It was almost a year to the day when Denise and I returned to Cold Harbour, and what a year. My hunt for the truth about Harry and Max Kelso had taken me to many places. Files at the Pentagon, the Public Records Office in London, Luftwaffe files in Germany, Portugal and Madeira. Of course, I’d been greatly helped by my cousin, Konrad Strasser, the old Gestapo hand. What he’d managed to dig out before he died was incredible. I stood in the rain at his burial in a Hamburg cemetery and regretted his passing more than most.
The Public Records Office has strict regulations on the disgorging of highly secret information. Thirty-year holds, fifty and even one hundred are common. On the other hand, if you know the right people, it’s surprising what comes out. For example, I traced a wonderful old American of eighty-three who’d flown with the RAF, had ended the war as a colonel in the US Air Force and after a successful international business career had retired to England. He’d known Harry Kelso well and, like him, had flown for the Courier Service. His information was invaluable, more what he’d had to say about the man than anything else.
The prime movers were all dead, needless to say. Brigadier Dougal Munro; Jack Carter, who’d ended the war as a full colonel; Teddy West, who became an air marshal and received a knighthood. General Eisenhower was long gone and so was Major General Tom Sobel, who disappeared over the English Channel in a Dakota en route for Normandy two weeks after D-Day.
One incredible piece of luck concerned a certain Major Vereker of the Royal Military Police. He’d died of cancer in 1953, but I discovered his daughter, a widow living in Falmouth. She was kind enough to see me and I told her what I knew. She sat there in her cosy sitting room, thinking about it, then went to a desk and took out a buff envelope.
‘I found this amongst my father’s effects all those years ago. I don’t suppose it matters now. You can read it if you like.’
Which I did and discovered a meticulous account of the events of that day at Southwick when he’d arrested Max on Dougal Munro’s orders.
Why the island of Madeira? Simple enough. Fernando and Joel Rodrigues were finished with the Portuguese diplomatic service. They opened a bar in Alfama, the old quarter in Lisbon, another in Estoril. With the end of the war in Europe, Sarah Dixon was released from detention. A happy ending for someone. She went to Portugal and married Fernando. In 1950 they moved to Madeira and opened a bar and restaurant.
She was long gone when I visited that beautiful island, but not Fernando, still around at eighty-nine, incredibly active, still in charge of a mini empire of restaurants and bars, much in control of his extended family.
He listened to what I had to say and laughed when I’d finished. ‘I read your books in Portuguese, do you know that and this is a good plot.’
‘Just like my other good plots?’ I asked.
‘Except that this one is true.’ He laughed again. ‘What the hell, I’ve one foot in the grave. Who cares any more, so let me put you straight on a few points.’
Which he proceeded to do and died a few months later.
The plane Denise hired at Goodwood Aero Club was an Archer, a single-engine job. The reason for the trip was simple. I’d sent a typescript of the story to Zec Acland at Cold Harbour. It wasn’t perfect, there were still some puzzling gaps, but I wanted to get his opinion. I’d had a phone call the previous day at the house in Chichester, asking if we could come down.
So, here we were, flying west, Southampton, the Isle of Wight, the sky dull, a hint of rain and immersed in the facts of the book, as I had been for so long, I thought of 1940, the Luftwaffe flying in, the RAF rising to meet them, the Battle of Britain, Harry and Max, the brave young men on both sides, more than fifty per cent of whom had died. It was a depressing thought, all those planes on the bottom of the English Channel and in one of them were the remains of Oberstleutnant Baron Max von Halder.
Thunder rumbled on the horizon as Denise banked and took us from the sea to Cold Harbour. The village was spread below, the Hanged Man, the cottages, the lifeboat, the Lady Carter tied up at the quay. We drifted over the manor, the lake, the trees and dropped down on that grass runway. Denise taxied towards the wartime hangars, where an old Land Rover waited, Zec Acland leaning against it. She switched off and we got out.
Zec came forward and she kissed him on the cheek. ‘You don’t look any older.’
‘You have a way with the words, girl. You’ve got Tarquin in there, I suppose?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said.
‘Bring him along. We’ll take a run down to the Hanged Man, have a sandwich and a drink. We need to talk.’
‘Fine by us,’ I said.
He got behind the wheel of the Land Rover and we joined him, Tarquin in his new waterproof jump bag, and set off.
As we drove down the High Street the Lady Carter moved away from the quay and started out to sea.
‘What’s that?’ I asked. ‘An emergency call?’
‘No, just an exercise. They have to keep up to scratch. Simeon’s a hard driver.’
He pulled up outside the pub and we got out and went in. There was no one else there, but then it was only eleven o’clock. The fire burned brightly though and I was filled with a strange sense of déjà vu, not just because Denise and I had been here before in dramatic circumstances. It was everything that had happened here. Dougal Munro, Jack Carter and Molly, Julie Legrande and Max and Harry.
‘Betsy?’ Zec called.
She came in from the kitchen. ‘Hello, there.’
‘We’re ready. Let’s be having you.’ He turned to Denise. ‘Can we have a look at him?’
‘Of course.’ She unzipped the bag, took Tarquin out and sat him on the bar.
Zec sat down and stared for a long moment and I suddenly realized there were tears in his eyes. ‘You wonderful little bugger,’ he said.
Denise put an arm around his shoulders. ‘It’s all right, Zec, don’t get upset.’
‘You’re right, no sense in that.’
Betsy came in with a huge mound of sandwiches on a server and a mass of salad. ‘The bread’s our own baking and the ham is home cured and off the bone. What about a drink?’
‘Tea for me,’ Denise told him. ‘I’m flying.’
Zec said, ‘He likes his champagne, this one, so open that bottle I put in the fridge and I’ll have some too.’
We tucked into the sandwiches, which were delicious. I said, ‘The typescript I sent you. What did you think?’
‘All right as far as it went.’ He suddenly guffawed. ‘No, dammit, it was bloody fascinating. A few gaps though.’
‘Such as?’
‘No mention of Julie Legrande at the end of things.’
‘I couldn’t trace what happened to her.’
‘I can tell you. She went back to France after the war, died of leukaemia in Paris. I went to her funeral.’
‘I see.’ I drank some champagne. ‘You said a few gaps? What would the others be?’
‘I’ll let Lady Carter fill you in on those. She’s expecting us at the manor at noon.’
Denise stopped eating. ‘Lady Carter? But that’s what the lifeboat’s called.’
‘It would be. Her husband paid for a new boat ten years ago just before he died. The RNLI named it after her.’
‘Lady Carter?’ I asked.
‘Jack Carter’s wife. Sir Jack Carter after his father died. Ended the war a colonel, Jack did. Came down here and bought Grancester Manor.’
‘And Lady Carter?’ I asked although I think I already knew the answer.
‘Lady Molly, people call her round here, Molly Sobel as was. She was the doctor in these parts for years. A saint.’
Denise looked at me, a query in her eyes, then turned back to Zec. ‘Were there any children?’
‘God bless you, no. Jack was blown up at Dunkirk and lost his leg, but he was damaged, if you follow me. No, a family wasn’t possible. Not that it mattered, not after Harry.’
‘What happened?’ I said.
‘I’ll let her tell you that.’ He stood up and checked his watch. ‘Let’s be off then. She’ll be waiting, and bring Tarquin.’
At Grancester Manor, he didn’t bother with the front door but led the way round a corner, a light rain falling, and followed a terrace above a wonderful rose garden. French windows stood open and, as rain spattered the flagstones, he led the way in to what was obviously the library. There she was, sitting on the couch by the fire.
She was eighty years old, her white hair a halo, the face still young, good cheekbones, the frock simple but elegant. She looked up from the typescript, my typescript, and put it to one side.
‘My third reading. I recognize you from those photos on the backs of books.’
‘Lady Molly.’ I took her outstretched hand. ‘My wife, Denise.’
She pulled Denise down beside her. ‘What a remarkable escape, my dear, but they tell me you’re an excellent pilot.’
‘Thank you,’ Denise said.
‘You probably walk on water. That’s what Harry used to say.’ She patted Denise’s hand. ‘But I’ve been fascinated by the book. So many things I never knew.’ She hesitated. ‘Could I see Tarquin?’
Denise unzipped the bag, took him out and offered him. Lady Molly gazed at him, enraptured. ‘Oh, Tarquin.’ She held him close and there were tears in her eyes. ‘Where did you get him? Harry thought he was destroyed in the Lysander crash in France.’
‘Apparently Munro made some enquiries of his agent, Jacaud, in Brittany at the end of the war,’ I said. ‘Jacaud told him they’d found Tarquin at the scene of the crash and his radio operator, a woman called Marie, took him for her daughter.’
‘And then?’
‘Marie was killed fighting with the Resistance after D-Day. The child was adopted by relations and that was the last heard of Tarquin.’
‘Until we found him on the top shelf of an antique shop in Brighton,’ Denise said. ‘How he got there we’ll never know. His name had travelled with him though.’
There was a pause. I said, with some diffidence, ‘There’s one gap. Exactly what happened to Harry afterwards? I had difficulties there, and I ran into roadblocks.’
She smiled. ‘Well, Eisenhower had to be told. It was decided to put Top Secret on the whole thing. I mean, the idea that the Supreme Commander had been in hazard before D-Day was unthinkable. They carried on as if nothing had happened. Harry kept Max’s DSC and continued to do courier work and the occasional job for Munro.
‘He wouldn’t have it, always had to go back for more, even after they made him a full colonel. After the Channel crash and what happened to Max, he was never the same. He said he was a dead man walking. I think he wanted to prove it. I think he wanted to be with Max. They were one, you see, interchangeable in a way you don’t appreciate. Was Max Harry or was Harry Max?’
It was Denise who took her hand and said gently, ‘What happened?’
‘So stupid, so bloody stupid. Almost the end of the war. My uncle had this thing going with some German general on the wrong side of the Rhine. Harry volunteered to make the flight from here in an Arado wearing Luftwaffe insignia. He landed, picked the man up, flew back across France. They were attacked by an RAF Mosquito and badly shot up.’
‘And went into the Channel?’ I asked.
‘Oh, no, the weather was lousy and he went down and lost the Mosquito and he made it to Cold Harbour. I was here with my uncle, Jack and Julie. It was raining and misty and the Arado rolled to a halt and the engine was switched off. When we opened the door, the German general was gibbering in the back seat and Harry was dead at the controls.’
She stared into the past, anguish on her face and Denise hugged her, Tarquin between them. Finally Lady Molly pulled herself together. ‘It means so much to see Tarquin again.’
‘He’s come home,’ Denise said. ‘It’s you he rightfully belongs to.’
‘Oh, no, I’m very grateful.’ Lady Molly hesitated. ‘If I could borrow him. Would that be all right? Temporary loan only?’
‘Of course,’ Denise said.
Molly nodded. ‘I’m so grateful.’ She stood. ‘Now I’d like you to come with me. There’s something you should see.’
She put a raincoat over her shoulders and cradled Tarquin in her left arm and Zec came with us. He took two umbrellas from the stand in the hall, gave us one and walked to one side, holding the other over Lady Molly, for that light rain was drifting down again. Denise and I followed and she gripped my arm lightly.
There was a flintstone wall, an old grey stone church on the other side, cypress trees and a clump of beech trees. Zec opened a gate and we passed through into the usual kind of country church graveyard. It was very peaceful and then rooks lifted out of the beech trees, calling angrily.
‘Noisy buggers,’ Zec said.
We followed a narrow path between gravestones, many obviously very ancient, here and there the odd Angel of Death or Gothic monument. Finally we stopped in the far corner under a cypress tree. The grave there was well tended, there were fresh flowers, the grass carefully cut. The headstone was a slab of Cornish slate and the inscription cut into its face was stamped in gold. It looked as if it had recently been freshened.
‘Here we are.’ She smiled and held Tarquin tightly.
It said, ‘March 1945. In loving memory of Colonel Harry Kelso and his brother, Oberstleutnant Baron Max von Halder. Together at last. Brothers in Arms.’
The rain increased and Zec moved close, holding the umbrella over her, something indomitable about him as he stood there, an arm about her. Denise and I huddled under our own umbrella and she was fighting to hold back the tears.
Lady Molly turned. ‘Don’t be sorry, my dear. It was a long, long time ago and now that it doesn’t matter, I’m going to tell you something that even dear Zec here never knew.’
Zec frowned, puzzled, and we stood there in the rain, heavy now, and waited.
‘As you discovered, back in 1930 when their father died and the boys were twelve, Elsa struck a bargain with Abe Kelso that she would return to Germany with her eldest son, Max the Baron, and Harry would stay with his grandfather.’
‘That’s right,’ I said.
‘Harry gave me a different version. He told me just before he died. I’ve always felt he saw death coming. He often told me he’d no idea what he’d do with himself without a war.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ I asked.
And yet Denise, with her woman’s intuition, had already seen it, gave a dry sob and clutched my arm fiercely.
Lady Molly carried on. ‘When the decision was put to the boys, there was a problem. They didn’t like the idea and there was a further problem. Tarquin, the bear, who’d flown in France with their father. Who got Tarquin? All this was between the boys. Abe and their mother knew nothing of it.’
‘What did they do?’ I asked.
‘Decided that Tarquin must stay in America in the house their father had been born in, had returned to after the war. Then they tossed a coin to see who would go to Germany with their mother.’
Zec looked stunned and Denise said, ‘Oh, my God.’
‘Yes, my dear,’ Molly said. ‘Harry Kelso was Baron von Halder and Max was Harry Kelso.’
It was the most astonishing thing I’d ever heard in my life, it took my breath away. It was Denise who said, ‘Together at last – but in a way, they always were.’
‘Exactly.’ Lady Molly smiled. ‘We’ll go back now,’ and she walked ahead of us, Zec holding the umbrella over her.
At the house, she offered us tea, which we declined. ‘The weather’s taken a turn for the worse,’ Denise told her. ‘We’d best be off.’
We said our goodbyes, walked back to the Land Rover and Zec drove us to the airstrip. When we got out, he shook hands and kissed Denise on the cheek.
‘Take care, girl.’
‘A shock for you,’ I said. ‘Hearing that.’
‘Not really. At the final end of things, what did it matter?’
We got into the Archer, Denise sat on the left-hand side and I locked the door. As she switched on and the engine rumbled, rain lashed across and there was mist out there on the sea.
‘We’d better move it,’ she said. ‘It’ll get worse before it gets better.’
We roared down the runway and lifted into the grey sky, climbed to a thousand feet and then suddenly she banked to port.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘I just want a last look.’
But as we turned over the sea and moved back to the land, the mist had already rolled in. Of Cold Harbour, there was no sign. It was as if it had never been.