In Love and War (32 page)

Elsie rose to her feet. She looked round the room – nothing had changed. Felicia had not changed either. She had greeted her as if she had just returned after a weekend in the country. She followed Gerda from the room feeling once again as though she had stepped into a parallel universe. Tomorrow she would get to grips with her old life, but for the present all she needed was a hot bath, clean clothes and sleep – lots and lots of it in a nice clean bed.

Next morning Elsie reported to Room 40 for a debriefing, and by the end of the day she was exhausted. She had almost lost her voice after repeating her story over and over again, but even now her main concern was for Marianne. She had given detailed descriptions of their work in the Merchant's House, but she did not mention Marianne's involvement with a German officer, and it was difficult to show concern for her friend without giving a specific reason. The heads of departments were only interested in receiving relevant information, and the moment she tried to ask a question she found herself sidetracked. Her last meeting that day was with a high-ranking official, who congratulated her on her efforts and offered to take her on again, this time as a translator. It was a step up from routine clerical work and Elsie was in no position to refuse, but she was still none the wiser as to Marianne's fate.

She was in the canteen, queuing for a cup of tea and a rather stale-looking Chelsea bun, when one of the secretaries she had worked with in the past came up to her with a beaming smile. ‘So you're back then, Elsie. How did it go in Paris? Was it exciting and glamorous?'

Elsie managed a feeble smile. She had always liked Sheila Barratt, but they had never been particularly close, and now she was asking her about her time abroad as if she had just come back from a fortnight's holiday. ‘How did you know where I'd been? It's supposed to be top secret.'

Sheila's cheeks flushed a dull pink. ‘Sorry. I know I shouldn't talk about it, but there's no one within earshot, and you and Marianne are so lucky to have been sent on special duties. I've been stuck here typing reports and doing the boring stuff.'

‘It was interesting,' Elsie said vaguely.

‘Marianne obviously likes the rue Saint-Roch, since you came back on your own,' Sheila said, selecting the largest bun on the tray. ‘Didn't you want to stay there with her?'

‘Why do you think she's in Paris?'

‘Because I typed a report saying so.' Sheila eyed her curiously. ‘Didn't you know? I thought you two were practically inseparable.'

‘There's a war on, Sheila. We weren't there for our health.'

‘I didn't mean to put my foot in it.' Sheila paid for her tea and was about to walk away when Elsie caught her by the sleeve.

‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. I'm still a bit tired after my travels. Do you know where she's staying?'

‘As a matter of fact, I do. Of course, I can't tell you as it's all hush-hush.'

‘But she's working at the rue Saint-Roch. You can tell me that much.'

‘Yes. I don't suppose I'm giving too much away by telling you that.' She leaned nearer, lowering her voice. ‘You won't tell anyone that I told you.'

‘And where is she staying? Come on, Sheila, you've gone this far so a little more information can't hurt.'

Sheila was obviously desperate to impart the news. She looked round nervously and took a deep breath. ‘She's staying with a family called Bellaire in the rue de l'Echelle. That's all I can remember, but for God's sake don't let on that I told you.'

‘Of course not. Thanks.' Elsie took her tray and carried it to a table near the window. She sat down and sipped her tea.

Her initial feeling of relief that Marianne was safe was tempered by a sudden and irrational feeling of anger. She had been worrying unnecessarily all these months. Marianne had come through unscathed, and was probably enjoying the relative freedom of working in the rue Saint-Roch as well as a comfortable billet with Henri's family. She had somehow managed to extricate herself from a situation that could have been her downfall. How typical of Marianne, Elsie thought with a reluctant smile. She had played a dangerous game and had won.

Elsie nibbled the Chelsea bun, but it was as stale as it looked and she left it on her plate. It was time to return home to Cromwell Road. She would use Felicia's telephone and ring the military hospital to find out how Guy was progressing. Perhaps they would discharge him and allow him to return to his rented rooms in London. She longed to hear his voice again. It was only now that she realised how close they had become during their escape from occupied Belgium. She could tell Guy everything, knowing that he would understand. She left a threepenny bit under the plate for the overworked waitress and stood up. Sheila waved to her as she left the canteen and Elsie acknowledged her with a vague smile. Soon things would be back to normal, whatever normality was these days.

She did not get much information from the hospital near Harwich. All they would say was that Guy was being kept in for a few days. She replaced the receiver and went to join Felicia in the drawing room.

Felicia looked up from writing copious notes in an exercise book. ‘Any news?'

‘They won't say when he's being discharged. I can't understand it, because his wounds had healed and he was able to walk quite well, although he'll probably always have a limp.'

‘I'm sure they know what they're doing, darling.' Felicia frowned and chewed the end of her pencil. ‘Planning these touring shows takes longer every year. I hope to God this will be the last Christmas we have to do one. Each time we've done a tour the poor blighters look thinner, filthier and more worn down by the damned war. Most of them are just boys. It's heartbreaking.'

Elsie stifled a sigh and sank down on a chair by the window, gazing out into the rain. Getting back to a semblance of normality was not going to be easy. She was wishing that she could have spoken to Guy when she realised that the telephone was ringing.

‘Answer that, will you, darling?' Felicia said with a vague wave of her hand. ‘If it's for me, tell them I'll ring back later. I really have to finish this before I go to bed.'

Elsie stood up and made her way to the side table. She picked up the receiver. ‘Hello.'

‘Elsie, is that you?'

Her breath hitched in her throat. ‘They told me you couldn't come to the phone. Guy. They said you were being kept in hospital.'

‘I'm not supposed to be speaking to you now, but I had to tell you that I'm being transferred to an army camp up north. I don't know exactly where.'

‘But that's not fair,' she protested angrily. ‘You should be convalescent.'

‘I'm perfectly fit for a desk job. I should think myself lucky that I'm not being sent back to France, but all I can think about is you, darling.'

The term of endearment made her heart do a funny little flip, and she was suddenly breathless. ‘I miss you too, Guy.'

‘I'd give anything to be with you now, but it's not going to happen.'

‘You will take care of yourself, won't you?'

‘I'm more concerned about you, Elsie. How are things?'

‘Awfully strange. I feel as if I'm in limbo, but I'm fine. You mustn't worry about me.' She clutched the receiver even more tightly as the pips shrieked in her ear.

‘I have to go, darling. I'm leaving right away.'

‘Oh, Guy . . .'

‘The teashop,' he said urgently. ‘When all this is over we'll meet . . .' The line went dead.

Elsie stood for a moment, gazing at the telephone as if trying to will it to reconnect, but the dialling tone buzzed irritably until she replaced the receiver. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.

‘Was that your friend from the War Office?'

‘It was Guy.'

Felicia turned her head to give Elsie a searching look. ‘If he's jilted you I'll have something to say to that young man.'

A reluctant gurgle of laughter rose to Elsie's lip and she dashed her hand across her eyes. ‘Nothing like that, Felicia. He's been posted a long way from here. Heaven alone knows when I'll see him again.'

‘Wartime romances seldom last, darling. Be thankful that you haven't committed yourself.'

‘It's not like that.'

‘If you say so, Elsie.' Felicia stared at her, frowning. ‘You look exhausted, darling. You really ought to rest. Why not take a few days' compassionate leave and go down to Dorset? I'm sure it can be arranged.'

‘But I'm to start back in Room 40 tomorrow.'

‘A phone call to my friend Edith Lomax will fix that. I'll say that you need time to rest and recuperate, and as I'm in loco parentis my word is law. I'll tell Edith so in no uncertain terms. A few days in the country and you'll be a new woman.'

‘I didn't know you knew her, Felicia.'

‘You'd be surprised at the number of friends I have in high places, darling.'

Felicia's confidence in her own abilities was severely dented when Edith Lomax told her not to interfere in government business. In a way Elsie was relieved to be back at work. There was no real reason for her to return to Sutton Darcy. Tan Cottage was no longer her home and the manor house had merely been her place of employment. If Marianne had returned to England things would be different, but she was in the relative safety of the rue Saint-Roch and no doubt enjoying the luxury of the Bellaires' apartment. Perhaps Henri was there too? The idea did not thrill her as it would have done not so long ago. It came as a shock to realise that she no longer cared for him. Perhaps it had always been an illusion, but whatever the explanation she was no longer under his spell, although she still cared for him as a friend. She went back to work safe in the knowledge that as a translator she was still doing something for the war effort. It might not be as challenging as being a secret agent, but she felt she had had enough excitement to last a lifetime.

Elsie prepared to spend Christmas alone in the flat except for Gerda, who had nowhere else to go. Felicia was in Flanders and Anthea, who had been posted to East Anglia, had decided to return home to Yorkshire to spend time with her family. At first this decision puzzled Elsie. Anthea always said she had come to London in order to escape from her troublesome relations, but Gerda explained that Tubby McAvoy had been killed in action and that Anthea had taken it badly. Elsie sat down immediately and attempted to write a letter of condolence to Anthea, but her vision was blurred by tears as memories of good-natured, fun-loving Tubby came flooding back, and it took several attempts to compose just a few lines.

Her dressing table, which also served as a desk, was piled high with letters from Guy. They arrived once a week with unfailing regularity, and were filled with amusing anecdotes of life in camp somewhere in England. They always ended with the hope that he would see her soon. She missed him more than she would have thought possible, but there was little chance of his being granted leave and she knew she must be patient, but it was far from easy.

On Christmas Eve Gerda persuaded Elsie to accompany her to the church hall in Hackney where the annual party for the Belgian refugees was being held. They travelled by bus and arrived to find the proceedings in full swing. Mrs Johnson rushed up to Elsie, kissed her on the cheek and thrust a glass of warm beer into her hand. ‘We thought you'd abandoned us, love. Where have you been all this time?'

Yet again, Elsie smiled and said it was a long story, and with that Mrs Johnson had to be satisfied. She bustled off to get her husband, leaving Elsie to chat with some of the refugees she had worked with in the past, while Gerda went to join the friends she had made since coming to England. It was only later, when Elsie was talking to the vicar, that she remembered her promise to Valentine. ‘I know this is a long shot, but have you ever had anything to do with two brothers, Jens and Yannick Peeters?'

He sipped his beer, frowning thoughtfully. ‘As a matter of fact I do remember them because they arrived unaccompanied. The youngest must have been twelve or thirteen and the older boy about sixteen. They came over in the first wave of refugees, and I can't remember exactly where we placed them, but I have a feeling it was on a farm in Hampshire. I'll have a record of it somewhere.'

‘That's fantastic,' Elsie said eagerly. ‘I can't tell you the details but their mother is a very brave woman. I promised her that I would try to contact them and give them her love.'

He shook his head. ‘It's been a terrible time, but at least we've been able to help a few of the poor souls to keep going until they can return home.' He glanced at Gerda who was dancing energetically with another girl. ‘There's a success story, thanks to your friend Miss Wilby. She's found places for many of our Belgian guests with her friends and colleagues.'

‘She's been very good to me.' Elsie avoided meeting his gaze, staring into the amber liquid in her glass. The talk of love and loss had reminded her sharply of her own bereavement. The pain of losing her mother was a constant ache that never completely went away.

‘You look sad, Elsie.'

She looked up into Joe's kindly face and she was suddenly close to tears. ‘I was thinking of my mother. She died at the beginning of the war.'

‘I'm sorry, my dear.'

She forced her lips into a smile. ‘So many people have lost loved ones. I'd like to do this small thing for Valentine, if it's at all possible.'

He put his glass down and took her by the arm. ‘Come to my office. I'll look up the records for the Peeters brothers.'

In the quiet of the small, cluttered office, Joe rifled through the chaotic filing system contained in several cardboard boxes. He pulled files and leafed through them. ‘I'm sure the details are here somewhere.' He shot her a sideways glance. ‘I'd love to know what you were doing in Belgium, or is it classified information?'