The Very Thought of You (11 page)

‘Good.' He sounded relieved and then gave her the time of the train she was to catch and where she was to get off. ‘I'll be there to meet you.'

At Victoria Station, she'd been tempted to walk off the platform and go home to Maman and Lili, but, almost without noticing it, she'd found herself on the train. Now her doubts returned and she looked about wildly. If she decided to leave, would there be a bus or a taxi that could take her back to Sevenoaks?

Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, Robert smiled. ‘They're a nice crowd,' he said. ‘The evenings are quite jolly.'

‘Will you be staying?' she asked.

Robert shook his head. ‘No, I have to get back to London. But I'll hang on to introduce you. Don't worry. You'll be fine.'

She was fine. The woman who met them at the studded oak door gave Robert a broad smile. ‘Major Lennox,' she said. ‘How very nice to see you again.'

Catherine looked up quickly. Major Lennox, she thought. So he isn't a civilian after all. There was no time to reflect on this for the woman was holding out her hand. ‘Mrs Fletcher,' she beamed. ‘I'm Veronica Bishop. How very nice to meet you. Come in, do, and I'll find you a cup of coffee. Only Camp, I'm afraid, but we do have biscuits.'

The coffee was served in a large sitting room, where she and Robert sat side by side on a deep, squashy sofa. The cover was worn out and torn in places, and it looked as if somebody had been picking at the threads and making it worse. Maman would be scandalised, Catherine thought, looking around at the other furniture. It was all in much the same state, old and rather tattered. The legs on the oak coffee table in front of her were chewed, the wood scarred and splintered. Miss Bishop, a heavy-breasted woman in her forties, caught sight of the dismay on Catherine's face. ‘The brigadier's dog, I'm afraid,' she sighed, handing round the coffee cups. ‘So very badly trained.'

Robert grinned. ‘It makes it more homely, don't you think?' he said. ‘Less military.'

‘If you say so,' Miss Bishop replied rather glumly, obviously not agreeing with him.

She turned to Catherine. ‘We have our lessons during the day, but we do relax in the evening.' She nodded towards a grand piano, which filled a corner of the room. ‘Sometimes we have a sing-song, which should suit you.'

The brigadier and his young Labrador, Belter, came in then and more introductions were made. The dog immediately galloped over to the coffee table, but Miss Bishop slapped her hand loudly on it and Belter retreated to the seat in the huge bow window and, leaping on the cushions, proceeded to gnaw at one of the tassels that held back the curtain.

‘He's a young devil,' the brigadier smiled fondly. ‘He does love to chew, but' – he looked nervously at Miss Bishop – ‘he will grow out of it.' He turned to Catherine, who had stood up to shake hands. ‘Now, my dear, we've only got two days with you, so we'd better get to it.'

Catherine's heart started pounding again and her face must have shown it because Robert touched her arm. His hand was cool and comforting. ‘Don't worry,' he said. ‘It'll be nothing much. Just a recognition course, German Army insignia and suchlike, so you'll know who's who, if you ever come across them.' He smiled at her and then shook her hand. ‘I've got to go,' he said. ‘Good luck.'

She was taken through the house and out of the back door to the yard, where beside the brick coal houses and carriage house were a couple of Nissen huts. ‘In here, Mrs Fletcher,' said the brigadier, holding open the door to the closest hut. ‘Captain Jaeger is waiting for you.'

He was a short, older man with a ring of white close-cropped hair round a bald pate. Like the brigadier and Robert, he didn't wear uniform, but was dressed in a neat grey suit and well-polished brown shoes. In fact, in the two days Catherine was at the house, she only saw people in mufti, although they were always introduced by their military titles.

‘How d'you do?' said Catherine, when the brigadier introduced her, and had a quick look around the hut. It was laid out like a classroom, with a blackboard at one end and wooden desks arranged in a row in front of it. Maps were pinned to the walls, rustling slightly in the breeze that crept under the door and through the half-open window. Captain Jaeger wasted no time. After briefly shaking her hand and showing her to a wooden desk, he went to the blackboard.

‘You are here to learn German insignia, Mrs Fletcher, which, I think, is not a difficult task, but there are many variations, so we start … now.' He turned the blackboard over and Catherine saw that there was a coloured chart on the back. She leant forward to examine the pictures of cap badges and shoulder boards, and the names beside them.

‘You have the German language?' Captain Jaeger asked. Catherine realised that he had an accent; could it be German?

‘No. I don't.' It was hard to keep the hostility out of her voice. The captain's countrymen were holding Christopher in a hell that she didn't even want to imagine.

If he noticed it, Jaeger gave no indication, but took a pointer from the ledge beneath the blackboard and pointed at the first badge. It was an embroidered white eagle with outstretched wings on a grey background. ‘All German soldiers wear this emblem on their uniform blouses,' Jaeger said, ‘but different ranks and different divisions have, as you will expect, slight variations.' He moved the pointer to another badge. ‘I show you this as an example.' It was the same eagle but now in silver on a black background. ‘It is the emblem of the Panzer Division.'

Catherine gazed at the blackboard. There must have been about fifty different badges and emblems pictured on the chart. Surely she wouldn't be required to learn all of them. It was impossible. Nobody could stop me if I got up and left, she thought, and put her hand down to her handbag, which she'd tucked in beside her feet.

Suddenly Captain Jaeger gave a short, barking laugh. ‘Do not despair, dear Mrs Fletcher. You will understand very quickly. The German Army does everything in order. One step will follow on from the next.'

By the time Miss Bishop came to collect her, just before six o'clock, Catherine's mind was bursting with the information that Captain Jaeger had imparted. The sound of his pointer rapping on the board as he drilled the significance of the different insignia into her was still ringing in her head when she was led through the house and up the wide oak staircase.

‘This is your room,' Miss Bishop said, showing her into a small, somewhat bleak, servant's room on the second floor. ‘It isn't awfully nice, I'm afraid; we are rather strapped for accommodation at the moment. But,' she added brightly, and nodded towards a green-painted door, ‘that's the bathroom next door to you, so it's very convenient. When you're ready, come downstairs. We gather in the drawing room for drinks before dinner.'

Standing uncertainly in the hall half an hour later, wondering which of the closed doors opened into the drawing room, Catherine was startled by a greeting called from the half-landing.

‘Hello.' A woman of about Catherine's age skipped lightly down the stairs until she was in the hall. ‘Are you Mrs Fletcher?' she asked, and her red-painted lips parted in a wide smile.

Her dark hair was rolled and curled and piled on top of her head with a green ribbon threaded through the curls, which matched her glamorous green-beaded dress. It seemed remarkably over the top and Catherine wondered if her grey day dress and short-sleeved cardigan was too plain for a dinner at this house. The woman took Catherine's arm and led her across the floor.

‘I'm Chantal. How d'you do? We heard we were having a temporary guest.' She opened a door. ‘Come on in and meet the gang.'

The gang consisted of eight men and five women, who all turned their heads to look at her when Catherine followed Chantal into the room. ‘I'll do the introductions,' Chantal laughed, ‘but you'll probably forget all the names.'

Catherine did forget the names, shyly shaking hand after hand, until one man in a brown corduroy jacket with a livid scar on his face that stretched from the corner of his eye to his mouth stood in front of her and stared. ‘I know you,' he said after a moment, and gave her a lopsided grin. ‘I saw you sing at the Criterion. You have a terrific voice.'

‘Thank you,' Catherine smiled.

‘
Mon Dieu
, you're a famous person,' Chantal said loudly, so that everyone turned round to stare. ‘How exciting.'

‘Not that famous,' said Catherine, blushing.

‘Let me get you a drink,' said the man who recognised her. ‘Gin?'

‘Thanks,' Catherine nodded, and after he'd moved towards the drinks tray on the sideboard, she turned to Chantal. ‘What was his name again?' she asked.

‘Larry Best. Major Larry Best. Nice man.' Chantal grinned and adjusted the neckline of her dress, which was in danger of exposing her breasts. ‘Sorry,' she said in a stage whisper. ‘I've lost weight in the last few weeks and this frock doesn't really fit me any more.'

‘I didn't bring any formal dresses with me,' Catherine said. ‘I didn't think it would be necessary.'

‘It isn't.' Chantal jerked her head towards the others. ‘Look at them. It's only me. I like to dress up. Nobody else bothers.'

Catherine sat next to Larry at the table when they went into the dining room for supper. They were served at a long table by silent ATS girls, who handed round dishes of unidentifiable stew and boiled potatoes. The food was demolished eagerly, without anyone examining what was on their plate; it seemed as though everyone was hungry. Catherine only picked at her meal, and even when the next course, a sponge pudding, arrived, she still couldn't eat much.

‘Not hungry?' Larry leant towards her, and in a lowered voice said, ‘If you don't want the rest of that pudding, can I have it?'

‘Of course.' Catherine smiled and pushed the bowl to his place. He only took minutes to finish and then leant back and took out his packet of cigarettes.

‘Smoke?' he asked, offering the packet of Woodbines.

‘No, thank you,' Catherine said. ‘I don't smoke. My voice is my living, so I look after it.'

‘Are you still at the Criterion?'

‘Well, I did a couple of nights there some weeks ago, but I've joined a group now and we entertain the troops and factory workers. I'm loving it.'

‘Are you all singers?'

‘Oh no. Not all of us. We have a conjurer, a pianist, a ventriloquist, a tenor, and my friend Della Stafford does songs from the shows and dances brilliantly. Even Frances, who's our administrator, sings. We're a good troupe and the audiences seem to like us.'

‘I'm sure they do,' Larry grinned. ‘Perhaps you'll sing for us one evening, while you're here.'

‘Maybe,' Catherine said, as they got up. The ATS girls were collecting the dishes and Miss Bishop was directing people out of the dining room and back into the drawing room.

‘Coffee is being served as usual,' she called out, as Catherine followed the others.

The evening sun was going down and shone through the great bow window, lighting up the large room in a rosy glow. It picked out the dusty Edwardian carvings on the mahogany panelling above the fireplace and gleamed through the stained-glass half-windows around the bow, sending shafts of colour onto the faded carpet.

‘How lovely,' Catherine breathed.

‘It is,' said Major Best, handing her a coffee. ‘This place must have been magnificent once.'

She was going to reply, but suddenly the room was filled with music, as one of the younger men had sat down at the piano and was thumping out a Noël Coward number. Some of the others were singing along with gusto. Catherine smiled. The pianist was dreadful and the singing pretty poor, but they were enjoying themselves. The man who was playing had a black eye and a cut on his cheek, and looked as if he'd been in a fight. One of the women had her arm in a sling and looked tired, but she was singing along happily, her good arm linked in Chantal's.

‘Not up to your standard,' Larry grinned.

‘It doesn't matter,' Catherine said. ‘They're having a good time.' She looked at the group again. ‘A lot of them seem to have been injured. Why's that?'

‘Oh, the training is quite hard,' Larry grunted. ‘They're always getting bumps and scrapes.'

For the first time, Catherine thought about what these people were doing. Robert and his boss hadn't actually said what this house was for, but you didn't have to be a genius to guess. The men and women who were gathered round the over-strung piano were training to be agents. Some of them would be smuggled into France and Holland to send back information to the War Office. Others would be required to fight, blow up buildings, railway lines and bridges. Dangerous assignments. It was a sickening thought and she nervously sat forward on the shabby armchair ready to jump up and leave the room.

‘I see you're married,' Larry Best broke into her anxious thoughts.

‘What?'

He nodded towards her wedding ring, which she had been winding fretfully round her finger. ‘Is he in the forces?'

‘Yes, Christopher is a para. At least …' She was going to say more but remembered that she'd signed the Official Secrets Act. Robert had said that Chris was an agent. God, he might even have been here, but she couldn't tell anyone that. Even here. Even to Larry Best.

‘At least what?'

Catherine swallowed the lump in her throat and then said in a rush, ‘He's been posted missing. I don't know whether he's still alive. I don't even know where he is.'

‘I'm sorry,' Larry said. ‘War is God-awful hell.' He narrowed his eyes and stared again at her hand, where she was once again twisting her wedding ring round her slim finger. ‘Christopher, you said? In the Parachute Regiment?'