Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
E lise, the French housekeeper who had been with the King family since Jack was a boy, opened the door to 32b Grosvenor Place, and beamed when she saw him. He dropped light kisses onto her crepey cheeks, and she clasped both his hands in hers, then stepped back slightly to look at him.
‘We were talking about you only this morning. You’re a handsome devil in that uniform. What a magnificent surprise!’
Jack visited as often as he could, but time was tight. The SOE was all-consuming, and when Lizzie was in London, they spent as much time together as the job allowed. It was tricky juggling the logistics of their families and work, whilst keeping their relationship a secret.
Now Lizzie was in Paris, he had more time on his hands, but he seemed to spend most of it glued to the wireless listening for call signals.
His mother’s melancholic brown eyes lit up at the sight of her eldest son, and he was glad he had reorganised his morning to visit. It was too easy to let work take priority over family. Nicole was dressed immaculately in a tailored skirt and silk blouse and looked effortlessly elegant, as usual.
‘Are you going somewhere nice today, Maman?’ Jack asked, accepting a cup of tea from Elise, even though his mother always dressed as though she were having lunch with the prime minister.
‘There’s a women’s group meeting this afternoon, and I promised I would attend. You’re lucky to catch me. I was thinking of leaving early to pop to the shops, but that can wait until tomorrow. It’s so good to see you, darling. I bet you’re turning some heads in that uniform.’
It was only the second time Jack had worn his captain’s uniform to visit his mother, and she still wasn’t used to the sight of him in his military garb.
They chatted about the recent heavy raids in Portsmouth and Cardiff, and then the conversation turned naturally to Jack’s brother Henry, who was a pilot in the RAF.
‘He telephoned last week, and we talked for a few minutes before he was called away,’ Nicole said. ‘It was so lovely to hear from him.’
Jack heard the emotion in his mother’s voice, and his heart twisted. Nicole had borne widowhood gracefully, but the sadness was never far beneath the surface. Jack wished he could do more to cheer her, but she worried about Henry, which was only natural when he was on the front line in the skies, defending Britain.
Jack tried not to think about the worst happening to his younger brother, but the inevitable fears often crept into his mind, usually in the darkest hours of the night when he was alone. Some of Jack’s colleagues had lost siblings and sons in the Battle of Britain, and it was a blessing Henry had survived the daily dog fights over the channel. Too many pilots in his brother’s squadron had plummeted to their deaths defending Britain against the full-scale Luftwaffe attacks on England, intended to smooth the way for a German seaborne invasion.
Fortunately, they had failed, and Henry had lived.
‘Oh, that’s good. I haven’t caught up with him for a few weeks. How is he?’
Nicole frowned. ‘He said he’s keeping well, and everything is fine, but I’m certain he wouldn’t tell me even if it wasn’t. You know how he is. How do you think he’s coping with the stress of it all? He’s been on active duty for so long now.’
Jack finished his tea and rested the porcelain cup on the table. ‘He’s fine, Maman. It’s a difficult time for everyone, but he loves flying and doing his bit. Try not to worry so much.’
Nicole’s lips formed a weak smile. ‘You’re right, of course, but it’s just so dangerous. He flies most days, you know.’
Jack nodded. ‘I know, but the worst of it is over. Henry is a true hero—if it weren’t for skilled, dedicated pilots like him, we would have lost the Battle of Britain, and Hitler and his mob would be on our shores. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s awarded a medal. Not much time for accolades now, but they will come.’
‘He certainly deserves a medal, but I’d gladly just have our boy back without any of that. On the radio last week, they talked of the RAF conducting Fighter Sweeps over occupied Europe. The whole thing sounded terrifying, and it only seems to get more so every time I listen.’
Jack squeezed his mother’s hand. ‘Stop listening to the broadcasts if they upset you.’
‘That’s what Elise says,’ Nicole said, a wry smile on her lovely face.
‘She always was smart. Listen to the cheerful programmes instead of the war broadcasts. Thinking too much about what’s happening is enough to depress anyone. ’
Jack knew that too well and wished he would follow his own advice.
Elise tapped on the door and entered, bearing a tray of freshly baked cake. She poured them another round of tea and served the cake, apologising as she always did that it was not up to her pre-war standards.
‘I don’t know how you do it, but you produce such delicious goodies even in this dire rationing situation. You’re a true marvel,’ Jack said, shaking his head in between bites of sponge.
‘Oh, you. You’re making me blush!’ She laughed, overjoyed by his enthusiastic praise.
After more tea and cake, and more chatting, Jack finally rose and said he must get back to the office.
‘Any news of Hannah?’ his mother asked.
‘Yes, there is actually. Not much I can tell you, but last I heard, she’s well.’
‘Thank goodness. When this awful war is over, I plan to throw a marvellous big wedding for Henry and Hannah.’
Jack smiled. ‘What a lovely idea, Maman. Keep thinking those happy thoughts, rather than listening to too many broadcasts. Promise me?’
Nicole agreed she would do as he asked, and then walked him to the door, her arm tucked in his. She turned and gave him a tight hug. ‘You look handsome but tired, my boy. That job is wearing you out. Now you promise me something. Take it easier, please, and get some rest.’
Jack laughingly promised he would, and his mother kissed him and waved him off, her brown eyes shining bright with unshed tears.
Jack had another duty to perform that chilly afternoon, so he walked quickly to Baker Street and organised a car. It seemed wasteful to get someone to drive him, and he enjoyed driving himself when he could. It would give him a chance to think clearly about the Paris mission.
He weaved the car out of London and headed west towards Oxfordshire. As he wound through the country lanes, his mind ticked over with thoughts of Lizzie’s latest message he had decoded. Paris was now on German time, so it would be 2 p.m. there and he wondered what she was doing.
What had happened to the scientist she mentioned, and how had she got involved? It sounded like a recipe for disaster, and he didn’t like it one bit. In the back of his mind, he was prepared to fly into France on a moment’s notice if he didn’t hear from her again in the next day or two.
The waiting around every day was tortuous, and he had to keep reminding himself that this was the nature of espionage, and wartime espionage was even more tense. Things either happened at a snail's pace, and you needed the patience to wait it out without losing your nerve, or the situation escalated into an emergency and before you knew what was happening, you had to take immediate action.
Whatever it was, he was on standby and ready for it. Lizzie was determined to carry out her duties, but the mission weighed heavily on his heart, and he would hold himself responsible if something went wrong.
The car entered the pretty market town of Henley-on-Thames just as the pale wintery sun showed its face and glimmered on the surface of the River Thames.
Jack parked the car next to a pile of sandbags and hurried into town towards the post office, wishing he’d worn his coat.
Lizzie had asked him to post her first card to her family shortly after she left, so they wouldn’t worry when she didn’t call them. He extracted the handwritten postcard that featured a picture of the Henley stone-arched bridge from his pocket, running his fingers over the text as he read.
Dearest Ma, Pa, Juliet & Evie,
I hope you are all keeping well. This is just a short note to let you know I’ve settled into the job at the nursing home in Henley. The veterans are cheered to have someone to translate for them as they try to rebuild their lives. It’s a lovely, quiet market town, and I’m enjoying the work. The food isn’t too bad either!
Missing you, as always. Please look after yourselves. I will write again as soon as I can.
All my love,
Lizzie xxx
p.s If you want to drop me a line, remember to write to the Baker Street address. They will forward it on to me.