Dominion (46 page)

The train came and rattled slowly up to Highgate. When she came out into the street the gloomy winter’s day was already starting to fade towards dusk. She took a deep breath and then,
A–Z
in hand, went to find Lovelock Road.

It was a street of Victorian terraced houses, tall lime trees on the edge of the pavement, small front gardens behind dusty privet hedges. She walked up the even-numbered side of the street
until she was opposite Number 17, then stopped and looked across. The privet hedge was neatly clipped, net curtains over the windows. She walked further up the street, then slowly back down again.
There was little traffic. A milk-float puttered along behind her, crates rattling on the back.

She stopped again in front of the house. She felt as she had in Tottenham Court Road, that she needed to see the place, but it was just an ordinary suburban home. She realized again how cold it
was. She was wearing her old brown coat, and hoped the Jewish girl, Ruth, was still wearing her new one, somewhere safe.

The front door of the house opened suddenly and a little old woman stood in the doorway, glaring at Sarah. She wore a grubby housecoat and had a wrinkled face and angry eyes. Her bushy white
hair was unbrushed. She advanced down the path with quick, jerky steps, keeping those wild eyes fixed on Sarah’s. She thought with horror, it’s Carol’s mother. She knows who I am,
she knows everything.

The old woman threw open the gate and walked across the road without looking to see if there were any cars. She planted herself a few feet from Sarah, staring up at her. ‘I’ve been
watching you,’ she shouted furiously in a fluting upper-class voice. ‘I’m not as stupid as you think I am. You want to take me away, don’t you?’

‘No. I was—’

‘Anyone can get taken away these days, I know! Well, my daughter won’t let you. She steals things, I know that, but she won’t let you take me away! Do you
understand?’

Sarah realized the woman was senile, half-mad. She looked into her blazing eyes. ‘It’s all right,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ll go.’ She stepped away. The old woman
remained where she was, arms folded across her thin chest. Sarah turned and walked a few paces before turning to look back. The woman was still standing in the road. Sarah called, ‘Be
careful! A car might come!’

‘You mind your own fucking business, damned snooping cow.’ The sudden tirade of abuse sounded even more deranged in that cultivated voice. Sarah walked on a few more steps and when
she turned back again the old woman was stumbling back across the road to her house. Sarah realized her legs were shaking.

She went back to the station. She was exhausted, freezing cold. It was starting to get properly dark, the streetlights coming on. Next to the station she saw a cafe, yellow
light visible through the steamed-up window. She walked in, desperate to get warm. It was what they called a greasy spoon, tired-looking old men in caps sitting at tables covered with
black-and-white oilcloth reading the
Mail
or
Express
, a couple of bored-looking boys in their teens with quiffed greasy hair. The air was thick with steam and cigarette smoke. A big
old-fashioned radio played music from the Light Programme. She went to the counter where a fat man in an apron stood under a framed portrait of the Queen, and ordered a cup of tea and a bun. The
man looked at her curiously, as this wasn’t the sort of place a woman of her class came to; but Sarah didn’t care, it was any port in a storm. She took her tea and found an empty table.
The boys stared rudely at her. She looked away.

She sat for nearly two hours, drinking several cups of the strong, sweet tea. Nobody spoke to her, and the boys went after a time. She felt oddly relieved to be in a place where no-one knew her.
She thought about the mad old woman and found herself actually pitying Carol, who must have to deal with her day in, day out. On the other side of the steamed-up window it was quite dark now,
passers-by vague shadows in the gloom. She looked at her watch. It was a quarter to seven; David would be on his way home now, he would return to an empty house. It was a strange thought. She could
telephone and say she had gone into town, been held up somewhere. But the obstinacy that had come over her that morning still gripped her.

She left the cafe. It was even colder and there was a faint sulphurous tang in the air now, though no fog. She walked slowly back to Lovelock Road: Carol might be home by now. She stood in front
of the house; the curtains were drawn but she could see several lights on. She shrank from the thought of going and ringing the doorbell, maybe finding herself face to face with the mad old woman
again. But she made herself walk up the path and, with a deep breath, pulled the old-fashioned bell cord.

It was Carol who came to the door. Sarah recognized her at once. She wore a roll-neck sweater and baggy slacks. She looked red-eyed, as though she had been crying. She stared blankly at Sarah
for a second, then a look of alarm crossed her face. ‘Mrs Fitzgerald?’

Sarah felt the blood pounding in her ears, but forced herself to speak firmly and calmly. ‘Yes. Miss Bennett, I’m very sorry, but I need to speak to you urgently.’

She thought there might be some sort of argument on the doorstep but Carol just quietly said, ‘Come in,’ and stood aside to let her enter. Sarah saw her look quickly up and down the
road before she closed the door. Inside, the hallway was full of heavy old-fashioned furniture. A voice called out from behind a closed door, ‘Who is it, Carol? What do they want?’

‘It’s all right, Mother. Stay there, I’ll bring your dinner in a minute.’

‘What’s happening?’ The elderly voice quavered. ‘Something’s happened, Carol, I saw from your face when you came in!’

Carol shouted, ‘Mother! Just wait!’ Sarah was frightened the door would open and the old woman would come out raving again but she didn’t. Red-faced now, Carol opened another
door and ushered Sarah into a cold front room.

‘Please, have a seat,’ Carol said quietly. ‘Can I offer you a sherry?’

Sarah sat in a big armchair with white crocheted antimacassars. She said, with cold formality, ‘No, thank you.’ On a big table in the window, next to an aspidistra, stood several
framed photographs, the largest showing a young officer in naval uniform.

Carol sat on a settee opposite her. ‘What’s happened?’ Her voice was sharp with anxiety.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Sarah stared at her.

‘To David – Mr Fitzgerald – please, what happened to him?’

Sarah frowned. ‘Nothing, so far as I know he’s home by now. What on earth do you mean?’ Her own voice was rising now. She began to feel uneasy. Something was going on here she
didn’t understand.

Carol asked abruptly, ‘Then why have you come?’

‘Why did you telephone my house last night? I was by the phone, I heard what you said. Why did you want to meet my husband today?’

Carol looked down. Sarah could see the woman was fighting for control. She took a deep breath. ‘I need to know what is going on between you and my husband.’

Carol raised her head. She looked embarrassed, her face flushed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve known something was going on for a while. I found a concert ticket with your name in his pocket. Then you rang last night. Was it because I answered that you said there was a
problem at work?’

Carol clasped her hands in her lap, looked down at the floor for a long moment. Then she looked at Sarah and said, slowly, ‘Mrs Fitzgerald, there is nothing going on between me and David.
I’ll be honest, I do have – feelings – for him, I have for a long time. He doesn’t return them, but I’ve been fooling myself for quite a while.’ She gave a quick
whinny of a laugh. ‘Isn’t it strange, here we are sitting talking about it. I’ve often wished you didn’t exist, you know, or even that you’d die.’ Her look was
so intense Sarah wondered if Carol might be a little unhinged, too, like her mother.

‘At least that’s honest,’ she said flatly.

‘David’s a good man. Believe me, I’ve met plenty who aren’t.’ She frowned. ‘Did you come round here earlier this afternoon? My mother said a woman was
watching the house.’

‘Yes. Yes, that was me.’

Carol said, ‘When she told me that, I was frightened. So it was because of the phone call you decided to come round. Was that the only reason?’

‘Yes. What other reason could there be? Miss Bennett, why did you ask whether something had happened to David?’

Carol stood and walked over to the table. She ran her hand along the top of the naval officer’s photograph and Sarah wondered if he was her father; there was a resemblance. Carol turned
and looked at Sarah. ‘Something happened at the office today. I’m in charge of the room where the confidential files are kept, secret files. A few days ago a document turned up in one
of our files that shouldn’t have been there. Today I was questioned about it by the police.’ She looked away. ‘You see, they all know David and I are friends at the office, they
laugh about it. And today I was called in to be interviewed by these two policemen. They asked whether we –’ her voice stumbled – ‘whether David and I – well, I told
them I hadn’t, which is true.’

‘Policemen?’ Sarah asked, aghast.

‘They said they were from Special Branch. But one of them was German. They asked whether I’d given David access to my files, though I didn’t do that, I wouldn’t. I may be
– what do they call it – a lovelorn old spinster but I’m not that lovelorn.’ A thought seemed to strike Carol and she frowned. ‘But maybe David thought I was, maybe
that’s why he became friendly with me.’

Fear washed through Sarah then, from her head to her feet, like cold water. A German. ‘Are you saying that you – that they – think he’s some sort of spy?’

‘They had his personnel file on the desk. After they let me go I phoned David, I had to warn him. They don’t send Germans along just for nothing, do they? I didn’t ask him if
he’d done anything, I didn’t want to know. But he didn’t deny it.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘He didn’t really say anything.’

Sarah asked, quietly, ‘Did you and my husband ever meet in the evenings?’

‘No. Never. I swear.’

‘He’s been going somewhere. For over a year. He said he went to play tennis and I’ve been getting – suspicious.’ Her voice tailed away.

Carol leaned forward. ‘You have to help him now.’

‘Good God.’ Sarah closed her eyes. ‘Did they call David in for questioning?’

‘I don’t know. I said he should leave but I don’t know what happened after that.’

‘So they could have arrested him?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is that Mr Dabb, my boss, said the police would want to speak to me again tomorrow; they’ll contact me.’

‘So David might be under arrest?’

‘I tell you, I don’t know. But if he got out – wouldn’t he come home?’

‘I’ve been out all day.’ Sarah didn’t add,
because of you
. ‘I should go home, he may be there.’

‘Yes,’ Carol agreed quickly. ‘Even if he’s not there, he may telephone you.’

Sarah looked at her. It was strange, now they were on the same side. She asked, ‘Why did you help him today? You’re putting yourself at risk.’

‘I know he’s a good man. If he does something it’s because he believes it’s right.’

‘Would you believe it’s right? For a civil servant to spy against the government?’

Carol smiled sadly. ‘I don’t know anything about politics. And David and I never discussed it. You don’t, in the Service, unless you know someone well. I don’t like a lot
of the things that are happening now, some of them I hate. But I have to get by. Isn’t that how it is for most people, they just want – need – to get by? My mother – well,
you’ve seen what she’s like. And if the alternative to Beaverbrook and Mosley’s a revolution I’m not sure I’d want that either. I’m not brave, not like
David.’

Sarah said, ‘I’ve always been a pacifist. I don’t like the Resistance violence. But things lately—’

‘Yes. The Jews, the deportations and violence, it’s awful.’ Carol paused and then asked, ‘Do you think David could be a spy?’

‘It might explain a lot.’ Sarah stood up suddenly. ‘I should go now.’

Carol took a step towards her, then stopped. She rubbed a hand across her forehead. ‘I don’t know if I should have told you. But I had to. Will you tell him I’ve spoken to
you?’

‘I think I must, now.’ It was Sarah’s turn to laugh. ‘I made myself come here, I was determined to get the truth, but you often get more than you bargain for if you do
that, don’t you?’

Carol smiled sadly. ‘Yes. But you – you have to help him now.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Sarah looked at Carol. She didn’t feel anger now. She realized that in different circumstances she and this woman might have been friends. But when Carol
impulsively extended a hand Sarah shook her head quickly. She knew Carol would have taken David from her if she could.

Carol showed her out. On the doorstep she said, ‘Good luck. To both of you.’

Sarah nodded. She turned away, then looked back and said, ‘Thank you.’

Sarah went home. The rush hour was over, the carriages only half full. She stared unseeingly at the tunnel walls. The idea that David was working for the Resistance fitted with
the facts. She felt rage towards him, fury at all he had kept from her if this was true, the danger he had placed them both in. Then she thought of him lying in a police station somewhere, maybe
even in Senate House where they said the SS tortured people, and the thought of him in a cell, bruised and broken, made her want to scream out loud.

She arrived at Kenton Station and walked home. Now, for the first time, she began to observe, to calculate. She thought, the house might be watched. If it was there would be someone in a car
outside or very close. What would she do if there was? She realized there would be no point in running, they’d soon catch her and running would be a sign of guilt. No, she would go back to
the house. But what if David wasn’t there? He might have come while she was out. She would look and see if he had taken any clothes. Then what? She would have to throw herself on
Irene’s mercy. Then she thought of Geoff, steady, reliable Geoff. If David wasn’t there she would go to Pinner.