The Very Thought of You (16 page)

Della laughed. ‘Oh, I do hope you remind him of that.'

He grinned. ‘You haven't changed.'

The rehearsal went well; Beau rearranged the running order so that Davey came on after Della's first song and then again later before Catherine closed the show. He was quite good; he told a few jokes and did a couple of funny monologues. His act was nothing spectacular, but it did fit in nicely with the rest of the show. Afterwards, they all went to the NAAFI for a meal. It was next to army headquarters.

‘What's happened to Lenny?' asked Della, as she wiped the remains of her plate of pie and chips with some bread. ‘Did he join up?'

‘No.' Davey shook his head. ‘He didn't fight at all. Cleared off to the States as soon as war was declared, tried to get into pictures, but I don't know how he did. I never heard from him again.' He lit a cigarette. ‘What about you? Where's old Harry these days?'

‘Killed,' said Della shortly.

Catherine and Frances, who were sitting on either side of her, edged closer, comfortingly.

‘God, I'm sorry,' Davey said, looking embarrassed. ‘I didn't know.'

‘It doesn't matter.'

‘D'you know' – Frances hurried to change the subject – ‘they've got loose tea and tinned milk for sale here? I saw that there was a stove at the back in the theatre. We could have a cuppa before we go on. What d'you think?'

‘Good idea,' Della agreed, grateful for her friend's tact. ‘Let's all get some.'

That night, Catherine slept deeply. The iron bed was uncomfortable, but she was tired after the long journey on the landing craft and the excitement of the rehearsal. She tried, as she often did, to imagine that Christopher was lying beside her. That his arm was around her and that she could feel his body pressed into hers. Am I near to him? she wondered, as she closed her eyes. Is he close by? Somewhere in the French countryside, being hidden by kind friends, waiting to be rescued? Oh, please God. Then, as she was drifting off, she found herself thinking about Robert and how impressive he'd looked in his uniform. Stop it, she told herself. Don't let him, of all people, invade your mind; you're being stupid.

In the morning, she was the last to wake up. ‘Come on, sleepyhead,' Della said, pushing her on her shoulder. ‘I've brought you a cup of tea.'

‘However did you get that?' asked Catherine sleepily, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her eyes. She picked up the cup and saucer that Della had plonked on the rickety table between the beds.

‘It's the tea Frances bought last night,' Della said, sitting on the next bed. ‘I took it down to Madame Défarge and persuaded her to put a couple of spoonfuls into a coffee pot. I think she was scandalised, but as we couldn't understand each other, it doesn't matter. She didn't have any milk, so I opened the tinned stuff.' She took a sip from her cup. ‘I've had worse,' she said, pulling a face. ‘But not often.'

‘It's fine for me,' said Catherine. ‘My French grandparents make tea with tinned or sterilised milk, so I'm used to it.' She looked at Frances's bed. ‘Where is she?'

‘Out already. Beau came knocking for her before eight. They're fixing up for us to do some matinees in the field. She's gone to talk to the military.'

Catherine got out of bed and, stretching her arms above her head, pulled a face. ‘I feel sticky,' she said, ‘and I'm sure I smell. I'd love a bath.'

‘Ah,' smiled Della. ‘I've found out that we can get a shower at the NAAFI. How about us going there? We can have some breakfast too. It's not far – we can walk.'

The streets were busy, full of civilians who seemed to be heading towards a covered market, and soldiers who strolled along the narrow thoroughfares and gave the girls the eye as they passed. There was a rumbling in the air and Della looked at Catherine. ‘Thunder,' she groaned. ‘It'll rain in a minute.'

Catherine looked around. ‘I'm not sure,' she frowned. People had stopped walking and were standing staring towards where the sound was coming from, and then a siren started wailing in the air. She clutched Della's arm and started to say something when suddenly there was a louder boom, followed by a sickening crump, which made the buildings beside them shake. ‘It's shelling,' she shouted. ‘We must get under cover.'

‘Should we go back to the hotel?' Della asked, wildly looking backwards and forwards as the people, who had a minute ago been strolling down the street, started to run.

‘No.' Catherine hurried her along. ‘The NAAFI. It's just round the corner. They must have a shelter.'

A group of soldiers who had just passed them turned and started to run back. ‘Come on, girls,' said one of them. ‘You need to get away from here. Bloody Jerries are at it again.'

Della and Catherine ran down the cobbled street, surrounded by the phalanx of young men from the Pioneer Corps, while in the near distance a constant barrage of explosions rattled the old buildings and caused panic to the few people who were still about.

‘Whoosh!' A boom, followed by another crash and another and another, and finally they reached the building that housed the NAAFI and ran inside and down into the packed cellar.

‘Wow!' said Della, her face white. ‘I thought this town was supposed to be safe.'

‘It is, mostly,' said the sergeant who had run with them. ‘And there's probably nothing damaged in the town. The Jerries are too far away. But better safe …'

‘… than sorry,' Della finished the sentence, and grinned at the young man. ‘I'm Della Stafford,' she said, holding out her hand. ‘Part of the Bennett Players. We're giving a performance in the theatre after lunch. You should come and see us.'

‘Oh yes,' he said. ‘We heard about you, didn't we, lads?'

They nodded and grinned, and one of them said, looking at Catherine, ‘Is she in it too?'

Della laughed. ‘You bet,' she nodded. ‘Just wait till you hear her sing.'

The shelling stopped almost as soon as they'd reached the shelter and they went upstairs into the canteen, where the NAAFI workers were already pouring tea from steaming urns and scrambling dried eggs.

‘Look,' Catherine said, pointing towards the back of the room. ‘The gang's already here.'

They joined their friends at a table and ate fried tomatoes on toast and drank dark tea out of thick china cups.

‘Did you get caught in the raid?' asked Godfrey.

‘Yes,' Della nodded. ‘We were in the street and ran here for the shelter.' She frowned. ‘We didn't see you down there. Where were you?'

‘Here,' laughed Davey. ‘The NAAFI girls didn't bother to move, so neither did we. Some bugger might have eaten our breakfast if we'd left it.'

‘Aye,' Colin agreed. ‘I've paid for this.'

‘There's Beau and Frances.' Catherine stood up and waved. Spotting the company, the pair came over. Beau was limping badly, as though he'd further damaged his leg.

Catherine put a gentle hand on his arm. ‘What's happened to you?' she asked, her voice full of concern. She could see that as well as the more pronounced limp, his face was pale and he didn't look well.

‘It's nothing.' He shrugged off the enquiry, but Frances wasn't having it.

‘He fell,' she said, ‘or so he says. I think he should go to the military hospital and see what the doc says, but he won't.'

‘For Christ's sake, stop fussing,' Beau growled. He was leaning heavily on his stick. ‘Now …' He took the rolled-up paper that Frances had been carrying and showed it to them. It was a brightly coloured advert for the show, with a list of their names and the times of the performances. ‘Robert Lennox got this done,' he said. ‘I'll put one up in here and a couple at HQ. As well as this, I have to tell you that we're going to a field hospital tomorrow afternoon, to give a show, and then at the end of the week, we're moving on.'

‘Not back home?' Godfrey asked, his face falling.

‘No.' Beau smiled at him. ‘I'm afraid that the redoubtable Mrs James will have to do without you for some time yet. We're going to the front. Well, as close to the front as is safe.' He waited for questions, but they were all slightly stunned and he said, ‘Look, I'm going to get these posters put up and I'll see you at the theatre. One o'clock, alright?' He limped away to talk to the woman who was in charge at the NAAFI.

It was exciting news and the Players looked at each other with a mixture of apprehension and delight.

‘This is what we volunteered for,' said Tommy. ‘I'm glad we're going.'

‘There speaks a man who hasn't been at the sharp end,' Davey muttered.

‘No, I haven't.' Tommy's face reddened. ‘But it's not for want of trying.'

There was an awkward silence; then Davey grinned. ‘Sorry, mate,' he said. ‘I didn't mean anything.'

Tommy nodded, but Catherine could see that he was still simmering. She turned to Frances. ‘What happened to Beau?' She looked over to where he was talking to the NAAFI woman behind the counter and showing her the poster.

‘He says he fell,' Frances murmured, ‘but, you know, I don't believe him. He has bruises on his arms as though …' She shrugged. ‘Well, I don't know, but one of the officers in the billet told me that he was brought back last night by a bloke from our troupe. Apparently Beau was in a bit of a state.'

‘It wasn't me,' said Tommy, ‘or any of us boys here. We were playing cards until late.'

‘Oh God,' Della snorted. ‘We all know who it was. That bloody Eric Baxter, or whatever his name is.'

‘I'll speak to Beau again,' Frances sighed. ‘He has to get rid of that bullying bastard.'

The rest of the company was silent for a second, as they'd never heard Frances speak like that before, but there was a succession of nods from about the table.

Davey stood up. ‘I'd be careful,' he warned. ‘Things might not be as they seem. You might make enemies.'

There was that expression again, Catherine thought.
Things are not always what they seem.
It was almost sinister and she shuddered, causing Della to look at her in surprise.

‘I've known Beau since … well, since forever,' Frances said firmly. ‘He'd never be my enemy, and as for Baxter, well, I couldn't care less. The sooner he goes, the better.'

Della nodded enthusiastically. ‘Hear, hear,' she said, and the others murmured their agreement.

‘Anyway,' Frances said, consulting her clipboard, ‘enough of that. We have to get ready.'

When the curtains swung back to reveal the audience on that first show, the troupe were both astonished and thrilled to see how full the theatre was. Soldiers jostled with each other for seats, and some were standing up at the back of the house. They were ready for a bit of entertainment after the hard and terrifying slog of the invasion.

‘Ready?' asked Beau as the company gathered in the wings. Everyone was breathing hard, nervous and excited at the same time.

‘Ready, willing and able,' Della said. ‘Bring up the curtain,' and as cheers rang out, she stepped onto the stage, while Tommy banged out her opening tune.

She'd gone on stage in her uniform jacket and a pair of the fishnet tights. After she'd belted out her first number, she threw off the jacket, revealing a figure-hugging red costume with a minuscule pair of shorts, which drew whistles of excitement as she launched into her acrobatic dance.

‘Bravo!' the crowd yelled, hugely enthusiastic, applauding wildly after every spin and cartwheel. And when she jumped into the air and came down doing the splits to end her piece, the place erupted.

The American GIs who had flirted with her on the bus were in the front row and led the cheers, stamping their feet and yelling, ‘Go, girl!'

‘Great house,' Della said breathlessly, coming off and pushing Colin into the spotlight. ‘I loved it!'

Colin bamboozled them with his tricks, and Della went on again to pose with his props and pretend to be astonished when paper flowers poured out of the front of her bodice. When they came off, Godfrey went on. He was cheered too, especially when he got the audience to sing along with ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning' and ‘On the Road to Mandalay'.

Davey, who was dressed in his own uniform of the Royal Artillery, with his corporal's stripes and campaign ribbons in place, was well received. His jokes and monologues fitted in nicely with the rest of the review, particularly when he told the tale of Young Albert, who went to Buckingham Palace to get his medal.

‘Well done,' said Beau, when he came off, shaking his hand, but then Eric and Captain Fortescue did their turn.

Catherine could hear the gasps of indrawn breath from the audience as the doll, using the crudest of language, made vulgar innuendoes that seemed to make even the most cynical soldier look at his companion before nervously joining in with the laughter. As he went on, though, the audience became inured to the rudeness and were screaming with mirth.

‘He's going too far,' said Catherine to Frances, who was standing beside her in the wings. ‘I haven't heard him do this stuff before.'

‘I know,' she said. ‘It's horrible.'

When Beau limped over with the running order in his hand, she grabbed his arm. ‘Listen to Eric,' she whispered. ‘Don't you think he's a bit close to the knuckle?'

‘Maybe,' he whispered back, ‘but these are men. That's what they like.'

Robert Lennox was backstage too and he looked worried. ‘You'll have to talk to him,' he said to Beau. ‘The authorities will clamp down on you if they get to hear any of his act.'

Beau looked nervous. ‘I'll see what I can do,' he said.

‘I mean it,' said Robert, and when Eric finished and joined the company in the wings, Robert gave Beau a nod, to enforce what he'd said.