‘And with that established, when can I see you again?’
‘That’s the difficult part, isn’t it? You’re here in London and I’m at Island House with Annelise.’
‘Not so difficult at all,’ he replied with a shake of his head. ‘When I next have a day off, I shall come up and see you. It will be something to look forward to.’
‘It’ll be something I shall look forward to also,’ she murmured, a warm glow spreading through her.
Again the words hung between them, making Hope realise just how very happy she was that not only had Edmund come back into her life, but that he should care for her so much.
‘How do you think Evelyn is?’ she asked when a few moments had passed.
‘You mean with regard to Kit?’
Hope nodded. ‘I feel there’s so much she’s not saying.’
‘Evelyn plays her cards pretty close to her chest. Whatever feelings she may have begun to have for Kit, she hasn’t shared them with me. In some ways she’s quite like you, Hope, resistant to wearing her heart on her sleeve.’ His expression earnest, he reached across the table and tentatively laced his fingers through hers. ‘I meant it earlier when I said you were beautiful. I’ve always thought so. I’m just glad you’ve allowed me to say it.’
‘I’m glad too.’
She was just relaxing into his touch when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Irene rise from her chair and make her way towards the ladies’ cloakroom. ‘If I’m not mistaken, I’d say my sister-in-law is pregnant,’ said Hope. ‘You’re an expert; what do you think?’
His eyes on Irene, Edmund said, ‘About five months, I’d say. Presumably Arthur didn’t tell you he was due to be a father?’
‘Indeed he didn’t,’ answered Hope. ‘But the question that springs to mind,’ she went on, her eyes returning to the table where Irene had been sitting, and where her companion remained, ‘is whether the baby is actually his.’
Chapter Sixty-Six
May 1940
Arthur was late leaving work that evening. He wasn’t the only one; most of his department had stayed behind.
It had been this way for some days, the War Office finally stepping up a gear ever since Chamberlain had stood down as PM and Churchill had taken his place. When the announcement was made that Chamberlain was going, the women in Arthur’s office did nothing but talk about Churchill and how he would now galvanise the nation and give Hitler the shock of his life.
The shock, however, was the other way around when on the twelfth of May, Hitler ordered the invasion of France. Within no time, German tanks had crossed the Meuse and sliced open a gap in the Allied front. The talk now was that it wouldn’t be long before German troops would reach the English Channel. With Holland, Luxembourg and Belgium now gone, Arthur pitied the poor devils stuck with the British Expeditionary Force in France.
It was a pleasantly warm and mild evening, and so instead of using the Underground, Arthur decided to walk home. He was in no hurry. Irene’s mother had descended upon them for a visit of an unspecified length, and every minute appeared to be spent discussing what would be needed when the baby arrived. The bloody Germans were practically banging on the door, and all Irene and her mother cared about was choosing the baby’s layette and what colour to paint the nursery.
Arthur had noticed that as Irene’s pregnancy progressed, his input, or even his opinion, had grown exponentially less important, as though he were now redundant. To put it crudely, he had sown the seed and now he simply wasn’t required. Was this how all fathers-to-be felt? And if he were honest, wasn’t this how he would prefer it? For now, at any rate. But once the child was born, he would see to it that things were very different. He would not be pushed aside then.
Whitehall now well behind him, Arthur slowed his pace yet further. Above him was one of the many barrage balloons protecting London from an attack by the Luftwaffe. The women in the office twittered on about how pretty the silver balloons were, but he saw them differently. To him they were great sinister beasts hovering high in the sky waiting to devour their prey.
He was just passing the open door of a pub surrounded by sandbags, catching the invitingly tantalising smell of warm beer and the acrid tang of cigarette smoke, when he spotted something across the road that stopped him in his tracks. For a moment he could have sworn he was seeing things, or that the woman simply bore an uncanny resemblance. But then, looking at the man who had his arm linked through hers, his jaw quite literally dropped.
The blood pounding in his eardrums, his chest tight, he set off in pursuit, keeping his distance until he could be absolutely sure of what he was seeing.
But he was sure! He might only have vision in one eye, but as he trailed in their wake, watching the amorous manner in which the woman tilted back her head and laughed at what the man was saying, he’d wager his house and every penny in the bank that he wasn’t mistaken.
By God, he’d pulled some stunts of his own, but this was beyond anything he had ever dreamt up. How gullible he’d been! What a ruddy great imbecile the pair of them had made of him. Not for a single second had he suspected he was being duped. Well, now their little game was over. It ended as of now. They’d had their sport; it was time for him to turn the tables. What was more, he was going to damned well enjoy himself while exposing the pair of them.
The blaring of a car horn had him jumping back onto the pavement. So intent had he been on pursuing his quarry, he hadn’t noticed that he’d stepped into the road. The man behind the wheel of the car seemed to think his recklessness worthy of another blast of the horn, which had the effect of attracting attention from passers-by. Including those he was following. Not ready yet to confront them, he pulled his hat down low and ducked into a shop doorway in Jermyn Street. When he deemed it safe to continue, he set off again at a faster pace in order to catch them up. Seeing them stop in front of the Ritz then go in, he counted to a hundred and followed them inside.
After leaving his coat with the cloakroom assistant, he went through to the bar. Sure enough, there they were, large as life, just making themselves comfortable at a cosy little table. And all at his expense no doubt.
‘Well, well, well, isn’t this just fine?’ he said, pulling out a chair and joining them. ‘And my word, Pamela, how well you look. I don’t believe Lazarus himself could have risen from his tomb looking better than you do right now.’
The look of shock on the woman’s face could not have been more satisfying. The same was true of her companion, the odious little man, David Webster, who had visited Arthur at home to blackmail him. To her credit, Pamela regained her composure faster than he did.
‘Darling,’ she said, leaning forward and filling the air between them with a waft of the perfume she had always worn, ‘I do hope you’re not going to make a scene.’
