafalgar Square.” She herded them onto the train, which, fortunately, was too crammed to permit further conversation.

The station at Trafalgar Square was even worse, a wall-to-wall mass of shouting, jostling people and noisemakers and paper streamers. “You could nick lots of stuff ’ere,” Alf said.