Dominion (58 page)

‘The proletariat, you mean,’ Natalia said, sounding weary.

‘Aye, the proletariat. The working class. We’ll win in the end, like Lenin did in Russia—’

‘So, Ben, you’d like Europe to be as Russia was?’ Natalia said. ‘With those huge prison camps the Germans found there?’

‘The Germans built those camps, got German actors to pretend to be Russian prisoners—’

Natalia shook her head. ‘No, you’re wrong. I understand enough Russian to know what the survivors were saying. And you saw their faces on the newsreels, they were starving,
dying—’

‘All right. Mebbe Stalin went too far, but people exaggerate that. Khrushchev and Zhukov want a different Russia—’

Sean said, ‘Opposition may be growing here. But this government’s still got plenty of supporters, including working-class people like our bloody neighbour. Beaverbrook’s got
his newspapers behind him. And the police and the army and the Germans. It’ll be a long bloody battle and I hope to God we get something new and better at the end of it. Not what the Russians
had.’

‘Probably we’d end up like America,’ Geoff said. ‘Not sure that’d be a good thing entirely.’

Frank sat up. ‘Don’t fight among yourselves like this,’ he said pleadingly. ‘Please, don’t.’

Ben said, ‘We’re just having a wee chat—’

‘It’s because of me you’re all here.’ There was a sudden silence round the table. ‘You’re the brave ones, the ones who decided to fight. You need to stand
together.’

They went to bed after the meal, tired out. In their room Geoff undressed and got under the covers.

‘Are you all right?’ David asked.

‘I’ll survive.’ Geoff nodded at the mug full of water he had brought up. ‘My throat’s so damn dry, I keep drinking. I’ll be getting up to piss in the night,
I’m afraid. Funny how this damned fog affects some people more than others.’ He smiled. ‘Good news about Sarah, eh?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t help worrying about Mum and Dad. But like Jackson said, they don’t know anything, and they’ve got contacts.’

‘They’ll be okay.’

‘How d’you think Frank is?’

‘He’s in a state still, you could tell from what he said at dinner. But I don’t think he’ll try to run again. He promised me. I think I’ll just drop in on him now,
before bed.’

David knocked at the door of the next room. Ben had stripped to his underwear and was folding his clothes neatly beside his mattress. David saw a big round scar on the side of his stocky torso,
a row of long scars on the backs of his thighs. The round scar looked like a bullet wound. He realized how little he knew about Ben, what he had been through. Frank was just taking off his shirt,
his white body painfully thin.

‘Everything all right?’ David asked.

‘Aye,’ Ben answered cheerfully. ‘Just settlin’ doon for the night, aren’t we?’

‘I’m very sleepy,’ Frank said. ‘I’ve had my night-time pills.’

‘We all are,’ Ben said. ‘Still, we can rest up tomorrow. That’s war, isn’t it? All action one day, then sitting around doing nothing the next.’ David realized
Ben was happy, he was enjoying the danger. ‘We can have another game of chess tomorrow, if you like,’ he said to Frank. ‘You can beat me again.’

David said goodnight. He wanted a cigarette. In case it made Geoff’s throat worse – his friend hadn’t had his pipe out all evening – he went downstairs to the kitchen.
Natalia was standing there, quietly smoking. He felt the sudden rush of physical attraction again.

She nodded at him, smiled. ‘I just had a look outside,’ she said. ‘You can’t see a thing.’

David lit a cigarette and leaned on the edge of the cooker. ‘Safer for us all if we can’t be seen.’

‘Yes.’

‘I think you got the better of that argument with Ben earlier. About the Soviets.’

‘Ben is a good man, he cares more about Frank than he shows. But he is naive about Russia.’ She sighed heavily. ‘He needs something to cling on to, I suppose, like all of us do
who have turned our backs on normal life.’

‘What do you cling on to?’

She blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘Beating the Fascists.’

David said, ‘I hope this smog goes on. If it stops them moving the Jews to the Isle of Wight. The Germans would take them east then, wouldn’t they?’

‘Yes.’ Natalia cast her eyes down. ‘I’m afraid the fog can’t go on for ever.’

He hesitated, then said, ‘Natalia, you haven’t told anyone, have you? About me being half-Jewish? Only there was something in the way Mrs O’Shea looked at me earlier . .
.’

She frowned. ‘No, I have said nothing. I promised.’ She looked at him seriously. You should tell our people about yourself,’ she added. ‘We are all against what is being
done, you know that.’

‘Perhaps. Only – I’ve kept it secret so long.’

‘Are you ashamed?’ she asked. ‘That you are a half-Jew?’

‘There are no half-Jews left in Europe, Natalia. You know that. You’re either a Jew or you’re not. No, I’m not ashamed of being Jewish, though I’ve no idea what
it’s like to be a Jew; and why should it matter what your parents were, why should it mean anything? But nationality and race – that’s all that matters now.’

‘I know. All over Europe.’

‘What I’m ashamed of is secrets. Even though my parents kept mine to help me get on.’ He smiled sadly. ‘It was good practice for being a spy, I suppose.’

She nodded, sympathetic now.

‘You know,’ David said suddenly, ‘I’m afraid of seeing her again. My wife.’

‘Don’t you want to?’

‘All the secrets I kept from her.’ He shook his head. ‘So many. You know, this is the first time I’ve been away from Sarah since we were married. But in other ways
we’ve been apart for years. I really don’t know if we can come together again. I’ve taken away her house, her safety, any reason for her to trust me again. I don’t know if
she’ll even want to try.’ He bit his lip, then said, ‘Or if I do.’ He looked down. He felt Natalia step closer, put a hand on his arm. He glanced up at her in surprise. She
smiled softly. She was giving in to him, she had wanted to all along. And he wanted to cling to her, to cling to a woman but especially to her, more than he ever had in his life. But then,
abruptly, he shook his head. ‘No. You were right. Not now.’

She smiled sadly, and stepped away.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, turning away to the stairs.

A
FTER SHOOTING THE POLICEMAN
, Meg had led the way rapidly up the road to Kenton Station. Sarah could hardly believe what she had done; she kept seeing
the vase shatter against the policeman’s head, the blood and the porcelain shards flying out. But he’d had a gun and would have killed them all.

She stumbled; Meg turned and gave her an angry glare. ‘Come on,’ she snapped. ‘Before that man’s missed and a hundred of them come down on us. Don’t draw attention,
try and look normal. But hurry.’ Sarah tried to compose herself. She thought of what it must have been like for Meg, walking up and down her street, waiting for Irene to go, then seeing the
policeman enter the house. She seemed quite unaffected by cold-bloodedly shooting a man. Were they all like this in the Resistance, this brutal? Was this what David was like, underneath?

They reached Kenton Station. Meg bought a couple of tickets. A tube came quickly and soon they were clattering down to London. They got off at Piccadilly Circus. ‘This is it,’ Meg
said briskly. A queue of excited children and their parents, wrapped against the cold, waited outside a shop where a large poster over the door proclaimed,
Santa Claus is here this
afternoon!
Meg looked at it, disapproval glinting in her eyes behind their steel spectacles. ‘Christmas is supposed to be a time to remember the birth of our Saviour,’ she said.

They crossed the road. The traffic was heavy, it was starting to get dark. Sarah thought of her house, the dead man lying there. Meg led her into a maze of streets full of coffee bars, shops
selling exotic foods, run-down pubs and shopfronts with black-painted windows.

‘Godless place,’ Meg muttered angrily.

‘What?’

‘Den of Satan. Nobody cares about morality any more. It’s all because of the Catholics.’

‘What is?’ Sarah began to wonder if Meg was a little mad.

‘The Blackshirts. The Nazis. They’re all tools of the Pope. It all started in Rome with Mussolini, didn’t it? Look at Italy, or Spain, or France. The Catholics are hand in
glove with the Fascists. They run everything really.’

‘I know the Catholic Church collaborates, but they’re not in charge—’

‘Undermining Protestant morality, that’s what they’re doing. I used to teach in a secondary school, I’ve seen it, boys swaggering around in Blackshirt uniforms, making
obscene comments to teachers and getting away with it, that’s why I left . . .’ She stopped, so suddenly that Sarah almost walked into her, and turned into a dirty alleyway. She rang a
bell beside a door with worn green paint, turned to Sarah and smiled grimly. ‘I hope you’re not easily shockable.’

There was the sound of footsteps and a young woman opened the door. She was tall, with striking red hair, wearing a green polo-neck sweater. She looked at Meg, who gave her a prim nod.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ the woman said without enthusiasm.

Meg nodded brusquely towards Sarah. ‘I’ve brought her.’

The woman gave Sarah a friendly smile. ‘Hello. I’m Dilys. Come on in.’

She led them into a tatty hallway, up a flight of stairs and through a door into some sort of waiting room, hard chairs around the walls. A man was sitting on one of the chairs, a big man in his
fifties in a dark coat with a velvet collar, a bowler hat and umbrella on the chair beside him. He stood up and extended a hand to Sarah. He smiled but his eyes were cold and hard.

‘I’m Mr Jackson,’ he said. ‘Mrs Fitzgerald?’

‘Yes.’

‘There was trouble,’ Meg said bluntly. ‘She had her sister with her and I had to walk up and down the street for ages. Then a copper came. We had to get rid of him.’ She
looked at Sarah. ‘She knocked him on the nut. I shot him.’

Jackson frowned. ‘They won’t like that. One of their own, they’ll be redoubling their efforts.’

‘He could have identified me. And her sister.’

Sarah staggered; suddenly she thought she was going to faint. She said, ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t believe – what I did,’ as Dilys helped her to a seat.

‘This is war, dear, better get used to it,’ Meg said implacably.

Jackson frowned at her. He said over his shoulder to Dilys, ‘Get us a cup of tea, will you, there’s a good girl?’ Dilys, who had been glaring at Meg, went away.

‘What is this place?’ Sarah asked.

‘It’s a brothel,’ Jackson answered, his voice quite matter-of-fact. ‘Meg here doesn’t approve but there we are, it takes all sorts.’ Jackson smiled again,
condescendingly, Sarah thought. ‘I expect all this has been a bit of a shock for you.’

‘Please, do you know where my husband is? I’m desperately anxious—’

‘He’s safe. With us. Geoff Drax, too. They’ll rejoin you later.’

‘Please, you must tell me—’

Jackson’s tone hardened. ‘There’s no must about it, Mrs Fitzgerald. We’ve gone out of our way to rescue you, and as Meg said she put herself in no little
danger.’

‘How long has David been working for you? Can you tell me that at least?’

‘Quite some time. He’s a good man, your husband. Tenacious, trustworthy. He’s been helping us, getting information from his department. Unfortunately something went wrong and
he risked exposure. We’re lucky he got out.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Sarah said. ‘The Germans questioned me. At Senate House. But I had nothing to tell them.’

Jackson and Meg exchanged a sharp look. He leaned forward. ‘They asked you about your husband?’

‘Yes. But I didn’t know anything.’

‘Did they mention the name Frank Muncaster to you?’

‘Frank?’ She frowned. ‘Yes, they did. They didn’t say why, though.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘That I’ve never met him. David gets Christmas cards and the odd letter from him. I just know he was a friend of David’s at Oxford, had problems, mental problems I think. David
used to sort of protect him. Is he one of your people, too? They told me Geoff Drax was.’

Jackson looked relieved. He gave her a gentle smile. ‘Drax is, yes. I’m sorry you’ve been caught up in all this. But we take pride in getting our agents’ families to
safety. I understand you are a pacifist,’ he said, still smiling. ‘Perhaps you don’t approve of us.’

‘I’ve never believed in violence. But now, everything that’s happening, some of the things I’ve seen . . .’ She shook her head.

‘Well, events are moving our way. Adlai Stevenson’s just made a speech saying the United States is to start trading with Russia. And the new Russian offensive seems to be pushing the
Germans back all along the front. They may take a couple of cities this winter.’

‘All this blood,’ Sarah said.

‘It will end one day. Your husband is part of a network of Civil Service people I hope will take over running the country, stop the Reds running wild. And the Catholics, too, eh,
Meg?’

Meg bristled. ‘I know you think it’s a joke . . .’

Jackson gave a wintry smile. Sarah didn’t like him. And Meg was some sort of Protestant fanatic.

Dilys returned with a tray. Jackson rubbed his hands together. ‘Ah, tea. No bickies, well, never mind.’ He took a cup and handed it to Sarah. ‘Now, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ he
said, slowly and seriously. ‘This is the plan. Dilys is going to dye your hair, cut it in a different style. Give you some new clothes. People will be looking for you, you see. Then
we’re going to send you down to the south coast.’

‘The south coast? Why?’

‘That’s where your husband will be going, quite soon. We’ll be able to send you tomorrow, I hope, though the trains are a bit erratic this week. We’re shutting up shop
here, Dilys is leaving tomorrow. We’ll give you a new identity card, and a cover story – you’re a widow, going to the south coast for a bit of a break. You’ll be staying
with some of our people. Now, is all that clear?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you reasonably good at memorizing things?’

‘Yes. But when will my husband arrive?’