The Very Thought of You (30 page)

The temptation to call his bluff was almost overwhelming. She was certain now that there was something underhand going on, and far from being afraid, as she should have been, her anger made her all the more determined to discover more. She gave him a brief smile. ‘Well, perhaps I'll go to the civic authorities first, then,' she said. ‘To the town hall. They might know something.'

The relief on Beau's face was patent. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘That would be a better idea. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few phone calls to make.'

I'll bet one of them is to Robert, she thought, as she walked back to join her friends, who were by the reception desk waiting for their keys.

‘What was that about?' grinned Frances as she joined them. ‘You looked at one point as if you wanted to smash Beau's face in.'

‘Wait till we get to our room, then I'll tell you,' Catherine muttered. To hell with the Official Secrets Act, she thought to herself. The whereabouts of her grandparents couldn't possibly be a secret, and if it was, then it was one that she had no intention of keeping.

The hotel was full, not only with the Bennett Players but with senior military and visiting civil servants from the Allied powers. The manager apologised that he could only offer the girls one room. ‘It is a nice room, on the first floor.' He was sweating slightly as he tried to deal with the throng of guests who were waiting impatiently at the desk. ‘But,' he continued with a shrug, ‘it is not how we usually treat our guests.'

‘We don't mind,' said Frances. ‘We're used to sharing. And there is a war on.'

‘Yes,' he said, taking out a handkerchief and mopping his brow, before reaching behind him to take a key from the row of hooks. ‘But we have no porter, I am sorry to say. You will have to find your own way.'

‘Cheer up, cock,' grinned Della. ‘We've stayed in worse dumps than this.'

The room had a double and single bed, and they tossed a coin for the single. Della won, much to her delight, and crowed as she flung herself on it.

‘I'm glad,' said Frances. ‘If we were sharing, you'd be reading out bits of that damned letter again. At least Catherine doesn't read out hers.'

‘That's the thing,' said Catherine. ‘I want to tell you something that was in the one I had today.'

The three girls sat on the double bed while Catherine showed them the letter and translated to Della what Maman had written. ‘You poor thing,' she said, and put her arm around Catherine's shoulders.

‘No, but listen,' said Catherine. ‘I asked Beau if I could go to the farm tomorrow and he said, “I thought they had disappeared from the face of the earth.”'

Frances and Della looked blank. ‘But don't you see?' said Catherine. ‘He couldn't possibly have known that. I only had the letter today. I didn't even have time to tell you. So someone has been reading my letters.'

‘Robert.' Della and Frances spoke in unison.

Catherine nodded miserably. ‘I'm pretty sure that he's playing a dirty game and that he's using me.'

‘The thing that puzzles me,' said Frances, frowning, ‘is that Beau is in on it. I wouldn't have thought that he was the safest person to hold a secret.'

‘Nor me,' Della joined in. ‘After all, he's being blackmailed, isn't he? That bastard Baxter has got something on him – we all know that.'

‘I am going to the farm tomorrow,' Catherine said slowly, and there was a determined tone in her voice that her friends hadn't heard before. ‘I told Beau that I'd go to the town hall and ask there, but that was a lie. Somehow, I have to get out of town.'

‘And we're coming with you,' Frances grinned. ‘This isn't something you can do alone. We just need an excuse that works.'

‘I'll tell you what,' said Della. ‘Why don't we say we need to go shopping for warm clothes? We've been nagging about them for ages: nobody would be surprised.'

‘Alright,' smiled Catherine, and gave each of her friends a kiss on the cheek. ‘Oh,' she said, remembering, ‘I told Guy about the letter when we were on the bus. He said he'd come with me too.'

‘The more the merrier,' laughed Della, and got off the bed. ‘Now, we must unpack and get ready for tonight.'

Catherine felt happier than she had all day. The oddness of her grandparents' disappearance somehow added to Christopher's and a new determination came over her. Isn't this war about freedom? she thought. An end to secrecy? Well, damn them. I won't let Robert or anyone else stop me.

But later, when they were walking down the stairs in their performance clothes, Frances said, ‘I've been wondering. Why has Guy offered to come with us to Amiens? Don't you think it's strange?'

‘Oh God,' muttered Catherine, and doubts began to worm themselves into her stomach. Had she made a terrible mistake? Had Robert made Guy come with them to keep an eye on her?

Despite or maybe because of all her worries, Catherine was the hit of the show. Somehow the tension that was whirling about in her mind made her sing with more depth and emotion, and the audience at the army camp shook the rafters with their cheers. ‘You're hot tonight, kid,' said Tommy. ‘What's got into you?'

‘I don't know,' she muttered, smiling and acknowledging the applause. Her eyes flicked around the hall, looking for Robert, but she couldn't see him. He hadn't been at the hotel either, and afterwards, in the colonel's office, she asked Beau about him.

‘No,' he said. ‘He hasn't come on this trip. In fact, I think he may have gone back to London for a few days.' He frowned. ‘Why d'you want to know? Is there something I can help you with?'

‘No,' Catherine replied. ‘There's nothing at all.' His look of consternation was telling. He's scared, she thought. He thinks I'm going to tell Robert what he said. She gave him a little smile, but her eyes remained cold. ‘I'll wait and talk to him,' she said, and turned away.

The next morning, the girls got themselves ready for their trip. They had put on their warmest clothes, and after Catherine had said that the farm would be muddy, they'd gone to the back of the hotel, where the bus was parked, and collected their gumboots.

‘We're going shopping,' Della told Beau after breakfast.

‘Who's “we”?' he asked.

‘Us girls. Catherine's got to do something at the town hall first and then we're all going to see if we can find some warm coats. These army coats are shit. They're too big and absolutely gruesome. We want something more fashionable.'

‘For Christ's sake,' Beau growled. ‘You're supposed to be in uniform, not on the catwalk.'

Della giggled. ‘Oh, come on, Beau,' she said. ‘You're dying to put on something glamorous yourself. One of those little cocktail numbers I saw in the wardrobe in your flat in Knightsbridge? When we went to get our uniforms.'

He was silent and for a split second she thought that she'd gone too far and that he was going to explode with rage and throw her off the tour. She held her breath; then suddenly he burst into laughter.

‘You're such a saucy bitch, Della Stafford,' he said, getting out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. ‘I don't know why I don't fire you.'

‘It's because you love me, darling,' she laughed, ‘and because I'm great in the show. And, Beau, my duck' – she patted his cheek – ‘everyone knows. And nobody gives a hoot.'

He gave a rather sad smile. ‘Except the law,' he sighed. ‘Except the law.'

Catherine had decided that they'd go without Guy – she wasn't sure that he was to be trusted – but to her surprise, he was waiting on the street for her when she came out of the hotel accompanied by Frances and Della.

‘What,' he said, ‘all three?'

‘Yes,' Catherine nodded. ‘My friends have offered to come with me, so I don't really need you.'

‘I should like to come. I am interested to find out about your grandparents. Remember, I was in the Resistance. I still am, I suppose. I do know people.'

‘Let him come,' said Frances, who had been following the conversation. ‘He might have contacts.'

They walked off down the street towards the town hall. Frances looked behind them a couple of times to see if anyone was watching, but she could see no one and they carried on.

‘So,' Guy said, pointing to a side street, ‘we go this way.'

‘You don't know where the farm is.' Catherine was suddenly suspicious again. ‘It might not be this way.'

‘No, you mistake me.' Guy gestured to a saloon car parked in front of a boarded-up shop. ‘The car, there. We can go in that.'

‘Is it yours?' Catherine was astonished.

‘No,' he laughed. ‘I borrowed it. For the trip.'

‘Pinched is more like,' snorted Della, as they clambered into the black Citroën. ‘We're going to get bloody arrested before the day is out.'

The road out of town was surprisingly quiet, with little traffic, neither military nor civilian.

‘It's about four kilometres,' Catherine said. ‘At the edge of a village. In the summer, it's beautiful.' She turned her head to her friends, who were sitting in the back. ‘My father was here in the Great War. His regiment was fighting all around this area, and one day he and some of his pals came to my grandparents' farm to see if they had any fresh milk or eggs. He met my mother and they fell in love, just like that. Sometimes it happens.'

‘Does it?' asked Della quietly.

‘It did for them,' Catherine smiled. ‘After the war, he came back. And they were married.' She turned her head to the front again. They were coming to the village now, a church and a few houses surrounded by bare fields and low hedges. In one of the fields, a man holding a plough was walking behind two huge horses. The churned-up ground seemed difficult to walk on, and the rain lashed at him, driving the waterproof gas cape he was wearing into a shroud-like covering around his body.

‘God,' said Della, her mouth turned down in disgust. ‘Who'd live in the country?'

‘You will,' laughed Frances, ‘if Tim has his way.'

Catherine was peering along the road. ‘Look.' She pointed to a cluster of buildings. ‘It's here.'

Guy parked the car beside the low stone entrance pillar and they all stared out of the steamed-up windows. Catherine craned her neck to look beyond the bare trees to the house and barns. She could see nothing moving, and glancing up, she noticed with despair that no smoke came out of the chimney. The place seemed deserted.

She opened the car door. ‘I'm going to look,' she said, and getting out, walked along the muddy path that led into the farmyard and to the house. She heard the others climbing out after her, but she went straight round the house to the back door. Bending, she pushed aside a clay flowerpot and, finding the key, unlocked the wooden door.

Inside, it was dark and felt damp. Even with rubber boots, her steps echoed on the flagstone floor and bounced off the white plastered walls. ‘Grandmère,' she called, her voice loud in the small room. ‘Grandpère.'

As she'd half expected, there was no reply.

‘I don't think there's anyone here,' said Frances from behind her, and she jumped in fright. ‘Sorry,' Frances apologised. ‘I didn't mean to scare you.'

The three girls looked all over the house. In the kitchen, the range was cold, and only dead ashes filled the space below the oven. Rainwater from a slightly open window had trickled over the sill and onto the floor beneath, gathering in a little puddle. Catherine, with an angry ‘tch' forced the window shut and went into the small front room. Neat chairs dressed with lace antimacassars looked as though they'd never been sat in, but they had been roughly turned over, and the doors of the tall oak armoire were hanging open, exposing the lace cloths of which Grandmère had been so proud. In the two bedrooms above, one bed was made and the other tumbled and awry, but the cupboards were open, and drawers had been pulled out.

Catherine's heart sank. What on earth had gone on?

‘Look,' said Della, holding up a frame holding a black-and-white photo. ‘Isn't this you?'

‘Yes.' Catherine took it, tears coming into her eyes at the sight of her fifteen-year-old self standing by the field gate hand in hand with her grandparents.

Suddenly there was a shout from downstairs. ‘Catherine!' It was Guy and he was outside in the yard with a man in a gas cape, who stretched out his hands to her as she walked towards them.

‘Catherine,' he said, grinning and taking off his cap to reveal tufts of white hair round a bald pate. ‘Ah, Catherine,
ma petite
, how long, how long?'

‘Jacques?' she said uncertainly. ‘Is it you?'

‘It is me.' He shook her hand enthusiastically and then, emboldened by the occasion, pulled her towards him and gave her a hug.

‘This is my grandfather's cousin,' Catherine said to the girls, who had followed her out of the house. ‘I've known him all my life.' She turned back to him. ‘Where are they? Tell me, please.'

To her dismay, tears welled up in the old man's eyes and she knew that he was going to say something dreadful. Frances and Della came to stand beside her, and each took a hand.

‘My cousin Jean,' he sobbed, ‘is dead. He was shot, by the Germans, in April. He hid Allied soldiers in the barn and in the cellar. No one knew, not even me. But he was given away and they took him and your grandmère.'

‘
Mon Dieu
,' Catherine cried. ‘They shot them both?'

‘No. Béatrice was put in prison, but now she has been freed.'

‘Where is she? I must go to her.' Catherine turned towards the car.

‘Wait, wait, little one. She is with the sisters at the convent in Amiens. The prison did something to her mind. She knows no one. I think she will not know you.'