Bernie said: ‘That’s a big building.’
‘It was,’ said Daisy. ‘Hundreds of people were burned and God knows how many children are orphans. Nearly all my patients died on the way to hospital.’
Lloyd reached across the little table and took her hand.
She looked up from her cup of tea. ‘You don’t get used to it. You think you’ll become hardened, but you don’t.’ She was stricken with sadness.
Ethel put a hand on her shoulder for a moment in a gesture of compassion.
Daisy said: ‘And we’re doing the same to families in Germany.’
Ethel said: ‘Including my old friends Maud and Walter and their children, I presume.’
‘Isn’t that terrible?’ Daisy shook her head despairingly. ‘What’s wrong with us?’
Lloyd said: ‘What’s wrong with the human race?’
Bernie, ever practical, said: ‘I’ll go over to Orange Street later and make sure everything’s being done for the children.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Ethel.
Bernie and Ethel thought alike and acted together effortlessly, often seeming to read each other’s mind. Lloyd had been observing them carefully since he got home, worrying that their marriage might have been affected by the shocking revelation that Ethel had never had a husband called Teddy Williams, and that Lloyd’s father was Earl Fitzherbert. He had discussed this at length with Daisy, who now knew the whole truth. How did Bernie feel about having been lied to for twenty years? But Lloyd saw no sign that it had made any difference. In his unsentimental way Bernie adored Ethel, and to him she could do no wrong. He believed she would never do anything to hurt him, and he was right. It made Lloyd hope that he, too, might one day have such a marriage.
Daisy noticed that Lloyd was in uniform. ‘Where are you off to this morning?’
‘I’ve had a summons from the War Office.’ He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I’d better get going.’
‘I thought you’d already been debriefed.’
‘Come to my room and I’ll explain while I’m putting on my tie. Bring your tea.’
They went upstairs. Daisy looked around with interest, and he realized she had not been in his bedroom before. He looked at the single bed, the bookshelf of novels in German, French and Spanish, and the writing table with the row of sharpened pencils, and wondered what she thought of it.
‘What a nice little room,’ she said.
It was not little. It was the same size as the other bedrooms in the house. But she had different standards.
She picked up a framed photograph. It showed the family at the seaside: little Lloyd in shorts, toddling Millie in a swimsuit, young Ethel in a big floppy hat, Bernie wearing a grey suit with a white shirt open at the neck and a knotted handkerchief on his head.
‘Southend,’ Lloyd explained. He took her cup, put it on the dressing table, and folded her into his arms. He kissed her mouth. She kissed him back with weary tenderness, stroking his cheek, letting her body slump against his.
After a minute he released her. She was really too tired to canoodle, and he had an appointment.
She took off her boots and lay down on his bed.
‘The War Office have asked me to go in and see them again,’ he said as he tied his tie.
‘But you were there for hours last time.’
It was true. He had had to dredge his memory for every last detail of his time on the run in France. They wanted to know the rank and regiment of every German he had encountered. He could not remember them all, of course, but he had done his homework meticulously on the Ty Gwyn course and he was able to give them a great deal of information.
That was standard military intelligence debriefing. But they had also asked about his escape, the roads he had taken and who had helped him. They were even interested in Maurice and Marcelle, and reproved him for not knowing their surname. They had got very excited about Teresa, who clearly could be a major asset to future escapers.
‘I’m seeing a different lot today.’ He glanced at a typed note on his dressing table. ‘At the Metropole Hotel in Northumberland Avenue. Room four two four.’ The address was off Trafalgar Square in a neighbourhood of government offices. ‘Apparently it’s a new department dealing with British prisoners of war.’ He put on his peaked cap and looked in the mirror. ‘Am I smart enough?’
There was no answer. He looked at the bed. She had fallen asleep.
He pulled a blanket over her, kissed her forehead, and went out.
He told his mother that Daisy was asleep on his bed, and she said she would check on her later to make sure she was all right.
He took the Tube to Central London.
He had told Daisy the true story of his parentage, disabusing her of the theory that he was Maud’s child. She believed him readily, for she suddenly recalled Boy telling her that Fitz had an illegitimate child somewhere. ‘This is creepy,’ she had said, looking thoughtful. ‘The two Englishmen I’ve fallen for turn out to be half-brothers.’ She had looked
