The Very Thought of You (32 page)

Frances grabbed Della's arm. ‘Let Catherine go alone to her,' she whispered, and the two girls stood by the door as Catherine went to kneel beside the old lady.

‘Grandmère,' she said softly. ‘It's me, Catherine.'

At first, Béatrice didn't move and Catherine took hold of her gnarled, veiny hand. ‘Grandmère,' she repeated. ‘It's me.'

Slowly, the old woman turned her head away from the window and gazed at Catherine. As her eyes scanned her face with seemingly no recognition, Catherine was certain that what Jacques had said was true. Poor Grandmère had lost her mind. She didn't know her.

Catherine looked over her shoulder to her friends, who were standing by the door. ‘She doesn't know me,' she said, with a sob in her voice, and they nodded sympathetically and moved forward to comfort her.

But as they did, the old woman suddenly spoke. ‘Catherine,
chérie
? Is it you?' Her voice was filled with wonder. ‘Are you a dream?'

‘Oh no, Grandmère.' Catherine put her arms about her and held her tight. ‘I'm here. I've found you.'

In the minutes that followed, there was much kissing and many tears. ‘How have you got here?' asked Béatrice. ‘Is the war over?'

‘It is in this area,' Catherine said, smoothing back Grandmère's tight grey chignon, which had become dislodged with all the hugging. ‘I'm going to take you back to England. Maman has been so worried about you. And you have a great-granddaughter to meet.'

‘Lili,' said the old lady, and Catherine looked at her in amazement. ‘How—'

The door opened suddenly and a different nun came in, carrying a small steel tray that contained a medicine bottle and a little glass. She wore a stiff white apron over her habit, as though she was afraid that her clothes were about to be stained. ‘Madame Albert,' she said briskly, ‘it is time for your medicine.'

Béatrice clung to Catherine's hand. ‘No,' she cried. ‘I don't want it. I have told you, over and over.' She was shaking and Catherine held her and scowled at the nun.

‘What medicine is it?'

The nun ignored her and measured a dose into the glass. ‘No spitting it out, this time, if you please, madame.'

‘Tell me,' said Catherine angrily. ‘What is the medicine?'

‘Oh, for Christ's sake.' Della stepped forward and grabbed the bottle off the tray. She held it up to the light and peered at the label. ‘It says, “
L'hydrate de
… something,”' she muttered, and Frances had a look.

‘“
L'hydrate de chloral
,”' she read. ‘Chloral hydrate.'

‘Bloody hell,' Della spluttered. ‘I've heard of that. It's a Mickey Finn. It'll knock her out.'

The nun approached Béatrice with the glass of medicine and Catherine stood up. ‘Take that horrible medicine away,' she said, giving the nun a steely glare. ‘I refuse to let you anywhere near her.'

‘But, madame,' the nun faltered, looking confused, ‘it is my duty. Madame Albert must have this three times a day.'

‘Three times?' cried Della. ‘No wonder they say she's losing her mind. They're poisoning her.' She snatched the glass off the tray and upended the contents onto the polished floorboards. An unpleasantly musty smell rose up and Della shivered. ‘Jesus and Mary,' she said, ‘do I remember that stink.'

The nun gazed at the floor with horror.

‘Yes,' said Della. ‘A bit more cleaning to do.'

‘We must get your grandmother out of here,' said Frances urgently. ‘I'm sure Mother Paul was about to telephone Father Gautier. He'll be here any minute, and unless you want a stand-up row with him, we have to go.'

‘I know,' said Catherine, and hooking an arm under her grandmother's, she said, ‘Can you walk, Grandmère?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘Then you're coming with me and my friends. Is your room close by, with your clothes?'

Béatrice nodded towards a door at the side of the room and Frances and Della ran to it. It was a small cell with a little cupboard that contained a few underclothes and her rosary beads. Behind the door was a hook carrying another dress and a coat. Della looked for a bag to carry them in and, finding none, emptied the feather pillow out of its case and used that. They helped the old lady into the coat, and then with Della on one side and Catherine on the other, they walked to the door.

‘This is wrong,' shouted the nun, trying to bar the way. ‘Madame Albert must stay here. Father Gautier says so.'

‘And is he the one who told you to drug her?' asked Frances.

‘But it is a kindness,' she wailed. ‘So that she doesn't suffer mental torment at the end of her life.'

‘Nonsense,' said Frances curtly. ‘Now get out of the way.'

They were in the hall when Mother Paul, alerted by the cries of alarm from the medicine nun, came out of her office.

‘You cannot remove Madame Albert from this house,' she said, moving to stand in front of them. ‘I insist that she stays.'

‘No, Mother Paul.' Catherine spoke with her newly found determination. ‘You have no authority to insist, and I'm taking her to her family, where she'll be loved and properly looked after, so if you will step aside, we'll be on our way.'

‘I've telephoned Father Gautier.'

‘I'll bet you have,' said Frances, ‘but it's none of his business. And if you try to stop Madame Albert leaving, I'll bring the police and the whole British Army into this convent. I don't think you'd like that.'

For the first time, Mother Paul looked alarmed, and as she stepped aside, the girls helped Béatrice to the door. Opening it, a blast a fresh air hit them and Béatrice breathed in deeply. ‘Oh, how I've missed the outside,' she said, tears coming again to her old eyes. ‘I've been in prison for so long.'

Della turned at the door and looked back. Mother Paul stood in the corridor, and in the background, several nuns, who had come to see what excitement had disturbed their endlessly peaceful days, hovered anxiously.

Della bobbed a curtsey and shouted, ‘Goodbye, you old cow,' and with a final rude gesture with her fingers ran to the car, where Catherine and Guy were waiting for her.

‘What have you been doing?' said Frances crossly, getting into the front.

‘Something I've wanted to do for ten years,' laughed Della, getting into the back seat beside Catherine and Béatrice.

As he put the car in gear, Guy asked, ‘Did you have trouble in there?'

‘We did,' said Frances. ‘At first, they weren't keen to let us see her, and getting her out was worse. Anyway, we'd better get moving. Mother Paul has phoned for backup.'

‘Who'd she call?'

Frances looked ahead as they pulled away from the pavement and sped along the road. She pointed towards a tall, athletic priest who was walking swiftly towards the convent. ‘I rather think she called him.'

‘Father Gautier,' breathed Guy, and he pulled down the brim of his navy-blue cap.

The first person Catherine saw as they walked into the hotel was Robert. He was sitting at one of the little round tables in the lobby, deep in conversation with Beau. Papers were scattered on the table, and Robert's holdall was on the floor beside him. Catherine guessed that he'd just arrived back from England. I wonder what he's been doing, she thought, and what he'll say when he notices that Grandmère is on my arm?

‘We're going to have to get another room,' said Frances, going to the reception desk. ‘Grandmère Béatrice needs pampering.'

‘God, yes,' said Della. ‘Who wouldn't after spending time in that lunatic asylum?' She banged her fist on the bell. ‘Let's get the manager.'

The clang of the bell made Robert and Beau look up. Robert glanced at Frances and Della; then, knowing that the girls would be together, he looked around for Catherine. When he spotted her, his eyes, behind the tortoiseshell glasses, softened. Catherine, looking back at him, found herself giving him a defensive smile because she knew that his expression would change within the next few seconds.

‘Good God,' he said, standing up so suddenly that Beau, who was still studying the papers, looked up in alarm.

‘What is it?' he asked, and then when he saw Catherine with Madame Albert, the colour drained out of his face.

Robert walked across to Catherine and, taking off his cap, bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Hello,' he said. ‘Who have we here?'

She was utterly disconcerted by that kiss, as she knew he had intended her to be. It was his way of getting back at her. Bastard, she thought, having picked up one of Della's favourite words, and turning to Grandmère, she explained, ‘This is a friend, Major Robert Lennox.

‘Robert,' she said slowly, ‘let me introduce my grandmother, Madame Béatrice Albert.'

His surprise was so obvious that Catherine's frown turned into a small, triumphant smile, but he took no time to collect his wits and thrust out his hand. ‘How d'you do, madame,' he said, giving Béatrice a slight bow, and she, casting a careful look at him, shook his hand and replied that she was well.

He turned to Catherine. ‘Clever you,' he said. ‘You found her. And … your grandfather?'

‘He's dead. The Gestapo shot him.' Her voice was sharp, and at the mention of the Gestapo, several people in the lobby turned to look at her.

Robert said nothing for a moment, and then he turned back to Béatrice. ‘My condolences, madame,' he murmured.

For all her previous anger with him, Catherine thought his sentiment sounded sincere. Perhaps he did already know about Grandpère, and by refusing to tell her was trying to save her the added heartbreak of losing both her husband and her grandparents. But he seemed genuinely surprised at seeing Béatrice. He'd thought she was dead. So that meant that his intelligence network had broken down somewhere.

‘When you've settled her,' Robert muttered, ‘I need a debrief. Where was she? Who was keeping her?'

Before Catherine could reply, Beau had joined them and was staring at the old lady. ‘This is your grandmother?' he asked.

His hand trembled as he was introduced and Béatrice asked if he was in pain. ‘I see you have been injured, young man,' she said kindly. ‘Sit, do. Standing can't be good for you.'

‘Oh, he's alright, Grandmère,' said Catherine. ‘He's just surprised to see you. After all, it was only this morning that he told me that you had disappeared. How wrong he was.'

Robert's face hardened and he slid a sideways glance at Beau. Catherine felt like laughing out loud. Both of them were now in trouble.

Frances called from the desk, where the sweating manager was shrugging and waving his arms about in exaggerated despair. ‘He says that there aren't any vacant rooms. But Della and I have decided that we'll sleep in the bus and you and Madame Albert can have the room to yourselves.'

Della nodded her head vigorously. ‘Just let us use it to change, but otherwise, OK, as the Yanks would say.'

‘No,' Robert intervened, and looked at Catherine. ‘You can have my room. I'll put up at the officers' mess. No need for the girls to sleep in the bus. It's far too cold.'

Beau cleared his throat. He'd got over whatever it was that had frightened him. ‘If you don't mind me butting in,' he said. ‘We do have a show tonight, so we need to get a shift on. It's at the NAAFI and not too far from here, but nevertheless …'

‘Alright.' Frances had joined them. ‘We'll be ready.' She smiled at Béatrice and then said to Catherine, ‘What about Madame Albert? I'm sure she's tired. Will she stay here?'

But after Catherine had explained to her grandmother what was about to happen, the old lady was adamant that she wanted to see the show. ‘It's been so many years since I heard you sing,
ma chérie
. Jean so loved the sound of your voice when you came to visit that it will bring back some happy memories.'

The NAAFI was crowded that evening with soldiers and airmen, as well as some patients and nurses from the military hospital, who'd all come to see the show. There was no stage, but a large space at the far end of the room had been cleared and a piano brought in. Tommy and the other boys carried in the hampers and set up the microphones.

‘I'll do the comedy stuff first, boss,' Colin said to Beau. He was looking in the hamper for his magic wand. ‘And then finish with some of the better tricks.'

‘Alright,' said Beau absently. ‘Whatever you want.' He seemed distracted this evening and was constantly looking at the door. ‘Has Eric arrived yet?'

‘Haven't seen him, boss,' Colin said, arranging the curls on his luxuriant black wig and brushing down his velvet, star-studded cape.

‘He'll hang on until the last minute,' sighed Tommy. ‘Thinks it makes him more important.' He blew his nose hard and coughed. He had caught a cold in the last couple of days and now his chest rattled and two spots of colour brightened his cheeks.

Beau looked round at him. ‘You alright, Tommy?' he asked.

‘Mm,' he wheezed. ‘I'll go to bed with a whisky after the show. That'll cure it.'

‘Good man.'

‘Don't be generous with your infection, dear boy,' said Godfrey. ‘None of us want a cold. I think we should have a dram now as a precaution.'

‘After the show,' warned Beau. ‘Not now. I've told you before.'

Godfrey heaved a sigh and raised his eyebrows to Colin.

‘Your wee man's at the door,' Colin called to Beau, and watched the boss limp away to the entrance before getting out his hip flask and handing it round.

The girls were in their room changing into their show clothes. Catherine had left her grandmother asleep in the bed that Robert had given up for them. The excitement had been too much for the old lady and Catherine had wondered if she would be fit enough to come with them to the NAAFI.