The Very Thought of You (33 page)

‘I think I'll have to let her sleep,' she said to Della. ‘And that could be a problem. Should I stay with her?'

‘She seems like a tough old bird,' said Della, who was attacking her hair with a curling iron. ‘Leave her a note telling her that you'll be back later. Damn!' The iron had got tangled up in Della's fringe and wisps of smoke and the smell of burning filled the air. ‘Bloody hell, I'm doing a Joan of Arc here.'

‘You can't miss the show,' Frances said. ‘One of the officers downstairs said that they were all looking forward to it.'

‘My grandmother's more important than that,' snapped Catherine. ‘I'll go and see her now.'

‘Oh Lord,' Frances groaned when Catherine had left. ‘I don't know how we're going to manage this new situation.'

‘It'll be OK,' said Della. ‘She won't let us down.'

And fifteen minutes later, Della was proved right. Catherine and Madame Albert were waiting in the lobby when she and Frances came downstairs.

‘I thought you might be too tired to join us tonight,' said Frances, taking the old lady's hand. ‘You've had such an ordeal.'

‘It has been very hard,' Béatrice conceded, ‘but I must get back to work now. My Jean would want that. Tonight, I will hear my granddaughter sing,' she smiled at Frances and Della, ‘and you two dear girls as well. Tomorrow, I return to the farm. There is much to be done.'

‘But, Grandmère,' Catherine said, alarmed by the outlined plan, ‘you can't. I want to take you to England, so you'll be safe and looked after by Maman.'

‘Looked after?' Béatrice growled. ‘You want to treat me like the nuns did? Wrapped in cotton wool, fed medicine to make me drowsy, while all the time waiting for me to die? No. No,
chérie
. I'm not ready for that.'

‘But …'

Béatrice held up an imperious hand and Catherine knew she was defeated. She couldn't find an argument against her grandmother's decision, so she tucked her arm into the old lady's and they all walked outside.

‘She's one feisty old girl,' grinned Della when Frances explained what Béatrice had said, and when they got to the NAAFI, Della gave her a big hug and a kiss on both cheeks, before showing her to a seat in the front row.

‘Will you be alright, Grandmère?' Catherine asked, still doubtful. ‘The show lasts about an hour and a half.'

‘Of course. Off you go.'

As Catherine walked back to the performance area, she remembered something else, which hit her like an express train. Grandmère had mentioned Lili. How could she have possibly known about her? Unless …

Tommy was playing the opening music, and Della was stretching her legs behind the curtain, which the NAAFI staff had rigged up for them. ‘OK, kid?' she said when Catherine came to join her.

‘Yes, I'm fine,' she smiled. ‘But there's still something to think about. Do you remember when we were in that day room and Grandmère said—'

‘Later,' Della grinned, and taking a deep breath, leapt through the curtain.

When Catherine came to sing, she opened with ‘Blue Moon', and then ‘The Very Thought of You', which entranced the audience and left some of them, both male and female, in tears. ‘Bravo!' they shouted after, and cries of ‘More!' rang around the room. She glanced down to Béatrice, who was sitting, her hands clutched together on her chest, with tears spilling down her cheeks.

Catherine went over to Tommy and whispered what he was to play, and then going back to the microphone, she held up her hand for silence.

‘Oh hell,' muttered Beau. ‘She's going to sing something new.'

‘She knows what she's doing,' said Robert, who was standing beside him against the back wall. ‘Why can't you just trust her? I do.'

Catherine gazed at the audience, who were looking back at her and grinning in anticipation. ‘I am half French,' she said. ‘My mother's family had a farm just south of this city. Earlier this year, the Gestapo raided the farm, looking for the Allied airmen and the Resistance fighters that my grandparents hid. They found no one, but …' her voice faltered a little before she carried on, ‘but their courage had been exposed by a traitor.' She paused again and swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘My dear grandfather was shot dead, and my grandmother was put in prison, and we didn't know where she was, until today. We found her; she is sitting here, in the front row.' The audience craned their necks to see her, and encouraged by Frances, who had gone to sit beside her and was whispering a translation, Béatrice stood up and gave a little wave. Soldiers, airmen and civilians of all nationalities broke into respectful applause and Béatrice, overcome, sat down and fanned herself with one of little printed programme sheets that Beau had placed around the room.

‘Now,' said Catherine, ‘for her, for my own happy memories of days gone by, I will sing one of my grandfather's favourite songs, “
Parlez-Moi d'Amour
”.'

As soon as Tommy played the opening bars, the audience recognised the familiar English version, ‘Speak to Me of Love', and clapped in anticipation. Two hundred voices joined in the chorus, and Catherine walked along the aisle singing and shaking hands with men who stretched out to grab at hers. Still singing, she walked back and, reaching Béatrice, took her hand and led her onto the makeshift stage.

The cheers that rang around the room were probably heard out in the street, and as Catherine acknowledged them, Béatrice held on to her arm tightly, overwhelmed by the noise. Catherine held up her hand once more, and when the cheers had died down, she said, ‘I present to you Madame Béatrice Albert. She is living proof that most of the French people do love their country and are prepared to fight and to die for it.'

Some Free French soldiers who were in the audience stood up and began to sing ‘
La Marseillaise
', the French national anthem, and Tommy struck up to accompany them. In the end, Catherine and Béatrice and all those who knew the words were joined by the company, who hummed and lah-lahed along to the tune. Catherine was close to tears again when the whole audience scrambled to their feet and drove their fists in the air in time to the music.

Nothing could have bettered that moment and Beau signalled to the company that it was the end of the show; the audience filtered out, exhausted by cheering and quite ready to carry on with the war.

Catherine, Frances and Della, with Béatrice stumbling along between them, walked back to the hotel. Robert, who had gone on ahead, was waiting for them.

‘Your grandmother should rest until the morning,' he said to Catherine, ‘but tomorrow, if she is able, we have to ask her some questions. I'm sorry – I know she's had a hellish time – but it must be done.'

‘I do know,' said Catherine. ‘And she will be ready. Besides, there is something I need to ask her myself.'

She waited until Béatrice was gently snoring in the double bed they shared before going down to the bar. Adrenaline was still surging through her and although she was tired, she found sleep impossible. It was after midnight and only a few of the guests were still wandering about. The bar was almost empty. There was no sign of her friends, and although she was tempted to go to their room, to see if they were awake, she resisted and ordered a brandy instead.

Robert was at a table, on his own, nursing a glass of Calvados; she went to sit beside him.

‘How do you do it, night after night,' he asked, ‘with the same intensity?'

‘Because I love it,' she replied. ‘Singing is my life.'

He swirled the liquid round in his glass, watching it gleam as it caught in the glow of the orange-shaded lamp behind him. ‘We haven't been friends in the last month. If I've done something to hurt you, I'm truly sorry.'

She turned to face him. ‘Don't pretend ignorance, Robert,' she said. ‘Don't keep up this lie about being fond of me when I know that you've only been using me to root out a traitor.'

It was strange – she'd never actually put that realisation into words in her head, never really understood what was going on, but now, just saying it made everything clear. ‘Those two days at the spy school were not for me to learn about how you go about your trade, but for you to learn about me,' she continued. ‘About my husband and about my grandparents. They are linked. I know that now.'

‘How d'you know?' He seemed surprised.

‘Because Grandmère mentioned Lili this afternoon. She could only know about her if she'd met someone from home. That someone must have been Christopher.'

‘Oh.' He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. ‘Are you certain? What exactly did she say?'

‘She just said her name and then we were interrupted. But I intend to find out more tomorrow.'

‘Yes. But let me sit with you when you do. I have many questions for her, and she could be so helpful to us. I need to debrief her before she's … um … got at.'

‘What?' Suddenly Catherine felt very afraid and started to get up. ‘Is she in danger? I must go to her.'

‘Don't worry.' Robert glanced to the bar, where the weary manager was flicking through a newspaper, desperate for the last few customers to go to bed. He put a hand on her arm and lowered his voice. ‘I've got men stationed outside your room. She's quite safe.'

Catherine frowned at him. ‘I didn't see anyone when I came down.'

He grinned. ‘Well, that means they were doing their job properly. Believe me, they are on your corridor and closer than you think.'

She relaxed then and took a sip of her brandy. She watched Robert polishing his glasses on his tie and rubbing his hand over his face before replacing them. ‘You've been reading my letters,' she muttered.

‘I'm afraid I have,' he said almost cheerfully. ‘It's part of the job.'

‘But why did you have to share them with Beau?'

He looked genuinely astonished. ‘I've never shared them with Beau. Whatever makes you think that?'

‘Because when I told him this morning that I was going to the farm to look for my grandparents, he said, “But I thought they had disappeared from the face of the earth.”' Those were exactly the same words as in my mother's letter. I hadn't shown it to anybody. But he knew.'

‘Perhaps it was an assumption.' Robert spoke carefully, not giving anything away. ‘Everyone knew that you had family in this area.'

Catherine gave a short laugh. ‘You don't believe that any more than I do.'

He was quiet, thinking. ‘Are you absolutely sure you told no one else?'

‘Absolutely,' she said. ‘I hadn't even had time to tell the girls.' Then a memory struck her and she clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘
Mon Dieu
,' she whispered. ‘I told Guy de Montjoy, on the bus, when we were driving to Amiens, and I told him about Father Gautier. I showed him the other letter.'

‘The one about you doing a Christmas show with Bobby Crewe?' he asked, one eyebrow raised, and laughed when she scowled at him. He got up and, taking her hand, helped her out of her chair. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘It's too late for all this now. We'll sort it out in the morning. You must get some sleep, and so must I.'

He walked with her to the staircase and then bent and kissed her. Almost involuntarily her arms went round his neck and she found herself kissing him back. This is all wrong, she thought, but it was what she wanted, and didn't care that she might part of his intelligence gathering. Being in his arms was wonderful.

‘See you in the morning, my love,' he said, when they broke away, and she nodded and went up the stairs.

When she awoke the next morning, she found Béatrice already up and dressed. She was washing her underwear and stockings from yesterday in the washbasin and humming a little tune. Catherine recognised it as ‘
Parlez-Moi d'Amour
' from last night's show. She looked full of energy and almost back to how Catherine remembered her from before the war.

‘Good morning, Grandmère. Did you sleep well?'

‘Ah,
chérie
. You are awake at last. I am glad.' She squeezed out the water from her washing and, after looking around the room for somewhere to hang it, chose the wheezing old radiator. ‘Now, there are things to do today. I must go to the market and get food to take to the farm, but first, I need to see if there is any money in the bank.' She came to sit on the bed beside Catherine. ‘Do you think that the Boche will have emptied your grandfather's account? They might have, you know.'

‘I don't know, Grandmère, but I have money if you need it. Let me get up and we can have some breakfast and then decide what to do. Major Lennox wants to talk to you. He has to know about the raid on the farm.'

Béatrice's face paled. ‘It was dreadful,
ma chérie
. I cannot bear even to think about it.'

‘But you must, Grandmère. So that the people who did those terrible things can be brought to justice.'

The old lady sat for a minute, and then nodded her head. ‘You are right, Catherine. It would be cowardly of me to indulge in grief and not tell all that I know. So' – she stood up and went back to arrange her washing, which was dripping on the floor – ‘you will get up and we can get on with the day.'

When Catherine came back from the bathroom, she found Frances and Della sitting on the bed chatting to Béatrice. They looked up when she came in.

‘Get a move on,' said Della. ‘We want to find some breakfast. And then Grandmère Béatrice is going to the market.'

‘She can't,' Catherine said. ‘Robert wants to ask her some questions. Besides …'

‘Besides what?' asked Frances.

Catherine frowned. ‘Besides,' she muttered, concerned that although she was speaking in English, which her grandmother wouldn't understand, some hint of what she was saying might get through, ‘it isn't safe.'