The Very Thought of You (14 page)

‘Does everyone know?' Della leant back and lit a cigarette.

‘Yes. We've got in touch with all the gang. And Beau said we'll be having a liaison officer, although we might be meeting him in France.'

Della giggled. ‘I do love the thought of a real officer joining us. I wonder what he'll look like.'

‘You've already seen him,' Frances said, clearing a space on the table for them to fill out the forms. ‘At least, you have, Catherine.'

Catherine said nothing and waited.

‘Not that bloke who wanted her to do translating, the one with the glasses?' Della's mouth turned down. ‘Well, he's not what I'd call a dish.'

‘But he's very nice. I remember him from years back when he, Johnny and Beau used to stay at our place during the holidays. Hugo and Beau always grumbled about me hanging around with them. But Robert was kind and included me in all their games. You liked Robert Lennox, didn't you?' Frances had turned to Catherine.

‘Yes,' she nodded, remembering that kiss. ‘He seems pleasant. Anyway, let's fill in these forms. I want to get back to Lili and have a bit longer with her. And you' – she gave Frances a look – ‘had better tell Della what you told me earlier, in case I blurt it out.'

‘What? What?' squeaked Della, and later, after being told about Johnny, she lit another cigarette and gazed at Frances. ‘I would never have guessed,' she grinned. ‘Not in a thousand years.' She shook her head. ‘So the toffs are at it too.'

‘Of course,' Frances said with a serious face. ‘We just breed and breed. How else are we supposed to keep you peasants down?'

Della's mouth dropped open and Catherine held her breath, waiting for the angry outburst that was sure to follow, but then a snort burst from her friend's red-painted lips, followed by a barely suppressed giggle, and the three girls burst into laughter, causing the other diners to turn their heads and stare at them.

August 1944

‘Oh God,' Della moaned. ‘How much longer?'

‘Not much,' Catherine said. ‘We've already been on this boat for six hours. We must be near the French coast.'

‘I'm never going on the sea again,' Della cried. She was sitting on the deck of the landing craft, one hand clasped to her mouth and the other braced against the metal side of the vessel.

It had been a rough passage, with heavy seas and driving rain. It had rained all the way from London and Frances had struggled to drive through roads packed with military traffic and the occasional farm vehicle. Very few civilian cars were on the road, because nobody could get any petrol. Frances's heart sank when she thought about her father and his black-market purchases. He'd been lucky not to get a prison sentence; only a few months ago, Ivor Novello had been given eight weeks at Wormwood Scrubs for doing the very same thing, and he was famous.

She sighed as she waited at a T-junction for a line of army trucks to pass in front of the bus. It was only a week since she'd been at home, but she did miss Pa and, most of all, little Johnny. They'd be happier without her mother, she was sure of that, but would they be able to manage? Maggie would have to take over. Then she wondered what Hugo would say about Opaline's decision to leave. He had been closer to their mother than she had, but nevertheless, he wouldn't approve of her going off with some man … if that's what she'd done.

‘There's a barrier ahead.' Beau's voice suddenly penetrated her thoughts of home.

‘Yes, I can see it,' she said, slowing down. They'd arrived at the port, and when she stopped the bus, Frances got out and showed their papers to the tin-helmeted sailors who were manning the barrier. One of them examined the documents and then looked at the bus. Beau had arranged for it to be painted red and had had a logo designed along the side that read, in a green script,
The Bennett Players
, and underneath that, in smaller, yellow letters,
Entertainment for Military and Civilian Workers.

‘You sure of what you're doing, miss?' the sailor asked. ‘They're still fighting over there.'

‘We'll be alright,' smiled Frances. ‘They wouldn't let us go if they thought it was dangerous.'

‘Well,' he grinned, ‘they'll be very glad to see you, I'm sure. 'Specially if they're all corkers like you.'

‘Watch it, cheeky,' Frances laughed, and looked back to the bus to where the other members of the troupe were waiting and watching the byplay through the windows. Della gave the young sailor a wink and he blushed furiously as he handed the papers back to Frances.

‘Follow the road round, miss,' he said, pointing towards the harbour, where Frances could see ships bobbing restlessly on the water, ‘and then there'll be someone to show you to the embarkation point.'

When they had arrived at the allotted place, the troupe had been astonished when they saw what vessel was going to take them across the Channel.

‘Crikey! It's a landing craft,' said Tommy with a huge grin. ‘Just like the ones that took over the invasion force. Good. I'll feel like a proper soldier.'

The others had not been so enthusiastic, but put on brave faces, all except for Baxter.

‘Pretty poor show, old sport,' he brayed, in Captain Fortescue's voice. ‘We're entertainers, artistes, not bloody soldiers.'

‘Oh, shut up,' Della growled. She had noticed, as they all had, the looks that had passed between the sailors who were loading them on board. ‘If it's good enough for the forces, then it's good enough for me.'

‘Here, here,' said Tommy loudly, and the others nodded.

Eric shrugged and, lingering in the rear as they were helped aboard, crooked an imperious finger to Beau, who frowned and limped over to him.

One of the sailors had driven the bus on board. The Players had trailed after it up the broad gangplank and sheltered beside the small bridge until it had been secured with metal ropes. Then they'd got back inside, out of the wind and spits of rain, while they waited to sail. But it had been an hour before they set off, and they'd waited in the bus, enduring the swell of the harbour.

Della's face had drained of colour. ‘I get sick on the Mersey ferry,' she whispered to Catherine before they left, and once the landing craft had manoeuvred out of harbour and passed the bar into the open channel, she was desperate. ‘I can't stay in here,' she gasped. ‘I'll take my chance in the rain.' And for the next five hours she'd lain against the bulwarks being sick into a tin bucket, which one of the crewmen brought for her.

They'd all been issued with waterproof gas capes, and those offered some protection from the weather, but Catherine, who had come to sit beside Della, could feel the damp creeping into her uniform.

‘Go back in the bus,' Della sighed. ‘I'll be alright.'

‘No. I'd rather be out here too,' Catherine said. ‘It's not much fun inside.'

Eventually other members of the Bennett Players left the bus, driven out by the stuffiness and thick atmosphere of cigarette smoke. Frances had come to sit with her friends, while Colin, Tommy and Godfrey had rigged up a small shelter out of capes and were playing poker.

They had a storm lantern, the light illuminating the play, but the cards slithered off the upturned ammunition box that they were using as a table whenever there was a particularly deep lurch over a wave.

‘Bloody hell,' grumbled Colin. ‘It's almost nae worth it.'

‘You can't stop now,' Tommy grunted. ‘You already owe me two quid, and I mean to make it five before the night's out.'

Godfrey held up his hand. ‘Come now, gentlemen,' he said in his deep, rich voice. ‘Don't let us argue. Tommy, deal the cards.'

He had become a different person since they'd left London and travelled to the south coast. At Victoria, where they'd all met up, his dreadful wife had hung on to his arm, issuing copious instructions about wearing his scarf and taking his cough medicine and not to forget his daily dose of laxatives. She had waved her passport at Frances and indicated the small suitcase she had brought with her.

‘Not even remotely possible,' said Frances shortly, and returned to her seat in front of the wheel. The rest of the group had already taken their places on the bus and impatiently watched Godfrey and his wife out of the window. Beau kept sighing and tapping at his watch.

Eventually Frances got up and walked down the bus to the door. ‘Godfrey,' she called, ‘come on. We'll be late.'

He had looked over his shoulder with a desperate face. ‘I'm coming,' he called, and turning back to his wife, said, ‘Goodbye, my dear.'

‘Not yet.' Mrs James grabbed the sleeve of his uniform. ‘I haven't finished what I wanted to say.'

‘Oh Christ!' Frances jumped down the steps of the bus and, taking Godfrey's other arm, marched him towards the door. ‘Get in, now,' she ordered.

‘But …' Mrs James flustered.

‘But nothing,' said Frances firmly. ‘We have to go. Please stand out of the way or I might be forced to run you down.'

‘What a cheek!' Mrs James clutched her muskrat coat around her and shouted, ‘I never heard the like. I'll report you.'

But Frances was already in her seat and letting out the clutch. As the bus slowly drove away, Godfrey waved a hand to his outraged wife, and then, when she was safely out of sight, he laughed out loud. ‘I thought I'd never get away,' he said, and gratefully accepted a swig from Tommy's flask. Now, hunkered down on the damp, riveted floor of the landing craft, he was cheerfully playing poker, safe in the knowledge that Gertrude James was already hundreds of miles away.

Beau staggered over to them. He'd spent the entire journey in the bus, as had Eric, but now, both of them had emerged, Beau joining the girls and Eric sitting beside the card players.

‘Frances,' Beau called, his voice hard to hear above the sound of the engine and the wind, ‘the commander wants to talk to us. Bring your torch.'

Catherine watched as they went to join the commander and soon they were peering at a map, unsteadily illuminated by Frances's small torch. Catherine knew that they were discussing where they would land and she was getting excited. It would be somewhere in Normandy, possibly on one of the invasion beaches.

She looked down at Della, who had her head over the small tin bucket. ‘We're nearly there,' she said sympathetically. ‘You'll soon be on dry land.'

‘I might die before then,' groaned her friend, and started dry-heaving again.

‘Butterscotch, old fruit. A sovereign cure.'

Catherine turned to see Eric offering a small paper bag that contained a few wrapped sweets. She was astonished. Eric being nice? Impossible. She looked over to where Beau was standing with the commander and Frances. He was looking back at them, as though he was watching Eric's actions. He's spoken to him, Catherine thought. Our pleas have got through.

‘Thank you.' Catherine gave Eric a brief smile and squatted down beside Della. ‘Try this,' she said, holding out a butterscotch. ‘It might help.'

‘It won't,' Della wailed. ‘I'll only chuck it up.' She looked up from the bucket and saw Eric standing beside Catherine, an amused smirk on his face. ‘Bugger off,' she growled.

Catherine stood up and put the sweet back in the paper bag. ‘Sorry,' she said. ‘Della's not herself at the moment.'

‘Herself?' Captain Fortescue's voice cackled. ‘There's a conundrum. Who is Della Stafford? A Liverpool moonshine merchant, or a tart from Soho?'

Catherine, furious that she'd read him wrong, shot up her hand and fetched a hard slap on Eric's thin face. He gasped and put his own hand on the reddening mark.

‘You'll regret that,' he whispered, in his own voice.

‘No, I won't,' Catherine smiled. ‘You've been asking for it.'

The card players watched, open-mouthed, and as Eric walked back to the stern of the boat to sit beside the big suitcase that contained the doll, they grinned at Catherine.

‘Good girl,' said Tommy, and Colin and Godfrey nodded in agreement.

Della's hand found hers and gave it a squeeze. ‘You're a star,' she murmured.

Frances came to join them. ‘What was all that about?' she asked. ‘I saw you slap him.'

‘It doesn't matter,' said Catherine. ‘It was just something that had to be done.'

‘I don't doubt it,' Frances grinned. ‘Anyway, listen up, everyone. We'll be landing at Arromanches in about twenty minutes.'

‘Hurrah.' Della gave a weak cheer.

‘Then we'll drive to Bayeux, where we're billeted at a hotel. It'll be basic – the Germans were there only a few weeks ago – but at least we'll get a bed … of sorts.'

Robert was waiting for them on the beach at Arromanches, and introduced himself as their liaison officer. He shook hands with each member of the troupe before leading them up to the road to wait while their bus was driven off the landing craft and across the beach on the specially erected track. He was in the uniform of a Guards Regiment and drew salutes from the sailors and the many soldiers who were busy on and above the beach.

Catherine heard Tommy whisper to Colin, ‘Look at his ribbons. That white-and-purple one. It's an MC.'

A Military Cross, Catherine thought. I wonder what he did to earn that? And as she shook hands with him, she remembered that kiss and felt strangely shy, as though he mattered to her, more than he should have.

‘Your billet is in the town.' He stood up at the front as they settled onto the bus, and turning to face them all, said, ‘The first concert is tomorrow afternoon, in the theatre. I'll discuss the arrangements with La—er, Miss Parnell, but you've time to have a bit of a rest and a recce. Look, there's something else. The Germans are not that far away and have by no means given up. There'll be some shelling probably and you'll be told where to go for shelter.' He smiled. ‘But you're used to that, I'm sure. And you've been issued with tin helmets, so remember to take them with you at all times.'