The Daisy Club (30 page)

‘I'm quite sure I should be fire-watching tonight, not sitting under a table with you having a brandy,' Aurelia confessed, some time later, as the all-clear sounded. ‘Only trouble is the place I was meant to be watching from is, as of yesterday night, only a ton of rubble. Cheers.'

They clinked glasses, and drank.

‘So we'll meet again at the Hall for Christmas, my dear?'

‘If we're allowed in. Apparently it's all cordoned off.'

‘I can get us in.' Aurelia nodded importantly. ‘With my new pass I can get us in anywhere you want. That's one of the good things about the new job that Guy has shoehorned me into accepting: you get a pass that makes even the military police wave you through!'

Guy himself, while still working secretly for the Bros at Operation Z, had, with what he called ‘my other hat on', grown fed up with trying to infiltrate society and send on information of which no one ever seemed to make any good use, so he had taken himself off to entertain workers of every kind, factory workers in particular, everyone, all round the country, singing and playing sketches to the entertainment-starved population.

‘
They far prefer to listen to the wireless, but I try to pretend I am not noticing
,' he had written to Aurelia, after making sure that she was posted on, with a recommendation from him, to take up a position at Special Operations Europe in Baker Street.

Since Aurelia had lived abroad, on and off, all her young life, travelling through Europe in the company of a young nanny, who then became her governess
en titre
, as it were, she was pretty nearly bilingual in both French and Spanish. No surprise, then, that she was placed in the French section in SOE.

It was a bit of a change, to say the least, to go from working for a theatrical personality such as Guy Athlone, to sitting with a drawer full of cyanide tablets, one of which was always handed out to all agents before they were dropped into France. But of course she could say nothing of this to Laura, who was still whizzing around London in the FANY tradition, doing everything and anything that was needed.

‘Listen, let's go to the Hall together, that way we can share my car, you can get us through with your pass – don't forget to wangle one for me, too, if you can – and everything will be tickety-boo.'

They parted, kissing each other fondly, then Laura made her way to her car, Aurelia back to Baker Street, both of them passing such depressing sights of devastation on the way that Laura found herself staring at the pavement, at her feet making their way through rubble and glass, passing everyone else doing the same as firemen played hoses on burning buildings. They all pretended that they didn't know that there were dead people inside crushed houses, or living ones still trapped, and that they were useless to help, that they just had to get on, because not to get on would be no help to the war effort.

‘So, Johnny,' Maude said gravely. ‘You are to go back to be with your mum for Christmas?'

Johnny looked up at what seemed to him to be a very old lady – despite the fact that Maude was hardly past her fiftieth birthday.

‘Yes, miss.'

‘And your mum is to meet you at the station?'

‘Yes, miss.'

‘You like trains, don't you, Johnny?'

‘Yes, miss.'

‘I thought so.' Maude turned back to the Christmas tree that had been placed, as always, by tradition, in the hall. ‘Father Christmas, knowing that you were going back to Peckham to be with your dear mum, left you an early present. Would you like it, Johnny?'

Johnny looked up at Branscombe, who nodded encouragingly, so Johnny deemed it safe to look back up again at Maude and nod.

‘Yes, please, miss.'

Maude bent down and retrieved a present wrapped in old wallpaper found, along with so much else, at the back of the laundry cupboards. She presented the parcel to Johnny, who scrabbled at it eagerly, eventually exposing a box, faded by the years, but inside of which was a beautiful train and carriage.

Johnny looked at it in silence. Maude, knowing something of what he must be feeling, was also silent. Branscombe frowned, wishing that Miss Jessica, who had taken such an interest in young Johnny, was there to see the little chap's face.

Johnny looked up at Maude.

‘Father Christmas is a good un, int' he, miss?'

‘I think he knew you liked trains, didn't he, Johnny?'

Johnny was silent once more, clutching the box against his thin little chest.

‘I fink so, miss.'

‘Did you put that you would like a train on your letter to Father Christmas, the one that you posted up the kitchen chimney?'

Johnny nodded, leaning closer to Branscombe.

‘I dun want to go back from 'ere,' he announced, in a low voice.

‘You want to see your mum, I expect, and you will be going in a motor car with a kind lady. And remember your mum, she wants to see you.'

Silence greeted this statement, such a long silence that it gave Maude time to think.

‘I know why you wanted that train, Johnny,' she told him, eventually. ‘It was because you knew it would bring you back to us, wasn't it?'

Johnny looked up at this, and after a second he nodded.

‘You knew that a train may take you to Peckham, but it will bring you back to the Hall, to us here, too, won't it? That's why you wanted a train, wasn't it?'

Johnny nodded, and for a second the sad look in his eyes changed.

‘Yes, miss,' he agreed.

‘Come on then, young man, the lady from the WVS is out there waiting for you, just arrived, I see. She's going to take charge of you, and she's probably got some sweeties set aside for the journey. I heard someone say those volunteer ladies have always got a sweetie or two in their handbags. And there's another little boy with her, he's probably like you, going back to see his mum at Christmas, so that'll be good, won't it?'

The sad little duo turned away, and walked down the hall, and out into the bitter winter day, Johnny on his way back to who knew what.

Maude turned away. War was a blasted thing, a really awful, blasted thing, but then she said silently to God ‘
sorry for swearing'
but really, it was true, war was a blasted, blasted thing.

Of course Gervaise would have been too diplomatic to turn Daisy away. Knowing this only too well, Daisy was far too proud to admit to anyone that she was going to be on her own at Christmas, so as the cold, cold weather set in, bringing with it yet more misery, Daisy crouched in her basement flat, the air so damp and miserable that once or twice she thought it might have been cosier, and certainly more cheerful, to spend Christmas down the Underground singing and making tea, helping babies being born, anything rather than being on her own at Christmas.

Before they went down to the Hall for their Christmas, Laura and Aurelia were due to drop by for a shot of gin, and a giggle.

There was much that was new about the little basement flat, not least the sign above the door.

It read: ‘
THE DAISY CLUB. MEMBERS ONLY! NO NAZIS!
'

Where Daisy had found the paint to do what she had done, or managed to borrow or steal the bright rugs, or the cushions, they none of them thought it quite right to ask, but from the moment they walked down into the basement, duly signing the new visitors' book, it felt just a little like being back at Twistleton Court in their shared flat in the stables.

‘How have you done this? Have you found an Indian gentleman with a monkey across the way to send you all these lovely things?'

Daisy laughed.

‘That is exactly what I have done, Laura ducks, and no mistake.'

‘You've made this place look like a home from home, Daisy. Despite the fact that two doors down has gone, and opposite is no more, it is so cheerful here you wouldn't even know it,' Aurelia stated, as Laura crouched by the one bar of the electric fire, practically burning her still-gloved fingers on it, in her urgency to get warm.

Daisy, who had been too busy taking coats and making stiff drinks to notice the change in Aurelia, looked up quickly.

‘Apparently it
was
a bit noisy last night, and we were lucky the gas mains didn't blow up,' she admitted. ‘So much so that when Gervaise rang and told me, I thought I might stay on ops rather than pelt down here, but then I thought I'd cock a snook at Hitler, and I strong-armed Gervaise's people upstairs to lend me things that he will never notice have gone AWOL, make it as much like Twisters Court as perfectly possible. Cheers!'

‘Bottoms up, whatever that means! I say, don't let's ask!'

They all clinked glasses, and it was only as they did so that Daisy really took in Aurelia's wan face.

‘Why the look of the drowning maiden, Relia? Nothing happened to Guy, has it?' she asked as Laura downed her gin and left them to go to the telephone in the upstairs hall, in an attempt to call headquarters about something that was concerning her.

‘Guy.' Aurelia said his name so flatly that Daisy knew at once that her passion for the famous man must have abated considerably. ‘No, nothing to do with Guy Athlone, Daisy, no.' She looked away, struggling to speak, not knowing what to say, but having knocked back her gin too quickly she burst out: ‘It's being in SOE. I shouldn't say this, not a word, because I mean they are all great people, of course, great people, and a great mix. And one thing and another. But. But. Well. You
see
everything. Maps! People there, and not there.'

Daisy looked at her, her expression sombre.

‘It's bad, isn't it?'

They both knew how bad.

‘It's not as if they – you know. I mean, every time I hand them—' She stopped. ‘I shouldn't be saying this . . .'

‘Don't worry, I haven't heard,' Daisy assured her. ‘I'll just telephone the War Office and have you arrested once Laura's through with the phone.'

Aurelia leaned forward, glass in hand, which Daisy instantly filled.

‘Every time I have to give them their Goodnight Vienna pill, as I call it, I keep hoping that they'll take the damn thing, whatever happens. I even find myself praying for that, praying for that for
them
, that they will have time to take their Goodnight Vienna, not be captured. So where is the sin of Judas, then, Daisy? I mean to say, and I really hate to say it, but I don't believe in much any more, and I don't think I ever will, not after this. It's turned everything upside down for me, truly it has.'

‘Well, it would,' Daisy said, and she put out a hand and touched her arm.

Aurelia had always been a bit of an hysteric, the least likely of all people to cope with so much that happened in a war.

‘That is what I keep hoping, that they have time to take their pill, have time,' Aurelia repeated.

‘Well, you would,' Daisy agreed, again. ‘After all, that really is a better fate, to die by your own hand rather than – well, anything else . . .'

‘I have been trying not to think about any of them, trying not to remember anything. Once I leave the place for a few hours' kip, I put it out of my mind, what they looked like before they went off, that kind of thing. And I was doing quite well, until, well, until the awful news came through!'

Daisy turned away. Whatever it was, she didn't want to know.

‘You had better stop there, Relia, or we really will both end up with our heads on a spike above Tower Bridge.'

Aurelia looked shattered. It was true. It was treason to speak of what she knew, but she couldn't help it.

‘I have to tell someone.'

Daisy wanted to say, ‘
Yes, but not me, please, please, please, not me
.'

Aurelia leaned forward.

‘If I whisper it, it will be easier.'

She whispered.

Daisy leaned back, appalled.

‘Dear God. Not true?'

Aurelia nodded.

‘I am afraid so,' she went on, still whispering. ‘I don't think Laura ever knew that – that, well, that her father and stepmother, were, well – not ever. At least I knew about mine, so it was less of a shock when they were thrown into jug. A little less of a shock,' she went on, thinking back. ‘Still a shock, of course, but at least I knew what they were, or are, at least I knew.'

‘You can't tell her, of course.'

‘No, of course not.'

‘Agony.'

Aurelia nodded quickly as Laura came back into the room.

‘Agony?' Laura asked, over-brightly. ‘What is agony?'

‘Childbirth,' Daisy said raising her eyebrows and shaking her head. ‘Catch me having a baby. We were just talking about poor Jean. Any minute now. Big baby on the way.'

‘She tried to get the Huggetts to acknowledge it, but they won't. Just won't. Can't stand the thought that a grandchild of theirs is being brought into the world whose mother is from The Cottages. Just won't acknowledge her at all.'

‘Poor Jean.'

Jean was enjoying life at the Hall. Somehow, within the courtyard atmosphere of the stables, there had grown up a camaraderie not unlike that she had known when she was growing up cheek by jowl with Dan Short and the rest. The two, now three, land girls who had been sent to help were a bit of a mixed bunch, inclined to flop out at a moment's notice if you didn't watch them, so unused were they to hard work; but they, too, seemed determined to make the best of their situation, despite the fact that they wouldn't be going home for Christmas.

‘It's only one day of the year, Jean,' they all kept saying, repeating it so often that by the time Christmas week did finally come about, Jean, more than anyone, was convinced that they almost believed it. ‘Nature doesn't stop for Christmas. There'll be lambing and calving all too soon after that, and Boy has to be groomed and put to the plough, the pigs fed, the milking done every day and the vegetables dug,
if
we can dig them, that is. It is non-stop down on the farm, isn't it, Jean?'