Chapter Thirteen

THE BROAD COPSE, nestling in a dip, was thick with bush, shrub and tree. Winter had stripped the deciduous members, but not the evergreens.

‘I’m hungry,’ said Sophia.

‘So am I,’ said Captain Marsh, examining his aching finger as if he could put it out of its misery by eating it.

They had shared four eggs after frying them in a discarded tin lid in the wood where she had lost her temper and earned the assault on her lips. Their new shelter lay a hundred metres from an old, neglected dirt road. Away to the right, some three hundred metres away, was what Captain Marsh had picked out from afar, a small Luftwaffe repair establishment, its workshops humming with activity. Its perimeter, a succession of posts supporting a high wire-mesh fence, was built inside a boundary of fir trees, which provided a camouflaging effect. The sheds lay on each side of a grass runway. Three planes were visible. They had been moved, Captain Marsh thought, since he had first spotted them. Each was standing just inside sheds. Since Richtofen’s squadron operated not far away, the repair facilities probably supplemented its on-the-spot amenities, no doubt currently overloaded. Captain Marsh squinted from just inside the copse, picking out what details he could at this distance. He could see no guards. But he thought he could make out a sentry box at the near end of the perimeter, where there was a wide gap with no trees fronting it. That, obviously, was to allow planes to take off. He thought two of the machines were Fokker triplanes. The third looked like an Albatros D5a, the latest and best from the manufacturers.

‘I’m also not very warm,’ said Sophia, but it was mainly her restless nerves that had her stamping about.

‘I’m sorry.’ He turned from his concentrated scrutiny and joined her, taking off the greatcoat and placing it around her shoulders, adding its warmth to that of her snug-fitting leather coat.

‘No, I’m not as cold as that,’ she said, and gave the coat back to him.

He regarded her worriedly. She turned away.

‘Sophia?’

‘Don’t concern yourself,’ she said.

‘I have to,’ he said, ‘I’m responsible for the situation.’

‘We’re both responsible now,’ said Sophia. ‘In any case, I think that in your place I might have acted just as you did. It would have almost been a challenge, and challenges can provoke one. So don’t feel too concerned.’

‘That’s very generous of you, but you worry me. Are you becoming uncertain about your decisions?’

Uncertain? How could she be uncertain, she thought, when she knew that the alternative meant she would finish up under the close and confining protection of her mother? Her mother would guard against what she would consider future flights of fancy. Flights of fancy were not in accord with the traditional behaviour of her class. They were mistakes, and mistakes of that kind were all to do with giving in to impulses without considering the consequences. She could hear her mother now, understanding but disconcertingly analytical.

‘Sophia, my dear, you have never known what you really want. Your wishes relate only to passing enthusiasms. You wished to paint, did you not, when you fell in love with the genius of Monet? Nothing else mattered except an arrangement which enabled you to study art. It proved boring all too soon, I believe.’

‘No, not boring. I never said it was boring. I only said I felt inadequate. In acknowledging that, I acquired humility. That’s not such a bad thing in a person, humility.’

‘It isn’t, as long as you know when to show it. Humility before God exalts a woman. Before man, it diminishes her. You fell in love with some forgettable Austrian count, did you not, and showed him a deplorable amount of humility in your desire to be all things to him.’

‘Mama, I was seventeen and impressionable, and he was wickedly fascinating.’

‘Even at seventeen, I thought you intelligent enough to see through a man like that at once. But your feelings, as always, ruled your head, dearest.’

‘Mama, my feelings are important to me. My feelings tell me I don’t want to marry any of the men you’ve suggested to me. They’re all old men.’

‘Old? They’re all comparatively young.’

‘I mean they’re old in their behaviour. They’re all stiff, pompous and correct. I’d rather marry an artist, or a poet.’

‘Yes, I think there are times when every girl would. But artists and poets, like actors, are all reincarnations of Narcissus. They take wives, but are all firmly married to their own genius. Don’t you think I had dreams and feelings at your age? I too visualized Siegfried at my door. Fortunately, my parents made sure my door was kept shut, and instead of allowing me to be swept off my feet by a dreamlike hero, persuaded me to marry your father. It was a dutiful ordeal on my part. As a bride, I was haughty, disgraceful and unforgivable. Your father, a practical man, left me to my sulks in Baden-Baden and went fishing for a week.’

‘Mama, on your honeymoon? He went fishing?’

‘He’s clever as well as practical. He gave me time.’

‘Mama, you are you and I am me. I love Fritz. I want to marry him.’

‘Has he proposed?’

‘No. But he will.’

‘I hope he won’t. He’s quite wrong for you. He’ll never grow up. He’s a likeable boy, and that’s all he is.’

‘He’s what I want him to be.’

‘He’s what you think you want him to be.’

‘You’re forgetting, Mama, that he’s one of Germany’s finest flying officers.’

‘I’m not forgetting that at all. I’m grateful to him and all others like him. But that doesn’t make him a suitable husband for you.’

‘It would if his family were Junkers.’

‘Yes, it might, for he’d be a different kind of man then. One who would accept all the responsibilities of marriage. Sophia, good marriages are not made in heaven, but in drawing rooms.’

Sophia thought about that conversation now.

‘No,’ she said to Captain Marsh, ‘I’m not becoming uncertain.’

He sighed. He was faced with the consequences of an act stupid at best, dangerous at worst. Dangerous for her. If it was ever proved that she had gone willingly with him to Douai, her people would not forgive her. And her father, quite probably, would have him shot.

‘I shan’t like that,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, watching him. She felt that her eyes could not leave him alone. The recurrent agitation was beginning to be painful.

‘I was thinking your father might have me shot.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, flaring up.

‘Yes, gruesome thought,’ he said.

‘You haven’t been caught yet, and even if you are, you’d speak up for yourself, wouldn’t you?’

‘Not without becoming hopelessly confused,’ he said, smiling at her.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said again. She looked around. The copse seemed thick and lush. Her blood erratic, she said, ‘Is there no way we can get something to eat?’

‘Do you like rabbit?’ he asked, pointing, and she saw the long ears and quick hop of a furry creature.

‘If you can make it edible, yes, I shall like it. Could you catch that one?’

‘A man running after a rabbit is a clown. The rabbit always makes a fool of him.’

‘Well, try,’ said Sophia, ‘or we’ll starve before the night comes.’

The creature was nibbling not more than twenty paces from the edge of the copse.

‘Sophia –’

‘I think you should try,’ said Sophia. ‘It would make our relationship a little more agreeable, even if our countries are still at war.’

Captain Marsh studied the rabbit. She watched him.

‘I could shoot it,’ he said.

‘Then please do so. I’m famished.’

‘The shot will be heard,’ he said, gesturing towards the repair shops.

‘Then why did you suggest it?’

‘If they’d only do some engine testing, the noise would be loud enough to smother the sound.’

‘I am willing to wait for that to happen,’ said Sophia, ‘but is the rabbit?’

Captain Marsh laughed.

‘Sophia, you are really very likeable,’ he said.

‘Likeable?’ Her mother had said Fritz was likeable. For some reason, it seemed such a lukewarm word. One’s postman or stationmaster was likeable. ‘I’m likeable, Captain Marsh?’

He looked at her. Her loose, flowing hair was a bright cascade, and the lashes that framed her eyes were dark and soft. Her mouth, slightly parted, was warm and kissable. He shifted his gaze to the nibbling rabbit again.

‘I’m sorry if that’s offensive too,’ he said.

‘Oh, likeable is hardly cause for a quarrel,’ she said, and the rabbit hopped, whisked away and disappeared. ‘There, it’s gone. We’ve lost it through your indecision. Are you happy that you’ll end up starving me to death?’

It was a bitter little question, born of so much guilt and so many disturbing facets. It made him wince, and Sophia wished she could take it back.

‘Sophia, I must point out the situation isn’t what it was – you’re here of your own free will –’

‘Oh, I’m to be blamed for what has developed, am I?’ she cried.

‘I’ve no intention of blaming you for anything – damnation, look at that.’

She turned to follow his pointing finger. Along the road, seen from the shelter of the copse, an open car was moving. Clearly visible were its occupants, two German officers, a man and a woman, the woman at the wheel. The man was looking around, searching and peering. Sophia knew who he was. Major Kirsten. He had his eyes on the copse now. He spoke to his companion. The car travelled on.

‘They’re after us,’ said Sophia.

‘They were after us last night,’ said Captain Marsh.

Sophia was a little pale. Their eyes met. Hers dropped at once. They both knew the situation was impossible. She was German, he was British. Each knew they should be going their separate ways.

‘My father seems very determined,’ she said.

‘He’s probably very concerned. I’ll risk staying here until it’s dark, then make my own way into Douai. You must go now, you must get away from me, or those questions we mentioned will be very difficult for you to answer.’

Her every emotion was in agitation. All clarity of her mind disintegrated. She shook her head wildly, and her hair flew.

‘No,’ she gasped, ‘I’m going to Douai with you.’

‘Sophia –’

‘Don’t argue!’

A sudden roar startled them both. The new 160 h.p. Mercedes engine of the Albatros had come alive. The rabbit reappeared, jumping wildly, but finding a clump of sweeter grass, set to again. Captain Marsh drew his revolver and moved out of the copse. He sighted the revolver, both hands clasping it, with one finger stiffly angled. Sophia watched. He was very steady, very deliberate. The rabbit cocked its ears. The plane engine roared louder and then ran powerfully at test speed. Captain Marsh fired. The sharp crack was followed by sudden death. The rabbit, bowled over by the bullet, did not even twitch. It lay still and inert.

Two people in a car looked at each other.

Captain Marsh was not to know the car had stopped three minutes ago, at a little distance beyond the blind side of the copse.