Exposure (31 page)

‘Well, nobody can say that about you, Fi, can they … can't hear a bloody word she says half the time.' Bob Thomas guffawed at Julia. She laughed. She said to his wife, ‘One thing about Janey, she always says nice things about people, so it doesn't matter if they do hear what she's saying.'

The drinks before dinner lasted half an hour. Watson was generous and knew how to get a party going. Soon they were all mingling, paying special attention to Julia as the only stranger in their midst. Even the waspish Fiona Thomas came up and tried to make amends. ‘You're right about Janey,' she whispered. ‘She is kind to everyone. I didn't mean to say she had a loud voice. It's just that Bob shouts all the time and I feel nobody ever listens to me.'

Julia softened. ‘I'm sure they do.'

Richard Watson came up and led Julia aside. ‘I hope Fiona's been behaving herself,' he said quietly. ‘I saw you being nice to her. She can be a bit sharp, but she's had rather a difficult life. Bob's been a great swordsman in his time, and she had a lot to put up with from pretty women. Dinner's ready. I can see Maria signalling. What would I do without her? The Portuguese are such lovely people. Shall we go in?'

They went into dinner in a glass-fronted room that seemed to be suspended over the cliff. Watson placed her on his right. The table was elegant, with candles and silver, the food compared favourably with the best London restaurants. Julia began to enjoy herself; the atmosphere was relaxed, so civilized and friendly that her tough, competitive world seemed a moonshot away. It was seductive, but she resisted. It wasn't a social occasion. It was the culmination of a careful plan, undertaken at risk to herself if it misfired.

‘The definition of age', Richard Watson was saying, ‘is a desire to talk about the past. I find myself doing it more and more. I spent a few nights in London with my nephew … the solicitor. You met him, Janey, he came over for a sailing holiday last summer—'

‘Yes, I remember him, charming young man,' Janey said brightly.

Richard Watson grinned. ‘Not particularly, he's rather bumptious and pleased with himself, but at least he's kin, so I keep in touch. He took me out to dinner at his smart club – excellent food, much better than restaurants – I found myself talking about the time I spent as a prisoner of war. I don't think I'd thought about it, let alone talked about it, for years! But there I was in full flood, banging on about being captured and spending three years in a camp in Germany. I suddenly realized he was bored stiff, poor chap. So I cut it short and changed the subject. I felt what a boring old fool I'd become.'

‘That's the trouble,' Bob Thomas snorted. ‘The young think they know it all.'

Richard Watson said gently, ‘Didn't we? I know I never listened to a word my father said after the age of eighteen. Sad thing was, you know, when I did come back from the POW camp, we couldn't communicate at all. Of course, they were delighted to see me – my mother cried and rushed off to make tea; my old father managed to put his arm round me and then hurried upstairs with my bag. He just didn't know what to say.'

Julia judged the moment had come. ‘Did it affect you badly? It must have been awful trying to adjust.'

‘It wasn't easy,' he admitted. ‘I'd come back home a stranger. To myself as much as to them. I didn't realize what the loss of freedom had done to me. I couldn't make my mind up about anything. I'd lost the habit of taking decisions. If someone had told me what socks to put on in the mornings, I'd have done it.'

‘How long did that last?' Julia leaned close, engaging his full attention.

‘Couple of years. I tried several jobs, couldn't settle to anything. It was quite a common manifestation of POW fatigue. Then I was taken on by ICI as a trainee, and I got interested. Absorbed, actually. And it all started to come right after that.'

Julia took a breath.
Now
.

‘I read your book,' she said. ‘I have a friend who's mad on the last war and he gave it to me to read. I really enjoyed it. Did you map it out while you were in the prison camp?'

‘Yes,' Richard Watson said, ‘I did. It was so desperately boring and miserable, and so damned cold in the winter … We were always hungry, too. Most of the chaps spent their time talking about escape or playing chess, or bridge. I worked on my insignificant wartime memoires. I can't believe you found them interesting, but I must admit I'm flattered.'

He smiled at her.

Bob Thomas boomed out, ‘Book? What's all this, Dick – been keeping secrets from us?'

‘It was years ago – long before I came over here,' Richard Watson protested. ‘I had some copies privately printed. I didn't know there were any circulating anywhere. I just wanted to get it off my chest, I suppose.'

‘Hidden talents,' Bob Thomas had their attention. ‘Better watch out, Julia, or you'll have a rival in Dick here … I'd like to read it some time. I bet you've a copy of the great work stashed away. The army was the best time of my life. I often regretted not making a career of it. Too young to get into the actual war, but I enjoyed my National Service.'

He looked around for approbation.

Julia said quietly, ‘Did you feel like that, Richard? Your book didn't read like that.'

He turned to look at her, and then, suddenly, he turned away.

‘I hated the army,' he said. ‘I hated everything about it. And I wasn't a good soldier. The idea of killing someone absolutely appalled me. I had no blood lust.'

‘Did you ever kill anyone?'

He hesitated for a moment. Then he said, ‘No. But I did save a man's life.'

‘One of ours?' David Peterson spoke up.

‘No. It was a German.'

Julia said quickly, ‘How? How did you save him?'

‘I stopped my sergeant from murdering him,' he said.

‘Good God—' Bob Thomas was leaning across the table. ‘Go on, tell us about it.'

His wife said, ‘How riveting,' but nobody noticed.

‘It was in the Western Desert. We were on the run from Rommel's Afrika Corps – before Monty took over – and we'd got separated from our unit. We were trying to get back to Tripoli. There were seven of us. My captain, Tim Phillips, me, the sergeant and four privates. The desert was crawling with desert patrols, mopping up after the battle. We picked up this German on the way. He had a slight leg wound, and he'd no weapon. I'd say he'd deserted. We took him prisoner because it was safer than leaving him, and have him warn one of his own patrols we were in the area … I knew the sergeant wanted to shoot him. He was that sort of man.

‘We struggled on, hoping to get clear before nightfall, but the German lagged behind, he'd lost quite a lot of blood, and he was a miserable specimen anyway, couldn't have been more than eighteen, if that …

‘The sergeant started chivvying him along with a bayonet, but he couldn't keep up. We saw a dust cloud in the distance. That meant a German armoured patrol was coming our way. We clambered down into the wadi and dragged the boy down with us. My captain took out his revolver and held it to his head. He told the German he'd blow his brains out if he made a sound.'

Richard Watson filled up his glass with wine. ‘He didn't mean it. His hand was shaking like a leaf and he was scared stiff. I was watching our sergeant. He had his bayonet at the ready. He said, “We can't risk a shot, sir. And he's slowing us down. You put that away and I'll finish him off with this!”'

Julia said, ‘You mean he was going to bayonet him?'

‘Oh yes, wouldn't have hesitated. None of the others said anything. He'd had Tim Phillips under his thumb from the start. He actually started to holster his revolver, so I had to do something before the boy was killed.'

‘And what did you do?' she asked him.

He shrugged. ‘Nothing heroic, I'm afraid. I just announced loud and clear that I wouldn't be a party to murder. Meaning they would have to kill me, too, to stop me reporting what had happened.'

‘God,' David Peterson said. ‘That was brave.'

‘No it wasn't,' Richard Watson insisted. ‘But it stopped them. So we went on and left the wretched German behind.' He offered Julia more wine. She refused.

‘Did he understand? Did he know what was going on?'

‘Oh, he knew all right. He was shaking with terror. I was sure he understood more English than he let on. He didn't say anything. But he looked at me as we left him. It was very odd, that look. I couldn't make it out. Our sergeant came up to me and said, “You made a mistake there,
Sir
.”' Watson mimicked the heavy sarcasm in that one word. ‘“You should have let me kill the little bastard. Mark my words, he'll send a bloody patrol after us.” Which', he said slowly, ‘is exactly what happened. We were captured within the hour.'

‘What an extraordinary story,' Bob Thomas said.

Richard Watson looked round at them. He sighed. ‘It didn't end there, I'm afraid. Phillips and I were put in a truck and taken back to a POW compound at their base. Preferential treatment for officers. The Germans were like that. The other five were marched off to join a column of British prisoners going to the rear. They came under crossfire; the sergeant was the only one to survive his wounds. The other four poor lads were killed. I only found out about it when the war was over because Phillips kept in touch and he made enquiries about his men.' He paused and Julia saw the muscles tighten in his jaw. ‘He had some crack-brained theory that they'd been gunned down deliberately. The crossfire story came from the sergeant, but Phillips said he couldn't find any official record of a skirmish between our patrols and theirs anywhere in the area. He'd got a real bee in his bonnet, but nothing came of it. You know, I've often wondered whether those poor devils would still be alive if I hadn't interfered.'

‘You can't possibly blame yourself,' Bob Thomas insisted. ‘You did absolutely the right thing. More than a Hun officer would have done for one of ours, I'd say. Though it was quite a clean war—'

‘Who would have shot them?' Julia said. ‘Wouldn't the sergeant have reported an atrocity like that?' She had to clear her throat and swallow, it was suddenly so dry.

‘Well, he didn't,' Watson answered. ‘It was just talk, and Phillips tracked him down, but he stuck to his story … You're right, Bob, it was a clean war in the desert. There weren't any war crimes … most likely due to Rommel. He was a Prussian of the old school. Well –' He smiled at them. ‘Sorry to have bored you with all this. Comes of getting old, I'm afraid. Now, let's have some coffee. Janey, would you look after Julia and Fiona for me, and we promise not to sit on here too long.'

Janey led the way upstairs. ‘How weird,' she said. ‘What an awful story. But he was right to save that poor German. He couldn't help it if they got killed in a battle afterwards, could he?'

‘No,' Fiona Thomas whispered. ‘But I think he blames himself deep down.'

It was long past midnight when Julia was able to leave at last. And get to a telephone. Ben, she thought. Oh Ben, you're not going to believe this. My God. I can hardly believe it myself … As they gathered round the front door to say goodbye, she managed to draw Richard Watson aside. ‘What happened to Phillips? Is he still around?'

‘No, he died back in eighty-one. Cancer. His wife wrote to me.'

‘And the sergeant? Was he the one in the photograph in your book?'

‘Yes, same man. Whenever people go on about German atrocities, I think of him. He'd have bayoneted that boy to death and enjoyed doing it.'

‘And is he alive?' Julia asked, trying to sound casual.

‘I've no idea,' his tone was suddenly abrupt. He turned away from her and kissed Fiona Thomas good night. It was a very firm dismissal of the subject.

He was smiling, his charming self again, when he said goodbye to Julia.

‘Thank you for a wonderful party,' she said. ‘And I really did enjoy your book.'

‘I'm flattered,' he said, but the eyes were wary in spite of the smile. ‘It was just an exercise in self-indulgence.'

Julia stood her ground. ‘But you never mentioned this amazing incident –'

‘Perhaps I didn't feel it reflected much credit on anyone,' he said coldly. ‘And Phillips was very much alive. I'm not an investigative journalist, you see. I didn't want to inflict hurt. It has been a pleasure to meet you. I hope you'll come to see us all again.'

‘I hope so, too,' she said and shook his hand. ‘Thank you again.'

At ten-thirty next morning Ben made the call as they'd arranged. Julia went through the charade for Janey's benefit, saying guiltily, ‘That was the office – I've got to go back early. I'm so sorry to cut it short like this. I've had such a lovely time.'

‘Oh damn,' Janey exclaimed. ‘I'd planned a big drinks party so all our friends could meet you. It was going to be a surprise before you left. Damn …' she said again. ‘David will be so sorry he hasn't seen more of you.' Then, because she was good natured, and she saw Julia looking embarrassed, ‘Oh, never mind, I'm just being selfish, that's all. Of course you've got to go. Sorry I made a fuss. Come in the spring and we'll do it all again. And don't tell your bloody office where you're going!'

‘Janey,' Julia said, and put her arms around her, ‘you're sweet to put up with me, messing you around like this. I will come in the spring, and you and David have promised to come to London before that and I'll fix a gala evening with the parents and my new man. That's a promise. Now I'd better call the airport. I really
am
sorry.'

And she truly meant it. But, if she could have grown wings, she'd had flown home to Ben Harris at that very moment.

9

‘Come on,' the WPC said. ‘Tell me what happened. Who did her over?'