The Very Thought of You (29 page)

I know that there's something very wrong about Christopher's disappearance, and he's determined I won't find out about it. But then, another part of her brain questioned, why was he so keen for me to come to France? He arranged the tour; I know he did. And why was I taken to that country house for a few stupid lessons? After all, nothing more has been mentioned about them, or of me doing anything undercover. Then another thought struck her and she paused at the studded oak door and looked back to Robert, who had reached his Jeep and was climbing into the driver's seat. Was that letter she'd received this morning a fake? Some sort of test of her loyalty?

That's it, she determined, as she watched him drive away. Any suggestion of a romance, wartime or no, is over. And I will carry on looking for Christopher. Robert just won't know about it.

Tommy was waiting for her in the hall. ‘Where've you been?' he asked, waving pages of sheet music at her. ‘I haven't got all day, you know. Colin and I are going fishing after lunch. Old man Farcy is taking us to a new place. Come on.'

‘Sorry,' she smiled. ‘On my way,' and the normality of rehearsal calmed her fears. This is who I am, she thought, and allowed her voice to rise in the air and fill the grand but dilapidated rooms with glorious melody.

Madame Farcy, listening with Guy in the reception hall, smiled. ‘That girl is wonderful,' she whispered. ‘And half French.'

For the next several weeks, the Bennett Players toured Normandy, performing in many different venues, large and small. They played to British, American and all sorts of colonial troops, as well as men of other nationalities.

‘Who are these blokes?' asked Della, at one camp, as they looked at the audience who were eagerly awaiting the show. ‘They're wearing funny uniforms.'

‘They're Polish, I think,' said Frances. ‘They might not understand English. That's why Baxter hasn't come with us today.'

‘Good,' said Della. ‘I already love them. Here goes,' and Della stepped onto the makeshift stage and started to sing.

The reception she – and indeed, all of them – got was tremendous and they came away clutching bottles of Polish spirit that had been thrust at them as they left.

‘Find us some more Poles, Beau, dear boy,' boomed Godfrey, working on the screw top of a bottle. ‘This is what I call gratitude.'

On some occasions, Guy came with them. He was keen to know the people who were living in his house, and even when he didn't understand the jokes that Baxter and Colin made, he clapped enthusiastically.

‘You didn't get a word of that,' laughed Frances, shaking her head at him when Colin came off stage to ringing cheers.

‘It doesn't matter,' Guy said. ‘You are my friends; it is good that you are successful.' He had put on weight, and the sores that had covered his body had healed, leaving only the reddened marks from where they'd been. In time, those would fade too. But the lines around his eyes remained.

‘I have seen too much,' he told Frances, one day, when she remarked about how tired he looked. ‘These lines are not from lack of sleep, not now. They are from memory.'

‘Of the prison?' she asked, her voice full of sympathy.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘That and other things. Acts of war, acts of cruelty. Mine as well as others'.'

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I shouldn't have asked.'

‘You should,' he sighed, massaging his fingers. Some of them were bent and were obviously painful. His interrogators had broken them. ‘There will come a time when I tell it all. But not yet. The war isn't over.'

He and Frances talked often. She told him about her home in Wiltshire. ‘My father's title means nothing now. We have a huge house, bigger than your lovely chateau, but no money, and it's falling to pieces. My brother had plans, but he's a POW in the Far East and we haven't heard from him for over a year. So I don't know what's going to happen.'

‘You have farms?' Guy asked.

‘Yes,' Frances nodded. ‘But since the war, no one to work them, until I got in a land girl. Besides which, my father has made some bad decisions.'

‘I have farms,' said Guy, ‘but I'm planning to concentrate on orchards. Normandy is famous, is it not, for apples? And Calvados. That is where money can be found. Cider and Calvados.'

‘Mm.' Frances thought about it. Could that work at Parnell Hall? She thought not: her father needed money now, not in the ten years that it would take to establish such a business.

Guy changed the subject. ‘Tell me about Catherine. She is married, yes?'

‘She is,' Frances said. ‘But her husband has been declared missing in action. He was, she says, a para.'

‘He was lost during the invasion?'

‘Well, no, and that's the strange thing. He has been missing since the spring, and apparently somewhere in France. Perhaps near here. She talks about him but doesn't give any details. I don't think she knows. She has a little girl too, at home with her mother …' Frances stopped, noticing the frown on Guy's face. He'd been listening attentively, but now he was staring at her. ‘What?' she said. ‘What is it?'

Guy's face cleared. ‘Nothing. I was just interested, that's all.'

As the weeks went on, the weather became cooler. Autumn storms whipped across the country, stripping the trees of their remaining leaves. It rained heavily, so that driving in and out of the camps became difficult, and often it required a troop of men and, once, a tank to push the bus out of the mud.

‘I'm freezing,' Della grumbled. ‘I need different clothes.'

Robert arranged for them to be supplied with army greatcoats, but the girls hated them.

‘They're horrible,' Della said. ‘Surely you can find something better.'

‘No, I can't,' snapped Robert. ‘Take them or leave them.' He was angry all the time these days. Catherine would barely speak to him, and every time he tried to get her on her own, she found an excuse. She was convinced that he was keeping something from her and that she was, in some way, being used.

‘What's the matter with you two?' Della asked, one night after a show when Catherine had ignored his offer of a drink. ‘I thought you fancied him.'

‘Well, you were wrong. I'm a married woman.' Catherine glowered at her friend and marched off to where Beau was leaning against the bar of the hotel where they'd stopped.

‘When are we going to Amiens?' she demanded, not bothering with any niceties. ‘It's been liberated for months now and I want to see if my grandparents are alright.'

‘Calm down,' he said, swallowing his drink with one gulp. ‘We're going the day after tomorrow. Robert has arranged it.'

‘What?' she said, shocked.

‘He knew you were anxious and he's been working on the schedule. I was going to tell you all when we got back to the chateau.'

‘Oh.' Now she felt a little foolish. ‘Good.' She glanced around and noticed Robert was looking at her, but she turned away from him. ‘I'll tell the girls, if you don't mind,' she said.

‘I don't mind.' Beau clicked his fingers at the barman for another drink. ‘Anything to stop you shouting at me. Tell them all.'

Guy came to sit beside Catherine on the journey to Amiens. Frances was driving, and Della was sitting behind her, with another letter from Tim O'Brien, which she was going over and over. ‘Listen to this,' she was saying, and reading out bits and pieces of the letter. Catherine had moved to another seat on the pretence that she wanted to read her book, but in reality she needed to think. Della's overwhelming excitement over Dr Tim was getting in the way.

Catherine had had a letter too, from Maman. In it, she'd written that there was no news of the grandparents in Amiens.
Father Clement tried to get information for me about Papa and Maman but to no avail
, she wrote.
They seem to have disappeared from the face of the earth. I feel so sad.

I took Lili to the clinic for her check-up. The nurse was kind and helped me. They gave us orange juice, which you know she likes, and now cod liver oil. I didn't understand what it was for, but I give her a teaspoon every day.

‘You have bad news from home?' asked Guy, watching Catherine sigh as she put her letter back in its envelope.

‘Yes, I suppose,' she said, dropping into French, which was easier for Guy. ‘My mother says that there has been no news about my grandparents in Amiens. They have a farm to the south of the city, but they aren't there. Maman writes that they have disappeared from the face of the earth.'

‘People have been displaced,' Guy said. ‘And, of course, the postal service can be difficult. I expect they're still at home, wondering why they haven't heard from you.' He smiled. ‘Will you try to see them when we reach Amiens?'

‘Of course,' Catherine nodded. ‘It was my main reason for coming on this tour, that and …' She stopped speaking, remembering what Robert had said about Christopher's mission.

‘And to look for your husband?'

She looked around the bus quickly to see if anyone was listening, but the others were all occupied. The boys were well into their card game, and Della was still talking to Frances. Beau had a notepad on his knee and was writing some sort of invoice. It was for the War Office, Catherine thought, to make sure that the Players got their money.

Only Baxter, who sat alone on the seat behind Beau, was doing nothing. He had Captain Fortescue on his knee and was making the doll look out of the window, raising its neck if they passed something of interest, like a burnt-out tank or other discarded military hardware. But every now and then the doll would turn its head right round and look straight at Catherine. It made her feel uncomfortable. Captain Fortescue seemed as if he was constantly checking up on her.

She lowered her voice. ‘How did you know about Christopher?' she asked.

‘Oh, Frances told me. She said he was missing in this area, but' – he lowered his voice too – ‘I am confused. It was before the invasion, was it not?'

‘Yes.'

‘And?'

Catherine bit her lip and looked out of the rain-spattered window. It was a bleak day, cold as well as wet, and on the flat landscape, bare-branched trees stood like sentinels, warning of danger ahead. Through the rain she could see that they were passing a neat cemetery, with a tall white cross at its gates. She realised that it was a memorial from the Great War and wondered how many more cemeteries would be built in the next few years.

‘And?' Guy prompted her again.

‘I'm sorry,' she murmured. ‘I'm not allowed to talk about it.'

He was silent for a moment and then said, ‘Major Lennox? He's stopped you?'

She nodded and then, turning to him, said, ‘Will you come with me when I go to the farm? Just in case they aren't there and I have to discover someone who might have information. I think you will be better than me at finding out.'

‘I will, Catherine. I will be happy to help you.'

As she smiled her thanks to him, she saw that the other members of the company were pointing out that they were coming into the city.

‘We're here,' called Frances, and Beau, looking up from his invoices, grunted, ‘Find the hotel. It's called the Normandie. It's in between the station and the cathedral, I think.'

It was only when Catherine moved to the front to look out of the big window that she noticed that Captain Fortescue was still staring at her. ‘What is it?' she snapped at Baxter.

He ignored her, but Captain Fortescue winked his painted wooden eye. ‘Nothing,' he brayed. ‘As long as you don't think Major Lennox will mind you cosying up to the Frog Prince.'

‘Oh.' The colour drained from Catherine's face. ‘I wasn't.'

‘Just tell him to shut up,' said Della, turning away from the window, and glaring at Eric, she shouted, ‘I'm going to take an axe to that bloody doll. Just see if I don't.'

‘Then you'd be very sorry. Very sorry indeed.' This last was said in Baxter's normal voice, which was even more chilling.

As they walked into the hotel, Guy said, ‘That man, Baxter, he insulted you, yes?'

Catherine, who was still simmering, nodded, but said, ‘It doesn't matter. He does it to everyone.'

‘But why does Beau keep him on the tour? I don't understand.'

Frances, who had caught up with them, said, ‘None of us understand.' She gave a small, sour laugh. ‘Unless it's because of—' She was stopped by a dig in the ribs. Catherine was warning that Beau was behind her and looking like thunder.

When they were all gathered in the lobby, Beau announced that they would be performing that evening at an army camp. ‘Six o'clock, on stage. Running order as per usual. The bus will be waiting outside the hotel at five o'clock, but I suggest you change into performance clothes here, as I doubt there'll be anywhere at the camp. See you later.'

As he was leaving, Catherine hurried over to him. ‘Beau,' she said, ‘what's happening tomorrow?'

He looked at his notebook. ‘Another evening performance. It'll be at the NAAFI, which is in town apparently – not sure where yet.'

‘So you wouldn't mind if I went to see my grandparents, who have a farm outside the city?'

He gave her a strange look. ‘Um …' he hesitated. ‘I suppose so,' he said, ‘but I thought they'd disappeared from the face of the earth.'

Disappeared from the face of the earth? That was how Maman had written it and what she'd told Guy. The letter had only come this morning, and nobody else knew. She hadn't even had time to tell Frances and Della. How on earth had Beau got wind of it?

‘How did you know that?' she said slowly, her voice cold.

Two spots of colour came into his pale aristocratic cheeks and he hunched his shoulders awkwardly. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘I suppose I assumed it, or perhaps' – he was clutching at straws now so obviously that she wanted to slap him – ‘someone said something. That's right – you mentioned it the other night.'