The FitzOsbornes at War (62 page)

Except he’s just left again – gone out to talk to the RAF pilots sauntering down towards our hut. They were all madly curious about Toby’s Luftwaffe plane when he landed it here yesterday afternoon. Then Daniel arrived with his suitcase of Nazi uniforms, which was even
more
entertaining for them. Fortunately, most of the pilots at the air base were either asleep or on duty when Toby and Daniel were preparing to leave this morning, so we didn’t have a crowd gawping at us. It was quite bizarre enough as it
was
. Veronica bidding a passionate farewell to a Nazi general (and I must say, for someone who once professed a lack of interest in physical love, she seemed remarkably proficient at kissing, and Daniel didn’t appear at all lacking in expertise, either). And there was Toby in his Luftwaffe uniform, going through a third meticulous check of the plane and firing a lot of intelligent-sounding questions at the RAF mechanic. Then Rupert and his farmer friend arrived with their baskets of pigeons.

‘Wanted to wait till the last minute,’ Mr Briggs explained, still puffing from his rapid walk. ‘You see, I put each cock pigeon in a cage with his favourite hen, then take him out again after five minutes, before they have a chance to . . . well, consummate their marriage, you might say. Makes them extra keen to fly back to their nest, as quick as they can.’

‘Oh, the poor things,’ I said. ‘It sounds so cruel.’

‘It is,’ agreed Rupert. ‘I can just imagine how they feel.’ Then he climbed into the plane to fasten the pigeon baskets into place.

‘Right!’ said Toby, striding over and rubbing his hands. ‘The plane’s ready. The pigeons are being strapped in. We’ve had the traditional phone call from Aunt C forbidding us from going ahead with our plans, which we’re ignoring, as per usual. Someone pry Daniel away from Veronica, then we can be off. Oh wait, where’s Simon?’

Meanwhile, I could hear Veronica saying to Daniel, ‘It’s not too late, you know. You can still change your mind.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ Daniel told her. ‘We’ve gone through every possible problem that might come up. We couldn’t possibly be more prepared. Anyway, don’t forget – I’ve got a gun now, and I’ve been trained how to use it.’ And he patted the pistol in his holster.

‘That is not reassuring in the least,’ she said, but she let go of him and stood back to watch him scramble into the plane.

‘Yes, let’s hope Daniel’s excellent communication skills carry the day,’ Toby murmured to me, ‘because he’s a bloody awful shot.’

‘That’s not
his
fault, it’s just that his eyesight’s not very good,’ I said. ‘Anyway, you said there wouldn’t
be
any fighting.’

‘That’s right, there won’t be,’ said Toby emphatically. ‘Absolutely not. Oh, there you are, Simon. Did you get that weather update?’

Simon handed it over, then stared past Toby at Rupert, who’d just jumped down from the plane.

‘Rupert!’ said Simon, stepping forward and holding out his hand. ‘Good to see you again. I believe congratulations are in order. You’re a lucky man.’

‘Oh, thank you, Simon,’ said Rupert. ‘Yes, I certainly am.’ They shook hands, looking each other straight in the eye. For some reason, I’d always pictured Simon as the taller of them, but if anything, he was a fraction shorter. Perhaps he’d shrunk. Then Simon turned away, back to Toby.

‘There’s a storm brewing,’ he said, nodding at the piece of paper Toby held. ‘Coming in from the west.’

‘It’s the Bay of Biscay in late November,’ said Toby. ‘Of course there’s a storm brewing. But it won’t reach Montmaray until at least noon – probably a couple of hours later. You know what it’s like at this time of year.’

‘You could postpone this, you know.’

‘The weather will be just the same tomorrow, if not worse,’ said Toby. ‘Right, let’s get going!
Au revoir
, everyone.’ He embraced first me, then Rupert.

‘Take care,’ Rupert said. ‘Don’t take any risks, just turn straight back if it looks bad.’

‘Oh,
you’re
just worried about those birds,’ teased Toby. ‘Bye, Veronica. Yes, yes, I’ll look after your
boyfriend
. Or is he your fiancé now? No? Oh, Aunt C
will
be relieved. There’s still hope for you and that Elchester nephew, then.’

He climbed into his seat, still tossing quips over his shoulder. I think I was the only one who’d overheard what he’d said quietly to Simon as he’d hugged him goodbye: ‘If anything happens, you’ll look after Julia, won’t you?’

The RAF mechanic bustled about, checking latches and gauges, and exchanging signals with Toby through the windscreen. Then we all stood back – were forced back, really, by the roar of the engines. The plane rumbled down the tarmac, gathering speed and power, and then exploded off the end of the runway in a furious blast of noise. Within seconds, it was streaking across the sea, the early morning rays catching one side and turning it, for a moment, into a brilliant flash of white. Then it was gone.

‘I wish Henry could have been here to see this,’ I said, into the sudden silence.

‘If Henry had been here,’ Veronica said, ‘she’d have stowed away on board the plane.’

I sighed.

‘But perhaps she
is
here,’ said Veronica, tucking her arm into mine. ‘Or at least, with Toby. I think she’d find this sort of thing hard to stay away from, don’t you?’

It was a kind thing to say, because I know she doesn’t believe in any sort of afterlife. I squeezed her arm gratefully, and then we walked slowly to the hut with Simon, while Rupert and Mr Briggs followed the path back to the farmhouse.

And that was . . . let’s see, nearly seven hours ago. Simon has returned from his chat with the pilots and has just squashed the stub of his third cigarette into the ashtray beside the telephone. I can tell it’s annoying Veronica, but so far she’s refrained from snapping at him. Now Simon’s fiddling with his lighter.

‘How long have you been keeping those journals, anyway?’ he says abruptly, looking at my book.

‘Um . . . eight years,’ I say, after a short calculation.

‘Eight
years
!’ he says, eyes widening in either mock or actual horror. ‘Oh God, and you’re writing down
this
conversation, too, aren’t you? Is there
any
aspect of our lives that’s managed to escape your scrutiny?’

Veronica laughs. ‘In a hundred years’ time, there’ll be copies of Sophie’s journals kept in libraries,’ she says. ‘People will study them to try and understand our quaint, old-fashioned ways.’

‘All I can think is, thank God they’re written in code,’ says Simon. ‘My secrets are safe.’

‘Oh, they’ll probably have invented decoding machines by then,’ says Veronica airily. ‘I mean, if we can have robot bombs now, then surely they’ll have invented robots that do
helpful
things in a hundred years’ time.’

‘Perhaps they’ll have abolished war by then,’ I say.

‘One would certainly hope so,’ says Veronica, rubbing her arms. ‘Heavens, it’s
freezing
in here, isn’t it? Or is it just because I’ve stopped pacing up and down? I’m going to walk across to the car to get a blanket. And to get some
fresh air
.’ She gives the ashtray a meaningful look, then walks out . . .

A
S SOON AS
V
ERONICA WAS
OUT OF EARSHOT
, Simon leaned over the table towards me.

‘Sophie,’ he said, ‘I want to apologise to you.’

‘What for?’

‘For leaving,’ he said. ‘For not even telling you I was leaving. And for not being here when you . . . Well, I don’t know if you ever really
needed
me. But I should have stayed – or at least stayed in touch – and I didn’t. I behaved very badly.’

‘Yes, you did,’ I said. ‘But
you
were having a pretty awful time too, as I remember it.’

‘I just felt I had to get as far away as possible,’ he said. ‘Not from
you
, particularly, but from everything here. I hated my job, and I felt so guilty about Toby. And in a way, it
did
help, going abroad . . .’ He trailed off, apparently lost in unhappy memories.

‘Was it very dangerous, what you were doing there?’ I asked, after a moment.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Dangerous enough that I had to stop thinking about the past, because the present was so overwhelming. And dangerous enough that I realised I wanted to live. That if I died, it still wouldn’t bring Toby back. I honestly did believe he was dead, you know, so when I heard the news . . .’ He glanced at me. ‘It seemed like a miracle. As though I’d been given another chance. I still haven’t quite taken it in, and of course, he’s so changed . . . But Sophie, the thing is – and I don’t mean this as an excuse, although it sounds that way – I always figured you’d be all right. I knew you were stronger than me, and that you’d . . . endure. Despite everything.’

‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘That
does
sound like an excuse.’ Then, as his face fell, I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Oh,
Simon
. It was all such a long time ago. I was angry at you, but I got over it.’

‘And now you’re . . . happy?’

‘With Rupert? Oh, yes! I didn’t think I
could
be this happy. Although it’s difficult when he’s away all the time, but that’s just for a bit longer. When the war’s over . . . well, we’ll all be happier then, won’t we?’

‘Will we?’ he said.

Poor Simon! I’m not stupid enough to think that everybody in the world wants or needs the same things in life, but I can’t help wishing he could have a person of his own to love, and to love him back, the way I found Rupert. Although perhaps that would be too simple for Simon. He is a rather complex person. Perhaps he’d need
two
people of his own.

‘Are you going to be staying in England now?’ I asked him.

‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘Depends on what happens with
this
.’ He looked at the clock. ‘Oh God, it’s been nearly seven and a half hours. That should have been more than enough time for them to –’

The telephone rang, and we both jumped. Simon recovered first and snatched up the receiver.

‘Chester speaking,’ he said. ‘Yes. What? Really? Are you
sure
?’

‘Is that Rupert?’

‘Shh!’ Simon said, grabbing a pencil. ‘Yes,’ he said into the telephone, ‘yes, I
know
you’re familiar with his handwriting, but they could have forced him to write it. Did he use the code? If it’s a genuine message, it should contain the word “Benedict” . . .’

Veronica came pounding in.

‘Is that Rupert?’ she cried.

‘Shh!’ I said, pointing at the message Simon was scribbling down.

‘Right,’ said Simon. ‘Yes . . . Oh, is there? I’ll wait.’ He moved the receiver from his mouth and said, ‘A second pigeon’s just arrived.’ He started scribbling again. ‘Yes, got that. See you soon.’

Simon hung up the telephone. Then he looked at us, an enormous smile spreading across his face.

‘They did it,’ he said, and he started laughing.

And as we whooped and threw our arms around each other, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor and was crumpled underfoot. I retrieved it later, though, and this is what it said:

Safe arrival at 1030, found 6 soldiers, all surrendered weapons & were handcuffed. One extra Nazi turned up when searching Great Hall. Lucky for me, Benedict in customary place & still sharp. No life-threatening wounds inflicted on Nazi, but pls arrange immediate collection of 7 German POWs. Also, bring champagne. Airstrip cleared for use, recommend easterly approach. Swastika torn down, Montmaray flag now flying over castle. Currently cloudy, gusty NW winds, predict late afternoon rain, but it is a GLORIOUS MORNING AT MONTMARAY.

King Toby