In early January 1941, Eve and Dimitri were married at Caxton Hall in the middle of London.
For two days they felt closer than they had ever been. For both of them, it was a serious step.
Earlier that morning, Dimitri had been waiting in the foyer of a hotel in Half Moon Street, close to the Ritz but which – according to Faludi, who had reserved their rooms – had better style and service. Not knowing whether they would prefer separate rooms, he had booked two.
When Eve arrived, Dimitri was seated on the edge of a chair too small for his bulk, looking eagerly at every turn of the revolving door. She held her arms wide in greeting. He picked her up, swung her off her feet, and hugged the breath out of her.
‘Look at you, you have become a sailor.’
‘Better still, I am almost a pilot.’
‘More beautiful – I thought that was not possible – and you are thin… but ah… very nice.’ Dimitri couldn’t enthuse quietly if he tried.
‘And you? I didn’t know that you were an army officer. I mean one of ours…’
‘Not strictly true, but they tell me that I can have rank as major, but only when I am British subject. Which is today! Oh, Eve, my good, kind, wonderful Eve, you do this for me. I am always indebted… (Right?) to you. Thank you, thank you one million times.’
She put her arms round his neck and kissed him firmly on the mouth. ‘You owe me nothing, Dimitri, nothing. You saved me, now it’s my turn.’
‘We do something special today. After we are wife and husband, eh? What you like to do? Anything. I want a day of happiness as most as I can give you, and we shall remember when we are old.’
‘I’ll think of something. We should go now.’
Eve had insisted that nobody from SOE should stand as witnesses, so they asked passers-by if they would be willing. It was easy. The first two people asked – an elderly man who signed himself ‘R. Barfoot – Cabinet Maker’ and a young woman, ‘L/Cpl. Pamela Stride, ATS’, agreed readily. The registrar’s assistant said that it was usual to offer witnesses something for their trouble, so Dimitri had thrust a five-pound note into each of their hands and thanked them profusely. Pamela Stride thrust the note into her shoulder-bag, a little embarrassed to be taking a note of such large denomination from a complete stranger, but R. Barfoot – Cabinet Maker crackled the note and held it to the light and went off still turning it about as if not quite sure that there wasn’t a catch in it.
A little group of curious onlookers stood and watched the newlyweds emerge into the daylight. ‘Would anyone mind taking our picture?’ Eve asked. ‘My camera is easy to use.’ A youth volunteered and Eve set the focus.
A soldier and a Wren – the kind of wedding that happened every day now. The groom looking smart and pleased, kissing the bride, who held a bunch of cut flowers bought from a seller on the way. Another of Dimitri’s five-pound notes went into the pocket of the young photographer. Eve felt very happy.
‘Do you remember what you were told about tipping?’ she laughed.
‘I remember well. Her name was Annie… no, it was Amy. She said never tip more than a shilling, ten bob was too much. But I like to give away. SOE gives me plenty. What can I do with it?’
‘Take the Scottish girls on the town.’
‘We are not near towns.’
‘Haven’t you got a girlfriend yet?’
‘Of course not. I am married man.’ He pulled her close. ‘I have wife. No, no, Eve, don’t look like that, is only a joke. There is a young woman, we go to the movies, not very many times. I like her, but it is just friendship. Maybe she scares me, she had such a sharp understanding. She is not in the Polish section, so I do not look like an idiot compared to her. Also, you know what? She has written books, very many. One afternoon when we have been to see a movie, she makes me go with her into a bookshop. ‘I have written these. I buy you one for you… will you read it and when you have read one hundred pages, stop and tell me what will happen?’ So I say, of course I will read it, but why not all? She says her books are puzzles about who done the murder. She said if I had not guessed who done it, then she would think others would not. It is red herrings, hidden clues, I must find them. She is very good writer. I have read many of her books.’
‘Her name wouldn’t be Fran, would it?’
‘Not Fran… is Frances.’
‘Frances Haddon?’
‘That is right!’
‘Small world – though maybe not, considering we are all SOE. I know her. She is such a clever woman, and so nice.’
‘She is.’
‘You will tell her that we met?’
‘And that you are my wife?’
‘No, Dimitri. You know you can’t do that. Perhaps it’s better that you don’t tell her at all.’
‘I tell her. It makes me feel I belong more. We have same friends. Is wonderful… It is wonderful.’
‘You must still be Lec Podsadowski the Pole.’
‘Of course.’
‘She will want to know if I told you anything else about the Scrubs team. It’s a prison we worked in. Tell her that Paul was killed in a flying accident. She and Paul got on well together. He had been hoping to get into ciphering.’
‘He was your friend too?’
Eve nodded. ‘A nice man. You would have liked him. His girlfriend was expecting their baby, but she lost it. They were going to be married.’
‘Is a cruel world, Eve.’
They were walking through Piccadilly Circus, signs of war all about them. Except for the weeks in Australia, war at close quarters had always been the background to their relationship. Eve suddenly thought about there being a strange romanticism about living on the edge. Enjoy the moment. By tomorrow, Piccadilly Circus might be a bomb crater, and she and Dimitri might be dead.
Paul and Electra – Paul’s death was a tragedy, yet had they not grabbed their moments, Electra might have been left with only regret.
‘Dimitri, we have never danced together. Shall we do it?’
‘I am good dancer.’
Eve laughed at his boast. ‘How is it that we have been married for two hours and I didn’t know that my husband is a good dancer. Come on, let’s find a place that’s open.’
With the war now in its second year, there was growing a kind of frenzy of taking pleasure where and when it presented itself. Dance halls – some of which opened early in the day and didn’t close until late – were filled. Big bands played the latest music; dancers flung themselves around with unrestrained pleasure as they jived and jitterbugged.
Frequently people left with partners they may never have met until that day. It wasn’t very easy to get drunk – there wasn’t always alcohol available – but who needed it to dance and romance? In some dance halls the sheer numbers of people all moving in time to the rhythm of a big band could induce a wonderful intoxication.
Dimitri’s boast was not false. He danced with enthusiasm, even at one point doing a bit of cossack leaping, which gained him a circle of clapping supporters. From the dance hall Eve and Dimitri walked to the same Lyons Corner House where her Scrubs friends had turned up in disguise. Eve tried to tell Dimitri about it, including how Frances Haddon had been involved, but he didn’t really get it.
‘Just tell Frances that you have been to the café where she dressed up as a waitress,’ Eve concluded.
He nodded seriously, still puzzled about the reason for this.
‘Oh, Dimitri, you do make me laugh. I’m having such a good time.’
‘I am also. Maybe you would like to go to opera? A theatre?’
‘Not much chance of that. I know!’
The Windmill Theatre was gaining a reputation for never closing. Even when there was an air raid there might be a bit of disruption during the worst of it, but the show would go on. Dimitri looked at Eve in surprise when he saw the kind of spectacle the Windmill was famous for: glittering dancers, and beautiful young women standing still as statues wearing tall head-dresses of feathers, high-heeled shoes and nothing else. Like every other male in the packed house, Dimitri leaned forward and waited for one of the nudes to move. None of them did. The Windmill Girls were becoming famous in every camp, airfield, and ship that went to sea.
Before darkness fell, Eve took Dimitri to see some of London’s famous landmarks. They finished up walking through Green Park on their way back to their hotel with an air-raid siren whining.
‘You know what to do, Eve?’
‘Yes, we go to the underground station.’
When they reached it, people were moving down the steps in a steady stream. Eve still held on to the flowers Dimitri had bought her, but by now they were a bit the worse for wear. She managed to salvage one each, which she attached to their uniforms. Where they were seated on a wooden bench well back from the platform’s edge, other people sharing that area were cheered by the sight of newlyweds. Dimitri responded to the attention. He played up the jovial foreigner who made people laugh at his mistakes, making them warm to a big man with a funny accent. He knew very well what he was doing.
Not for the first time, Eve thought what a good, nice, generous man he was. How fortunate she had been in meeting him. In enjoying their nights – and days – of wonderful sex.
Not for the first time she watched him playing with children, charming casual acquaintances.
Every time they caught one another’s eye, he would wink and smile broadly.
Why can’t I be content with you, Dimitri? Eve wondered.
For hours they leaned against one another and took fitful dozes. It was four o’clock in the morning when the thin note of the all clear sounded and they could walk on to Half Moon Street.
‘You like if we sleep together, wife?’
‘I like very much if we sleep together.’
Eve had worried that Duke Barney might come between them. He didn’t. The familiarity of Dimitri’s body, his smell, his voice kept Duke well out of the bed.
In the morning she took off her wedding ring and held out her hand for his. ‘You get this back at the church.’
‘No, I keep them. Don’t worry, I keep them safe. We will use them again in the spring. Captain Faludi, he says that it can be April.’