For All Our Tomorrows (17 page)

Just as if he would never dream of doing such a thing.

In fact, one of the aspects of this work he found the most difficult was the need for secrecy. He’d always believed himself to be quite good at that, because of the necessity of not giving Sara any inkling of what he got up to with Iris, but somehow this was different. Hugh would love to have told her, to at least drop a hint about the dangers he was involved in week in and week out.

What he did was undoubtedly dangerous and he wanted his wife, wanted everyone to appreciate that fact and applaud him for it. Where was the point in being a hero if nobody recognised him as such? One day, perhaps when the war was over, he could reveal everything, and how he would savour their surprise and approbation, but for now, frustratingly, he must keep it to himself.

He took to creeping up to the children’s room when he returned from one of these missions, telling himself that he needed to check they were all right, although he’d never been a doting father and in reality he simply felt the need to talk, and who better than a child who didn’t understand a word he said?

Drew could easily be nudged awake although Jenny would sleep on soundly. He was barely five years old and as silly and innocent as all little boys of that age, in Hugh’s opinion, but quite ready to idolise his father. Hugh told him how he was engaged in something very dangerous. How the French fishing fleet did much more than catch fish.

‘As does your old Dad. I’ve saved countless lives, young pilots trapped in France, agents sent out there on special missions. It’s my job to rescue them. I meet up with the French fishing fleet and bring the men safely home.’

The little boy looked at him with round eyes. ‘Gosh, Daddy, are you a spy, like in my William book?’

Hugh smirked and puffed out his chest a little. ‘There’s a war on, son. We all have to be brave and do our bit as best we can.’

‘Wouldn’t the Germans shoot you, if they caught you?’

‘They won’t catch me, I’m far too clever. See this telescope, I use it to keep watch at sea, and when I return from a mission I usually go out on to the headland and check no one has followed me.’

‘Gosh! Can I come with you next time?’

‘Maybe, if you’re very good. But you must never tell. This is a sworn secret between us, understand? Don’t breathe a word, not to Jenny, or to Mummy or anyone.’

‘Oh no, Daddy, I shan’t tell. Cut my throat if I tell a lie.’

Hugh smiled at the childish oath, patted his son’s head fondly and told him to go back to sleep.

He never did take the boy up on the headland. Children could be such a nuisance, a responsibility best left to women who had nothing better to do with their time.

But often, after that, he would find Drew waiting at the top of the stairs and they would sit and talk about the dangers he’d endured that night. It felt good to express his feelings, to relate it all out loud and see his son drink in every word, hugely impressed by his father’s courage. Hugh felt quite safe in the knowledge that not only would the boy never tell, but that he didn’t even fully understand. He was merely a child, after all. So if Hugh couldn’t revel in his wife’s approbation, at least he could enjoy his son’s.

And there was also Iris of course.

Hugh liked it best when Iris came on the operation with him, though she rarely did so these days, maintaining that it would look far too suspicious for her to be spotted too often on his boat, and, in any case, she had to work in the bar. But there were occasions, usually late at night, long after the pub was closed, when she would sometimes sneak out with him, just for the hell of it, or if it was a special operation and her presence was required.

Generally they had to navigate without lights, on this particular occasion as far as Brittany, a trip which took a couple of days, negotiating the rocks in the L’Aber Wrac’h Channel on quiet engines, a wing and a prayer. He had no idea why they were going but with Iris by his side, he didn’t care so long as they all got back safely.

The weather was terrible with a strong wind blowing up, getting worse by the minute. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there were patrolling Heinkels overhead. An armed convoy steamed by on their north side, then half a dozen German corvettes heading directly towards them and Hugh’s heart was in his mouth, afraid that at any moment they might spot his innocuous looking yacht, which really shouldn’t be there at all. Fortunately they went on by, not even noticing him among the billowing waves, but by then he had dropped his sail and turned off the engine.

Hugh was vastly relieved when he finally recognised an approaching trawler tacking back and forth but definitely coming in his direction. Possibly not an innocent Breton boat but more likely one operated by British Intelligence, men perhaps who had once been fishermen in civilian life, men who understood the sea and knew what they were about.

He made fast on its starboard side and kept a sharp eye all around while a procession of people clambered on deck, helped by hands anxious for them to be swiftly dispatched so that they could all get safely on their way.

There were six passengers altogether, four men and two women, looking bedraggled and very much the worse for wear. There was luggage too, boxes and mailbags, all of which had to be bundled aboard, taking up precious time. Hugh was sweating, despite the cold and the lashing rain, by the time they were finally ready to leave.

Down in the cramped cabin quarters, the refugees sat huddled together sipping rum or hot tea, nibbling on Spam sandwiches, although the bucket was also frequently being passed round. Hugh cast them a disparaging glance and hurried back on deck.

The crossing was growing rougher by the minute, with no let up in the weather and it was as they were approaching the Cornish coast, with dawn breaking, that out of nowhere came the sound: that all too familiar drone of an enemy plane. It emerged as a dark shadow from a pink and saffron sky, like a vengeful vulture inspecting likely prey. And then came a second plane, circling low, one minute the pair flying close, the next separating, swooping around and over the boat again.

‘Dear God, what the hell do we do now?’

For once, even Iris had no answer. The vessel was armed, but they had nothing that would touch two Heinkels.

Hugh was beginning to panic. ‘This is madness for us to be stuck here in the middle of the bloody sea with no navy escort.’

He looked up and saw that the Heinkels had been joined by two others, that there were now four planes circling overhead, but the newcomers were ours. Beaufighters had been sent out from Cornwall to escort and protect them from possible U-boat attacks.

They quickly engaged the enemy in a dog-fight which took place right over their heads, Hugh and Iris watching the performance awestruck, even as they struggled with engine and sails, frantically urging the little boat to catch the right wind and tack away as fast as it could. One of the Heinkels performed an acrobatic dive, firing at them and spraying the water all around with bullets. But it flew too near and the tip of one wing hit the water and it catapulted out of control, crashing into the sea. A loud cheer went up and the two Beaufighters had no difficulty after that in chasing the second Heinkel away.
 

Much later, a motor gunboat arrived to take the passengers on to a different destination, the Scillies perhaps, and Hugh gladly handed them over, thankful to have survived.

‘I must have been mad to agree to this,’ he said to Iris as they finally slipped safely into harbour, but she only laughed and teased him all the more.

‘You love it.’

And the awful thing was, he did, so if he found an antidote to fear in the warmth of her willing arms and luscious body, didn’t he deserve it, he told himself?

Bette and Chad met by the rocks in their favourite place and he gathered her close and kissed her. ‘Did you miss me?’

‘Of course I missed you.’ It felt so good to be held safe and warm in his arms. Bette couldn’t ever remember feeling so cherished. She felt overwhelmed with love for him.

She hadn’t set eyes on Barney since their night at the pictures and had done her utmost to shut their encounter out of her mind. What had come over her that night, she really couldn’t imagine. Barney Willert was wicked, appealing to the wickedness in her, yet the blithe way he’d walked her home afterwards and kissed her a polite goodnight, you’d have thought that nothing untoward had taken place between them at all. They’d both agreed, however, to make no mention of it to Chad.

‘He’s a bit of a puritan is old Chad. Best we keep this litter matter just between the two of us, okay?’ and Bette had been more than ready to agree.

So now as she smiled up into Chad’s adorable eyes and told him how much she loved him, she said nothing of her betrayal.

‘I love you too, hon. I’ve asked the major if we can marry and he says it could take a while to get all the necessary paperwork done, and for permission to come through. Months maybe. The army isn’t too keen on this sort of commitment, apparently. They believe marriage takes our minds off the job, that this isn’t the time for us to be taking on new responsibilities and personal obligations. Load of baloney. I love you, Bette. I adore you and want you to be my wife. There’s a war on, okay, and who knows what tomorrow might bring, so why the hell shouldn’t we enjoy what little time we’ve got left together?’

Bette was in tears by the time Chad had finished his rant, hugging and kissing him for all she was worth; guilt playing no small part in her emotion. Oh, but she did love him, she really did. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, but then he grasped her by the shoulders and held her away from him.

‘What about Barney? He dated you when I was laid up. He did behave himself, didn’t he? He promised me faithfully that he’d not lay a finger on you. If he did anything to hurt you, I’ll strangle him with my own bare hands and . . .’

Bette put her fingers to his lips. ‘He kept his word. Nothing happened, I swear.’
 

Would she go to hell for telling such lies? Surely not. But what choice did she have? Bette believed Chad when he said what he would do to Barney if he’d so much as touched her, and she really didn’t want a more serious fight between them on her conscience. She would have to view her lie as a way of saving a long-standing friendship.
 

Chad drew in a deep breath. ‘He’s the best buddy a guy could have. Come on, hon, give me another of those wonderful kisses. I hope you still want to marry me.’
 

‘Of course I do, more than ever.’

Gaining permission to marry turned into a tougher job than either of them had anticipated. Chad’s commander refused and said they would need to wait for a couple of months, to be sure of their feelings, then he could apply again.

‘I’m sure of mine.’
 

‘Me too, hon.’

‘You might go off me.’

‘No way. I love you babe. He’ll agree in the end but for now, he insists we go through all the proper channels, deal with all the policies and regulations, the dratted bureaucracy.

Bette was beginning to get worried. She didn’t feel sure enough of him to wait too long. ‘You might meet somebody else you like better.’

‘Aw, Bette honey, what a thing to say. We could just do it, if you like, and not tell anyone. Hell, what could they do about it then?’

‘I’m not yet twenty-one, not till June. I’d need Mam and Dad’s permission. Dad would give it, together with his blessing, but Mam never would. She doesn’t approve, for some stupid reason.’

They decided that they needed help. Chad tried the Red Cross who handed him the necessary forms and explained that they could help only with his moral welfare. They could do nothing to speed up the paperwork.

The chaplain told Chad in no uncertain terms that wartime marriages should be firmly discouraged, that a foreign bride wouldn’t necessarily be granted American citizenship, that she might not even get transport to take her to the US, such ships as were available being needed for shipping the wounded back home.

Stubbornly, Chad persisted. ‘Yeah, but she’d get citizenship eventually, and we’ll work on the transport problem. This goddamned war can’t last forever. Tell me who to write to. General Eisenhower, if necessary.’

‘Your lady friend isn’t pregnant, is she, son?’

‘She sure as hell is not.’

‘Forgive me for asking but it is often the case that some of these girls think it would be an easy way out of the war, to get themselves pregnant by a GI. They’re attracted by the lure of American freedom and money, and are prepared to use any tricks at their disposal in order to secure themselves a husband.’

At which point, Chad marched out of the chaplain’s office, slamming the door behind him.
 

Their disappointment was bitter, their love making that night holding a kind of desperation which intensified the pleasure each found in the other. Bette wanted to become a part of him, to capture the very essence of him, to put a stop on time and hold this moment forever in her heart. Afterwards, they huddled together in a crevice in the rocks, trying to keep warm against a cold off-shore breeze yet reluctant to leave this small sanctuary simply to find warmth.

They didn’t talk much but held each other tight, as if they could build a barrier against all the evils in the world with the absolute power of their love.