The Sisters of St. Croix (10 page)

The Leon children were absorbed into the orphanage wing and although Catherine continued to ask for her mother, David never mentioned her. Baby Hannah had been renamed Anne.

“The other children have ordinary enough names,” Mother Marie-Pierre said to Sister Danielle, “and if we all call the baby Anne from now on, everyone will soon forget that she was ever called anything else.”

The other orphans, Paulette, Monique and Jean-Pierre accepted the arrival of more children without question. Each of them had joined the orphan family in the convent at different times and knew that children came and went. Jean-Pierre was pleased because David was a boy and he’d been feeling a bit outnumbered. Aged eleven, he decided it was his job to show the younger boy the ropes, and Sister Danielle was pleased to see that he had sort of adopted the new boy. Paulette, nearly fourteen and due to leave the convent very soon, was delighted to be allowed to help with baby Anne, and even Monique, always something of a loner, took the young Catherine under her wing.

In the uncertain times, the children were not going to school as they had been, but were now doing lessons with Sister Marie-Joseph, and helping with chores in the kitchen and the garden.

It was in the third week after the raid that Mother Marie-Pierre’s private devotions were interrupted by Sister Celestine banging with unusual vigour on the reverend mother’s office door. Mother Marie-Pierre closed her missal and rang the bell for the nun to enter.

“Oh, Mother, come quickly,” she cried in extreme agitation. “The Germans are here. There’s a car coming up the lane. The Germans are coming here.”

“Calm down, Sister,” Mother Marie-Pierre instructed briskly. “I’ll come and see what they want. In the meantime, send a message to Sister Danielle and tell her to keep the children in and ask Sister Clothilde to light the fire in here.”

Sister Celestine drew a deep breath and murmured “Yes, Mother,” before turning and running off to do as she’d been bidden.

Mother Marie-Pierre closed her eyes and breathed a prayer for wisdom and courage, and then, closing her office door behind her, went through to the hall to meet her unwelcome guests.

Adelaide Anson-Gravetty paused on the steps of the hotel in London to which she had been summoned. She smoothed her uniform skirt and straightened her cap. Her shoes gleamed and the seams of her ladderless stockings, borrowed from a fellow-WAAF on the station especially for the occasion, were straight. Drawing a deep breath, she went up the steps and paused to give her name to a sentry at the door. He was in RAF uniform, and giving her an appreciative grin, he consulted a clipboard.

“Yes, you’re expected,” he said. “See them at the desk,” he nodded back over his shoulder, “and they’ll tell you which room.”

Adelaide thanked him and crossed to the desk. There another WAAF checked her name and then pointed to a chair. “Wait there, please. Someone will come and fetch you when they’re ready for you.”

Adelaide took the indicated seat and waited. She had little idea of why she had been called in from her station near Southampton where she was a driver, all she knew was that her cousin, Andrew, had said she was wasted there with her fluent French and he’d “have a word”. With whom and about what she didn’t know. Andrew was in the RAF too, but he was on special duties of some sort, not on active service, flying planes or anything like that.

When Adelaide had asked him what he did, he grinned. “Nothing very exciting, just a bod at the Air Ministry. They use my French quite a bit.” That had been soon after the war had started, and she had hardly seen him since, just the one occasion when they both had forty-eight hours’ leave.

When war broke out Adelaide had been anxious to join up, but her father thought she would be more use working in a job in London.

“That way you are just as useful,” he pointed out, “and you release a man into the forces to do the fighting. After all what do you have to offer the services?”

Adelaide had been furious with this attitude. “Another pair of hands,” she had snapped. “They train you in what they want you to do, you know.”

“Of course they do,” Richard Anson-Gravetty had replied soothingly, “but probably not in work that you are suited for. Surely there’s plenty of voluntary work to do here in London, for the Red Cross or something? But if that doesn’t appeal to you, why don’t you come over to my office. We can always find you something to do there, I am sure.”

Adelaide had thanked him and said she would think about it… which she did… and then took herself off to the recruitment office and joined the WAAFs.

“You’re not even going to be an officer!” Her father was stupefied by what she had done, but Adelaide simply replied, “No, Father, but I am in the war.”

After her basic training she was posted to an air base near Southampton where, as she could already drive competently, she was employed as a driver. Surprisingly she found she rather enjoyed life with the other girls on the station, and although it was a hard life in many ways, she never regretted joining up as opposed to taking a civilian job.

Her work was fairly routine, as she drove officers about in the course of their duties, but she met some interesting people, and on long drives got to know some of her regulars quite well. However, when she saw the work that the plotters and radio operators did, she decided that she wanted to retrain and make, what seemed to her, a more vital contribution to the war effort. She mentioned this to one of the officers she was driving to a meeting at the Air Ministry.

“I feel I could be doing something more important than just driving people about,” she explained. “Anyone can learn to drive. I want to retrain as a plotter or an radio operator.”

Group Captain Williamson, her passenger, sounded interested in her thoughts. “You once told me you spoke French,” he said, casually.

“Yes, I do,” agreed Adelaide. “But I wouldn’t want to spend my time simply translating documents. I want to do my bit in a more active way.”

“Then by all means put in for retraining,” agreed the group captain easily, “but I shall miss you as a driver!”

It was when she’d been home on a forty-eight that she saw Andrew again. He had come to see her on the first morning.

“Andrew!” she cried in surprised delight as she greeted him with a hug.

“Heard you were home from Grand’mère,” he said. “I’ve got a forty-eight too. Thought we might do a show, or would you rather have dinner and dance somewhere?”

“Both?” suggested Adelaide hopefully, adding as he laughed, “Well two days in London is too much of an opportunity to miss, don’t you think?”

He did think, and when they came out of the theatre he took her on to the Savoy. They had a wonderful evening together and when he finally took her home again it was into the small hours of the morning. Even so, she invited him in and they sat over one last drink before he left.

“My train goes first thing,” he said, nursing a glass of Richard’s best cognac, “so there’s no point in going home to bed.”

“Won’t Grand’mère wonder where you are?” teased Adelaide, knowing that he was meant to be staying at their grandmother’s house.

He grinned his familiar grin. “She’ll be tucked up in bed so she won’t know I wasn’t there, will she? Anyway, I have to go back before I leave to collect my kit, so I’ll see her then.”

“Where are you going?” asked Adelaide with interest. “You didn’t say.”

“No, I didn’t,” agreed Andrew. “Up north.”

“Have you finished at the Air Ministry, then?”

“For now.”

“And you can’t tell me…?”

“No.”

Adelaide shrugged good-naturedly. “Fair enough. Though actually, I’m not a German spy.”

“Aren’t you?” grinned Andrew. “Well you never know! ‘Careless talk costs lives!’” The well-worn slogan made them both laugh.

They had been talking about her life on the air base and Adelaide had told him how she felt about her driving and wanting to retrain.

“I must do something better than driving. Anyone can do that!”

“You are doing important work,” Andrew said as he listened. “But, I agree, anyone trained properly could do your job. I think you’re right to be looking for something else, but not a plotter or r/t operator. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not belittling what you want to do,” he added hastily as she began to protest, “far from it. It’s just that you have other talents and skills that are not so readily available, which could be put to good use.”

Adelaide looked surprised. “Like what?” she asked.

“Like speaking French like a native,” he said. “Thanks to Grand’mère your French is perfect.”

“And to the university. I did get my degree, you know,” Adelaide pointed out.

Andrew laughed. “That’s all about French lit,” he said. “Being able to spout Molière is not so helpful when there’s a war on and France occupied!”

“So what sort of thing?” asked Adelaide intrigued.

Andrew shrugged. “Well, translation of documents, that sort of thing,” he said vaguely. “Acting as interpreter for
Free French
brass, something like that. I could have a word, if you like.”

Adelaide wasn’t particularly keen on this idea, but she didn’t say so. She did not really think he would have any influence in such matters. For her own part she had no intention of applying for such a position. When the time came, she had decided, she would put in for r/t training.

However, Andrew must have had the ear of someone, because here she was waiting to find out what they might want her to do.

It must be using my French, she thought. I can’t think of anything else.

A door opened and a man came out. He was in his early forties, tall and thin, dressed in the uniform of an army captain. He walked over to Adelaide. “Aircraftswoman Anson-Gravetty?”

Adelaide leaped to her feet and saluted. “Yes, sir. Good morning, sir.”

“My name is Jenner. Please come this way.” He led the way back through the door from which he had emerged and closed it carefully behind him.

The room was large and bare, furnished only with a big oak desk and some upright chairs. A second, panelled door opened into a further room, but it was closed.

Captain Jenner walked round behind the desk and waved at one of the upright chairs in front of it. “Please take a seat,” he said and settled himself in his own chair.

Adelaide did so, perching awkwardly on the edge of the seat, waiting.

“I understand that you speak fluent French,” said the captain, addressing her in that language.

Adelaide replied to the question in kind. “Yes, sir. My grandmother is French and she has always spoken to me in French. I spent a good deal of time with her as a child, so I speak it pretty fluently.”

“I believe you also read French at university.”

“Yes, sir.” Remembering Andrew’s comments about Molière, she did not enlarge on this.

For the next hour, Captain Jenner questioned her about her family, her friends, where she had been to school. He seemed to know a great deal about her already as he tossed in queries about her natural father, Freddie Hurst, as well as her adoptive father. He asked her why she had joined up instead of getting a civilian job. Why she had joined the ranks and not put in for officer training.

Adelaide answered him as best she could, trying to work out what he was getting at, what he wanted to know and why he wanted to know it; and the whole conversation was carried on in French. Captain Jenner’s French was fluent and idiomatic, his vocabulary wide, so that on occasion he had Adelaide searching for a word that escaped her. On the whole, however, though she was surprised by the range and depth of questioning, she answered his questions as truthfully as she could, not trying to hide anything from him, though she suspected that somehow he knew all the answers already.

At last he said, “Thank you for coming to see me, Miss Anson-Gravetty. It could be that we need to send you for some special training. I assume you’d be happy about that?”

He asked this as a question, but Adelaide knew it was not, not really. She was expected to agree, and so she did.

“You should return to your present job for the time being,” Captain Jenner said, standing up to indicate that the interview was over, “and report as directed when the time comes. I need hardly tell you that you should not discuss this with anyone. Careless talk costs lives.”

This time the slogan did not make Adelaide laugh as she had when Andrew had trotted it out, this time she knew it was in deadly earnest.

“No, sir. I won’t mention it. May I ask, sir, exactly what this training will be for?”

Captain Jenner allowed himself a faint smile. “You may ask, Aircraftswoman, but until things have been decided you won’t get an answer. Good morning.”

“Good morning, sir.” Adelaide saluted him smartly and turning on her heel left the room.

When she had gone, the door in the corner opened and another man, in the uniform of a major, came in. He looked across at Captain Jenner. “Well, Jenner, what did you think of her? Will she do?” He took a seat in the chair that Adelaide had vacated, and Jenner returned to his place behind the desk.

“Her French is probably good enough,” he said, lighting a cigarette, “with a little brushing up. Accent unexceptional. Plenty of commonsense by the sound of her. Certainly officer material, though she joined up in the ranks.”

“Yes, interesting explanation for that,” remarked the other man. “Did you believe it?”

“What, that she wanted to learn a trade and know how it feels to be an ordinary aircraftswoman before taking on the responsibility of telling other girls what to do?” Jenner drew on his cigarette, considering. “Yes, I think so. It seemed an honest enough answer. She’s clearly intelligent.”

“Ah, but can she think on her feet?”

“That we shall find out if we recommend her for training.”

“She’s very upper class,” pointed out the major. “Will she cope with all she has to learn? It’s a very tough training. Lots don’t make it.”

Jenner shrugged. “Can’t tell for sure, obviously, but yes, on balance I think she will. She may be upper class and very well off, as I understand it in her own right, but she hasn’t used that as an excuse to avoid service life as she might have done. She said her father offered her a job in his business, remember, but she turned it down. It struck me that not only is she self-reliant, but that she has a determined streak.”