The Darkest Hour (25 page)

Met lots of Me 110s over Dorset coast. One fired at, went down steeply with smoke from one engine. Tried to follow but too fast. (about 520 E.A.S) Turned and pulled out and saw red flash and explosion on ground. Think it was probably c/a crashing.

This was an actual blow by blow account of the Battle of Britain. Fascinated, she turned over page after page as he described sweeps and patrols, recording the heights he had flown, the weather and the encounters with the enemy:
the highest yet over Dungeness at 29,500 feet; half roll at 18,000 feet above Portsmouth and dived to sea level; circling 110s 10 miles south of Beachy Head pooping at intervals.
Lucy smiled. Presumably he meant shooting.
Got white smoke from one engine. Believe I damaged him a bit. 3 bullets collected here.
The record went on, day after day with as far as she could see very little let-up. At the end of each month the pages were stamped by the squadron leader and on the following pages the record went on.

There was nothing personal in the record beyond the occasional comment about his feelings during the action, lines of exclamation marks and underlinings. She smiled. She was getting the impression that P/O A. Anderson was an extrovert young man with a good sense of humour and, it almost went without saying, very, very brave. She closed the book to look at again later in more detail and reached for the blue-backed diary, recognising Evie’s writing at once in the close packed pages. The first entry was dated August 22nd 1940
. Went with Ralph to The Unicorn this evening and met several young RAF officers including his CO. Nice boys. One
particularly
irritating chap called Tony Anderson.

Lucy stopped reading. A. Anderson. Anthony. Tony. Bingo. She found herself wondering suddenly if he was the young man in the portrait. It felt right. His face, his smile, his whole demeanour suited the exuberant loopy handwriting of the log book, and the underlining in Evie’s entry, the selection of one man to mention by name, even if it was to be rude about him. That surely hinted at the fact that she was smitten.

Lucy turned the page and began to read on.

When Ralph next came up to the farm he found Evie in the dairy scouring the empty buckets

He stood watching her for a minute reluctant to interrupt. She looked preoccupied but content as she finished the job and dried her hands on a towel by the sink. She turned and saw him. ‘Rafie!’

‘Hi, Sis.’

Her smile of welcome faded as she studied his face. ‘What is it?’

He said nothing for a moment then he held out his hand. ‘Come for a walk. There is something I need to say.’

He saw her face grow pale as she followed him out into the yard and through the gate up to the fields. ‘Is it Tony? Has something happened to him?’

‘Nothing has happened to him,’ he said calmly, ’but it is about Tony, yes.’

He wasn’t sure about this at all. Eddie had singled him out in The Unicorn a couple of evenings before and sat him down at a table in the corner.

‘This has to stop,’ he had said. His face was hard. ‘You realise that Tony Anderson is ruining your sister’s life. She has this one chance to make a career as a painter and he is getting in the way. He will spoil everything for her.’

Ralph had been sceptical. ‘Oh, come on, old boy,’ he had blustered. ‘That’s a bit strong, surely. She’s young. She is bound to have boyfriends.’ And then he had seen his mistake. Eddie’s face had darkened, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed Ralph’s face.

‘I warned her,’ Eddie went on quietly. ‘But she chose to ignore everything I said. She seems to take me for a fool.’

Ralph paused for a moment or two, studying Evie’s face. ‘Someone has reported Tony for being back after midnight several times after coming up here. The CO has had a word with him. It’s not on. And it’s not going to happen again.’

‘Eddie!’ she said. ‘It was Eddie, wasn’t it?’ Her cheeks had blushed scarlet.

Ralph was going to deny it, but he could see she had already made up her mind. ‘I don’t know, Sis, but I suspect it might have been,’ he said with a sigh. ‘The CO says he doesn’t want to see you down at the airfield again. I know things lightened up for a bit, but no more. They are expecting a huge attack any minute. They want all the boys there, on full alert. It’s for Tony’s own good, Evie, you know it is. If any of us loses concentration for even a minute it could be fatal. Leave it for now.’ He thought back in anguish to the previous evening.

To his surprise he had found a message at the Mess from his father. Dudley had suggested that he and his son meet for a drink in Chichester when Ralph next had a few hours off. They were seated in the corner of the pub before two untouched tankards of beer when Dudley fixed Ralph with a miserable stare. ‘I can’t tell Evie this, Ralph. I can’t tell either of them. Rachel would kill me.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘And Evie.’ He paused for several seconds. ‘Truth is, I had a spot of bother a while back.’ He glanced up at his son. ‘Didn’t want to trouble you with it. The tractor and things. They cost a bit. I borrowed some money. Couldn’t pay it back.’ He reached for his glass and raised it with a shaking hand as he scanned Ralph’s face and looked away. His son had gone white. ‘Eddie knew about it. Don’t know how, but he offered to lend me some money to get me out of hock. He,’ he hesitated again, ‘he wants the money back. He says he only lent it because he thought he and Evie would marry one day and he would have an interest in the farm. He is threatening to tell everyone about the debts. Destroy my good name.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Ralph muttered. ‘Why didn’t you tell me we didn’t have the money for the tractor?’

Dudley shook his head. ‘Pride, I suppose. Eddie said there was no need to pay it back.’ He shook his head. ‘He wants Tony out of Evie’s life. He will make trouble for the boy as well as us if we don’t arrange it.’

There was a long silence. At last Ralph reached for his beer and took a long draught.

‘Just tell her, son. Tell her Tony doesn’t care for her. Anything. Just get her to end it.’ Dudley sounded near to tears. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t bear it. She loves the boy, anyone can see that.’

Ralph sat staring down into his glass for a moment. ‘So, it’s a trade-off. Your good name or your daughter’s happiness,’ he said softly.

His father looked up, his face crumpled with unhappiness. ‘Tony’s safety is at stake,’ he whispered.

‘Oh, come on.’

‘Eddie has contacts. I believe him. He could make good his threats. Please, Ralph. Do this for Evie and the boy.’

There was another long pause, then at last Ralph reached forward and put his hand over his father’s for a moment. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ he murmured.

And now here he was facing Evie, about to tell the biggest lie of his life. ‘Tony has told me he doesn’t actually want to come up here any more anyway.’

‘He said that?’ She stared at him aghast.

Ralph bit his lip. Then he nodded. ‘He said that.’

‘Why didn’t he say it to me? I’d have understood.’

Ralph was taken aback for a moment. ‘Of course you would. Maybe he just couldn’t bear to disappoint you. Or maybe,’ he took a deep breath and plunged on, ‘maybe he just isn’t as keen as you are, sweetheart.’

There was a long silence. She turned away from him and when she spoke he could hear the tremor in her voice.

‘Did he tell you that too?’

‘Not in so many words, but underneath I think that is what he meant. He didn’t want to hurt you, Evie.’

‘How silly.’ Her voice had grown thin and shrill. He could see her clenching her fists. ‘As if I would be hurt. He was just a fling. A silly boy who was fun to be with.’ She began to make her way back down the track.

‘Evie –’

She ignored him, walking fast, her head high.

He stood still and watched as she pulled the headscarf off and shook her hair free in the wind. Her pace increased until she was running. He saw her reach the gate and drag it open. It swung shut behind her and she disappeared across the yard in the direction of the dairy.

‘You shit, Ralph Lucas,’ Ralph whispered to himself out loud. ‘You have just broken your sister’s heart.’

It turned out that Dolly had known Christopher Marston’s address all the time. She was reluctant to pass it on, but in the end caved in to Lucy’s persuasive argument that without it no progress could be made.

Lucy decided to risk calling in unannounced. If she telephoned and he hung up on her then short of climbing in through a window she would have shot herself in the foot with no fall-back plan. This way, at worst, she would at least see in through the front door, at best be invited in to talk, or given an appointment to return.

The house was close to Midhurst, about ten miles north of Chichester. Parking her car in a lay-by, next to a stile which looked as though it hadn’t been used for many years, Lucy walked up the shadowy lane towards the substantial gates which led to Cornstone House. To her surprise they were open. Taking a deep breath she began to walk towards the house which was out of sight round a bend planted with evergreen shrubs. The house was smaller than she had expected but elegant and beautifully maintained, built of old red bricks and hung tiles beneath a mellow uneven roof.

The gardens on either side of the drive were carefully laid out and the lawns neatly mown. There were no cars outside and the place was very silent. Damn! She had chosen Saturday afternoon especially in the hope that the family would be at home, reasoning that if Christopher was a banker he would commute to London during the week. Of course the opposite might apply; perhaps they had all gone out together.

She didn’t allow herself to hesitate. She mounted the steps to the door and tugged at the rustic bell pull. There was a faint chime from somewhere deep in the house followed by the sound of a dog barking.

She eased her bag on her shoulder uncomfortably trying to calm her nerves and was reaching for the bell a second time when she heard footsteps from behind the door. It was pulled open by a thin tall woman with elegantly styled hair and beautifully cut shirt and trousers. Behind her an elderly black Labrador wagged its tail slowly back and forth. Lucy found herself wondering if the dog was the only one who was going to welcome her.

She forced herself to smile, holding out her hand. ‘Hello, I’m Lucy Standish. I wonder if I could have a word with Christopher. I’m sorry to drop in unannounced, but I was passing your door.’ It could be possible she supposed. The road on which she had parked was fairly busy for a country lane.

If this was Christopher’s wife she was obviously as hostile as he presumably was. The woman made no attempt to shake her hand. Her eyes were cold and hard as she surveyed Lucy.

‘I suppose one of you was bound to turn up one day,’ she said. ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but he is out.’

The door was already closing in Lucy’s face and reflexively she put her hand out to stop it. ‘Please, give me a moment.’

To her surprise the woman didn’t try and make it a trial of strength. She removed her hand from the door. ‘What can you possibly have to say to me?’ Her voice was quiet, well modulated, but flat.

‘May I come in?’ Lucy moved forward slightly. ‘I think your husband may have got the wrong idea about me and I wanted to explain.’ It was a guess that this was his wife but the woman didn’t contradict her.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘I doubt if he got the wrong idea about you at all, my dear,’ she said grimly. ‘He normally knows exactly what he is doing.’

‘No, he doesn’t.’ Lucy edged forward again.

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I’m almost inclined to listen to you. You’re certainly not his usual type,’ she said. There was a slight curl to her lip which Lucy resented even more than her tone of voice.

‘His usual type?’ Lucy echoed. ‘Oh Lord,’ she gave an embarrassed giggle, ‘I think we are talking at cross purposes. Please, can I start again? I have never met Christopher. I don’t know him at all. I am a friend of his cousin, Mike. I am so sorry; I don’t know your name.’ She paused, hoping desperately that the woman would fill in the information, but her words were greeted with silence and Lucy suspected suddenly that Christopher’s wife was as embarrassed as she was herself. ‘I am writing a biography of their grandmother, Evelyn. ‘

Slowly the woman raised her hands to her face and rubbed them slowly over her cheeks.

‘I am so sorry. I –’ She broke off and turned away. ‘I thought you were someone else.’ She took a deep breath and faced Lucy again. ‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Lucy Standish.’

‘Christopher hasn’t mentioned you. He and Mike don’t see much of each other these days.’ She gave Lucy a long frank look and then seemed to make up her mind. ‘You had better come in. Christopher is away for the weekend.’

She ushered Lucy in and closed the door behind her.

Lucy stood staring round. The hall was wood-panelled, the stone floor covered by a large Persian rug. Two oak chairs stood on either side of a small table near the foot of the staircase, but what she was looking at were the two paintings hung facing each other on the walls. They were unmistakably Evelyn Lucases and they were paintings she didn’t recognise from any catalogue. She paused in front of one of them. It was one of Evie’s later works, modernist, bright, full of the colours of summer.