The Very Thought of You (21 page)

Now, above the sound of bells, she heard a different noise. From the distance came the boom of big guns. That will be at the front, she thought, and if I can hear it, it can't be that far away.

Since that first day, they hadn't been troubled by the sirens warning them to go to the shelter, but they had heard the sound of cannons. ‘It's miles away,' Robert had said. ‘The noise is carried on the wind.' But tomorrow they would be travelling towards those explosions, and although Beau had been positive that they'd never be put in danger, a tiny frisson of fear curdled her stomach.

She picked up Lili's photo and kissed it. My little girl, she thought. Christopher gave me a lovely child. I must stay safe for her.

‘She'll be OK.' Della's voice broke the silence of the room.

‘I know,' said Catherine, looking over her shoulder. ‘But I do miss her.'

If Della noticed the trace of tears on her friend's face, she said nothing, but swung herself out of bed and walked over to the window. ‘Shall I open the shutters?' she asked. ‘Will it wake Frances?'

‘I'm awake,' Frances spoke from her bed. ‘I've been awake for a while, listening to the bells and the guns and thinking.'

‘What about?' asked Della, swinging back the shutters and letting the bright morning light flood the room.

‘I don't know. Everything.'

‘Lieutenant Strange, perhaps,' said Della with a wicked grin. ‘You two seemed very cosy last night.'

Frances laughed. ‘Don't be silly,' she said. ‘Anyway, what about you and Tim O'Brien? Talk about cosy.'

Della turned away from the window. ‘He's so lovely,' she said with a surprised look on her face. ‘I've never met anyone like him before.'

‘You mean, someone respectable?' Frances grinned.

Della shrugged. She seemed genuinely baffled by her feelings and Frances gave Catherine a conspiratorial wink before picking up her wash bag and going towards the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she paused and looked back. ‘And what about you and Robert Lennox?' she said to Catherine as she went out. ‘Anyone can see that he's mad about you.'

They walked to the NAAFI canteen to get breakfast. Tommy was there with Godfrey and Colin, eating powdered-egg omelettes, each topped with a sausage.

‘They've got sausages in today,' called Tommy, spotting them. ‘Good breakfast!'

‘It doesn't look good,' muttered Catherine, turning down her mouth, ‘but I'm hungry,' and she followed Frances and Della to the counter.

When they were all together at a table and had nearly finished eating, Tommy asked, ‘Where did you girls get to last night?'

‘We went to a cafe.' Della popped the last of her sausage in her mouth and leant back. ‘We ate mussels!'

‘Jesus!' Colin shook his head in disgust. ‘I wouldnae look at those.'

‘They were delicious,' said Della. ‘You should try them.'

‘Never.'

‘Where's Davey today?' asked Frances, looking around the canteen. ‘Still in bed?'

‘No,' boomed Godfrey. ‘He didn't come back to the hotel last night and still wasn't there this morning.'

‘He's picked up a bit of skirt,' Tommy asserted, grinning widely. ‘These local ladies are not half bad.'

The girls rolled their eyes at each other. ‘Charming,' said Della, and would have said more but there was a commotion at the entrance to the canteen. People were standing up to get a better look, and even as the company scraped their chairs back too, a group came into the room. Clapping erupted and a few shouted cheers came from the diners before Frances suddenly saw who had come into the canteen.

‘Bloody hell!' squealed Della. ‘It's George Formby!'

The performer had arrived with a small entourage, including a woman in uniform who appeared to be directing the whole operation of meeting and greeting.

‘Give us a song, George,' called one of the soldiers, who'd been eating breakfast with a group of mates.

‘Too early, lad,' George grinned. ‘Me bloody chest's not working yet. I just popped in to say hello.'

The Bennett Players got up and walked over to where he was standing to join in the general applause. He spotted their uniforms and recognised that they were army entertainers like he was and came over to shake their hands. When he got to Della, he stopped and gaped at her, then grasped her hands more tightly.

‘By 'eck, it's Della Stafford.' He turned to the woman beside him, who was giving Della and the other girls a glowering look. ‘Beryl, love. Look who's here. You must remember Della Stafford. She was on the same bill as us – in Blackpool, was it? Aye, Blackpool.'

Beryl gave Della a brief nod and tried to direct George on to the rest of the excited crowd, but he was having none of it. Still holding Della's hand, he turned to his entourage. ‘Take a look at her, lads. Gorgeous Della Stafford. This girl's got the best legs in the business.'

He grinned widely, and Della laughed and said, ‘Hello, George. Meet my pals.'

The Bennett Players were introduced and he had a kind word for each of them. ‘Still doing the magic act, Signor?' he said to Colin, and then patted Godfrey on the shoulder. ‘How's the wife?' he asked, and with his back turned to Beryl, he gave Godfrey an enormous wink.

‘Now, who are these two pretty lasses?' he said, looking appreciatively at Frances and Catherine.

Before Della could introduce them properly, Beryl stepped in front of him. ‘We have to go, George. We're due to meet the general.' She grabbed his arm and pushed him towards the door.

He went, reluctantly, shaking hands on the way with the soldiers and the canteen staff who had thronged to see him. ‘Goodbye, everybody,' he called from the door. ‘Keep the old flag flying.'

‘That was fun,' said Frances, when they were sitting back at their table. ‘But who was the gorgon?'

‘Beryl?' Della shook her head and laughed. ‘She's his wife. And his manager and an absolute cow. She thinks he's doing it with every girl he meets and causes no end of trouble for him.'

‘He probably is,' grinned Tommy. ‘Wouldn't you,' he said to the boys, ‘with that waiting at home for you?'

‘He was right about your legs, though, Della,' roared Godfrey. ‘I've never seen a finer pair.'

‘Why, you old smoothie,' Della blushed. ‘This French air is certainly suiting you. Mrs James won't know you when you get back.'

‘If only,' he sighed, and they laughed.

Tommy went to get more teas as Beau limped into the canteen, followed by Robert. Catherine looked up and smiled, but Robert didn't smile back. His face, like Beau's, was still and serious. ‘Hello,' she said. ‘Finished your meeting?'

‘Gather up,' said Beau, and waited while Robert pulled over a chair for him and one for himself.

Tommy came back with the teas and immediately offered to get more for them.

‘No. Sit down,' said Beau. ‘We've got something to tell you. It's about Davey Jones. There's … no easy way to say this, but he's been found dead.'

‘Dead!' There was a gasp round the table. Catherine and Della reached for each other's hands, and the boys stared, open-mouthed.

‘He can't be,' said Tommy. ‘He wasn't ill.'

Frances remembered the conversation she'd had with him last evening and wondered if it was somehow connected. ‘How did he die?' she asked.

‘His neck was broken,' said Beau.

Catherine went white and put her hand to her mouth. ‘How horrible,' she whispered.

‘My God,' Tommy breathed. ‘Where was he found? Did he have a fall?'

‘He was in an alley behind the hotel,' said Beau. ‘Just lying on the cobbles. The police don't think he fell, but …' He didn't finish the sentence and turned to Robert for help.

‘We don't know anything for sure,' Robert said. ‘The local police are liaising with the redcaps because Davey was still a soldier. Despite his injury, which made him unfit for active service, he wanted to do his bit. As an entertainer.'

The company were still shocked and silent; it was almost too much to take in.

‘Look,' said Robert calmly, ‘it'll have been nothing to do with the company. It could have been a drunken brawl or a robbery gone wrong. Crime does go on, even during wartime.'

Frances shot a glance at him. Somehow, he didn't seem as confused as the rest of them. Beau was clearly stunned, but Robert, well, he was behaving almost as though he'd been expecting it. She turned to Beau. ‘Did he speak to you?' she asked, fixing him with a stare. ‘He had something to tell you.'

‘What?' muttered Beau.

‘He was asking about Baxter. Whether you were getting rid of him.'

The colour drained out of Beau's face. ‘For Christ's sake,' he shouted. ‘Will you all stop going on about Baxter? I'm sick of hearing his name.'

‘Well, you know what to do, then,' said Della, and got a poisonous look in return.

‘But,' Frances persisted, ‘perhaps you saw him this morning?'

Robert came to Beau's rescue. ‘Mr Jones was killed in the night. The police have established that,' he said. ‘Nobody saw him after the show. Except Frances.'

Catherine turned to her with a frown. ‘When I asked you what he wanted, you said it was about changing his act,' she said.

‘I know.' Frances bit her lip. ‘He didn't want me to say anything. I think he was scared of rocking the boat.'

Beau suddenly had a bout of coughing, and dragging a hanky from his sleeve, he covered his mouth. Frances noticed that his hand was shaking. He looked as if he was about to pass out.

She reached out her hand and covered his shaking one. ‘Can I get you a glass of water, Beau? You don't seem very well.'

He shook his head. ‘No. No, thank you, Frances.' He pulled his hand away from hers and dug into his pocket. From it he produced a small, round box. ‘My leg is giving me hell this morning,' he said, opening the box. It was half full of small white pills. ‘If you'd let me have a sip of your tea to get a couple of these down, I'd be grateful.'

Frances watched as he swallowed the pills. Somehow the whole coughing incident looked fake, as though it had been done to stop further questioning. She turned her head to look at Robert and found that he was staring back at her, almost daring her to go on.

I will, she thought, but before she could speak, Della said, ‘I'll bet it was to do with Baxter. Davey knew something about him. Something bad.' She looked round. ‘And where the hell is he? Where does he go between performances?'

Robert stood up. ‘Never mind that now. I've come to take you to the officers' mess. The redcaps and the local police want to question you and are waiting there. We' – he looked down at Beau – ‘thought it would be better if we told you the news first. He was a colleague, even if only for a brief time, and I understand that you're all upset.' His face softened as he looked down to Catherine. ‘I am very sorry, but we have to go. They're waiting.'

They trooped out, nobody talking. Davey had only been with the group for a short while, but he'd quickly melded in, and they'd liked him.

‘I wonder if this will stop us going to the front,' muttered Tommy.

Nobody answered. Each had their own thoughts.

The three girls walked together down the street towards the old hotel that housed the officers' mess. Della was, as always, the first to speak. ‘It's a rum do,' she said.

‘Yes,' Frances replied. She looked over her shoulder to where Robert was walking slowly alongside Beau. They were deep in conversation. ‘There's something going on. I'm convinced of it. And they're in on it.' She jerked her head and the other two girls looked over their shoulders too.

‘What did Davey want to know?' asked Catherine.

‘About Baxter, of course. Whether Beau had sacked him.'

‘We've seen things,' Catherine muttered. ‘Remember at the field hospital he was exchanging cigarettes for something? I don't know what.'

‘It'll be drugs,' Della growled. ‘What else do you pinch from a hospital?'

‘And he's selling them to Beau,' Frances whispered. ‘We saw Beau giving him money ages ago in that factory in Liverpool.'

Catherine thought about her two days at the spy school. Was this connected? But no. It couldn't be, not really. That was all about tanks and uniforms, not about murder.

‘We'd better say something to the police,' said Della. She looked at Frances. ‘You have to tell them that Davey spoke to you last night.'

‘I suppose so.' Frances nodded, but she felt uncomfortable. Robert and Beau wanted her to keep her mouth shut and it seemed to matter an awful lot.

When they walked into the officers' mess, Robert caught up with them. The boys had gone ahead and were out of sight now, and Beau was still limping up the street behind them. Robert took Frances's arm and stopped her. ‘Before we go into the dining room, where the police are waiting,' he said, ‘can I have a quick word? With all of you.' He looked up and down the corridor and, seeing that it was empty, opened a door on one side. ‘In here, I think.'

They were pushed, not too gently, into a white-tiled room that echoed to the tap of their high-heeled shoes. It smelt rank.

‘Bloody hell,' said Della, pinching her nose and looking at the three cubicles and the row of urinals. ‘It's the gents'. What the hell are we doing in here?'

Robert quickly pushed open the cubicle doors, and satisfying himself that no one else was in the room, he turned to the three startled girls. ‘I'm going to be quick, so listen carefully. None of you will say anything to the police or to the redcaps. Whatever they ask, you know nothing.'

‘That's ridiculous,' said Frances.

‘Nevertheless, I insist.'

Catherine remembered her first interview with him at the airfield. He'd looked then as he did now, serious and rather intimidating, and she was scared. Della and Frances were not.