The FitzOsbornes at War (50 page)

Veronica took a deep breath.

‘Anyway, it turned out his name was Zuleta. He’s the Basque captain’s nephew. And, oh, Sophie – Captain Zuleta’s
alive
! You know how we all thought he’d died at Guernica? But he was in the basement of a church with his youngest daughter when the bombing started, and they both survived. They were pulled out of the ruins the next morning. His wife died, though, and so did two of their children. Then, after the Fascists defeated the Basque Republic, he and his daughter escaped over the mountains into France. His wife had relatives there, and he wanted to start a new life.’

I shook my head, sad and happy and amazed all at once. But Veronica hadn’t even arrived at the
most
amazing bit.

She went on to explain that the captain’s in-laws in France hated the Nazis so much that they decided to dedicate themselves to helping the Resistance. His wife’s aunt runs a hotel near the Spanish border, at the foot of the Pyrenees, and she’s an important part of an escape line for Allied servicemen – that is, escaping prisoners of war, as well as those who’ve managed to evade the Nazis entirely after getting stuck in occupied territory. They arrive from the north of France, and she finds them safe houses and organises Basque guides to take them over the mountains into Spain. Last month, a new group of men arrived, delivered by the usual Resistance workers, and she had her son take the men to a friend’s house to hide. They all seemed to be American aircrew, and they were exhausted after their long, stressful journey across France. They fell asleep at once, and had to be shaken awake when it was time to leave that night. But one of the men heard the woman’s son and the guides talking, and, still half-asleep, said hello to them in Euskara.

Well, how many Americans recognise the language of the Basques – let alone know how to speak it? So they dragged the airman straight down to the basement and started interrogating him, worried that he was some sort of double agent. Most of the original leaders of that particular escape line had been captured by the Gestapo earlier that year, and it seems they were all betrayed by someone working within the movement. What if this man had been planted on them by the Spanish Fascists?

But the man said he spoke just a few words of Euskera, and only because he used to know some Basque people. The guides were still suspicious, because they could see now that he definitely
wasn’t
American. All the airmen had been disguised in the same sort of rough farmer’s clothes, but the Americans looked as though they’d spent the war eating steak and buttery mashed potatoes and chocolate layer cake, which they probably had.
This
man was rake-thin, like everyone else in France. The Americans swaggered along with their hands in their pockets;
he
walked like a European. He spoke French very well, which none of the Americans did, but he didn’t sound like a native speaker. He said he was RAF, but he didn’t seem familiar with any of the latest RAF operations over France. He said he’d already given all this information to the people further up the escape line. Eventually, after the guides threatened to take him outside and shoot him, he said, ‘Look, I’m not English. I’m from Montmaray.’

‘Toby?’ I whispered, my heart pounding painfully. ‘Could it
really
be him? After all this time?’

‘Now you understand why I didn’t want to tell you,’ said Veronica. ‘Because I just don’t know. It could be someone who knew Toby, or knew about him, and stole his identity. But after he said “Montmaray”, one of the guides said, “I know about Montmaray.” And it was because his little cousins had been sent to England during the Civil War, and they met Carmelita and her family at Stoneham Camp and kept in contact with her. So, after that, the Basques felt a bit more friendly towards him, and eventually, they sent off a message to Captain Zuleta, who lives further up the coast –’

‘But what about
Toby
?’ I cried. ‘Where is he? Is he in Spain now?’

‘I’m getting to that. The man – if he
is
Toby – is still in France. By the time they’d finished questioning him, it was too late for him to cross the border with the Americans. He had to wait for the next lot, and then the river flooded, so nobody could get across the usual way, and after
that
there was an incident in which a guide and an American pilot died. Either they drowned, or they were shot by guards on the Spanish side. No one knows. So Allied escapes over the border have practically stopped for the moment, although local people are still traversing the mountains. The Basques in France thought Michael ought to know about all this, especially as this man, whoever he is, gave
my
name and said I was associated with the British Embassy in Madrid. So, they sent the captain’s nephew over with a message.’

She sighed.

‘And that’s as much as I know. I asked them to move this man, whoever he is, over the border as quickly as possible, and Michael’s waiting for him in San Sebastián. If he’s an impostor, or if it’s all just some terrible misunderstanding, then we’ll find out pretty soon. Michael wanted some questions he could ask the man, things that only Toby would know, so I said to ask what our sword was called. Do you think that’s all right? I didn’t want facts that anyone could find out easily, like our birth dates. Oh, and I said to ask about old George from the village, and what breed Carlos is, a few things like that. And that’s it. Now you know as much as I do.’

But I wanted to talk and talk about it, even though there wasn’t much else to say. We both agreed we shouldn’t mention it to Aunt Charlotte, or anyone else, until Veronica received confirmation of the man’s identity from Michael. I felt like a balloon that had just been inflated – buoyant, bobbing about happily on the ceiling, but aware I could pop at any moment. By the time we’d talked ourselves hoarse, it was dark, and Daniel said he’d take us out for dinner, as there wasn’t anything edible in the flat.

‘Sorry,’ I said to Veronica, as we were brushing our hair and putting on some lipstick. ‘I did mean to arrive here earlier and do some food shopping.’

Then I told her about Rupert – not that I’d suddenly fallen in love with him, but that I’d realised I’d been gradually falling in love with him for years, and that, even more amazingly,
he
was in love with
me
. Veronica was delighted, although she didn’t seem all that surprised.

‘Well, of course he loves you,’ she said. ‘Why wouldn’t he?’

I could think of lots of reasons why someone might not love me, but I certainly didn’t want to win a debate about it. Mostly, I was pleased that she approved. It would be very uncomfortable to fall in love with someone she
didn’t
like – well, I’d had some experience of that, even though I’d never called what I’d felt for Simon ‘love’. For that matter, I don’t think Veronica would have lasted long with someone
I
disliked or distrusted. Luckily, Daniel and Rupert are both perfect for us in their own unique ways, so it’s all worked out brilliantly.

We ended up at a dimly lit Turkish restaurant, where we ate some sort of lamb casserole and then a delicious pudding that tasted of honey. Veronica and I fell to discussing Toby again, but Daniel firmly steered us both off the topic.

‘You’re going round in circles,’ he said, ‘and simply making yourselves more anxious, when there’s nothing more you can do for the moment. Michael is working on it, and he’ll let you know as soon as possible, won’t he? He seems a very capable and trustworthy man.’

Which was really quite generous of Daniel, given how jealous he’s been of Michael in the past, as well as being a very sensible thing to say. Veronica smiled at Daniel and agreed he was absolutely right, then asked what had been happening in politics since she’d been away. He started telling her about some by-election that a Socialist friend of his is contesting, and I was only half-listening when I heard a familiar name.

‘Hang on, did you say West
Derbyshire
?’ I said to Daniel. ‘Isn’t that where Billy Hartington is running as the Conservative candidate? Kick’s going up there to help him canvass for votes.’

‘Billy
Hartington
?’ said Veronica, astonished. ‘Running for
Parliament
? I thought he was in the army.’

‘He was, but he’s resigned his commission,’ I said. ‘His father must have pulled strings so he could leave the army. Apparently their family’s held that seat in the House of Commons for centuries.’

‘Then it’s about time it was won by a man of the people, someone who’s actually had to
work
for a living,’ said Daniel. ‘What’s Hartington like?’

‘Gormless,’ said Veronica.

‘Veronica!’ I protested. ‘He’s really very sweet.’

‘There you go, he’s
sweet
,’ Veronica told Daniel. ‘That’s all you need to become a Member of Parliament, if your father’s the Duke of Devonshire. You don’t need to be intelligent, or understand the needs of the electorate, or have ever demonstrated the slightest interest in politics.’

‘Well, it doesn’t really matter what he’s like,’ said Daniel, ‘because he’s going to lose. Charles White has planned a terrific campaign.’

‘But a
Socialist
, winning West Derbyshire?’ said Veronica dubiously.

‘He’s running as Independent Labour, and he’s got Common Wealth backing him. There’ll be dozens of trained campaigners canvassing voters, a press agent, a nine-point manifesto based on the Beveridge plan – the Conservatives won’t know what’s hit them. What have
they
got to offer, except more of the same? A rich old family that thinks it ought to rule, simply because it always
has
ruled? Why are we fighting against dictatorships on the Continent, when there are people like the Duke of Devonshire trying to do the same thing here?’

‘You ought to go up there yourself and help with the campaign,’ said Veronica.

‘I will, if I can get any time off work,’ said Daniel. ‘This by-election is going to be a turning point for Britain. The people are sick of war, and they want to know that the new world will be a better, fairer place. They don’t want yet another duke’s son lording it over them.’

Poor Billy. He’s only running for Parliament because his father made him – which does imply a rather weak character, I must admit. And if he can’t say no about
this
, then how likely is it that he’ll defy his father to marry Kick? Oh dear, why can’t
everyone
be as happy in love as I am?

17th January, 1944

IT IS TOBY!
It really
is
him, after more than a year and a half! Michael spoke with him when he arrived in Spain, and he’s all right, not injured or sick or anything, and now he’s in Gibraltar, waiting for a ship to bring him home, and Veronica has just gone to telephone Aunt Charlotte and Barnes!

I am too excited to write any more!

28th January, 1944

I
HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY
, but don’t even know where to start. My emotions have been lurching about so violently over the past fortnight that I’m not sure whether I’m up or down right now. I keep saying to myself, ‘At least he’s alive. That’s the main thing. Toby’s alive and he’s in England. He’s home now –’