Broken Rainbows (27 page)

‘And you're a damned snoop.'

‘That's part of my job, Mr Ronconi.' He closed the file. ‘I have to remind you that everything said between us is covered by the Official Secrets Act.'

‘I've signed it.'

‘On March the first, 1941.'

‘Do you know how many times I visit the ty bach in a day?'

‘How would you like to go back to Italy, Mr Ronconi?'

‘You can't find any other targets for the Germans to shoot at?'

‘We need interpreters and guides who know the country and the people. Who can tell us who to trust and who to arrest.'

‘That's a tall order, given what's happened and is happening there.'

‘Are you interested?'

‘On spying for the Allies after they interned my father, and drowned him on a ship heading for Canada?'

‘That was unfortunate.'

‘Damned right it was. I have a brother fighting in North Africa, another stuck in a German prison camp since Dunkirk, three British brothers-in-law, two conscripted into the army, the third in the pits and my mother and younger brothers and sisters are still not allowed to visit Pontypridd. They have to remain in exile in, and I quote, “an area more than a hundred miles from the sea”.'

‘I might be able to do something about that.'

‘Bribery, Colonel Ford?'

‘The Allies need you.'

‘I lost everything once in Italy. It wasn't easy to rebuild my life and I've no intention of throwing it away on any false heroics now.'

‘There'll be no false heroics, Mr Ronconi, not this time. The invading Allied troops will need interpreters and guides. You fit the bill. I can't promise that you will come out alive if you do decide to join us. But I can promise you a chance to strike a blow against the Nazis.'

‘The Allies are invading Italy in force? How soon?'

‘You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?'

‘Do I have to give you my answer now?'

‘Yes.'

‘Supposing I agree to this proposal of yours, when would I have to leave?'

‘Tonight.'

‘And my wife?'

‘We would give you an hour to say goodbye, but only on condition you didn't tell her where you were going. What's it to be, Mr Ronconi? Yes, or no?'

Tomas D'Este stood in the foyer of the hospital waiting for Jane, as he did every time she visited the wards. And Jane's heart gave the same somersault it always did whenever she saw him. She couldn't help herself. She only had to gaze into the depths of his black eyes for her emotions to spiral out of control. It made no difference that he had a fiancée, or she a husband, albeit an unfaithful one she'd rather not think about.

Her relationship with Tomas was nothing to do with Haydn or anyone else. He was simply there. A fantasy lover come miraculously to life. A daydream she could actually live for a few short hours once a week.

She had assumed that their meetings were accidental. She had no idea that he worked late every other day of the week just so he could steal a few hours with her whenever she visited. Or how she had begun to monopolise his waking thoughts as well as his dreams.

‘Would the lady like a ride home?'

‘Yes, please.'

‘I visited Gaynor in the kitchens, and guess what?'

‘You've finally discovered what goes into the savoury rolls?'

‘I persuaded her to give us the ingredients for a picnic.'

‘Woolton pie sandwiches?'

‘Very possibly, I haven't investigated what's in the bag.'

‘I guarantee whatever it is, it will give us indigestion.'

‘And I guarantee half an hour's fresh air, birdsong and peace and quiet. Sometimes I think the countryside exists only in memory.'

‘You too?' She took the bag from him as she climbed on to the back of his bike. It was hard to believe that she had once been terrified of riding behind him. Now, as they raced along the road past trees and bushes, and the wind snarled and twisted in her hair, she tightened her grip on his chest, taking a secret delight in the warmth radiating from beneath his jacket. Her imagination conjured images that brought hot, shameful colour to her cheeks.

Tomas kissing her … Tomas undressing … she knew from a day when one of his shirt buttons had been missing that his chest was covered in thick, black hair. She imagined both of them naked, rolling around on a bed, and hastily tried to supplant it with a vision of her and Haydn. But try as she might she couldn't. Every time she had pictured Haydn since his last leave, he'd been in bed with a peroxide blonde, and there'd been no room for her.

‘We're here.'

Tomas's voice intruded on her thoughts as he slowed the bike to a halt. Ahead was a gate, and beyond it a field of waist-high grass dotted with poppies. ‘I found this spot the other day. I was coming back from work tired, late and grouchy …'

‘Grouchy?'

‘Angry, irritable …'

‘I know what it means, I just can't imagine you angry.'

‘I have a foul temper.'

‘Thank you for the warning.'

‘But never with beautiful young girls.'

‘Or older married women?'

Taking the bag from her, he walked ahead. He jumped over the gate, then helped her to climb over before turning to the right. Shrugging off his jacket he spread it beneath an oak tree. ‘Your couch, madam.'

She fell in with his mood, play-acting princess to his courtier but there was an undercurrent between them that prevented her from meeting his eye. Turning away, she opened the paper bag.

‘Do you want the broken sandwich or the squashed one?'

‘Ladies should have first choice.' His hand closed over hers as she handed him the broken one. She leaned towards him, and both sandwiches fell to the ground as they kissed. Her lips parted beneath the pressure from his, her hands went to his face as he pulled her closer, gently lowering her on to his coat as he continued to kiss her. An American truck roaring past out of sight but not out of hearing, brought her abruptly to her senses.

‘No!' She pushed him away.

‘Jane, I'm sorry. Oh, Holy Mother of God, I didn't mean for that to happen!' Sitting up, he buried his head in his hands.

‘It was as much my fault as yours.' She straightened her skirt and busied herself with scooping the remains of the food into the bag. ‘It was only a kiss. There's no harm done.'

‘No harm?' Kneeling beside her, he stroked the side of her face with the tips of his fingers. ‘Even you can't be that innocent, my love.'

‘I am not your love, I'm married, you are engaged …'

‘And absolutely, hopelessly in love with you.'

‘You can't mean that?'

‘Oh, but I do. When I told you that one glimpse of your smile, the night we met, suggested that I'd reached civilisation, it was much more than that. I knew then. I know now. I've just been fighting it, and so have you.'

‘I won't listen to this. There's Haydn and Anne …'

‘And us?'

‘Tomas, I'm
married.
I can't offer you anything more than friendship.'

‘I know.'

‘We shouldn't see one another again, at least not like this.'

‘Is that what you want?'

When she didn't answer he slipped his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to look at him. ‘I'm glad, because I couldn't bear that either.' He tried to imagine living and working in Pontypridd and not seeing her, and shuddered at the bleak thought.

‘But you must never,
never
kiss me again. And when I visit the hospital you must take me straight home. If you want to talk to me, it must be in front of Bethan or Maisie.'

‘Yes,' he agreed hollowly.

‘Do you understand what I said?'

‘Everything. But that's next time. Can't we stay together for now? I'll tell you about Cuba, and America and my family and we'll pretend -'

‘That I'm not married and you're not engaged?'

‘Yes – no – and that there isn't a war and we're just two
compadres –
comrades, friends, who meet once a week to talk.'

‘Only if we go somewhere where there are other people.'

‘The New Inn?'

‘The café,' she said, thinking of their bank balances.

‘I think we should go to the New Inn. A little luxury would help me to forget the hospital for a while, and you the factory.'

‘And that we kissed.' But as she grasped the bag of crumbs and followed him back to his bike she knew that she would never forget that kiss. Not as long as she lived.

Anthea made an excuse to go to the door of the bank at five minutes to six. When she couldn't see Richard waiting for her, she returned to her cashier's station, and took her time over clearing her drawer of money and papers. When she'd finished all her essential work, she began to layout her pencils and pens in neat, symmetrical order.

‘Aren't you ready yet, Miss Llewellyn-Jones?' her father barked as he walked out of his office to oversee the staff filing into the cloakroom to fetch their coats and bags.

‘I saw Richard at lunchtime, he asked me to have dinner with him.'

‘Tonight! You could have given your mother more warning.'

‘He said it's a special occasion.'

‘Perhaps permission's finally come through?'

‘I hope so.'

He gave her a tight smile. His wife had become so obsessed by wedding etiquette, dress patterns and trousseau collections that he'd already resolved to have a few words with Richard to see if there was anything he could do to expedite permission from the American army.

He hadn't needed his wife to warn him that a wartime wedding wouldn't bring Anthea anything like the quality or quantity of gifts they'd received when they had married back in 1910, but rather than delay the ceremony and risk Anthea reaching the landmark age of thirty a spinster, he'd resolved to suggest to their closest friends, like the Johns, that war bonds that could be cashed after hostilities had ceased might make suitably patriotic presents for the happy couple. That way Anthea wouldn't miss out too much on what should be the most profitable day in a girl's life.

The one thing he was concerned about was the lack of communication from America. Richard had made excuses about the mail, but he still felt that his parents should have written to welcome Anthea into their family by now. He had a presentiment it wasn't entirely down to the mail. Kurt Schaffer was forever walking in from headquarters with letters and parcels, the contents of which he often shared with them. Was Richard keeping something from them? Had his parents expected him to marry an American girl? He looked down at his daughter. Richard would only have to introduce Anthea to his family for them to see she was far superior to any contender for the position of daughter-in-law that they might have had in mind.

‘Special occasion or not. No later than twelve. It's a working day tomorrow,' he said, noticing that Anthea wasn't looking as well as she might. He hoped she wasn't losing her bloom. Richard might be hooked, but he wasn't landed. Not yet.

‘We might be going to Cardiff.'

‘Have a good time.' Pecking her cheek, he lifted his hat and coat from the stand in his private office and walked out of the door. She saw him talking to the security guard, then he left. She couldn't put it off any longer. Checking her hair and make-up in the staff room, she picked up her cardigan, lightweight jacket and handbag and followed him out. But there was still no sign of Richard.

‘Looks like he can't make it.' He father appeared beside her.

‘Something must have held him up. You know how hard he works.'

‘I don't want you standing on the street, not with the town full of American soldiers. If you insist on waiting I'll wait with you.'

‘I'll be fine, Daddy, it's light for hours yet.' She looked around anxiously. An American officer was walking down Taff Street. His shoulders were broad, but not broad enough. And as he drew closer she could see that the hair beneath his cap was blond, not brown.

‘Lieutenant Schaffer? Just the man we want to see.'

‘Really, sir?' Kurt looked at Mr Llewellyn-Jones not knowing what to expect.

‘Anthea's waiting for Richard. I don't suppose you've seen him?'

‘Richard?'

‘Yes, Richard Reide,' Mr Llewellyn-Jones repeated testily.

‘He promised to meet me here at six o'clock,' Anthea interposed. ‘There must have been a hold-up …'

‘You don't know?' Kurt looked from Anthea to her father. There was no way he could soften the blow, so he didn't even try. ‘Captain Reide and Major Reynolds shipped out two hours ago with most of the regiment, sir. I'm sorry. I can't tell you where they were going. It's classified.'

Anthea stared at him as though he'd gone stark, raving mad. Then as the full import of his words sank in, she swayed on her feet, registering the feel of Kurt's strong arms around her just before she fell.

Chapter Sixteen

Kurt stopped a passing enlisted man and sent him to get a car. Maurice arrived with a Jeep a few moments later. After helping Anthea and her father in, and giving Maurice strict instructions to drive slowly, he headed back to HQ where he found George Rivers sitting behind a desk covered in papers.

‘I need to see the old man.'

‘And I'd like a date with Princess Elizabeth,' George retorted flippantly.

‘Move it. It's important.'

‘He doesn't want to be disturbed.'

Kurt stepped towards the door.

‘Walk in if you want to lose your commission. He's on the telephone to Command.'

‘Why didn't you say so?' Kurt demanded irritably.

‘Because the boss is not the only one who's up to his neck in work. Look at it.' He picked up a handful of forms and scattered them over the mess on his desk.

‘I see chaos, not work.'

‘We've got over a thousand men coming in tomorrow. There's billets to sort, feeding arrangements to be made …'

‘Chuck Reynolds sorted the accommodation and canteen facilities for the incoming troops last week.'

‘That was before we were tipped off as to what exactly was coming in.'

‘Northerners?'

‘Worse.'

‘There isn't anything worse.'

‘Try niggers.'

‘Here, in Pontypridd?'

Rivers nodded. ‘And with a quarter of the white boys left behind, that means trouble. The colonel's trying to sort it now.'

‘I'll wait.' Picking up a copy of the
Stars and Stripes,
Kurt sat at Chuck's abandoned desk.

‘He'll be in a foul mood when he's through.'

‘And he'll be in a fouler one when he's heard what I have to tell him,' Kurt predicted gloomily.

After twenty minutes David Ford appeared in the outer office.

‘I didn't see your name on the duty roster, Schaffer.'

Kurt jumped to his feet and saluted. ‘It isn't, sir. I was hoping for a private word.'

Ford glanced at his watch. ‘Will it take long?'

‘Five minutes, sir.'

‘Then you'd better come into the office. At ease,' he ordered as he walked in behind him and closed the door. ‘I hope this isn't going to be a request for permission to marry a local girl, Schaffer,' he warned him abruptly. ‘Officially we're processing all such requests. Unofficially, marriages between American military personnel and British civilians are being severely discouraged.'

‘It's not my personal affair, sir. It's Captain Reide's.'

‘Carry on, Lieutenant.'

‘He got engaged to a local girl at Christmas, sir.'

‘First I've heard of it.'

‘Most of the officers knew. He gave her a ring.'

‘Very generous of him,' David Ford commented sardonically, wishing Schaffer would hurry up and come out with whatever he wanted to say.

‘I just saw her and her father in town, sir. Captain Reide had arranged to meet them. I had to tell them that he shipped out this afternoon. Apparently he didn't even leave her a forwarding address. Her father asked if I could find one. I thought perhaps you could …'

‘Captain Reide's personal affairs are his own concern, Lieutenant Schaffer. If he'd wanted the girl to have a forwarding address, he would have given her one.'

‘I agree, sir. It's just that I'm in an awkward position. I promised the family …'

‘You know this girl?'

‘Yes, sir, she's my landlady's daughter.'

‘Mrs Llewellyn-Jones?' David Ford turned on his heel and stared at Kurt, showing the first signs of animation since they'd walked into the room.

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Then we have trouble.'

‘That's why I came to see you, sir.'

‘Why didn't you tell me this was going on between Captain Reide and Miss Llewellyn-Jones earlier, Lieutenant?'

‘Because it was none of my business, sir.'

‘You trying to be smart?'

‘No, sir.'

‘What have you told the family?'

‘Only that Captain Reide and Major Reynolds have left town, sir.'

‘Nothing else?'

‘No, sir. I wouldn't have bothered you, but Mr Llewellyn-Jones intends to visit you in the morning.'

‘And you thought I'd like some advance warning?'

‘Something like that, sir.'

‘And,' Ford lifted his eyebrows as he looked enquiringly at Schaffer, ‘American servicemen aren't going to be too popular in the Llewellyn-Jones household tonight?'

‘Or any other night, sir.'

‘You want to leave your billet?'

‘I could move into the vestry, sir.'

‘Reide and Reynolds's rooms are empty, ask Rivers if he can fit you in with one of the incoming officers.'

‘Thank you, sir.'

‘You'd better pick up your things right away. Tell Mrs Llewellyn-Jones that you've been moved into town for military reasons.'

‘Sir.' Assuming he'd been dismissed, Kurt snapped to attention.

‘One more thing, Schaffer. Do you know if the girl's pregnant?'

Typical of the colonel, Kurt thought. No euphemisms, coy words or hints, along the lines of ‘could she be in trouble?' Just straight out with it.

‘I have no idea, sir.'

‘I'd appreciate the truth, Schaffer, man to man, not officer to CO. I need to know what I'm up against.'

‘I do know that she visited Reide in his rooms.'

‘And he really bought her a ring?'

‘I don't know where he got it from, sir, but it looked pretty good to me.'

‘How were the family when you left them?'

‘I only saw Anthea and her father, sir. She was in quite a state. But it's my guess that Mrs Llewellyn-Jones is going to be the one most upset by all this. She's been planning the wedding since Christmas.'

‘Perhaps I'd better drive up there with you when you pick up your things, Lieutenant.'

‘I'd appreciate the support, sir,' Schaffer answered, and he meant it. He had a feeling that battle was going to be an anti-climax compared to his forthcoming confrontation with his landlady.

‘I need to know, Anthea. What exactly did Richard do to you?'

Anthea buried her face in her pillow and pulled the bedclothes over her head.

‘Did he ever try to do more than kiss you?' her mother demanded. ‘Well, did he?'

‘He behaved like an officer and a gentleman at all times,' Anthea mumbled from beneath the blankets, realising that her mother wouldn't leave her alone until she answered.

‘Did he ever touch you in a way you didn't like, or put his hand up your skirt?' Furious when Anthea continued to ignore her, she raised her voice. ‘You're not a child. You know what I'm asking. Did he ever do anything to you that was wrong? Because if he did I could call Dr John back …'

‘There's no need.'

Suspicions aroused by Anthea's fainting fit, her father had sent for the doctor as soon as they reached home. She had been truly petrified when he had walked into her bedroom with her mother, but all he had done was look at her tongue, take her pulse and leave her a couple of tablets he assured her would help her sleep. Only she couldn't sleep. Her mother wouldn't let her. And all she could think of was the baby growing inside her and Richard not being there.

She refused to believe that he had deliberately abandoned her. Kurt had to be mistaken. Something must have happened between their meeting at lunchtime and his leaving. Richard couldn't have known he was going – not when he last spoke to her in the park. Perhaps he took the place of another officer at the last minute …

‘Perhaps we should ask him to give you a thorough examination anyway.'

‘Please, Mother, just leave me alone.' Anthea burrowed even deeper under the bedclothes. She wanted to scream that she had liked everything Richard had done to her. Very much indeed.

Her face burned with shame when she remembered all the times she had lain naked on his bed, allowing him to arrange her body into any pose he chose. How he had gazed at her, kissed and fondled every inch of her. How they had done things she had never even heard other girls whispering about. How she had not only become accustomed to his lovemaking, but had looked forward to the stolen hours in his rooms when they had both taken off their clothes, and romped naked in and on his bed.

‘Well, if you're absolutely sure that he didn't do anything wrong, or hurt you in any way, I suppose I'll have to take your word for it.' Her mother hesitated at the door, wanting to believe that her daughter was physically unscathed by her association with Richard Reide, if not mentally.

‘I'm fine, Mother,' Anthea lied. ‘Please leave me alone. I haven't had a minute to myself since I've been home.'

‘Very well. But I'll be back later with some warm milk.'

‘I don't want warm milk.'

The doorbell rang and Anthea almost shot out of bed. Her mother patted her back, the only part of her she could reach.

‘That sounds like Colonel Ford's voice. I'll go and see what he wants.' She opened the door. ‘I'm sorry if I upset you, Anthea. But I had to know. I'm your mother. I care about you, and Richard deceived not only you, but all of us. I promise you, he won't get away with this. Not with my daughter. Your father will see a solicitor first thing in the morning. We'll sue for breach of promise. He's going to learn that he can't treat an innocent girl the way he's treated you and get away with it.'

The door closed and Anthea clutched her pillow all the tighter. Who could she turn to now? For all her mother's show of concern, she knew her parents would throw her out of the house the moment they discovered she was pregnant. Her mother would never compromise her high moral standards. She had cut close friends from her visiting list, simply because their daughters had been seen talking to a boy from the wrong side of Pontypridd.

Even her parents' closest friends, the Johns, had suffered temporary social ostracism when Andrew had married Bethan. And when her parents had discovered that Bethan was pregnant before the wedding, her mother had made a point of visiting Mrs John to inform her that she'd heard Bethan Powell was a hussy who had deliberately set out to seduce and get impregnated by a doctor – any doctor – to better herself. And the rumours her mother had initiated hadn't stopped there. She had overheard her telling someone at a golf club Christmas party before the war that Andrew's wife had once worked as a prostitute, rumours that had backfired after the birth of Rachel, when the Johns had finally capitulated and accepted their daughter-in-law. But then, Andrew had stood by Bethan. What if Richard never came back? It was too dreadful to contemplate.

She recalled the advertisements she and her friends had giggled over in the
Pontypridd Observer
for ‘Blanchard's Female Pills'. She could even remember some of the claims made by the manufacturers. ‘Cures all irregularities.' Could they be used to get rid of a baby, as one of her schoolfriends had suggested? Did they really work?

She could send for them – but her mother opened all her mail. A Post Office number was no good, everyone knew her family and she was bound to be recognised picking up the parcel. She pressed her hands over her stomach. Was it her imagination or was it already showing?

Her mother had urged her to take the week off. But going into work would be her only chance to meet someone who could help her. Perhaps one of the girls in the office? But if they spoke to her father… it was then she remembered someone who would know what to do. Someone who might even help her. All she had to do was get away from her parents for an hour or two.

Kurt Schaffer dumped his kitbag on a narrow, canvas cot that had been set up in a side cubicle in the vestry. His heart sank as he looked around at the peeling paint and damp patches on the walls. George Rivers had taken great delight in telling him that there was no other accommodation available. Every spare room and bed in the town had been earmarked for incoming officers and he could either take this, or leave it. Perhaps he should leave it? Even a park bench looked preferable to this place.

He reached for his jacket. The air was freezing despite the summer warmth outside, and if he was shivering now, what would it be like in winter? But whatever else, it had to be better than the Llewellyn-Joneses' house right now. As he'd predicted, Mrs Llewellyn-Jones had been hysterical, and her husband wasn't much better. They had ranted and raved at Colonel Ford about Richard Reide's lack of integrity and the invidious position he had put them in. Getting engaged to their daughter and then running out on her, leaving them in the middle of expensive wedding preparations. Turning them into the laughing stock of the neighbourhood after they had taken him into their home and treated him like the son they'd never had.

Their list of grievances had been infinite, but he couldn't help noticing that they had only spoken about their own situation. Neither of them had mentioned Anthea's feelings. And although he had originally pegged the girl as a rather obvious man-hunter, he pitied her now. If he had been born female with parents like hers, he would probably have tried to grab any man who came along just to get away from home, too.

Glancing at his watch he realised it was almost time to meet Jenny. Leaving his kitbag, he climbed the steps and walked along to Ronconi's café. As usual Tina was presiding behind the counter, and he wondered if it was his imagination or if she was being marginally friendlier towards the Americans sitting at the tables.

Perhaps her change of heart had something to do with the men who had been shipped out. Now that they were being lined up to die, it just might make things right in Tina's eyes.

‘Lieutenant Schaffer, how nice to see you.'

‘Is that another example of British sarcasm?' he asked as he climbed on to a stool in front of the counter.