Bomber (20 page)

Harry was enjoying having her near to him as she cut and dyed his hair. He could see Stearley was watching the whole process closely. He offered to help but she briskly refused.

The dye did the trick. His hair was several shades lighter – still dark, but not the deep black it was naturally.

After that the days took on a dreary monotony. They turned into a week and Harry found it difficult to remember which day it actually was. Natalie visited every other day, with bread and dried meat, and some apples and sometimes potatoes. She apologised about the lack of variety in their food, but otherwise would not be drawn into conversation.

When she was not there Stearley started to talk about Natalie all the time. Mostly she wore the same cream coat every day, but occasionally she would turn up in a black coat. Sometimes she wore a red beret, sometimes a black one. It was a subject that interested Stearley inordinately.
Harry was alarmed by the lieutenant’s growing obsession with her. Every time she visited, his eyes would never leave her. And after she left he always made the same joke about having to take a cold shower.

Harry wondered if he ought to say something to him about this. But it was all too embarrassing. Besides, he didn’t want to fall out with his lieutenant.

One late afternoon, when it had been raining non-stop, there was a rattle at the door. Natalie came in looking bedraggled. But she announced she had managed to find them some lamb cutlets and intended to cook them a fine dinner.

‘I even have a nice bottle of wine,’ she said. ‘And a little butter for our potatoes.’

The food they had that evening was delicious, and Harry found himself thinking of John Hill and how much he would have enjoyed it. Natalie fried the chops in garlic and herbs and prepared green beans and buttered potatoes. Harry could picture John there in the kitchen, leaning over her shoulder watching how she cooked. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t there in the world any more.

As they ate, Natalie had to keep telling them to be a little quieter. Stearley, especially, was getting boisterous as the bottle slowly emptied and she was obviously worried about the neighbours overhearing their conversation. Harry had barely drunk at all back home in Brooklyn, but the wine went very well with it all, and he was getting a taste for it.

After they had eaten she said, ‘I have some news. Some good. Some not so. First the not so good. You will have to stay here for at least another week. Your passes are not in order and we need to do them again.’

Their faces fell. So this was what this was about. A treat to keep them in good spirits.

But then she smiled and fished out two books from her bag. ‘The good news … I have a present for you both.’

She placed the books on the table. John Steinbeck’s
The Grapes of Wrath
and Margaret Mitchell’s
Gone with the Wind
.

She searched their faces. ‘I hope you have not read them already.’ She pushed the Mitchell towards Stearley.

‘I thought you would enjoy this one, monsieur,’ she said with a smile.

Harry laughed at her joke about Stearley’s likeness to Clark Gable, who had starred in the film of
Gone with the Wind
– a global cinema sensation in the year the war broke out.

‘And also, I have a pack of cards. That will help, yes? Now I have to go. I leave you the washing-up, if you don’t mind!’

The two airmen did the dishes together, both of them full of wine-fuelled bonhomie and good cheer.

‘What a girl,’ said Stearley. ‘Isn’t she something!’

‘Have you read those books?’ asked Harry. He’d read
Gone with the Wind
– hadn’t everybody? – but he
hadn’t read the Steinbeck. He didn’t care though. He was desperate for something to keep him occupied.

‘I never read the “Wind” book,’ said Stearley. ‘Seen the film though.’

Harry was reluctant to feed the lieutenant’s vanity but he couldn’t help himself. ‘I liked her Clark Gable joke,’ he said.

Stearley gave a little smile. ‘I’m winning her round, Harry. Just you see!’

Natalie arrived with more books a few days later, but that didn’t stop them climbing the walls with boredom. Both of them were finding it difficult to sleep and Harry was often troubled by nightmares where he was trapped in a burning plane. He kept flashing back to his final moments with his friend John. He wished he could have saved that photograph of his girl Shirley. Then when all this was over, he could have sent it back to her and told her it was the last thing he saw. His thoughts often drifted to the other guys in the
Macey May
who had been killed. It was almost too much to take in – these boys who had been flesh and blood a few days before were now just a memory.

The weather took a turn for the better. For three days there was bright autumn sunshine, and the days were warm enough to have a window open. It was like being in prison, not being able to go out.

Now when Natalie visited, Stearley and Harry pleaded to be let outside. Eventually she gave in and said she would
take them out for a short walk on Saturday evening. There were usually lots of people out on the street and many of them would be drunk. The Milice and the Germans would have enough everyday ill behaviour to watch out for already.

After she’d gone, Stearley was in unusually good spirits. They could find a café, he confided to Harry, and he would ask her to dance. That would sweep her off her feet.

‘But won’t we look ridiculous?’ said Harry. ‘A couple of decorators out with a beautiful girl.’

‘Hey, Harry, you’ve got style or you haven’t!’ he replied. ‘We’ll look fine.’

True to her word, she turned up on Saturday evening. Harry was amused to see she had made herself look as dowdy as possible and wore an old grey coat clearly in need of a brush-down. Whether this was to blend in with the two scruffy decorators she was accompanying, or send a clear message to Stearley that she wasn’t interested in him, Harry didn’t know.

But it was marvellous being out, even on a frosty autumnal evening. The air had a crisp sparkle that made them feel very much alive. They walked along a busy street and then the length of a park that had closed for the evening. Harry was very taken by the elegance of Paris, with its wide cobbled streets and great tall apartment blocks, built a hundred years or so before. He was fascinated by this city and desperately wanted to know more about it, but Natalie had forbidden them to speak out in the street.

After they had strolled around the twilight streets for half an hour they came across a café bar where dance music could be heard. Stearley broke her no-talking rule and whispered, ‘So, Natalie, will you come and dance?’

She was frosty. ‘
Monsieur, vous êtes fou – c’est impossible
.’ Harry understood that – ‘You must be mad.’

There was an ugly silence. ‘
Venez, rentrons a l’appartement
,’ she said abruptly.

Stearley hadn’t expected her to turn him down; Harry could see it in his face. As they walked back they passed several other cafés where the music from a small jazz band or a gramophone drifted out into the street. They reached a crossroads close to their safe house.

Now Stearley was fuming and Harry hoped he wasn’t going to do anything stupid.

As they neared the apartment, Stearley announced, ‘I’m sick of being cooped up in that dreary place. I need to stretch my legs some more. I’ll be back later.’

With that he walked off down a side street. Natalie and Harry watched him go with mounting unease. Then a coldness came over her. She looked around to make sure they would not be overheard.

‘So … he’s on his own,’ she whispered quietly. ‘You and me, we will go to another safe house. When he gets back, there will be no one there.’

Harry thought about going after him, but before he could do anything else, they saw Stearley turn round to look back at them as if he had been expecting them to come
after him. Not looking where he was going, he bumped straight into a German soldier. There under the lamplight Natalie and Harry watched as the two exchanged words, then the German pointed his rifle straight at Stearley.

What happened next astonished them. Stearley punched the German soldier so hard he collapsed on the ground, out cold. Worse was to come. The lieutenant turned on his heels and ran back towards the two of them.

Natalie told Harry to walk away as fast as he could without being conspicuous. Stearley caught up soon enough.

They walked the next few streets in angry silence. She led them back to the apartment, and when she had bolted the door she gave Stearley a look of cold hatred.

‘You idiot,’ she spat at him as quietly as her rage would allow. ‘Why did you punch him?’

He seemed rather pleased with himself. ‘Kraut walking into me threw me. I said, “Watch out, pal.” Then I realised I’d spoken to him in English. He raised his rifle so I knocked him out. Hope I broke his jaw.’

‘Well,’ said Natalie icily, ‘I’m going to leave you and I’m not coming back. You can fend for yourself. I suspect you won’t have to for long though, because the Germans will be here searching every house in the next hour. And you
can spend the rest of the war in a prison camp. Well done, Lieutenant Stearley. You’re a credit to your nation.’

He stared open-mouthed at her rage.

‘Was that why you wanted to go for a walk? So you could ask me to dance? Do you not understand how treacherous this business is? Do you not realise that if you are noticed then I will be arrested and almost certainly tortured and shot?’

Shaking her head in disgust, she left without another word.

Harry expected an apology from Stearley, but the lieutenant was still looking immensely pleased with himself. ‘She’ll be back,’ he said.

Harry didn’t know what to say. He wanted to hit Stearley, but he knew hitting an officer was a very serious offence. What could he do to make him realise he was behaving like an idiot? He took himself away to another room and seethed in silence.

Expecting the streets to be full of German soldiers with dogs and torches, and thinking every creak and bang in the night was someone knocking on the door, Harry was too tense to sleep. Stearley went out like a light, entirely indifferent to the trouble he had brought upon them.

But when Harry did fall asleep and then woke around three in the morning he realised there had been no house-to-house searches after all. The Germans had not reacted as Natalie had predicted. Perhaps Stearley had got away with it.

There was enough food in the apartment for breakfast the next morning, which was good as Harry was not looking forward to having to argue with Stearley about whether they should go out and buy their breakfast in a café with the few francs they had between them. He had grown to like Stearley in these long days holed up here. But now he was really beginning to detest him.

‘What are we going to do?’ he asked Stearley after they had finished off the last of a stale baguette.

‘Wait. She’ll be back. They won’t leave us here –’

There was a knock at the door.

Harry tiptoed to look through the peephole. There was a Frenchman standing there, a few feet back so anyone looking at him could see him clearly. Harry and Stearley both agreed it was not the way they’d expect the Gestapo or the Milice to behave. Stearley opened the door.

The man walked right in. ‘Lieutenant Stearley?’ he asked in impeccable English, once the door was shut.

Stearley nodded, and before he could say a word, the man punched him hard in the stomach. Stearley collapsed on the floor gasping for air, writhing in agony.

‘If this happens again, expect the worst,’ said the man. ‘And I’ll tell you this, I’d happily shoot you myself.’

Stearley remained on the floor.

‘You are not to leave the apartment. If you do, then you are on your own,’ the man said. He turned and left without another word.

Stearley lay on the floor for a full five minutes before he found the strength to haul himself up. ‘She’ll be back,’ he said to Harry. ‘I’ll bet you a croissant she’ll be back!’

Harry bit his tongue as he felt the anger building up inside him. He wanted to tell Stearley the man was right. He was being more than foolish. But Harry knew they shouldn’t fall out. Besides, Stearley was his commanding officer now Holberg was dead. That still counted for something, surely.

A while later, when his anger had abated, Harry did manage to raise the subject indirectly. ‘You know, if we’re arrested, and the Nazis discover I’m a Jew, it’s going to be far worse for me than it is for you.’

Stearley thought about it for a brief moment, then said, ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re an American and you’re protected by the Geneva Convention.’

It was clear to Harry that Stearley hadn’t connected his own behaviour with what Harry had said about being a Jew at all. He fumed silently, cursing the lieutenant’s arrogance.

Later that afternoon they had another visitor – a large French lady in late middle age carrying a grey shopping bag. She let herself in and they were both startled to see this stranger in their midst. She barely spoke to them, just dropped off provisions and then left.

Three days later they were dozing in the afternoon, wondering what to do next, when they heard the front door open. Natalie was standing there, eyes blazing with
anger, clutching a bag of provisions. ‘My superior officer tells me I have to carry on with you as we have lost another operative. But I will not tolerate any foolishness. Do I make myself understood?’

Stearley stood up and walked over to her. For one awful moment Harry thought he was going to try to embrace her, but he didn’t. He stood a respectful distance away and said, ‘Mademoiselle, I apologise unreservedly.’

She nodded, and Harry thought he saw the ghost of a smile flicker across her face. He liked Natalie, although she frightened him too. She was beautiful, she was resourceful and clever, but she had this ruthless streak in her eye that he had never seen in any other girl.

‘Tonight we are going to take a train down to Châteauroux,’ she said. ‘Austerlitz is our station. We’ll walk. It’s not far. And it’s always good not to have to go through unnecessary checkpoints on the Métro. So we need to leave here at six to catch the seven o’clock train. Help yourself to provisions – I have bread and cheese and ham, and eat as much as you can because I’m not sure when we’ll be getting some more.’