Survivor (25 page)

‘My husband and I were dancing
five minutes before the bomb went off,’ one woman kept repeating. She was
wearing a mink stole, and diamonds sparkled at her throat. ‘My husband said he
didn’t like the crush down there. To think I was cross with him!’

Mariette remembered that she’d
left her evening bag and
stole on her
chair. She had no money and no keys to get into the house. She was freezing, despite
the blanket, and could feel the concrete floor turning her feet in flimsy evening
shoes to blocks of ice.

Then, just as she was thinking
she’d been forgotten, Edwin came through the door. His left arm was in a
sling, his evening suit was flecked with plaster and dust, and he had a bad cut on
his cheek. But he was alive.

Mariette rushed to him. ‘Thank
heavens you are safe. But what about the others?’

He put his good arm around her and held
her close. ‘All gone, I’m afraid, Mari,’ he said, his voice
cracking with emotion. ‘I just identified them.’

Mariette had heard people in her
position say that they couldn’t take it in, that they thought there must be a
mistake, and now she could identify with them. How on earth could people who meant
so much to her be snatched away from her in such a terrible way?

Edwin took charge. ‘When the
all-clear sounds, I’m going to take you home, Mari. I believe Rose has a
brother, we will have to contact him.’

‘He’s called Jean-Philippe,
but I’ve only met him a couple of times,’ she said. ‘He’s in
the navy. But I haven’t got any keys for the house or anything,’ she
blurted out, and began crying even harder.

‘I’ve got the keys. The
police took them from Mr Baylis’s pocket,’ he said. ‘This is the
worst possible thing you will ever go through, Mari. But I’m going to help
you. Now, sit down and let’s talk about you. Have you got any other relatives
here? Any friends who will rally round?’

It was after three in the morning
before they got back to St John’s Wood. Mariette still had the blanket
she’d been given
wrapped around
her bare shoulders, and she had cried for most of the taxi ride home. But her grief
became even stronger when she walked into the house and saw everything that was so
much a part of Noah and Lisette. Lisette’s sewing basket was by her chair,
Noah’s book by his. The family photographs were on the side table by the
window, and even the faint waft of Lisette’s perfume still hung in the
air.

If not for her birthday, they would be
safe in bed now. But now Rose would never have her wedding, and the house would
never have Noah and Lisette’s grandchildren running up and down the stairs.
Only a couple of days ago, Noah had said they would go to New Zealand when the war
was over. But that could never happen now.

‘I think you should call your
parents straight away,’ Edwin suggested. ‘It will already be afternoon
in New Zealand.’

‘They haven’t got a
telephone,’ she said. ‘When they ring me, it’s from Aunt
Peggy’s bakery.’

‘Then you must call them there.
Would you like me to do it for you?’

He poured them both a brandy while she
found the number in the family address book. Then he poked the fire, which had been
left banked up, and coaxed it back into flames. He made her sit down by it, and
dialled the operator.

‘It’ll take a little time, I
expect,’ he said, putting his hand over the receiver so the operator
couldn’t hear. ‘Now, drink that brandy. It’s good for shock.
What’s your aunt’s surname?’

‘Reid,’ she said brokenly,
imagining fat, jolly Aunt Peggy waddling to the phone and shouting down it the way
she always did. ‘She’s not a real aunt, just Mum’s friend
really.’

He nodded, and then spoke. ‘Is
that Mrs Reid? Peggy Reid?’

Mariette could
hear a woman’s voice asking who he was. She got up and took the receiver.
‘Aunt Peggy, it’s me, Mari. Something terrible has happened. Could you
get Mum, Papa or Mog?’

‘Mog’s right here, my love,
she just came in to see me,’ she said. ‘I’ll put her
on.’

Mariette heard her tell Mog that
something bad had happened.

‘Mari?’ Mog’s voice
sounded weak and frightened. ‘Whatever is it?’

Mari blurted it out, crying as she did
so. ‘They’ve all gone, Noah, Lisette, Rose and her boyfriend, Peter.
They took me to the club for my birthday. The bombs came right through the roof. I
was in the powder room. They are all dead.’

She heard Mog make a sound – an
exclamation of rage rather than a sharp intake of breath – but, as always, when
trouble struck, Mog rallied. ‘Now, where are you? And who is with you?’
she asked, her voice high with distress, but controlling it. ‘I’ll have
to go home and tell Belle, so you must tell me as much as you can.’

‘I’m in Uncle Noah’s
house. And Edwin, Peter’s friend, is here with me. He’s been very
kind.’ Just speaking to Mog made her feel a little calmer. ‘I’m
not hurt at all. Not a scratch. Edwin identified their bodies. It’s the middle
of the night here, there’s no more bombing now. But it’s so awful, I
can’t believe they’ve gone.’

‘Let me speak to the young man.
Edwin, did you say his name was? You must go to bed with a hot-water bottle. It is a
truly terrible thing,’ Mog said, ‘and you’ve had the worst kind of
shock. Tomorrow you must contact Jean-Philippe. He’ll know what has to be
done. If I could fly, I’d come straight there to hold you, but I can’t,
and neither can your
mum or dad. So
you’ve got to stay strong, my darling. Now, let me talk to Edwin.’

‘What did she say to you?’
Mariette asked Edwin, after he’d put the phone down.

‘Just what my grandmother
would’ve said in the same circumstances. That I wasn’t to take advantage
of you, see that you were warm enough. And then she remembered I’d lost my
best friend, and she offered her sympathy and said perhaps I needed my mother too,
and some brandy.’ He half smiled. ‘She sounds quite a character. She
said she would go straight home to tell your mother, but your father was out on a
job and won’t be back till late. They will ring back in the morning, meaning
tomorrow evening here, at six.’

‘I hadn’t thought about your
loss at all,’ she admitted as he sat down beside her. ‘I’m so
sorry.’

‘I understand. It’s
different for me – most of us in the squadron have lost so many friends, we’re
kind of used to it now. It’s still awful, but we learn to soldier on. This is
strange and different because it was so unexpected. All of us pilots think
we’ll die in our planes, not in a nightclub.’

‘I didn’t even ask you about
your injuries,’ she said. ‘Is your arm broken?’

‘I don’t think so, though
they did say I was to go to the hospital to get it checked. I was knocked off my
feet and landed on it awkwardly. I think it’s only sprained. One of the Civil
Defence men said there were thirty-four deaths, and about eighty injured. If you
hadn’t gone off to the powder room, it would have been another two
dead.’

The brandy after all the champagne and
wine earlier was making her feel woozy. She got up and wobbled, grabbing the sofa to
steady herself.

‘Steady on! Sit down while I fill
a hot-water bottle for you, then I’ll help you up to bed,’ he said.

‘You’d better sleep in Rose’s room,’ she said as she sat
down again with a thump.

A little later, clutching the hot-water
bottle, Mariette let Edwin help her up the stairs. She pointed to the door of
Rose’s room and lurched towards her own.

‘I think you might need help
getting your dress undone,’ he said.

She looked round at him, thinking for a
moment he was intent on taking advantage. But all she saw in his face was
concern.

‘I can see it’s got tiny
hooks and eyes, you can’t reach those,’ he said. ‘It would be a
shame to tear such a beautiful dress.’

He was right, she couldn’t have
done it alone; Lisette had fastened it for her when she put it on. She turned her
back to him and felt his fingers fumbling a little.

‘There, all done,’ he said,
putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘If you feel scared in the night, just call
out. I’ll hear you.’

She held her dress up over her breasts,
turned to him and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you for everything, Edwin. I
don’t know what I would’ve done without you.’

He pulled her to him with his good arm.
‘This certainly wasn’t the way I imagined the evening turning out. I
couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you. But I’ve got my orders from
your granny. I will look after you.’

Mariette fell asleep as soon as she got
into bed, but she was awake again within an hour and spent the rest of the night
crying into her pillow. Never before had she wanted her parents and Mog so much. She
was afraid, sickened by what had happened, and she didn’t know how she was
going to deal with anything.

By seven she couldn’t stand lying
there any more with such terrible images running through her brain. When she got
downstairs to make herself a cup of tea, she found Edwin sitting in the kitchen as
red-eyed and troubled as she was.

‘I don’t know what I have to
do,’ she admitted, sitting down at the kitchen table opposite him. ‘Will
the police come here? What do they do with their bodies until the
funeral?’

‘I don’t know either,’
he said. ‘I’ve never had to deal with anything like this. But I think
the undertaker explains everything. But that isn’t for you to worry about,
Mari. Jean-Philippe is the one to do it. Your gran, or aunt, said you had to contact
him. I could do that for you, if you like?’

‘He’s in the navy, so I
doubt he’ll be there,’ she said. ‘But Alice, his wife, will know
how to contact him, I expect. I would be grateful if you could break the news to
her, I’ll probably make a real hash of it.’

She said she would get the number from
Noah’s study. When she came back with it, the kettle was boiling and she made
them both tea. ‘The thing is,’ she blurted out, ‘Jean-Philippe
isn’t very easy to talk to. Even Rose used to say it was like trying to talk
to a brick wall.’

Edwin nodded.
‘Peter said something to that effect too. He said Jean-Philippe and Rose were
like chalk and cheese. But then he is only her half-brother, so I suppose that makes
a difference.’

Mariette had often wondered who
Jean-Philippe’s father was. She thought, if he had died, then Lisette would
have talked about it, and Lisette didn’t strike her as the kind to get
divorced. It was just another cloudy area in the shared past of her parents and Noah
and Lisette, and one that hardly mattered now that her godfather and his wife, whom
she’d come to love so much, had gone.

But Jean-Philippe was still very much
alive, and she was apprehensive about having to communicate with him because she had
come to suspect there was bad feeling between him and Noah. Lisette had stood in the
middle, keeping them apart.

Looking back, this much had been evident
at their first meeting. Jean-Philippe was polite but cold towards her, and it
appeared to be a duty visit rather than any real desire to see his mother and meet
the daughter of her old friend. The photograph of him in the drawing room flattered
him, and made him look far more like Lisette than he really was. In the flesh he was
strange-looking; his jet-black hair grew too low over his forehead, and his equally
dark eyes were very small. His head could almost be described as triangular, with a
very sharp chin.

He hadn’t stayed that day for more
than twenty minutes. At the time, Mariette didn’t think anything of it, but
recently, after another equally brief visit, she had asked Lisette why he
didn’t come more often and stay for longer. Lisette had looked embarrassed and
said something about him being very busy.

Over the two years Mariette had lived
with Lisette and Noah she had only met Alice, Jean-Philippe’s wife, twice.
Lisette said once that her
daughter-in-law suffered from her nerves, and that was why they never entertained.
Mariette thought privately that she’d have a problem with her nerves too if
she was married to such a cold man.

She wondered how such a warm, loving and
giving woman like Lisette could have produced a son so different from her. Was his
father a brute, and was that why Lisette had left him?

Edwin waited until nine o’clock
in the morning to call Jean-Philippe. He said it wasn’t fair to wake someone
up any earlier on a Sunday and then give them such terrible news.

Mariette sat beside him on the sofa as
he made the call. When a male voice answered, he hesitated for a moment or two
because he hadn’t expected Jean-Philippe to be there.

There was no easy or painless way to
tell someone their family had all been killed, but Mariette thought Edwin did a very
good job. He relayed the facts gently and tactfully. He stumbled over the words
several times, and kept apologizing. But he gave an accurate account of what had
happened, including Mariette’s shock and concern for him, and added his own
deep sympathy for Jean-Philippe’s loss.

When he put the phone down, he looked
shaken. ‘He was so curt,’ he exclaimed, looking at Mariette in
bewilderment. ‘It was almost as if he resented me telling him. He said
he’d heard on this morning’s news about the Café de Paris but asked what
possessed us all to go to a West End nightclub. You heard me say it was your
twenty-first? Well, he gave a kind of disparaging snort at that. He even asked why
you and I survived. Didn’t even ask if we were injured!’

Mariette put her hand on his arm
comfortingly. ‘He is a cold fish,’ she admitted. ‘But I expect it
was the shock that made him talk like that. Once he’s had time for it to sink
in, he’ll probably ring back and be more human.’

‘He’ll have to be; it falls on him to arrange the funeral and settle all
his parents’ affairs. I wish I could stay and help you, Mariette, but I have
to get back to Biggin Hill and also report Peter’s death. I did ask the police
to inform his parents last night, but I’ll have to speak to them
too.’

‘You’ve done more than
enough for me. I can’t imagine how I’d have coped last night if you
hadn’t been there.’

‘I’ll ring you as often as I
can, Mari,’ he said, and he put his good arm around her and drew her closer,
kissing her forehead. ‘I hate to leave you here with no one to look after you.
Is there a friend who could come and stay?’

‘Somehow I don’t think
Jean-Philippe would approve of any of the friends I’ve made in the East End,
if he found them here,’ she said ruefully. ‘But I will contact all the
friends I made through Rose. That will keep me busy today, so don’t worry
about me, Edwin. But how are you intending to fly or drive with that poorly
arm?’

He managed a weak smile.
‘I’m not. My car’s back at the airfield. I’ll get a lift
from the station. I’ll see the MO and he’ll give me sick leave or ground
duties. Telling the chaps about Peter will be tough, though, he was very popular
with everyone.’

She saw that his eyes were damp, and
reached out to stroke his face in silent sympathy. ‘Should I contact
Rose’s office, or leave that to her brother?’

‘It might be advisable to wait
until he gets back to you. The way he was with me suggests he’s the kind to
take umbrage at anything he feels is high-handed.’

‘I’m not expecting much
comfort from him,’ she admitted. ‘I might be mistaken, but I think
he’s got a huge chip on his shoulder.’

Edwin pulled a pen and notepad out of
his pocket. ‘This is the number at the airfield,’ he said, writing it
down. ‘You can leave a message for me there, if you need help in any way.
Even if it’s just that you want
to talk. Don’t be afraid to contact me, Mari. If this hadn’t happened, I
would’ve been beating a path to your door to see you again. I really like you,
it’s not just because I feel bad about all this.’

‘I like you too,’ she
admitted. ‘But you must go now, Edwin, or you’ll be in
trouble.’

He leaned forward and kissed her on the
lips. Just a light touch, but enough for her to know he meant what he said.

After Edwin left, Mariette went into
Rose’s bedroom to make the bed and to find her address book. But the sight of
her clothes strewn about, face powder spilt on the dressing table, the book
The
Grapes of Wrath
left by her bedside, after they’d discussed it
recently, brought on a huge swell of utter loss.

There had been so many, many nights when
they’d sat in this room chatting and laughing. In here, Rose had taught her to
jitterbug to swing music, to drink alcohol, told her about film stars Mariette had
never heard of before, and they’d talked about love too. She had admired
Rose’s sophistication, deplored her naivety about sex, yet hoped that one day
she herself would be as poised as her friend was.

She felt bad now that she’d
sometimes thought Rose was a snob, bossy and mean-spirited, because the good in her
far outweighed the bad, and she had become as dear to Mariette as a sister. Rose had
been so generous with her time, sharing her friends, never once making Mariette feel
she was a poor relation or a burden. Only now that she was gone did Mariette realize
it was Rose who had given her the confidence to be what she wanted to be. Rose would
never have wanted to dole out clothes to bombed-out people, or listen to their
problems, but she never scoffed at Mariette for doing it – in fact, she admired her
for it.

To lose Noah and Lisette, who had been
so good to her,
was terrible; they had
loved and nurtured her, kept her, paid for college and so much else. But she had
expected to have Rose in her life for ever, to be a bridesmaid at her wedding,
godmother to her children, to share everything, friends until death parted them in
old age.

She lay down on Rose’s bed and
cried. Not tears of shock like last night, but tears for a loss she felt she could
never come to terms with. Never before had she felt so alone. She would never again
hear Rose singing ‘Puttin’ on the Ritz’. Never hear her peals of
laughter, or see her wrinkle up her nose when she told Mariette of some hideous
sight in the East End. Never smile at the way she used to raise one eyebrow when she
didn’t really believe something she was being told, or how she always checked
her stocking seams were straight before she walked out of the door. All such little,
inconsequential things, but they made up what Rose was – a warm, vibrant person with
so much lust for life.

Mariette was still crying an hour later
when the front door bell rang. She got up, ran to the bathroom to dab a face flannel
on her swollen eyes and went to answer it.

It was Jean-Philippe.

‘I am so sorry,’ she gasped
out. ‘I still can’t believe it. It must have been such a huge shock to
you?’

‘Yes,’ he said, walking in
and placing his trilby hat on the hall table. ‘If Mother had told me she was
planning to go to such a place I would have advised her against it. The West End is
not the place to go when bombs are dropping. Buckingham Palace was hit too last
night.’

He was in civilian clothes, wearing a
dark well-cut suit under a navy-blue overcoat. She waited for him to say how awful
it must have been for her, to ask for some details about the tragedy. But he said
nothing further, just walked into the drawing room and poured himself a Scotch.

Mariette
followed him. ‘Edwin left a note for you explaining who you have to get in
touch with about their bodies,’ she said, feeling very awkward with him.
‘I have Rose’s work number too. I could notify them for you, if you
like.’

‘I will see to that and everything
else,’ he said curtly, gulping down the Scotch.

‘How much leave do you
have?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Though, under the circumstances,
I’m sure they will extend it.’

‘I was due back on Tuesday,’
he said. ‘But I have arranged another week.’

‘Can I get you something to
eat?’ she asked. She knew he lived in Hampstead, which was no distance at all,
but she felt she had to offer something.

‘No, I have eaten already, and I
don’t have much time now. So if you will run along, I’ll sort out the
papers and the other things I need.’

She was shocked at being dismissed as if
she was a servant.

‘Is there anything I can help you
with?’ she asked.

‘No, but in the next day or two I
would expect you to find alternative accommodation. After the funeral, I will be
securing the house until such time as I move into it.’

For a moment, she thought she had
misheard. ‘You want me to leave?’

‘That’s what I said. Is
there something wrong with your hearing?’

‘No, of course not. I just
can’t believe you’d say such a thing,’ she retorted. ‘Uncle
Noah and Aunt Lisette would be horrified.’

‘They were not your aunt and
uncle,’ he said crisply. ‘You are merely the daughter of someone my
mother nursed in France. You are an adult now, and you’ve sponged off them
long enough.’

That floored
her.

‘Why are you being so nasty to
me?’ she asked with indignation. ‘You know I couldn’t go home once
war broke out. And if your parents hadn’t wanted me here, they would’ve
said so.’

‘That’s as maybe, but they
are gone now. So run along, I have things to do.’

‘Just a minute.’ She took a
step closer to him. ‘I don’t understand your hostility towards me. I
loved your parents and Rose as if they were my own family. Whatever you plan to do
with this house and everything in it is up to you, I understand that. But if you
think you are going to throw me out of here before their funeral, and not allow me
to try to comfort the people who will come to it, or prepare the food for the wake
here afterwards, then you are mistaken. Try to do it and I will inform the editors
of the newspapers Uncle Noah wrote for. He was known as a compassionate man, and
people would be horrified to read that his stepson shared none of his
beliefs.’

‘Oh yes, he was compassionate
towards whores alright. Your mother was one of them!’

Mariette reeled back in shock.

‘You didn’t know
then?’ he sneered at her. ‘He wrote his book about women sold into
prostitution because he helped rescue your mother from that life.’

‘I don’t believe you,’
she said weakly, although she had a nasty feeling there might be a grain of truth in
it.

‘Belle was brought up in a Seven
Dials brothel, she witnessed a murder there and that’s why she was taken, to
shut her up and to sell her on into prostitution in France,’ he snapped out.
Then he paused, his face breaking into a smug grin. ‘Later,’ he went on,
‘the murderer was caught and hanged for it, and your precious mother was the
chief witness. So
don’t tell me
you’re going to speak to any editors. You wouldn’t want that little lot
coming out, would you?’