The Daisy Club (38 page)

He summoned Miss Jones, of whom he had heard nothing but good, to his office.

Aurelia, freshly back from France, came to see him, marvelling at how strange London had become, not just because she had been in France, but because, with no familiar landmarks, it was so difficult to find anything that you remembered. Happily it was not difficult to find Guy, as he was at work in one of his favourite theatres, ensconced once more among the old theatre posters, in his dear old cabin, with its red velvet curtains, above the upper circle.

‘How are you, Miss Jones?'

He laughed lightly. As a child actor Guy had been taught how to laugh lightly, and it had always stood him in very good stead, not least when he was in prison, where he had found that his ‘light' laugh seemed to cheer up the other lags no end.

‘How am I? How are
you
?'

Aurelia stared up into Guy's thin, taut face, a face much changed from the last time she had seen it. Inevitably the expression in her eyes was one of undisguised maternal anxiety, which made Guy smile. She was far too young to look so worried.

‘How am I? You may well ask, indeed, how I am. Well, I am as well as can be expected after prison, and double pneumonia,' he told her, indicating that she should sit down.

They both lit cigarettes and stared at each other through the smoke.

Miss Jones had now, Guy noted, a great deal to be said for her. She had matured into a charming-looking young woman. All the schoolgirlish awkwardness had been knocked off her, and she was now slimmer, her whole demeanour calmer, stronger. In fact she was really rather beautiful. He found he could appreciate her in a way that he could not have done before, and had he not known that Clive was smitten, and had he not had enough of love, for ever and ever amen, he might have been tempted to fall in love with her himself . . .

For her part, Aurelia found Guy much changed. It was not just that he still had that strange pallor that even a few weeks locked up in jug was traditionally meant to give you, it was not just that his face was thinner, his figure much depleted, so that his immaculately cut suit seemed to have been cut for someone else, it was the expression in his eyes. It was as if he was struggling all the time not to give way to bitterness, to keep believing in human nature, and yet she had the feeling that despite the brave fight that he was putting up, he was losing, minute by minute, and of course the war could not have helped.

‘Miss Jones, might I call you Aurelia?'

‘Yes, of course, Mr Athlone.'

‘Good.'

He had not indicated in return that she might call him ‘Guy' which she appreciated. He, after all, was still, no matter what, ‘
Guy Athlone
', and Aurelia was well aware, indeed appreciated, that they could never, ever be considered to be on the same level.

‘As you know, Miss – as you know, Aurelia – I have been in prison, and am to a great degree, outside of the theatrical world, of course, disgraced. It was entirely my fault, and I know it; not, I hasten to add, that I overstepped the mark by making a mistake with my petrol rationing, but because I trusted a woman with whom I was once in love, and who once loved me – but a woman scorned is a very dangerous creature.' He paused, tapping his cigarette on the side of the ashtray in front of him. ‘Love is a dangerous game, as you will doubtless discover, although it need not be. But in my case, love, fame and success have almost led to my downfall. I say almost, because I am not one to accept defeat, and my public have remained with me, as the receipts at the box office will show – and so have those few friends whom I love, and who love me.'

Aurelia was aware that Guy's speech was making it clear to her that he was not just a changed man, but a very changed man, which his frail appearance underlined, and that just as his long-time love affair with Gloria Martine was over, so, too, was his ability to love, except in friendship.

‘I hope I may be considered to be a friend and admirer,' Aurelia ventured.

Guy smiled.

‘You may, Aurelia. Young as you are, you may. For you have not only proved yourself a friend, sending me such an amusing letter while I was in prison, but you have proved yourself a loyal supporter of a certain organisation, for which, as you know, I have worked for a long time, many years, even before the war.'

‘Yes, yes, of course—'

‘Now they are looking around for someone to take my place, because obviously, since I went to jug, I am now a marked man. I suggested Clive, but he too is a marked man, having stayed loyal to me, silly fellow, so he has taken on a desk job at the Foreign Office, and is keeping his eyes and ears open, as we all must. But I wondered if you knew of anyone who might be interested in becoming part of this particular set-up?'

Aurelia frowned. She could think of no one.

‘No name occurs to me, I am sorry to say.'

‘Never mind. You yourself are, of course, very busy?'

‘Yes.' Aurelia stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Yes, pretty much so, too. And likely to be busier.' She had again volunteered to be dropped into France.

Guy stared across the desk at her.

‘You were determined to be brave, weren't you, Aurelia?' he stated, quietly. ‘I find so many people of a nervous disposition so often are.' He smiled. ‘Your parents continue well?' he asked, after a slight pause.

Aurelia coloured. She knew just how much Guy loathed people such as her parents.

‘Yes, they are well, which they perhaps do not deserve to be.'

Guy stood up.

‘Yes, quite. It doesn't seem fair, does it?' he demanded, all of a sudden. ‘People like that, the architects of our present hell, sitting in comfortable circumstances, while people like you jump into battle on their behalf!' He stopped, because his voice had become too emotional. ‘Now, look,' he went on, in a calmer tone. ‘It's Christmas in a few days, you won't want to spend it with them, I am sure, and you won't be busy-
busy
, until after the festivities, I don't suppose.'

His way of saying ‘busy-busy' at once conveyed to Aurelia that he knew that she had volunteered to be dropped into France. She wasn't surprised. Guy knew everyone, he might even know too many people, which was perhaps why he had been thrown into prison on trumped-up charges. ‘You'll come and spend Christmas with me. I know you will. Clive is coming, and one or two others. It will be fun. A touch theatrical, of course, but you won't mind that, will you?'

Aurelia smiled. She would love to spend Christmas being a touch theatrical.

Guy looked at Aurelia. He knew that Clive would be thrilled. He also knew, absolutely, that Aurelia's crush on him, Guy, had passed, and about time, too. He could not tell poor Clive, in case it raised his hopes. Poor Clive did not hold just a single torch for Miss Jones, but a whole set of them.

Daisy received Aunt Maude's letter a few days before Christmas.

‘
I hope you have forgiven me, dear child?
' she had written. ‘
Forgiven a stupid old woman
.'

Daisy smiled. Aunt Maude wasn't
that
old.

‘
Do come and join us for the festivities if you can. Can't promise much of a Christmas luncheon, but there will be enough to go round, be sure of that. Your loving Aunt Maude
.'

Daisy folded the letter and slipped it into her shoulder bag. She would be flying two and three times a day right up until Christmas Eve, and then, whatever happened, she would get back to the Hall. She might be so tired she could hardly put one foot in front of the other, let alone hop into a car and drive down to Twistleton, but drive down she would.

As she eased through the country roads back to her old home for the first time for – for how long was it? Daisy frowned. Must be a clutch of years at least. She wondered at the fact that it was easier and faster to deliver a plane than it was to get around English roads. It was bad enough driving in the blackout, or coming back on trains that took as much, or sometimes more than, a day, standing all the way – but driving in thick fog, even in daylight with no lights, was hell on wheels.

To take her mind off the beastly conditions, she imagined the welcome she would get once she drew near to the Hall, imagined that once she was through the security checks surrounding the village, had shown her identity card, and was on up the drive to the great old wooden doors, she would find the fire burning in the old hall grate – using wood from the fields. She imagined Aunt Maude standing on the steps to welcome her. So many images came to her, and of course her imaginings made her drive faster.

After many, many hours she arrived outside Twistleton, and all was as she had thought it would be. The security checks, the grim sight of the village already half-tumbled-down from army manoeuvres, the Court looking like it surely could not have done since the Black Death – windows broken, iron gates missing, the long drive a mess of mud and weeds, flattened by army use. And yet the excitement of coming home at last would not leave her.

Soon she would be bumping across the old broken road that led up to the gates of the Hall. Soon, very soon, she would be looking at the old facade, so beautifully set amongst its own gardens, its little park. She duly passed slowly through the wrought-iron gates, guarded on each side by stone pillars, atop of which sat the lead hunting dogs of which Aunt Maude was so fond. It was strange and marvellous that they had not been torn off their plinths and taken by the army by now, but no, they were still standing, seeming from their proud looks to be silently rejoicing in the knowledge that somehow they
were
still there.

But as Daisy drew near the house, as the bend in the now grassed-over drive gave way to a new vista, she instinctively knew that the place was quite deserted, that something was terribly wrong. She stepped out of the car, stiff as a piece of ice after so many hours of driving, and only too thankful for her already quite aged flying jacket. Whatever happened, at least she was home. She stretched back into the car for her shoulder bag, before walking slowly up the front steps to the double doors.

She pushed open the right-hand hall door, and walked in. There was no fire burning in the grate, as she had hoped, and no Aunt Maude waiting smilingly to greet her. She walked to the foot of the great old wooden staircase with its carved newels of ancient wood, and its polished shallow steps. She called up the stairs, and hearing no answer she started to walk up to the first floor, calling, and calling.

There was no answer. She stopped half-way up, knowing suddenly that she was calling to no one, and walked slowly down again, this time descending to the kitchens, still calling. But the kitchen was empty, even of the dogs.

She went out into the stable yard, calling, still calling. No one answered. She stood still, looking around. Freddie had written to her that they were all now housed in the stables, but it couldn't be true, because calling into all the flats, pushing open their doors and calling ‘cooee!' – such a stupid sound when all was said and done – she received no answer.

She didn't know what to say, or do. To say that she felt lost was to say the least. Her heart was beating hard, and she knew now, without any doubt, that something must be terribly wrong.

Then she heard it. The single sharp bark of a dog, and it was coming from the house. She ran back to the house, glad that she had a small revolver at the bottom of her handbag, although it was, unhappily, not loaded.

Still no one in the kitchens, and yet above her in the library she thought she heard the sound of feet moving. She took out her stupid little pearl-handled revolver and crept up the stairs. Whoever it was, whoever they were, the sight of a woman with a gun always struck fear into the hearts of the opposite sex.

She flung open the library door and stepped boldly in, her expression at its most defiant.

What she saw inside was something she would never forget.

Aurelia was trying not to laugh, but it was very difficult. The game they were all playing was that they had to mime a phrase or saying. She had just been handed a slip of paper with her phrase or saying on it, and it was distinctly naughty.

‘Very well.' She held up one hand and showed five fingers to indicate how many words there were, and then she paused, and finally, after some serious thought, made another gesture, which evoked a chorus from her small audience.

‘Sounds like!'

She nodded, and started to mime watched by Guy, Clive and the other guests.

She was, of course, particularly watched by Clive, who was then watched by Guy, whose heart went out to his old friend, for if ever a chap was in love – it was Clive.

Mind you, watching Aurelia miming away so prettily, and with such touching enthusiasm, would have made most men in the room love her, if not fall in love with her.

‘Very prettily done,' Guy said, applauding hard, not least because Aurelia was on his side. ‘Very prettily done.'

Aurelia sank down beside Clive, her face flushed. If she had not been to France, if she had not worked in SOE – oh, a thousand
ifs
of one kind or another – she would never, ever in a million years have dared to play charades, and word-games, and heaven only knew what, in such illustrious theatrical company. She would have gone and hidden in her bedroom, and stayed there until it was time to go home.

Clive looked at her, trying his best to keep his expression affectionate, rather than loving.

‘I expect now that you have won your turn, you feel you could climb Mount Everest?' he murmured.

Aurelia nodded, still staring ahead, not really paying much attention to the continuing game. She did feel she could conquer anything now. She thought of her parents, under guard in their barren lodgings, she thought of Laura, somewhere in France – she hoped – and then she thought of Daisy, and she hoped that she was safe back at the Hall, all forgiven. She hoped that so much. Daisy was not just her friend, she was her heroine. Daisy flying planes, who knew how, who knew what – apparently there was never any time to be told how to manage some new design that had been rushed out of the factory – flying not just by the seat of her skirt, as she so often joked, but with a heart of oak, a courage made of steel. It was people like Daisy, young
women
like Daisy—