Season Of Darkness (8 page)

The third member of the trio was walking at her side. He was above medium height, with carrot red hair, and he looked as if he’d been in the sun too long. But he wasn’t a milksop like Major Fordham. He seemed fit and strong. He was in civilian clothes but there was something about the way his eyes roved quickly around the assembled men that suggested invested authority
.

As they entered, the red-haired man stood back to let the woman through first, and as she went by he touched her lightly on her back
.

Most men would have missed that, would not have seen the feeling in the redhead’s body, but he saw it. So that was the story, was it? He coveted her. Was the feeling returned? It wasn’t possible to tell at this point, but he registered the impression. You never knew when such knowledge would come in handy
.

The doctor called for silence, and the commandant made his announcement. The woman translated fluently. She spoke excellent German with a Swiss accent
.

What the major said was very disturbing
.

A Land Army girl had been found dead. He knew who she was. A tasty bit he’d often fantasized about. She had been shot with a German Luger
.

For a moment he doubted himself, but he knew nobody could have stolen the gun he had hidden so carefully. It had still been there this morning. He checked daily
.

The redhead was a policeman, as he’d suspected, and his speech was brief and to the point. “Please do not think you are betraying a comrade if you report to me any suspicion, however slight. I will assess any information. This is a vicious murder we are dealing with.”

He’d got through to them, although the likelihood of any of this bunch telling on one of their fellows was slim. They had learned to be leery of any police authority. “See everything, say nothing.” They were, after all, enemy aliens
.

Dr. Beck raised his finger for attention. His English was impeccable. “I am sure I speak for all of my fellow internees when I say that I am deeply shocked to hear what Inspector Tyler has said. Miss Bates was a kind and generous young woman in the prime of her life. We will miss her. We will, of course, do everything we can to help you facilitate his investigation. However, I do want to point out that we here in this camp are at a disadvantage. Most of us are irrefutably German and it is possible one of us may be familiar with weaponry, as you say, particularly German weaponry, but we are here behind barbed wire and we are guarded. We hope there will not be what perhaps might be referred to as scapegoating if the real perpetrator of this crime is not found soon.”

There were murmurs of agreement from those of the men who understood, and they translated for the others around them, not waiting for the Englishwoman to do it
.

“Our relationship with the local people of Shropshire has improved over the summer,” continued Dr. Beck. “Some of them even come to our entertainments. I would hate to see that friendly climate spoiled by the irresponsible spreading of rumour regarding this particular gun.”

One of the internees, their captive poet and self-proclaimed genius, waved his clenched fist to emphasize his support
.

“I agree with Dr. Beck,” he yelled
.

The commandant asked the section captains to start organizing the men for the search. All belongings were to be placed outside the tents in orderly rows. With everybody’s co-operation the whole thing wouldn’t take long and they could soon resume their regular activities
.

He had to reassure himself of the security of the hiding place he’d created for his own gun. But he knew the search would be perfunctory. Nobody wanted to act like a Nazi toward their own countrymen
.

The trio was leaving now. The redhead went through the gate and the woman was close as she passed. He was right. The policeman did desire her, and perhaps the feeling was returned; he couldn’t quite tell. They were not strangers to each other, he was certain of that
.

The internees started to move away, talking excitedly and nervously among each other. With this incident and the policeman, a door had opened. Suspicions could be discreetly voiced. He’d have to be very careful. This stupid girl’s death could really upset everything
.

T
HE MAJOR WENT OFF TO SUPERVISE THE SEARCH
.

“Why don’t you take a break, Mrs. Devereau? It might be best for the internees to deal with this among themselves. We’ll be all right for now.”

“Thank you, Major.” Clare turned to Tyler. “Shall we take a quick run into Whitchurch for a bite to eat? I’m famished.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“How about our old pub? They used to have the greatest cider.”

“Are you referring to The Feathers?”

“Yes, the one on Main Street. We went there lots of times for their cider.”

“I’ve become a beer man myself. But let’s give it a try. I can recommend the pork pies.”

“I’ll follow you in my car.”

“You’d better go first. The Humber isn’t exactly speedy.”

He soon lost sight of the
MG
and must have fallen behind by at least five minutes when he arrived at The Feathers. She was waiting for him at the entrance.

“Come on, slow poke. I’ve already ordered our ciders, and I’ve got us our favourite spot. The booth by the window. The place hasn’t changed a bit.”

Tyler had almost convinced himself that Clare had no interest in connecting with their shared past, but now he wasn’t so sure.
Our old pub, we went there lots of times
 … The strange thing was that instead of making him happy that he wasn’t the only one obsessing about the past, the turnaround
was confusing. Maybe he’d been a policeman too long. You developed a suspicious nature.

He followed her through the smoky lounge, aware of the curious glances thrown in their direction. Even at forty, Clare turned heads.

She slid into the booth and he sat opposite.

“They changed the upholstery,” she said. “It was brown before.”

“After twenty years, I think they should. That’s a long time.”

The publican, who was also one of his football mates, came over immediately with two glasses of cider.

“The pork pies’ll be ready in a minute.”

As he was leaving, he raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Tyler ignored him.

Clare lifted her glass. “Cheers, Tom.”

“Cheers.” They clicked glasses and their eyes met. Even in the low light of the pub, he could see how green her eyes were, how friendly they appeared.

He took out his cigarette case, snapped it open, and offered her a cigarette.

She shook her head. “No, thanks, I gave up smoking years ago.” She noticed the silver case. “Didn’t I give you that for your coming of age birthday?”

“One and the same.”

He didn’t tell her he had only begun carrying it again after they met in the market.

She grimaced. “Twenty-one. Were we ever that young, Tom?”

He lit his cigarette. “Young and foolish. But here we are in 1940. Why don’t you bring me up to date on the last twenty years?”

“Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“I thought you only had an hour.”

“Short version then.” She started to run her finger around the rim of the glass. He could see she was choosing her words carefully. “Two years after I left here, I met a Swiss man, Valentin Devereau. I’d known him casually when I was at school in Lucerne. We married and I have lived in Switzerland ever since, really. Shortly before war broke out, I decided to return to England – I told you that already. I still consider this my home. I knew my fluency in German might come in useful and it has. I was hired as a translator with the War Office. Then the big sweep occurred and eventually I was sent up here to Shropshire. That’s it. Life up to date.”

He was keenly aware that she hadn’t mentioned falling in love with her husband or how she felt about being separated from him.

“Any children?”

“No. All right. Your turn.”

Frank returned with the pork pies and mash, both covered with steaming gravy.

“Tuck in.”

Clare started on her meal, eating with gusto. He smiled at her.

“What? Why are you laughing at me?”

“You always liked your grub, didn’t you? I don’t know why you’re so skinny.”

She shrugged. “Never mind. It’s your turn to talk.”

“Short version. I got married to a local girl not long after you left. Vera Lambeth. Maybe you remember her?”

Clare dabbed at her lips with the serviette. “She was the butcher’s daughter, wasn’t she? She always had a pash for you.”

So she noticed that. He was glad. “We have two children. A boy, Jimmy, who is with the King’s Shropshire Light Infantry. He’s twenty now. He managed to get out of Dunkirk and he’s waiting to be reassigned.”

“That was a rough go from what I’ve heard.”

“He won’t talk about it. My daughter, Janet, is sixteen. She’s working in her grandfather’s shop, also doing her bit for the war effort.” He wanted her to be as curious about his marriage as he was about hers, but she didn’t comment.

He balanced his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and began his meal. He’d thought he was hungry, but his stomach was churning so much, it was hard getting the food down.

“And now you’re an inspector. Acts of bravery, according to Percy.”

“I don’t know about that. I stopped a runaway horse, nothing to it. But I was already an inspector so it didn’t count. I worked with the Birmingham force for a few years, but Vera missed her family here, and I thought with war looming on the horizon, sleepy Shropshire would be safer.”

“You miss the challenge don’t you?” Clare said sympathetically. “I can tell.”

Tyler shrugged. “That’s life. You make choices and you have to live with them.”

He hadn’t meant that statement to be fraught with hidden meaning but it lay on the table between them like a smelly piece of fish. Clare chose to ignore it.

“How is your family doing?” she asked.

“My dad died five years ago. My mom has gone to live with my sister in the Hebrides.”

Clare toyed with the serviette. “They didn’t like me very much, did they?”

He flicked the ash off the cigarette. “Dad thought I was betraying my class; Mom said you’d break my heart.”

She sat back in the booth, her eyes lowered.

“I’m sorry, Tom. Can we lay the past to rest? I’d like to be friends.”

He turned around so he could get Frank’s attention. “Let’s
drink to that. We can’t spend the entire time apologizing to each other.”

The silence was awkward between them and neither spoke until the publican brought more cider.

She sipped at it. “It’s not quite as good as I remember, but then perhaps nothing is. We look at the past through rose-coloured glasses most of the time.”

“Clare!”

“Tom. You could have got in touch with me. You never answered my letter.”

“It seemed a waste of time. It was all over and done. As you say, we were young. What did we know?”

She put aside the glass, unfinished, and looked at her watch, a dainty silver one, no doubt Swiss.

“I have to get going soon. I just wanted to say that I was so sorry to hear about that young woman who was killed. It’s dreadful.”

“That it is. Did you ever meet her?”

Clare shook her head. “No, I didn’t. Do you know what happened?”

“Not yet. It has the earmarks of a
crime passional
, but we’ll have to see.”

“You said she was found on a country road.”

“Yes, she was. She was apparently heading for the manor.”

“If there is anything I can do …”

Impulsively, he grasped her hand. “You can meet me again. I’ve been a right pillock. I would like to be friends.”

Before she could answer, they heard a few
bravissimo
bars on the piano. There weren’t many people in the pub, just a handful of men, all pensioners by the look of them, and only a couple of women, maybe their wives. One of the men, who had a natty cravat knotted around his throat, had gone over the piano.

“Any requests?”

A woman called out, “Play ‘We’ll Meet Again.’ ”

“Oh, no,” muttered Clare. “Not that one, please.”

Her eyes met Tyler’s, and they both burst out laughing.

“You can ring me at the manor,” said Clare. “I have my own telephone. I’m free most evenings.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and began to stand up, but she stopped him. “Finish your cider.” She leaned forward and her lips brushed his cheek. “Bye for now, Tom. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

She walked off and, in spite of himself, he watched her.

Then he took out another cigarette, lit it, and held the silver case in his hands. She’d had his initials engraved in the corner, and inside:
Love forever, C
.

The pianist’s fingers were gnarled and stiff and his voice was slightly tremulous but he still had the technique.

The others joined in, lost in the poignancy of the song.

Then a voice shouted from one of the corners.

“For Christ’s sake, Gerald, sing something cheerful before we all give up the bleeding ghost. How about something lively like ‘Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag?’ ”

The singer didn’t hesitate and switched immediately.

Tyler left them clapping their hands and singing loudly and off-key.

H
E CRANKED THE CAR, WHICH FOR ONCE STARTED
nicely. He was about to drive off when a farm lorry drew up across the road. Arthur Trimble was driving. Tyler leaned out of the window. This was as good a time as any.

“Mr. Trimble, can I have a word?”

The manager favoured a long moustache that must have been a challenge when he was eating, and that added to his hangdog look. He wore tweeds and high leather boots. Natty clothes. Squire’s clothes. The word muttered among the locals was that he was aping his betters, not a good opinion to have hung on yourself.