A Song At Twilight (20 page)

‘No, I know you can’t.’ Alison understood that once he was in the air, Andrew was, like all those engaged in this war, as much a fighting machine as his aircraft. ‘Is there any other good news?’ she asked, without much hope.

‘Oh yes, I almost forgot! You’ll like this. You know that film actor you like – James Stewart? He’s over here now – a major in the US Air Force, flying Liberators from a base in Norfolk. Well, the buzz is that he was coming back from a daylight mission over Germany a few days ago, when he saw that the lead group had gone off in the wrong direction and were heading out over France, right across the enemy airfields. So he went off after them to give cover. There was one hell of a battle, by all accounts, and they lost eight Liberators, but it would have been much worse if he hadn’t spotted them. We had a bloke in the mess from over that way today, that’s how I know.’

‘Goodness me. So he’s a real hero, not just a film-star one. We saw him in
Philadelphia Story
, do you remember, Andrew? He looks a really nice man.’

‘He’s no nancy-boy, that’s for certain.’

There were other things Andrew could have told his wife as well, but he stuck to stories that she would read in the newspapers or hear on the radio. Implicitly though he trusted her, the less information was discussed, the less likely it was to reach the wrong ears.

‘Has Stefan been over to see you yet?’ he asked. ‘You said you’d invited him. It would do him good to talk to you on his own. He’s too buttoned up – needs to let things out a bit.’

‘I know. That’s what I thought, too. But I haven’t seen him since Christmas.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve told him I’m here if he wants to talk, but I can’t keep on saying so. It starts to look like prying. Perhaps he’s just being polite and wishes I’d stop.’

‘Who knows?’ Andrew stretched his arm out and drew her close. ‘Best not to worry about it any more, darling. He’ll come if he wants to. In the meantime, you’ve got to think about yourself and our baby.’ He touched her stomach gently. ‘You’re not doing too much, are you? You’re not letting yourself get tired?’

‘No. I rest every afternoon, and—’ She stopped suddenly and caught her breath. ‘Andrew!’

‘What? What’s wrong?’ He sat up straight, alarmed, and she laughed a little shakily.

‘Nothing. There’s nothing wrong. It’s just …’ She caught her breath again. ‘There! I’m almost sure …’

‘Sure of what? What are you talking about? Darling, are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Very all right,’ she said, and a smile broke out over her face. ‘It’s the baby, Andrew. It just moved. For the very first time. Here.’ She caught his hand and placed it over the soft roundness of her stomach. ‘Keep very still and see if it happens again.’

He saw the small flame of excitement leap again into her eyes. ‘Was that it? I can’t feel a thing.’

‘It’s very slight. More a sort of flutter, really. Like having a butterfly in my stomach. But I know that’s what it is.’ She lifted his hand and held the palm to her cheek. ‘You’ll feel it soon enough, don’t worry – when it starts to kick and punch with its fists. But it’s lovely to feel it. It makes it seem so real. Oh Andrew, why are we so lucky?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, and pulled her close into his arms. ‘But we are. And let’s be thankful for it.’

For the rest of the evening, they sat before the fire, letting its flames light the room as they savoured each other’s closeness and talked quietly of the future. A future when there was no more war; when they could watch their family grow up in peace. The peace they were fighting for now.

Stefan finally came in the last week of January. There had been no flying the night before and Andrew was busy at the station. Alison, who had developed a cold, was indoors by the fire with Hughie.

‘Stefan! Come in – that’s if you’re not afraid you’ll catch my cold. It’s getting better now, but I’m still a bit snuffly.’

‘I don’t catch colds.’ He followed her into the front room. The fire was burning brightly with logs that May’s uncle had brought along just before Christmas, and Hughie was on the floor with his bricks and the bag of marbles he’d been given for Christmas. Alison had been reading.

‘Would you like a cup of tea? I was just about to make one.’ She went out to the kitchen, leaving Stefan on his knees with Hughie. When she came back, carrying a tray with the tea and a plate of scones, they were constructing a castle with turrets.

‘Oh, that’s pretty,’ she said, putting the tray on a small table. ‘Like a fairytale castle.’

Stefan gave her a sombre glance. ‘Not a fairy tale now, I am afraid. It’s the kind of castle we have in my homeland. Probably the Germans are living in it, or using it as a prison – if it’s standing at all.’

‘Oh – I’m sorry.’ Alison was nonplussed and he got up, immediately apologetic.

‘No, it is I who should be sorry. How could you know? I built it just because it’s the kind of castle I know.’ He looked down at the little boy on the hearthrug. ‘Knock it down, Hughie, and build one of your own castles. Let’s forget fairy tales.’

‘But I like fairy tales,’ Hughie objected, and began to add another turret.

Stefan laughed, and Alison thought what a difference it made to his face. The fine skin around his grey eyes crinkled and his chiselled lips curved in a smile of great charm. She smiled back and gestured towards Andrew’s armchair.

‘Please – sit down. Have a cup of tea. Hughie, there’s some orange juice for you, and a biscuit.’

‘Orange juice?’ the Pole said. ‘It’s very good for him, but I thought it was difficult for you to get oranges.’

‘Oh, this is what the Government issues to children under five. It’s quite strong – you have to dilute it. Hughie loves it.’

Stefan nodded. ‘Your Government looks after you very well.’

‘I think they do their best. We all complain about rationing, but it’s the fairest way, and we all seem to stay pretty healthy on it. Not too many sweets or fatty foods!’ she added with a smile. ‘And we’re encouraged to grow as much as we can ourselves. Andrew and I have got quite a few vegetables in the back garden already.’

‘I would like to think that my family are as well off,’ he said sadly.

Alison took Hughie’s empty cup from him and the little boy went back to his bricks. She looked at Stefan.

‘Don’t you know anything at all about how they are?’

‘Nothing. I told you, I left Poland soon after Britain declared war. It was plain to see that we could not fight the Germans in our own country and I could be most effective here. But it was hard, leaving them all behind; my mother and father are both in their sixties now, and then there are my sisters and their families. I felt as if I were being torn into pieces. I almost didn’t leave, but they urged me to come to Britain. They said it was their only chance, for those of us who had the skills to fight to come to a place where we could use them.’

‘What could you have done if you’d stayed?’ Alison asked gently, and he shrugged.

‘Nothing. I would probably have been killed trying to resist. I wouldn’t have been any use at all then, and might even have caused their deaths as well.’ He glanced down at Hughie. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t be talking like this.’

‘I don’t think he notices. He’s in a world of his own.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Tell me about your family. How many sisters do you have?’

‘Four. All older than me. I am the baby of the family. Irena is the eldest. Then there is Kataryna and then Urszula. The youngest, Krystyna, is just a year older than me and got married only a year before the war began. She is the one I worry about the most.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ he said, ‘her husband is Jewish.’

‘Oh.’ Alison frowned a little. ‘And Hitler doesn’t like the Jews, does he?’

‘He thinks they should be exterminated,’ Stefan said.

Alison drew in a sharp breath. ‘
Exterminated
?’ She gave Hughie a quick, involuntary glance but although he looked up at her exclamation he returned at once to his bricks. ‘But – that’s not possible! How could he—?’

‘I don’t know,’ Stefan said. ‘But with that man, nothing is impossible. He’s evil.’ He regarded her thoughtfully, as if making up his mind whether to go on. Then he said, ‘Have you not heard of
Kristallnacht
?’

‘
Kristallnacht
?’

‘The Night of the Broken Glass,’ he said. ‘It was in November 1938. The Nazis ordered that the houses of Jews –
all
Jews – be searched. Thousands were arrested and sent to internment and concentration camps. Synagogues were destroyed – set on fire, many of them. Jewish shops were looted and closed, their windows smashed. In Vienna, fires raged everywhere and Jews were hustled along the streets, jeered at and assaulted by crowds of hooligans. People in their apartments and homes found their doors kicked in by the SS and their belongings destroyed or stolen before their eyes. If they protested, they were shot. Some were thrown from the windows of upstairs apartments and lay broken and screaming on the pavement, and nobody dared help them. Those who tried were also shot. In the morning, the streets were covered with broken glass from the many windows, and that is where it got its name.’

Alison felt sick. In a whisper, she said, ‘But this was almost a year before the war began. What happened to the Jews who weren’t killed that night? Were they all taken away to these camps?’

‘Not all. Some were left behind, but life became almost impossible for them. They had to remain in their homes, if they still had homes, except for a few hours each day when they were allowed out. Even then, they would be jeered at in the street or have stones and bottles thrown at them. And the children were not allowed in public places like swimming pools or playgrounds. They were expelled from their schools. High walls were built and they were herded behind them, to live apart from the rest of the community. Many people killed themselves.’

Alison shuddered and looked away. The hard lines of Stefan’s face softened. ‘Perhaps I should not be talking to you like this. Perhaps I should go.’

‘No!’ she said sharply. ‘Of course you should talk about it. I ought to know. We
all
ought to know. I feel ashamed that I didn’t know before, but I was too busy having a good time, going to dances and parties and getting married. I wasn’t interested in what was going on in the rest of the world.’

‘That’s part of the problem,’ he said. ‘Even in Poland – in Germany itself – in all the countries of Europe, I think people were too busy dancing to see what was happening behind the stage.’

There was a short silence. Hughie had finished building his castle and was driving a small toy car through the passageways he had created. Some of the bricks fell down and he made an exclamation of annoyance. Stefan replaced them.

‘They weren’t balanced properly,’ he said. ‘You see, you mustn’t have one too far out from one underneath it, or it will fall. Put them like this.’

Alison glanced at Hughie, wondering how much of this he understood, but he was absorbed in his game, driving his little car in and out of the castle, and murmuring a story to himself. She caught the words ‘prince’ and ‘princess’. She looked back at Stefan.

‘And – and do you think this might have happened in Poland as well?’

‘I know it did,’ he said quietly. ‘Within three weeks of the invasion of my country, Warsaw – our proud city, our
capital
– was crushed. The Jewish Ghetto was formed there. My sister Krystyna’s husband, Benedykt, was in fear of his life but he was still safe when I left, sheltered by the family. Krystyna wanted him to come with me, but she was expecting their first child and he wouldn’t leave her. In any case, he wouldn’t have been allowed to leave. He would have been discovered.’

‘And you don’t know what’s happened to him? To any of them? ’

‘I have never heard any more,’ he said. ‘When this war is over, I will go back and try to find them. But …’ He shrugged, a simple gesture with a world of hopelessness.

Alison looked down at Hughie again, playing so unknowingly with his toys, and thought of the new baby. ‘What a world this is. What a world to bring children into.’

‘And yet we cannot stop. We have to have children. It’s the way of the world. And if those of us on the side of right and goodness stopped, that would leave the way for evil to walk all over the world. There would be nobody to prevent it.’

‘I know. It’s just that you can’t help thinking about your own. Thinking what they might have to go through …’ She shivered and then said, ‘What about you, Stefan? Are you married, or do you have a sweetheart – someone special?’

He was silent for a moment, looking into the fire. Then he said, ‘No. There is no one special.’

‘Would you like another cup of tea?’ she asked gently after a moment, thinking at the same time how mundane and trivial a question it was after all he had told her, yet aware that it was time to return to the present day. ‘And one of my scones? I made the jam myself – it’s blackberry and apple.’

He turned and smiled at her, as if coming back from some inner journey, and reached for a scone. She poured him a second cup of tea.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ he said. ‘Have you always lived in Devon? Is this your home?’

‘Oh no – I come from Lincolnshire.’ She told him how she and Andrew had met, when Andrew was at Cranwell, and about her year as a debutante. ‘It seems like another world now. I know people were talking about war for quite a while before it started – they were even delivering air-raid shelters and digging trenches in Hyde Park – but we kept hoping it wouldn’t come to anything. I think we even pretended it wouldn’t.’

‘We couldn’t pretend in that way,’ he said grimly. ‘When you see your neighbours being overrun and you know that evil is casting its eye over your land, you don’t have the luxury of pretence.’

His eyes were haunted and Alison knew that he was back with his memories again. She said, ‘I meant it when I said you’d be welcome to talk to me about anything you like. If it would help at all …’

Once again he turned his eyes towards her. ‘I know. Some of the time, I feel I want to do that. I feel I need to talk about it with someone else, to share the horror, not to have to carry it alone – and then I think how unfair that would be. To burden you, or anyone, with all that is in my mind, would be simply spreading the sadness, and what good does that do to this broken world we’ve created?’ He looked down at the scone he was holding, gleaming with purple jam, and shook his head. ‘I’m poor company in return for your hospitality. Perhaps I should go.’ He made to get up.