Voices on the Wind (20 page)

She walked on slowly. There was no breeze and it was hot, the sun glancing back off the streets. The giant palms stood motionless along the sea front, giving no shade. As a child she had spent the summer holidays in Normandy, where the sea was cold and bracing, unlike the milk-warm Mediterranean. Taking her time that afternoon, Kate remembered those easy days with longing, when she and her brother played racing games against the surf and their father taught them both to swim. Happy family holidays that seemed so far away. Beautiful peaceful France where she had grown up in the carefree years when nobody imagined there could be such a thing as war and Occupation.

When she reached Jean's flat she ran up the stairs in her eagerness to see him. She threw her arms round his neck and clung and he said gently,

‘What is it, my darling? What's the matter?'

‘Nothing,' Kate said, holding tight to him. ‘I've been feeling very homesick suddenly.'

‘Well, you're home now,' he told her. He kissed her with tenderness.

‘I've got things to tell you,' she said at last. ‘And this newspaper.'

He sat with his arm round her while she described her meeting with Pierrot. She didn't mention the kiss. He read the item in the
Nice Matin
, frowned and put it down.

‘You don't think it matters?' Kate asked him.

‘No,' he answered, ‘I don't. I don't think anything Pierrot said matters either. He's over-cautious, pessimistic. He's that type; he's a little jealous of me. He thinks a professional should run the network. I don't take him seriously, sweetheart, and you mustn't either. I know what I am doing. Now come here; I've missed you.'

He was a skilful lover and every nerve-ending in her body responded to his touch. The revulsion she felt for Pierrot became a blazing desire for sexual fulfilment when she was in Jean Dulac's arms. Passion engulfed them both. The newspaper with the little item about a poor man's death was tossed aside and forgotten and they lay at last exhausted in each other's arms. But the niggle of doubt and fear was with her when she woke.

‘Lord Wroxham is in the coffee room, Sir. Up the stairs and on your right.'

Colonel Reed said, ‘Thank you,' briskly and followed the directions. How did club servants know if someone had never been there before? It didn't put him in a good mood to be classified as an outsider. It was a magnificent staircase, floored in mahogany with a wide sweep of faded green carpet, held at each step by a gleaming stair-rod of polished brass. He ran his hand up the massive balustrade. No dust. The portraits of great statesmen of the Tory Party glowered at him from the walls. A bust of his host's great-grandfather sneered at him from the top of the stairs.

The tall figure sunk in an armchair seemed to be dozing. He proved himself wide awake by leaping up as soon as Reed appeared in the doorway. The smile was no longer bulletproof. It transformed his rather canine face; he looked deceptively handsome for a moment.

‘Hello, Colonel,' he said, shaking hands.

‘Morning, Wroxham.'

Reed's irritation disappeared. After the last lunch spent in Reed's favourite Soho restaurant, both men were surprised how much they liked each other. Wroxham admired the older man's insight and daring; Reed was fascinated by the complex intelligence of the aristocratic fop he had made fun of for so long. They found a common sense of humour. More ironic than ridiculous. Banana-skins didn't appeal to either. They had begun to work very closely together. There were times when Reed's SOE associates weren't consulted until he'd talked to Major Lord Wroxham on the General's private line. They drank sherry before lunch.

Reed decided to get the bad news over. He scowled, and his fine voice came down a register.

‘We've got trouble with Dulac, I'm afraid. He's gone out of control.'

‘How, exactly?'

Reed's frown deepened. ‘Taken the bit between his teeth. Refused to listen to instructions and is planning to go ahead with his attack on the convoy. In fact,' he glanced up at the attentive face of his host, ‘in fact he's planning to take some of the officers hostage against Gestapo reprisals.'

‘Oh, for Christ's sake,' Wroxham sighed. ‘That's the last straw!'

‘Ironic, wouldn't it be, if he picks up your tame general,' Reed suggested.

‘Ironic isn't the word I'd use, Colonel. Well, I'm afraid we'll have to do as I mentioned that day at the War Office. Take things into our own hands. Let Pierrot deal with him.'

‘You said you weren't interested in methods,' Reed reminded him. ‘Only results. Dulac is one of the best network leaders in France. He's highly regarded by de Gaulle's lot and frankly, he's given wonderful service to us in the last two years. I'd have to know more before I'd agree to any steps being taken against him.'

‘How much more?' The question was asked softly.

‘All of it,' Reed said flatly. ‘And I didn't believe a word of that cock-and-bull story about misinformation. I want the truth, Richard.' He used the Christian name like a password.

‘The truth,' Richard Wroxham said at last, ‘will be in the safe at the Hôtel du Cap at Cap d'Antibes. Which explains why Fred the burglar was foisted on to your training scheme.'

He finished his sherry. Reed did the same. Wroxham went on slowly talking. A waiter appeared to say that their table in the club dining room was waiting, but Wroxham sent him away. At one point Reed said,

‘So that's why Michaelson was sent on sick leave in the middle of the training schedule.'

‘He'd begun to undermine morale,' Wroxham said. ‘And he was sniffing around too much. He had a love affair with a girl who got caught and executed at Ravensbrück. That was the start of his trouble. He'd damned that operator Julie in his report. We had to get him out of the way. He's in Washington, wasting his time as an attaché at the Embassy. We can finish this over lunch if you're ready.'

‘I'm always hungry,' Reed said. ‘I hope the food in this Tory stronghold is good. I'd better confess I lean to the Liberal Party.' They laughed together.

‘The food is terrible,' Wroxham said. ‘But the cellar is the best in London. As I shall take pleasure in proving to you. Let's go down before the cold meat's gone. It's the best thing on the menu.'

It was a long lunch. Reed had a car to collect him this time and after the vintage port he needed it. He had a slight headache and he ordered the driver to stop in Green Park so he could walk it off. He set off across the grass, an energetic army officer in his late forties, swinging his arms and striding out, watched by odd courting couples sitting under the trees and children playing on the pathways.

The truth at last. The truth of a ruthless manœuvre to strike at Nazi Germany that made the sabotage and Intelligence work of the Resistance look as puny as children playing nursery war games. But those children would be sacrificed and their death sentences pronounced in England. One mission must succeed and to make sure of its success, another must fail. He swung round and strode back to the waiting car. Wroxham was right when he said they needed to be friends if they wanted to live in peace afterwards with what they had to do.

He worked on at his top-floor office until late that night. Part of that work was to liaise officially with Wroxham and his section at the War Office, to stop Jean Dulac from ruining the plan.

‘My daughter said she'd drive over and collect Polly this afternoon,' Katharine Alfurd said. ‘I told her I was going to spend a few days with an old school friend who'd suddenly surfaced. I made up the name – she didn't even hear it, I don't think.'

Roulier asked, ‘Didn't she wonder why you couldn't take the dog with you?'

‘Because my friend has cats,' she said promptly. ‘And you know what cat-killers Jack Russells are!'

He smiled. ‘I didn't know. Let me take you out to lunch somewhere and then I'll keep out of the way till your daughter comes. Isn't there somewhere nice near here?'

Kate thought for a moment. ‘Yes, there is. There's a very good restaurant at Littlewick, about six miles away. Robert used to take me there on special occasions. I'm afraid it's very expensive.'

‘Then we'll go,' he said. For a moment she felt quite young again. Excited at the prospect of a special lunch.

‘It's called the Old House,' she explained. ‘We don't need to book on a weekday, but you can't get a table at weekends. I'll go and put on something smart!' She gave him a brilliant smile and hurried upstairs.

It was so long since she had been taken out. Robert had been meticulous about birthdays and anniversaries, but he never did anything extravagant on the spur of the moment. And why should he, she defended him. He was contented and liked his routine. How could he have known that sometimes she longed to break the monotony.…

She found a silk dress she hadn't worn for a long time. Later that evening they were flying to the South of France. Extraordinary, she thought, turning to look at herself in the mirror. Lying to Dorothy, who didn't even listen to the details because nothing interesting could possibly happen to her mother. Going out to lunch with a man who didn't treat her as if she were boring and old. For a moment she had a very odd sensation. The woman in the looking glass was shedding her personality. Mrs Alfurd, the Colonel's widow who lived in Nut Tree Cottage with her little terrier, was blurring at the edges, like a watercolour left out in the rain.

‘Maybe,' she said out loud, ‘I'm becoming myself again.' She went down the stairs and he opened the front door for her. ‘You look charming. That's a lovely dress.'

He was French and they always noticed how women looked. But it was nice to be told so, all the same.

‘Thank you,' Katharine said.

It was a very special lunch. She was anxious at first, knowing the importance of good food to a Frenchman. There was no attempt at cuisine, nouvelle or otherwise. Simple English food, beautifully cooked meat and fresh vegetables, old fashioned puddings and cream so thick it clung to the spoon. And they talked of other things. He had been married, he told her. Divorced for five years. One girl who was at school in Switzerland. He didn't see her very often. The marriage had been happy but it had no real roots. Time proved an enemy. They were both bored and he was involved with another woman when his wife decided she wanted to marry her lover. He shrugged and smiled, dismissing the episode.

‘We're not bad friends; I don't follow the modern custom of playing golf with my ex-wife's husband and being very civilized about it. Frankly, I hate golf and he's rather boring. So I live alone and I am quite content. Tell me about your daughter. Why didn't she listen when you told her you were going away this morning?'

‘Because she hasn't listened for years to anything I say,' Katharine answered. ‘It's a strange thing, but she's not a bit like her father or me. To be honest, she's a bossy, bustling woman, and if it wasn't for my grandsons, I wouldn't mind not seeing her at all. They're great fun; dear little boys and I love them. But I've embarrassed Dorothy talking about the war and the things we've been discussing. She makes me feel ashamed, as if I were making it up and anyway nobody wants to know. I don't like being dismissed like that. It hurts to be told you're a bore to people. Even if it's true.'

Paul Roulier said, ‘You could never be a bore. May I ask you something very personal?'

Katharine answered, ‘Yes, I think so.'

‘Were you happy with your husband?'

She said, ‘That
is
personal.'

‘I apologize. But I'm curious about you, Madame Alfurd.'

Kate lit a cigarette.

‘Don't you think you'd better call me Kate?' she suggested. ‘And why curious?'

‘Because you don't seem to fit in,' he said after a moment. ‘Maybe I'm not expressing myself too well – my English isn't good enough.'

‘Your English is as good as mine,' she retorted. ‘All right, perhaps I don't really fit in with Amdale and the twilight of my life. I think that sounds so dreary, don't you, as if everything was fading away just because one gets older. But I've lived a certain kind of life for forty years. I didn't have to, I chose it. Does that answer your original question, Paul?'

He had a trick of half-closing his eyes before he answered a question that needed some thought. Cat-like, she thought suddenly. That's what he is. A feline man. Soft-footed and powerful, like a tiger.

‘No, it doesn't,' he said. ‘Perhaps you didn't choose it. I think it was chosen for you.'

She stared at him. ‘Chosen? What on earth do you mean?'

He signalled for the bill. ‘He married you to keep you quiet,' he said softly. ‘And in your heart you've known it for all these years. In the last two days we've started to unpick a conspiracy that has stretched like a spider's web, catching people, tying them up in silence. I believe your marriage to Colonel Alfurd was part of that conspiracy.'

She picked up her handbag, put her cigarettes and lighter away.

‘Maybe it was,' she said. ‘But he did love me.'

He stooped, picked up the gloves she'd dropped and handed them to her.

‘I've never doubted that,' he said.

Katharine saw her daughter's Ford Cortina pull up outside the gate. She moved away from the window. Paul had driven away, leaving her at the cottage.

‘I'll telephone in one hour to make sure your daughter's gone,' he said. ‘Our flight is at seven.' He lifted her hand and kissed it. She blushed. She hadn't blushed for years. ‘
Au revoir
, Kate.'

Dorothy came up the path, opened the front door and called put, ‘Mother?'

‘In here, darling.'

She got up and kissed her daughter. It was a mutual peck, a habit that had little meaning. In her teens Dorothy had chided Katharine once with ‘Mummy, don't
hug
me all over the place, it's so embarrassing.' So un-English was what she meant. Rebuffed, Katharine didn't try to show affection.