Was it over with Sarah? He still didn’t know.
The fog thinned further, eventually vanishing to leave the starry darkness of a December night. Twisting his head to look into the cab, David saw they were travelling along country roads now, the skeletal shapes of trees appearing and vanishing again, ghostly white in the headlights. He thought, we’re not going to the coast, we’d have been there by now. He glanced at Ben, who sat looking ahead of him, frowning. The roads became worse, the truck banging and clattering over them. As the journey continued, heads began to nod despite the jolting. David leaned across and whispered to Ben, ‘Frank’s asleep. He wasn’t looking too good earlier.’
‘He needs another dose. But I had to leave all his stuff at the O’Sheas’. Where the hell are they taking us?’
‘Why are you so worried?’ David whispered.
‘I want tae know where we’re going. Why won’t they tell us? There’s something in their attitude – I don’t like it.’
‘They’ve lost people tonight.’
‘So have we.’
David sat back. After a while his eyes closed from sheer weariness. He woke with a jolt as the truck came to a halt. The captain opened the cab window. ‘Everyone out!’ he called.
They all climbed down. David helped Frank, who was shaking. They stepped into pitch darkness, onto what felt like a gravelled driveway, tall trees on either side just visible as shapes outlined against the sky. It was very cold; there was a smell of wet, freezing air. No lights were visible anywhere.
‘David,’ Frank whispered urgently. ‘Where are we?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘No talking,’ the captain snapped. ‘Follow me.’ The three soldiers had surrounded them, their rifles held at the ready. Beside David, Ben took a deep breath. The thought flashed through David’s head:
They were led down the pitch-dark driveway, footsteps crunching softly. Then the shape of what looked like a large country house loomed ahead, and David glimpsed tall chimneys against the sky. They walked slowly on towards it.
A slit of light appeared, as a door in the side of the house opened a fraction. ‘Aztec,’ the captain said, quietly. The slit widened. David’s party was led up a short flight of stone steps and through the door. They found themselves in a long corridor lined with pictures, blinking in sudden light. A young man in khaki uniform with a Union Jack sewn on the breast pocket was posted at the end, a rifle over his shoulder. The corridor windows were all heavily curtained, the sort of thick material David remembered from the 1939–40 blackout. In the distance he heard voices; this place was big, probably owned by some aristocrat who had come round to supporting the Resistance. A telephone rang somewhere in the depths of the building. It was answered quickly.
The man who had opened the door was elderly, tall and thin, dressed in a white shirt and black waistcoat, like a butler. He looked them over, then stepped forward with a smile. ‘Welcome, gentlemen. Mr Fitzgerald?’
David stepped forward. ‘Yes?’
‘Could you take Dr Muncaster upstairs please? Mr Hall, could you come with me? Your account of what happened in London is needed.’
‘All right,’ Ben said. ‘See you soon, Frank.’ Ben followed the man away down the corridor. The captain accompanied them. The man with the Union Jack on his uniform stepped forward, addressing David and Frank in a friendly tone with a strong Welsh accent: ‘Come with me, please.’ He turned to the uniformed men. ‘You chaps, go outside and someone will show you where to park your truck and bunk down.’
He led David and Frank down the corridor to a hallway with a wide central staircase. Through a half-open door David glimpsed furniture covered with white dustsheets. Another man in a uniform with a Union Jack and a rifle joined them. They walked upstairs. From behind a closed door nearby they heard a murmur of male voices; another telephone rang somewhere. David guessed this place was some sort of headquarters. The reports of Hitler’s death would be causing a flap.
David and Frank were shown into a large bedroom, again with heavily curtained windows. There was a double bed and a pair of camp beds on the floor. ‘Keep the curtains closed please,’ the Welshman said, his tone still amicable. ‘There’s a toilet just up the corridor. We’ll have some food brought up. Mr Hall will join you later. I’m Barry, by the way.’ He was the first person they had met since their rescue who had given them his name.
‘Can you tell us where we are?’ David asked.
‘No, sorry,’ Barry answered apologetically. ‘Not now. Is there anything else you need?’
Frank said, ‘I’m supposed to have my – my medicine, to help me sleep. I need it. Ben knows about it.’
The Welshman nodded. ‘I’ll have a word with him.’ He smiled. ‘Have you heard the news?’
‘The rumours that Hitler’s dead? Yes.’
‘It’s more than rumours. German radio say Goebbels is the new Fuhrer. Maybe things are going to happen now, eh?’
When he left the room Frank sat down wearily on the bed. ‘What d’you think of that?’ David asked.
‘I don’t know if I believe it.’ Frank scratched his chest. ‘I feel bad. I can’t stop thinking about Geoff, seeing him on the ground. And Sean and Eileen. I nodded off in the truck, but the pictures that came into my mind . . . He put his head in his hands.
David sat beside him. He looked at his watch; it was past one in the morning. He felt exhausted, and suddenly angry with Frank. Was it any worse for him than the rest of them? David knew that what had happened tonight would affect him for the rest of his life. Assuming he survived. He looked at the top of Frank’s head, then thought, he didn’t volunteer for this the way the rest of us did. He put a hand on his arm. ‘We’re safe now.’
Frank looked up. ‘Are we?’
There was a knock at the door and Barry returned. He had a tray with sandwiches on it, and also a glass of water and a bottle of pills. Frank’s eyes lit up. ‘This what you need?’ Barry asked.
David said, ‘You had this stuff here? You knew we were coming?’
‘We thought you might be. We know it’s important Dr Muncaster has the – what is it – Lar-something.’
‘Largactil.’ Frank eyed the bottle with an addict’s greed. Barry opened it and passed the glass and two pills to Frank, who swallowed them eagerly and lay back on the bed. ‘I’ll feel better in a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll sleep.’
David thought, he may not be physically addicted, but he can’t do without them.
Barry looked at David. ‘I’d get a bit of sleep yourself now if I were you. Will you be – er – all right with him?’
‘Of course I will,’ David answered sharply.
Barry left. Frank lay on his side and after a minute his breathing became deep and regular. Wearily, David took off his boots, then the army tunic. He switched off the light, then walked over to the window and parted the curtains slightly. It was pitch dark outside, only the stars visible high in the sky, the suggestion of a treeline in the distance. There was a stone terrace directly below. Then a soldier with a rifle stepped into the slit of light and gestured at him angrily to close the curtains. David thought, there must be guards all round this place. He felt his way over to one of the camp beds and lay down. At least it was warm in here; the room had central heating. To the sound of Frank’s regular breathing, he fell asleep.
He was woken by Ben switching on the light. He looked haggard. David sat up and, putting a finger to his lips, pointed at Frank. Ben stepped quietly over to the bed and looked down at him, then came over to David. ‘He’s out for the count,’ he said quietly.
‘They gave him his pills. He wasn’t feeling too good before. We’ll have to get him off them when we get away.’
‘If we get away.’ Ben sat down wearily on the other camp bed. He looked at his watch. ‘Christ, it’s near four. They’ve been questioning me all this time, trying tae work out how those Special Branch bastards found us. There’s raids going down on Resistance suspects all over London, despite the fog. A few people have been picked up but it seems it was us they were looking for.’
‘I think that little boy put them onto the O’Sheas.’
