‘Well, well. Della Stafford. As glamorous as ever, and in uniform.’ Davey Jones bent to give her a friendly peck on the cheek. He was tall, very tall, with sandy hair and pale skin. A livid scar ran down the side of his face and extended beneath his collar. It was puckered in places, which dragged his eye down slightly and gave him a look of constant sadness. But he wasn’t sad, and when he was introduced to the rest of the Players, he had a cheery word for each of them.
‘Mr James, how are you?’ he grinned. ‘D’you remember me?’
‘I do, indeed, young man,’ said Godfrey, and confided to Frances, ‘Davey was a boy when I first met him. At Blackpool, wasn’t it, Davey?’
‘Yes, Mr James, we were on the same bill.’
Godfrey chuckled. ‘You’ve grown a span since then.’
Colin hadn’t met him before, nor Tommy or Catherine. ‘You’ve got a lovely voice, Mrs Fletcher,’ he said, when they were introduced. ‘I could hear it as I came into the theatre.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘and please, call me Catherine.’
‘So, this is the company,’ he grinned, glancing around, and then his face fell when he saw Eric, who was arguing with the French workman who was adjusting the spotlight.
‘D’you know him?’ asked Frances.
‘Oh God, yes,’ Davey said. ‘I know him. What’s he calling himself these days?’
‘Eric Baxter,’ said Tommy, joining in. ‘And the doll is Captain Fortescue.’
‘Baxter, eh. He was Eric Lawford when I knew him, and I was told that he’d been Farley before that.’
‘Why does he keep changing his name?’ asked Frances.
Davey frowned. ‘We all change our names. I was David Hardcastle before I teamed up with Lenny Locker.’ He stared at Eric and then said in a lowered voice, ‘He was a blackshirt, you know, before the war. One of Mosley’s mob, and there was a rumour about him having been in prison.’
As the others turned their heads to gaze at Eric, Davey added in an urgent hiss, ‘Look, I don’t know that for sure, and I beg you, for God’s sake, don’t quote me.’
‘He’s not a bad ventriloquist,’ said Godfrey, generous as ever. ‘I’ve seen plenty worse.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ Davey conceded. ‘But years ago, before he had the doll act, he was an actor in rep and got terrible notices. Then the next thing, he was in variety. Singing, tap-dancing, all sorts. I was on the same bill once when he bombed and they actually dragged him off stage with the hook.’
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.
The mood changed when Catherine walked onto the stage. She was wearing her long lavender-blue dress and elbow-length black gloves. She had let her dark, wavy hair hang loose onto her shoulders, and as the spotlight picked out her lovely face, there were a few wolf whistles. She nodded to Tommy and he started the introduction to her song. When she sang the first line, there was an appreciative groan as the audience recognised ‘P.S. I Love You’, and Della, peeping through a gap in the curtains, saw that several of the soldiers had tears in their eyes.
‘They’re like putty in her hands,’ Della whispered to Frances. ‘She could sing them the telephone directory and they’d cheer.’
Cheer they did, and she followed up with ‘The Very Thought of You’ and could hardly get to the end before the audience stood up and hollered.
‘You were just wonderful,’ Robert murmured as Catherine walked off the stage. ‘Just wonderful.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied, and caught up in the moment, allowed herself to look into his eyes. They were glistening. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, and touched his hand.
The second half went just as well, although Eric refused to go on after Beau had told him what Robert had said about the authorities. ‘Who the hell does he think he is?’ he said, in his own voice, and then reverting to the captain’s, said, ‘Tell him to fuck off, old sport.’ With that, he picked up the suitcase containing the doll and walked out of the theatre.
‘Good riddance,’ said Della. ‘Please God he doesn’t come back.’
The girls closed the show, singing in harmony one of their upbeat numbers. Cheers and whistles rattled the rafters of the old theatre, and afterwards, the Players gathered in the bar of the best hotel in Bayeux and relived every moment, grinning at each other and buying quantities of drink.
Beau held up his hand. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Before you all get too hammered, remember we have a show tomorrow afternoon, at the hospital. It’ll be shorter than usual, bearing in mind that some of the patients can’t sit for long. I’ve redone the running order – Frances will show you.’ He looked at Robert, who was sitting at a table with Tommy and Catherine. ‘Major Lennox has organised our transport for this trip.’
Robert stood up. ‘Yes. We’ll be travelling in army trucks. It’s a field hospital near to the front line, and we’ll have guards riding with us.’
Della was standing by the bar with her American sergeant, who’d followed them in, and said, ‘Bloody hell, Robert. We didn’t sign up for danger.’
He grinned. ‘You did, Miss Stafford. Don’t you remember? Make sure you bring your tin helmet.’ He looked at the rest of the company. ‘That applies to all of you. Ten thirty sharp outside the Hôtel Côte de Nacre. The army doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’
‘I wonder if Eric will be with us,’ Catherine said to Frances, when she joined them at their table.
‘Who knows?’ Frances said. ‘Beau hasn’t mentioned him.’
‘They’ve got some sort of thing going,’ Tommy butted in. ‘Everyone knows that.’
‘Do they?’ Catherine was surprised. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘You saw them, in Liverpool. Beau was giving him money. I’ll bet it wasn’t a loan.’ Tommy laughed. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t care less about Beau being a queer – God knows there’s plenty of them in show business – but with Eric?’
‘Did you know?’ Catherine asked Frances.
She nodded slowly. ‘I think I knew. Johnny Petersham hinted at it, years ago, but I don’t believe he would go with Eric. It has to be something else.’
Robert had said nothing during the exchange and Catherine wondered why. He been one of ‘the Three Musketeers’ and he must have an opinion, but when she turned to him, he suddenly stood up and asked to be excused. ‘I have to meet someone,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you later, or tomorrow, if you’ve gone home by then.’ He picked up his peaked cap and turned to go and then paused. ‘Why don’t you go to the officers’ mess for a meal? You’d be very welcome, and I’ve told the stewards to look out for you. It’s in the HQ building.’
‘Good idea,’ said Tommy. ‘Let’s round up the gang.’
‘Not me,’ called Della, when Tommy went to get her. ‘Chuck and I are going to stay here and have a few more drinks.’ She turned to her young GI. ‘Isn’t that right?’
‘Sure thing, honey,’ he grinned, and clicked his fingers to the barman.
The food at the officers’ mess was much the same as they would have got at the NAAFI, but it was served on china plates on a table with a cloth. Not many officers were in, but those who were welcomed them and asked about the show.
‘I’m coming to see you tomorrow night,’ said one of them, an older man with a neatly clipped moustache. ‘My chaps have told me that it’s a damned fine show. Damn fine.’
He sounded a bit like Captain Fortescue and Catherine struggled to keep smiling at him. ‘I do hope we’ll live up to expectations,’ she said, and was startled when he slapped his hand on the table and roared, ‘I know you will, little lady.’
Frances laughed about him as they walked back to their billet. ‘I wonder if Hugo spoke like that when he was with his friends in the mess.’
Catherine linked arms. ‘Have you heard anything lately?’
‘No.’ Frances shook her head. ‘Not a word. I feel we’re in limbo.’
‘Like me,’ said Catherine, wondering if Christopher’s face was beginning to fade from her memory. ‘In limbo.’