December 1944
They were back at sea, crossing the Channel in the same landing craft that they’d travelled on before. It was calm, no wind, and the sea was as flat as a mill pond, so different from the tempestuous journey they’d had four months before.
‘Della would have loved this,’ sighed Frances.
‘I don’t know.’ Catherine shook her head. ‘She said that she was sick on the Mersey ferry.’
‘Doesn’t it seem like a lifetime ago?’ They were sitting against the side of the craft on the upper deck with the small crew of sailors. Frances was staring out to sea. It was daytime, and a pale sun was shining in a winter sky. Only she and Catherine were on deck; the others, including Grandmère, were in the bus below them, Grandmère sleeping happily, quite able to ignore the poker school.
‘What, since we left England?’
‘Yes,’ Frances nodded. ‘So much has happened.’
It was a week since Della’s injury. The two girls had managed to see her, briefly, on the morning they left the field hospital, but it had been an upsetting visit. Della was drifting in and out of consciousness, and when she was awake, she seemed dreadfully confused.
‘That bloody doll is staring at me,’ she shouted suddenly, and Catherine held her hand and told her that she was dreaming.
‘Oh yes.’ Della opened her eyes properly. ‘Where am I?’
‘In the field hospital,’ said Frances gently. ‘With Dr Tim.’
That calmed her for a while, and when she looked at her friends, there was recognition in her eyes. ‘They’re giving me some sort of Mickey Finns,’ she croaked, her voice hoarse and weak. ‘They’re knocking me bandy.’
‘Just as well,’ Frances grinned. ‘Your language is probably worse than the squaddies’.’
Della smiled, but her eyes started closing again, and the Queen Alexandra nursing sister arrived and told them that the visit was over. They met Dr Tim by the door and asked him how Della really was.
‘I wouldn’t say first class,’ he sighed, ‘and I think a bit of infection has got in, but she’s a fighter. She’ll pull through.’
‘It’ll be a while before she dances again,’ said Catherine.
‘Ah, well, that’s another matter.’ Dr Tim shook his head sadly. ‘I think her high-kicking days are over.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ Frances argued. ‘This is Della we’re talking about.’
He laughed at that, but the girls were sad as they went to board the lorry that was taking them away from the field hospital. Frances’s brave words were just those. It was hard to equate the floppy, doll-like figure in the hospital cot with the vibrant, funny Della that they knew and loved.
‘How is the dear girl?’ asked Godfrey, and when they explained what they’d seen, the boys looked as miserable as the girls felt.
‘We’ve never asked how you three are,’ said Catherine. ‘You must have damaged something.’
‘Not really,’ said Tommy. ‘Colin’s nose bled for a while, and I hurt my shoulder, but it’s alright now, and as for Godfrey, well, he was so full of booze that he didn’t feel a thing.’
‘Quite right, Thomas. Alcohol has its uses,’ Godfrey said, his voice quieter than usual. He ruminated for a moment before saying, ‘If only I could persuade Gertrude of that.’
They arrived back at the chateau, relieved to be at a place they knew and felt comfortable in, but telling Guy and Grandmère the sad news about Della dampened their spirits, and when Béatrice exclaimed over the cuts on the girls’ faces, tears came into Catherine’s eyes.
‘Della is so much worse,’ she cried. ‘My black eye and Frances’s lip are nothing compared with her injuries.’
‘Pauvres petites,’ Grandmère crooned. ‘Come, eat!’ It was as though drinking a bowl of soup was a cure for everything, and strangely, after eating and going up to the big room to flop on the beds, Catherine and Frances did feel better.
Frances was out in the fields with Guy early the next morning when Robert arrived. He’d parked round the back beside the bus and walked through the kitchens before finding Catherine in the salon. He’d brought the mail, but most importantly for her, he’d come to say goodbye.
‘I’m flying to England this afternoon,’ he told her. ‘And I won’t be back over here. My mission in France is done.’ They had walked out of the house and into the open-sided machinery shed where Guy kept his tractor. It was snowing again, and as she stood there with him, watching the flakes drift slowly down, Catherine realised that nothing would be the same again. The Bennett Players had suffered a blow that seemed almost insurmountable.
‘Are we being sent home?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘The authorities are scared of the propaganda that might ensue if anyone else gets injured.’ He put a finger under her chin and gently lifted her face. ‘Oh God,’ he said, ‘that eye looks terrible. Does it hurt?’
‘Not much,’ she answered, but she wasn’t able to say more because he was kissing her, and she clung to him desperately, as she’d wanted to ever since the bomb.
‘I do love you, Catherine,’ he said. ‘I will love you for the rest of my life. Whatever happens, remember that.’
It was only after he’d driven away that she wondered about those last words. Was it some sort of a warning? But then she dismissed her fears. I love him too, she thought. I can’t imagine life without him.
Going back to the house, she found Frances fresh-faced and happily reading a letter from her father. ‘He’s got some money,’ she said, reading through the first page, ‘and has started work on the roof.’
‘Where did he get it?’ asked Catherine absently. She was still thinking about Robert.
‘I don’t know.’ Frances turned the page to look at the scribbled writing on the back and started reading out loud. ‘I took a loan from a young man who says he is a close friend of yours. He appears to be a wealthy man, although certainly not of our class. I assume he is one of your show business friends. He’s interested in the paintings in the long gallery and thinks he can get a good price for them. I haven’t made a decision yet, but I have sold him the Meissen dinner service. It’s of no use to us, really, and it paid for repairs to the stable block.’
She slammed the letter down on the table and looked up, her face working with rage. ‘How dare he?’ she exploded. ‘That dinner service has been in the family for a couple of hundred years. He’ll be selling the paintings next, and when Hugo comes home, there’ll be nothing left for him.’
‘Calm down,’ Catherine soothed. ‘Who is this man, anyway?’
Frances, still simmering, picked up the letter again and read on. ‘Mr Costigan has many contacts, apparently, and can get anything. He even filled the Rolls with petrol, quite legitimately I might add. Although, I’m wary of upsetting Constable Hallowes and haven’t put the tyres on again yet.’
‘Jerry Costigan?’ Catherine said, puzzled. ‘Della’s friend?’
‘It must be.’ Frances glared at the letter. ‘And he isn’t a friend at all. She loathes him. Don’t you remember? She said he was a crook. Oh Christ! The sooner I get back home, the better.’
She stayed angry all day, and when Guy came into the salon, she told him about her father’s letter.
‘This man, he is someone you know?’ asked Guy.
‘We have met him, a couple of times,’ Frances said. ‘He is a person Della has known for years. Her brother works for him.’
‘He is discharged from the army?’
The girls shook their heads. ‘I don’t think he’s ever been in the army,’ said Frances, looking at Catherine for confirmation. ‘He’s well off, but Della says that the money comes from the black market or profiteering. Something like that.’
‘He does try to help the family, though,’ Catherine said. ‘Hasn’t he paid for Della’s sister to see specialists?’ Guy looked confused, so she explained, ‘The sister, Maria, has something wrong with her spine. She can’t walk.’
‘So, a good man and a bad one, but Frances’ – Guy looked puzzled – ‘how has this man got on to your father?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said fiercely. ‘But I’m going to find out.’
‘Good,’ said Guy, getting up. ‘So, now you can come and help me decide which would be the best place to put down a few hectares of corn.’
Catherine smiled. ‘Surely, Guy, you know more about this estate than Frances does.’
He grinned. ‘No. My father spent his time in Deauville, mostly on the gaming tables. He left every decision to his farm manager, and I, then, wasn’t interested. I went to college, studied literature and politics, went to lots of parties, drank too much and saw myself as president of France one day.’
‘And now?’
‘My father is dead. The farm manager is dead. And I’ve changed.’
‘We all change,’ said Catherine, with a sad smile. ‘The war has taken away all our certainties.’
‘But,’ Guy said, as he and Frances left the room, ‘I might still be president of France one day.’
Beau came to the chateau at the end of the week. ‘We’re booked on board on Sunday morning, eight o’clock,’ he said. ‘Sailing from Ouistreham, so, Frances, it means either getting up very early or going Saturday night and parking up on the harbour.’
Frances looked round the group, who’d gathered to hear Beau’s news. ‘Saturday night,’ said Tommy, and they all nodded.
‘Alright. You can pick me up at the officers’ club on the way. It’ll be good to be home, won’t it?’ he said, looking, for once, positively jaunty.
‘Aye,’ Colin agreed, ‘but, boss, you said “me”. Does that mean that effing Baxter will not be travelling with us?’
Beau grinned. ‘It does, because he’s already gone. He flew home earlier in the week.’
‘The jammy bastard,’ Tommy growled. ‘Trust him to cadge a lift like that while we have to face the raging seas again.’
‘I have it on good authority,’ Beau smiled, ‘that we should expect a good crossing. The weather will be reasonable.’ He paused, watching them all chatting to each other, excited and pleased at the prospect of going home. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘while we are all here together, there is something else I want to tell you. You have been the finest group of people that I’ve ever worked with, and I can’t tell you how much your enthusiasm and commitment have meant to me.’
‘Well, thanks, Beau,’ said Tommy, ‘and speaking on behalf of the Players, you’ve been a pretty good boss.’
Catherine thought she saw a tear in Beau’s eye, but he just grinned and said, ‘This isn’t the end. In the new year, we’ll be travelling on again. We’ll do shows all around the country, and if they let us, we’ll come abroad again. That is, if you’re up for it.’
‘By God, we’re up for it,’ roared Godfrey. ‘As soon as you like, sir.’
While Frances stayed with Beau to go over the paperwork, Catherine went to find Grandmère to tell her the plans. She guessed she would be in the kitchen with Madame Farcy, the two of them having become cooking rivals but fast friends, and neither was pleased when Catherine announced their imminent departure.
‘You see, chérie,’ Grandmère said, ‘I thought that perhaps I could stay here a little bit longer and then perhaps return to my home. It has been so long and I miss it so very much.’
‘But, Grandmère,’ Catherine said, ‘you can’t manage there on your own – you know that. Come back to England with me, and then perhaps next spring or summer, Maman and I will come back with you and see what we can do. Maman might even want to stay – she was talking about it after my father died.’
‘Was she?’
Catherine nodded, her fingers crossed behind her back. Maman had never mentioned the idea, but now she came to think about it, maybe she would like to go home.
‘Your granddaughter has spoken wisely,’ agreed Madame Farcy. ‘We have become good friends, yes, but your daughter needs to see you now. I think she has been very worried for years and your presence will comfort her.’
Catherine nodded her thanks to Madame Farcy over Béatrice’s head, for it seemed that the housekeeper’s words held far more sway than hers.
The day of their departure, Frances bumped into Guy in the bedroom corridor. He was coming out of his room, dressed ready for the fields. He was carrying a shotgun and Frances knew that he was going after rabbits. She longed to go with him.
‘We’re leaving after lunch,’ she said.
‘I know,’ he answered, and to her delight, he looked rather dejected.
He lingered, awkwardly, the gun crooked over his arm as though trying to decide what to do next; then he turned and opened his bedroom door. ‘Frances,’ he said, ‘come in here. I have something for you.’
‘What?’ she asked, astonished.
‘Come.’
She followed him into his room, half the size of the one she shared with the girls, and spartan to the point of being barely furnished. He propped the shotgun against the wall and opened the top drawer of his cupboard. ‘This is for you,’ he said, producing a square velvet-covered box. ‘To thank you for helping me.’
‘I don’t need thanks, Guy,’ Frances said. ‘Honestly, I’ve loved every minute.’
‘But I want you to have it.’ He pushed the box into her hands. ‘It was my grandmother’s. She left everything to me to be handed on to my …’ He didn’t finish the sentence.
Frances gasped when she opened the box. Even in the poor light, the diamonds on the Edwardian tiered necklace sparkled. ‘I can’t take this,’ she whispered. ‘It’s beautiful but far too much to give away. It must be worth a fortune.’
He shrugged. ‘Manon hid it in the well when the German general was here. She hid many things. Farcy is still digging up silver spoons and forks that she buried. But now it is for you. I can’t imagine it being worn by anyone better. You have the perfect neck to wear it.’
‘Thank you,’ she breathed. ‘Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say.’
‘Well, perhaps,’ he grinned, ‘don’t speak. Just kiss me.’
‘My God, yes,’ she laughed, and allowed herself to be taken in his arms. They kissed until she was breathless, and then he broke away and went to lock the door.
‘Shall we?’ he said, looking at her and jerking his head towards the bed.
The decision took a split second. Years of abstinence and longing needed to be washed away. ‘I’d love to,’ Frances giggled, knowing that she sounded like a silly girl, but at that moment, beyond sense.
He was a virile lover, desire making him strong, and she, relieved of her customary persona of complete control, abandoned herself willingly to his touch. It was a joining of two like-minded people, each finding pleasure in the other.
Afterwards, lying satiated in the narrow bed, he said, ‘It was not necessary to do that as a thank you. Please don’t think that.’
‘I’m not,’ Frances smiled. ‘What I’m thinking is … well, what I’m thinking is that it’s ages since a man made love to me. I’d forgotten how wonderful it felt.’
‘You have had lovers before?’
‘I have had one lover before,’ she corrected him. ‘He was someone I adored.’
Guy propped himself up on one elbow. ‘He was?’ he repeated.
‘He was killed at Dunkirk. Four years ago.’
‘Oh.’ Guy lay back, and Frances thought about Johnny Petersham. God, we were so young, she remembered, but so in love. I thought I’d die when he was killed.
‘You are thinking about him,’ Guy murmured. ‘I hope it brings happy memories as well as sad.’
‘It does.’ Frances turned her head to look at him and wondered, then thought, What the hell – I might never see him again. ‘And I have more than memories,’ she said slowly. ‘I have a son.’
‘But,’ Guy frowned, ‘you said lover, not husband.’
‘I did. We were never married. But he left me a beautiful boy. And so my lover will never be forgotten.’
Guy sat up and gave her a searching look. ‘You dedicate your life to his memory?’
Frances laughed. ‘No, I don’t. I remember him, and how we were together, but that longing I used to have has gone. Other thoughts fill my life now: my son, my house, the Bennett Players. I am not the sort of person who dwells on sad memories; there isn’t time for that.’
‘Yes,’ Guy said. ‘Sad memories take up too much time. So, now, I put all that behind me and I will use my gun only to shoot rabbits and pigeons.’
‘Then Gautier was the last human?’
He frowned. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that you set him up. Catherine told me that you made a phone call after she asked you to take her to the farm. I think that you were able to contact him. And you meant to kill him.’
He was silent, then said, ‘That is quite a charge.’
‘It is,’ Frances said, knowing that she was treading on dangerous ground but almost not caring. ‘And I’m saying it because I know that was what I would have done. The man had to die. The only pity is that you missed.’
He shook his head slowly, and then, when she thought he was going to deny it, he said, ‘Mon Dieu, but you are ruthless. We could have used you in the Resistance.’ Then he laughed and said, ‘We are very alike, you and I.’
She let out the breath she’d been holding and said, ‘Yes, we are. But now I must get up, and so must you.’
He scrambled out of bed, half naked and unembarrassed as he wandered around the room picking up his clothes. ‘But, Frances, have you time before you go to shoot a few rabbits?’
‘Oh yes,’ she grinned, getting out of the tumbled bed and dragging on her pants. ‘Now you’re talking.’
Later, standing on the swaying landing craft, holding on to the sides while the grey sea raced them home, Frances nodded slowly. So much has happened. And what next?
‘Frances!’ Beau was calling from the bus and she turned away from looking out to sea. ‘What now?’ she said to Catherine, and the two of them climbed down the metal stair and got into the bus. Everyone was staring at the locked suitcase that was Captain Fortescue’s home.
‘Good heavens,’ said Frances. ‘How the hell did this get in here?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Beau. He looked as bewildered as the rest of the company, including Béatrice, who was obviously wondering why everyone was staring at a suitcase. ‘Colin dropped a franc and it rolled behind the wicker baskets. The suitcase was jammed in beside them.’
‘Baxter never went anywhere without that bloody doll,’ Tommy said, and he fingered the lock.
‘You said he flew home earlier in the week,’ said Catherine. ‘Did you see him go?’
‘I didn’t. Robert told me. It was on the day he went. The last time I saw Baxter was the night after we came back from the field hospital; he was having a meal in the officers’ mess. But that was it.’
Catherine thought back. Robert had arrived at the chateau on that morning and had parked his Jeep beside the bus. Was it possible that he had put the case on board? ‘I think we should open it,’ she said.
‘We can’t,’ Beau objected. ‘It’s his private property.’
‘I don’t think it is any more. D’you know, I’m pretty sure Robert left it for us to find.’
‘But why?’ said Frances.
‘Because I think Baxter went back to England in handcuffs.’
‘Handcuffs?’ Beau gave a sick little laugh. ‘That’s a wild accusation, and one I wouldn’t expect from you of all people, Catherine.’
‘Come off it, Beau.’ Frances gave him an irritated look. ‘We all knew what he was doing to you. He should have been arrested months ago.’
Beau sat down heavily on one of the seats. ‘You all knew?’ he asked.
‘Sure, boss,’ Colin laughed, and Tommy nodded.
‘The man was a cad, sir,’ roared Godfrey. ‘Not fit to draw breath.’
‘So,’ Frances said. ‘We’ll open it, and if that horrible doll is still inside, I think we’ll bury him at sea.’
‘Oh yes,’ Catherine laughed. ‘What a pity Della isn’t here.’
Frances lifted a trapdoor in the floor of the bus where there was a compartment for tools and pulled out a tyre iron. ‘Give it here,’ growled Colin, and slotting it behind the lock, he gave a heave.
Snap! the lock burst open and Captain Fortescue’s painted eyes gazed up at them from his velvet pillow. They stared at it, almost waiting for it to speak, but knowing that of course it couldn’t. Nobody really wanted to touch it, but Frances, brave as ever, put her hand inside the case and grabbed it. ‘Out you come, you little bastard,’ she said, and pulled it away from the pillow. A crackling noise came from beneath the purple velvet and Tommy, curious, lifted it up.
‘Wow!’ There was a collective intake of breath as the crackling sound was revealed to be that of hundreds of notes: pounds, francs and dollars. The proceeds of Eric Baxter’s blackmail and black-market activities during the tour. ‘Bloody hell,’ said Tommy. ‘There’s a small fortune here.’
‘Yes, well, we’ll have that,’ said Frances. ‘It’ll compensate us for all the nastiness that he’s put us through.’
‘D’you think we should?’ said Beau nervously. ‘Suppose he comes looking for it?’
‘He won’t.’ Catherine was sure now. Robert had done this deliberately. ‘And you, Beau, more than any of us, deserve a reward.’
So while the boys divided the money into seven equal piles, Catherine and Frances took Captain Fortescue and his suitcase on deck. Curious sailors watched as the suitcase went overboard and bobbed away behind the boat. ‘Now for you,’ said Frances to Captain Fortescue, and held him up over the grey, rippling waves.
‘Wait,’ said Catherine. ‘There’s something sticking out of his back. Like the edge of a piece of paper. Can you see?’ The two girls squatted down and opened the back of the doll, where all the mechanisms that moved its eyes and ears were housed. Inside, there was a small notebook and an envelope. Catherine opened it. ‘Mon Dieu,’ she said, as she withdrew two small black-and-white photographs.
‘What are they?’ Frances asked. ‘Let me see.’ She held up the photographs. ‘Oh Lord,’ she whistled. ‘That’s Beau,’ she whispered, ‘and d’you see who he’s with? Whom he’s kissing?’
Catherine nodded. The two men in the snaps were semi-naked and there was no doubt that they were in a loving embrace. ‘There’s a signed photo of him at Beau’s flat,’ Frances whispered. ‘You’ve seen it, along with all the other celebrity pictures. If this got out, he’d be ruined. Even his fame wouldn’t save him.’
‘That’s why Beau kept paying Baxter. Not only to save himself, but’ – she pointed to the famous face – ‘for him as well. He must really love him.’
‘And the notebook? What’s in that?’
‘It’s names, dates and phone numbers,’ said Catherine. ‘I recognise some of the names.’
‘Alright,’ said Frances, standing up. ‘We’ll give the snaps to Beau and the book to Robert, next time we see him. And this creature’ – she held up Captain Fortescue – ‘is going for a long swim.’
The coast of England was in sight as the girls heaved the wooden doll over the side. It fell into the sea with a satisfying splash and then floated away.
‘It’s a pity we couldn’t chop it up,’ sighed Frances. ‘Della would have loved that.’
Two days later, they went to see her in St Thomas’ Hospital. She was still very ill, but more awake and aware of her surroundings. Ma Flanagan, looking unbelievably smart in a fox-fur coat and a black felt hat, was sitting by her bedside when the girls came into the side room where she was being nursed.
‘Oh Jesus and Mary,’ cried Ma, ‘isn’t it grand to see you.’ And she fell upon the pair of them with hugs and kisses.
‘Get off them, Ma,’ said Della. ‘They’ve come to visit me.’
She was ash pale, her eyes huge in her thin face, but she was breathing easier and didn’t seem to be in as much pain. ‘Tell me everything,’ she demanded after they’d kissed her.
‘Where to start?’ said Frances. ‘There’s so much.’
‘Listen,’ said Ma, ‘I’m going to find a decent cup of tea. You girls can keep my Delia company for a while. They won’t throw you out. This is a private room.’ She gave Della a kiss and said, ‘See you later, darling.’
It took quite a time to tell Della all that had happened. ‘I knew that bloody doll was haunted,’ she said, and squealed with laughter. ‘Poor Beau, but what a silly bugger.’
‘This is for you,’ Catherine said, handing her a brown envelope with her share of the money. ‘Everyone has had the same. It’s quite a lot.’
‘Yes,’ Frances grinned. ‘It’ll help at home.’ She frowned. ‘Della, did you know that your friend Jerry Costigan has been down to Parnell Hall? He’s trying to buy some of the paintings, and probably that’s not all. My father’s already sold him the Meissen tea set.’
‘Oh Christ,’ Della groaned. ‘I think he’s after the house. Ma said that he was looking to buy himself a country estate, and he knows that your father is strapped for cash.’
‘How the hell does he know that?’ said Frances with a scowl.
‘It might have been me,’ Della said apologetically. ‘You told me that you didn’t have two pennies to rub together and I told Ma when she asked after you.’
‘Well, I have to stop him. I’m going home tomorrow.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Della. ‘I hope you’re in time.’ She turned her head to Catherine. ‘And what about you and the sex god Robert?’
Catherine blushed. ‘He’s here in London,’ she said. ‘I’m seeing him the day after tomorrow. We’re meeting for lunch at the Savoy.’
‘No word on Christopher, I suppose?’
‘No, but Robert did say that he had something to tell me. Maybe conformation that my husband is’ – she heaved a sigh – ‘dead.’
‘Fancy you and me both meeting men.’ Della gave a weak laugh. ‘Who’d have thought it?’
‘I would,’ Frances smiled. ‘’Specially you, Dell.’
‘You should talk,’ said Catherine, leaning across the bed. ‘I saw you coming out of Guy’s bedroom the other day. The pair of you were quite flushed, and I bet you weren’t talking about cows.’
Frances shrugged. ‘It was fantastic,’ she grinned. ‘And that’s all I’m prepared to say.’
‘What a pair of trollops you two are,’ Della giggled. ‘Tim and I have only exchanged a couple of chaste kisses. Not even so much as a fumble.’ She leant back on her pillows and smiled. ‘That’s to come.’