Bert glared at his wife. ‘I thought you’d got that nonsense out of your head years ago, woman. When have the Jews ever been disloyal to this country? And saying they’re not the same as us – you mean they haven’t got pure English blood?’
‘No. I’m sorry, I just . . .’ Jane’s words tailed off.
‘I’ve nae English blood,’ Ben said, stressing his Glasgow accent, trying to lighten the tone.
Bert said, ‘Sorry, I should have said British, not English—’
‘Dinna worry,’ Ben laughed. ‘I don’t lose sleep over what mix of blood I’ve got. Though a Scot Nat would’ve been at you fast enough for saying English not British. Worrying about blood and ancestry, that’s what’s got Europe intae all this shit.’ He looked pointedly at Jane.
‘I’m sorry. I’m glad they’re not being deported. That’s bad.’ Jane looked at Natalia. ‘And you’re right, the poor beggars must be cold out in those barracks or wherever they’re being held. It’s just – I was brought up disliking Jews.’
Natalia said, ‘It’s colder still where they get sent to, in the East. Though they’re not cold for long.’
Frank looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I believe the rumours they kill them in extermination camps are true.’ Natalia looked at David. A look passed between them. He met her eye. And then Sarah knew, she knew that David had told Natalia he was Jewish and she saw in their faces exactly what lay between them. She looked down quickly at her plate but she couldn’t pick up a spoon, couldn’t eat. She stood abruptly. ‘I don’t feel very well. I’m going upstairs.’
David said, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I feel sick. I think it’s just nerves, giving me a bit of a gippy tummy. I’ll be all right if I lie down for a bit.’
The last secret. The end. Sarah wished she could have run out of the hotel, back to London, back to Irene and her mother and father. She thought of her empty house, had a sudden horrible vision of Charlie there as a tiny, lonely ghost, wandering lost through the empty rooms. She cried and cried, but silently so that the others wouldn’t hear.
To her surprise, perhaps because she was so exhausted, Sarah fell asleep. When Ben knocked on her door it was dark. He told her they were to go downstairs for a last briefing. It was almost ten o’clock. They gathered in the office behind the counter. David gave Sarah a smile, but she couldn’t return it. Frank and Ben, noticing, exchanged glances. Natalia was watching David and Sarah carefully, her face expressionless. Sarah thought, she’s worried there’ll be some sort of outburst between us. But there mustn’t be, I have to hold on.
Bert and Jane reported that everything was still quiet in Rottingdean, the rendezvous was still on. The weather forecast said it would be clear and cold. Then Bert went to a safe on the wall and brought out two pistols. Sarah shuddered at the sight of them. They made her think of her father, the pistol he would have carried in the Great War. Bert handed one to Ben. Natalia said, ‘You know I have one already?’
‘Yes.’ Bert looked at David. ‘You can handle a gun?’
‘I was in the Norway campaign, remember?’ He picked up the pistol and examined it. ‘I can use this.’ Then he grasped it firmly and put it in his pocket.
Bert turned to Sarah. He said quietly, ‘What about you, Mrs Fitzgerald?’
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t. Anyway, I wouldn’t know how.’ She took a deep breath, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the pellet David had handed her earlier. She held it out. ‘But I’ll use this, if I have to.’
‘We all must,’ Ben said quietly.
‘Is there anything else we need to discuss before we leave?’ Natalia asked. She looked round them all, her gaze lingering on Sarah. ‘Because from now on we have to be completely focused on our escape, on getting away.’
Sarah nodded. ‘I know.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I’m ready.’
They left the hotel at half past ten, in the car. They drove out of Brighton, past the Pavilion, its domes outlined against the starry sky. Natalia was the driver, Ben beside her. David sat in the back, Frank between him and Sarah.
They drove north out of Brighton, into the empty, frosty countryside. For a while there was silence. Then Ben said, ‘The news says the fog’s gone in London. But the casualty departments are full of people with asthma and bronchitis, animals died at the Smithfield cattle show. There was more about that than what’s happening in Germany. They just say Goebbels is in charge. There’s windy weather coming in tomorrow apparently, there’s going to be heavy snow in Scotland.’
‘I went to school there,’ Frank said quietly.
Sarah turned to him. He looked very pale and frightened. But he was calm, not really like a lunatic at all though there was something odd, off-key, about him. She spoke to him gently. ‘And after that you went to Oxford, met David?’ She could imagine David looking after Frank, protecting him.
‘Yes. I’m sorry I’ve got you both in this mess.’
‘You got caught up in this by chance,’ David said. ‘Though it’s just an extension of the madness the whole country, the whole world, has ended up in, isn’t it?’
Frank turned and looked at David. ‘You’re the best friend I ever had in my life,’ he said, suddenly.
‘Come on, Frank,’ David said jokingly. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’
Frank turned back to Sarah, his eyes glinting in the dark interior of the car. ‘No, it’s true, and this may be my last chance to say it. Your husband is a good man. He looks after people, protects them. There’s not one in a hundred like him.’
Silence descended again. After a while they turned south, heading back towards the sea.
THEY DROVE INTO ROTTINGDEAN, past some large houses to a village green with a pond in the centre, a skin of ice on its surface, and a tall war memorial, a stone column topped with a cross. On a hill to the right Frank saw a large windmill, outlined against the starry sky. To the left the ground rose up to an ancient church. Frank remembered the kind, brave vicar in London; if it hadn’t been for him, he knew, he would have wandered about in the fog until he was caught, and then – he took a long, deep breath.
A few cars were already parked outside the large houses surrounding the green, and Natalia drew quietly to a halt between two of them. They stepped out into the freezing air. There were a couple of streetlights, but nobody was in sight and the windows of all the houses were curtained and dark.
Natalia told them not to talk, just follow her, as quietly as possible. Frank felt his heart begin to pound as he walked beside David. Sarah and Ben were behind him and Natalia in front. They turned into a narrow street with shops on either side, some Christmas decorations in the windows. Beyond the end of the street, moonlight shone on the sea.
Frank remembered his talk with Natalia, when he had asked to see her that afternoon. In her room he had asked her, haltingly, to give David the chance to rebuild his marriage.
He had thought she might be rude or contemptuous, but she only said, in a kindly but definite tone, ‘You don’t understand.’
He answered, ‘I suppose that’s true in a way. But I can see Sarah loves him, even though she’s so angry now. And he has feelings for her, I’m sure he has.’
Natalia lit a cigarette, inclined her head. ‘What if he feels more for me than for her?’
‘If he just abandoned her in America, think of the guilt he’d feel. David doesn’t forget people. He didn’t forget me, remember, when you asked him to get me out of the asylum.’
Natalia smiled sadly. ‘You are so like my brother. Your problem is not that you don’t understand things, it’s that you see too much. But you must leave me and David to decide what to do.’
‘I know,’ he answered quietly. Natalia looked out of the window, her arms crossed, her pose thoughtful, then turned back to face him.
‘Don’t say anything to the others, please. We all have to concentrate on our escape now.’
Frank said, ‘I won’t.’ He took a long, deep breath. ‘But there was something else I wanted to ask. About tonight.’
Natalia turned into a tiny street of little cottages fronted with dark flint. She approached the second cottage. Like all the other buildings they had passed it was in darkness. But when she went up to the door it opened a crack;
