William came into the office at this moment, and took a chair next to Tony. “Do we have a new message from Canaris?”
“I think it’s from him.” As she spoke, Diedre handed her husband the card.
William read it and said, “I think this means that there’s something in the works, code name Operation Barbarossa, because we all know Operation Sea Lion is dead. It’s a code name for an oncoming assault, in my opinion. Ahead of us. Valiant always gives us notice. Anyway, who is Barbarossa?” He looked at Diedre, his dark eyes questioning.
“A German king, Frederick I, from centuries ago.”
“So why the reference to him? Any ideas?” William asked.
Tony said, “I know he was a tyrant, fought battles.” He stood up. “I’m going to look in one of my encyclopedias. Back in a tick.”
When they were alone, Diedre asked, “How was the PM, Will?”
“Angry. He doesn’t believe that the bomb dropped on London on August twenty-third was an accident, which is what’s coming from the Jerries. So he’s retaliating. The RAF, which has been bombing other German cities, is going to shift to night raids. On Berlin.”
For a moment Diedre was silent, her expression concerned. “So things are really stepping up.”
“Only too true.”
William paused when Tony came back and sat down. He said, “Barbarossa was a fighting man, a general. He died in battle; actually he drowned in a river. But here’s the thing. He’s a German hero, and local lore is that he is buried under the mountain range near Berchtesgaden, which is where Hitler’s Alpine retreat, the Berghof, stands.”
“So let’s dissect for a minute. German king. A hero. Something of a tyrant. Buried close to Hitler’s house. Several linkups there. Anything else about him, Tony?” William sat back, crossed his long legs.
“No. Only that he had a red beard,” Tony replied.
“What does the beard signify? Nothing, I suppose,” William said with a slight shrug, looking as perplexed as Tony.
“Forget the beard,” Diedre said. “Concentrate on its color. RED. What does that signify to you, Will? Tony?” She raised a brow. When neither of them responded, she said, “When I use the word ‘red’ I’m usually talking about a Communist.”
“Russia!” William exclaimed. “Operation Barbarossa may well be the code name for Hitler’s invasion of Russia.”
“My God, he wouldn’t do that, surely?” Diedre looked alarmed. “He can’t possibly be that crazy. He’d be making the same mistake as Napoleon.”
“That he would,” William agreed. “But listen, nobody ever said the Führer was infallible. In fact, he’s very often off the mark. And in my opinion he’s a deranged man. I’m going to pass this on to C, find out what MI6 knows.”
“Maybe more than we do,” Diedre remarked, and stood up. “I’m sorry, but I now have to leave to meet Dulcie and Cecily, mainly to talk about the disposition of Great-Aunt Gwendolyn’s property, as well as a few other bits of business.”
Both men rose, and she kissed William on the cheek and said to Tony, “Don’t forget, you’re invited to James’s concert on Thursday night.”
“It’s in my book, and I’d never miss something like that.”
* * *
When she arrived at the Ritz Hotel and went into the restaurant, Diedre was relieved to see that Cecily was alone. Dulcie was often late these days. She always had a lot to do for James, and she was now a volunteer with the Red Cross doing office work several days a week. Like her sisters, she felt obliged to do her “bit,” as she called it.
After kissing Cecily on the cheek, and sitting down, Diedre asked, “Are you still feeling all right? Baby is comfy, I hope.”
Cecily laughed. “Baby is comfy and so is Mummy, thank you.”
Diedre said, “This lunch is on me today. You’re always picking up the bill. I know you think the Ritz is your canteen, but it’s mine, too.”
Shrugging, smiling, Cecily said, “That’s fine. Anyway, it’s a good idea to share. We should all take turns. DeLacy’s not coming, by the way. She’s still at Cavendon, sorting out the paintings at Great-Aunt Gwen’s house. Making an inventory and cataloging every picture.”
“That’s a lot of work, Ceci. William and I could do it before we move in.”
“You’ll be too busy painting the house. Throughout. It needs it, although you might want to keep a few of the lovely old wallpapers on some of the bedroom walls. Now that the house belongs to you, there’s no reason why you can’t do whatever you want.”
“I suppose the paintings are going to be put in the vaults?”
“Yes, for safety. Great-Aunt Gwen left the paintings to the Cavendon Restoration Fund. DeLacy and Dulcie will sell them after the war and the money will be useful. You can have your choice of her furnishings, though; the rest can be sold for the fund.”
“I know. Her will was very clear. And incidentally I thought that was lovely of Great-Aunt Gwen to leave us each that little attaché case with some of her jewelry and one of her lovely shawls in it. What did she leave Walter?”
“She gave my father and Miles beautiful gold cuff links, and, like us, a framed photograph of herself, signed.”
Diedre couldn’t help laughing. “Like royalty. But I think she’s been terribly generous to all of us and she cheered Papa up by gifting her art to the fund.”
“I agree, and Daphne was elated, too. The destruction of the North Wing really hit home, upset her after the work she’d put in over the years.”
“She’s better though, isn’t she?” Diedre asked, sounding worried.
“Like her old self. Oh here’s Dulcie! Looking very glamorous indeed.”
“You know she’s defiant by nature, and once war was declared her defiance soared. She believes in getting made-up and dressed up every day, and is determined not to let the war get her down.”
“Hello, you two,” Dulcie said, and sat down at the table. “Gosh, I’d love a drink, a glass of champagne. It’ll be a pick-me-up. I’ve had quite a morning with James and Sid at the theater.”
“Oh Sid’s back in the act, is he?” Diedre said.
“He has been for ages. He failed his medical for the army. He has flat feet. Can you believe anyone would be turned down for that reason? I thought we needed soldiers.”
“Miles told me he’d heard we have an army of over two million men now. How about that! All of them in England.”
Dulcie grinned. “I know we’ll beat the ‘Bloody Huns,’ as Sid calls them. You’re going to love the troupe and the show on Thursday. It’s really funny. And it’s been very successful traveling across the country, visiting airfields, military camps, and local theaters in the provinces. What a relief the West End is no longer dark, now that the government has allowed the theaters and cinemas to reopen. It’s done everybody good, especially James, who’s so busy acting he’s no longer frustrated.”
“The government began to realize the public needs to be distracted, to look forward to something, like going to see a film or a play. They want to take our minds off the war, keep us cheerful,” Diedre remarked. “And I for one am glad. I’ve missed going to the pictures.”
She now beckoned to a waiter and ordered a bottle of Pol Roger champagne.
Cecily, looking across at Dulcie, said, “How many are there in the cast of the show?”
“Six with James. Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking of giving a little supper after the show, at the South Street house. And I’m trying to figure out how many we would be.”
Dulcie did a quick calculation and said, “Six of us, including James. Five in the cast. That’s eleven. Oh, Felix and Constance, because James invited them to the show, make thirteen.”
“And you said I could invite Tony,” Diedre reminded Dulcie.
“The total comes to fourteen,” Cecily announced. “I think I’ve enough food. I have bottled vegetables and fruit in the cellar at South Street, and I brought down two chickens from Cavendon last nigh
t. To be roasted. Oh, and a leg of lamb. And it’s not one of Ophelia’s limbs.”
“That’s a great idea, having the supper,” Dulcie responded, her eyes twinkling. “But you don’t have to invite all of the cast. Only Edward Glendenning. James wouldn’t like to have him left out. He’s James’s partner in this endeavor.”
“How will you manage with only Eric?” Diedre asked. “Laura’s at Cavendon helping Daphne.”
“There’s my lovely char, Mrs. Wilkinson. And she says she can bring her sisters Florrie and Gladys to help out. I’d do a buffet. Eric’s good at that.”
Dulcie said, “I can get my housekeeper, Mrs. Pearl, to make mashed potatoes, rice, and pasta. Eric would only have to heat them up. They’d work well with the chicken and the lamb.”
“And I can go to my butcher,” Diedre said. “I have a few food coupons left.”
“Don’t use coupons, either of you,” Cecily said. “We’ve enough food, and of course all the cast must come. We haven’t had much fun, any of us, for the longest time. Thursday will be a lovely get-together, and I think the cast deserves a treat, too.”
* * *
The show starring James Brentwood and Edward Glendenning was sold out. There wasn’t a seat left. And it was a hit from the moment the two actors walked on the stage dressed as the ugly sisters in Cinderella, with Marianne Taft as Cinderella. It was a skit and the audience roared and clapped and stamped their feet and wanted more.
Popular songs of the moment were sung, and the audience was invited to join in for a singsong. The comedian told jokes, old and new, and had them in stitches. It was endless, simple fun that went down well.
Everyone enjoyed it because the audience needed a laugh, and laugh they did. Men dressed up as women hobbling in high heels always brought hilarity on any stage, and James and Edward were particularly good at camping it up even more, just to keep the laughter going.
Later, back at the South Street house, Miles and Cecily greeted the cast warmly, and within seconds wine they had found in the cellar and champagne were flowing. They were determined to make the evening as lavish and as successful as possible. Who knew when they would ever have a party like this again?
Fifty-nine
Finally the all-clear siren sounded. James and Dulcie left the air-raid shelter in the cellar of their building and went back to their flat.
The phone was ringing as they went inside, and James strode over to his desk and answered it.
“Brentwood here,” he said.
“Hello, it’s Miles, James. Just checking in to ask if you and Dulcie are all right?”
“We are, but it was a long raid this afternoon. I’m assuming you and Ceci are okay as well.”
“Yes, we are, James. I’m phoning because I’m not sure whether you know this, but the East End has been gutted. They’ve taken a terrible beating and so have the docks, which are burning as we speak. A ball of fire, I hear.”
James was silent for a moment, and then he exclaimed, “The docks are burning! The East End is gutted! Oh my God, I can’t believe this. I come from there, that’s where I grew up, and my father and brother worked on the docks. Oh my God, Sid still lives there.” James suddenly realized he was shaking he was so shocked and undone.
“It’s just horrendous, and we wanted you to know. We only found out because Emma Harte phoned Ceci a few minutes ago. Ceci wants to speak to you, Jamie, just a moment.”
Dulcie had come into James’s den at this moment and stood staring at him. She saw he was chalk white and trembling, and she stepped closer, endeavoring to understand.
“Yes, hello, Ceci,” he said into the phone, turning away from the desk, sitting down before his legs gave way. That he was genuinely shocked was patently obvious to Dulcie, who took another chair, her eyes riveted on him.
“Yes, I know, Miles told me,” James said. “I must go there immediately and find Sid. He’s like family to me, Ceci.”
“You can’t go now, James,” Cecily said at the other end of the line. “But you can tomorrow. That’s why Emma phoned me a little while ago. She’s looking for helpers for Sunday morning, to go and distribute food to the people who have been bombed out. She’s trying to pull together a big team. Miles won’t let me go, because I’m pregnant. But he’s going and so are Diedre and William. What about you? And you might find Sid.”
“Of course I’ll go and help, and so will Dulcie, but I want to go now. To find Sid,” he insisted, as if he’d not heard her a moment ago.
“You’ll never find him, James, not tonight. Anyway the police won’t let you get near the place. Right now they are escorting hundreds of people to the tube stations, so they can have shelter tonight, sleep there. The Red Cross is there and so is the St. John’s Ambulance Brigade. Other agencies are also doing things to help.”
“I just hope Sid is alive—” James could not finish his sentence, and his voice broke.
He beckoned to Dulcie and handed her the phone. Tears were running down his face; he groped in his jacket pocket for a handkerchief.
Dulcie said, “I sort of got the gist of it, Ceci. The East End has been bombed heavily, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and we knew that James would want to know since he grew up there. And now he’s worrying about Sid. I’ve no idea how he’d find him … I suppose James will have to just wait for Sid to contact him.”
“Tell me about tomorrow, Cecily. What’s that all about?”
“Emma Harte has a friend who’s married to a government minister, who asked Emma if she could help with food from Harte’s. Emma called to see if I would join a team of people going to the East End tomorrow to distribute food from her shop, hot drinks, blankets, that kind of thing. She wants people to take any food they can spare, and just go and be part of the rescue team. Miles, Diedre, and William are going, and Diedre’s going to call Tony Jenkins. More hands, more food gets given away.”
“You can count on us. Tell me where and what time.”
“Nine tomorrow morning at the front entrance of Harte’s store in Knightsbridge.”
“We’ll be there. Oh my God, the petrol. I wonder how many coupons I have?”
“Oh I forgot for a moment. Don’t bring your own car. Emma has hired several buses to take the food and the people to the East End.”
“That’s a good idea. We’re on board, Ceci. Tell Miles we’ll see him tomorrow.”
Once she had hung up, Dulcie went over to James and sat down on the arm of the chair. She repeated what Ceci had said, and he nodded, put his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap. He held her very close and wept quietly against her shoulder.
Eventually he took control of himself and wiped his eyes. “I can’t bear the thought of the East End being wiped out, all those East Enders like me being robbed of their homes and their livelihoods. This bloody war is hideous.”
The phone rang and Dulcie slipped out of her husband’s arms and answered it. It was James’s sister, Ruby, at the other end of the phone.
“He’s fine, Ruby, but rather upset. As I’m sure you are. Obviously. Let me put him on the phone.”
“Hello, Ruby, darling,” James said, “I just heard the news from Miles. The East End has been bombed to smithereens, and Docklands, too. All our memories are gone … Bow Common Lane gone and West India Docks close to Bow…”
“I’m glad you and Dulcie are all right, and also that you made us all move years ago.”
“So am I, Ruby … the rest of the family are all right, aren’t they?”
“Yes, Jamie, we’re all alive and kicking. Now you take care of yourself, and Dulcie. I’m glad to know the children are in Yorkshire.”
“Me, too, Ruby. I love you, and give our love to everyone else. By the way, we’re going over there tomorrow to help distribute food. I’ll put Dulcie on, she’ll explain.”
Dulcie did so and Ruby said she wanted to come and help; Dulcie told her she should join them and gave her instructions.
* * *
An hour later the phone rang once more, and James, who was still at his desk, picked it up.
“Brentwood, here.”
“It’s Sid.”
“Oh thank God you’re all right! I’ve been worried about you. Where are you?”
“I walked and walked until I found a phone booth that wasn’t a bleedin’ ruin. And I don’t know where I am.”
“Miles called and told me that the East End is wiped out and the docks. Were you there when it happened?”
“I was. I saw it all. Bleedin’ bloody Huns, they bombed me ’ouse right out from under me. And the docks ’ave gone as well. Where yer dad used ter work, and yer bruvver David…” Sid started to snuffle and James knew he was crying.
After a moment James said, “Sid, where are you going to sleep tonight? Look, walk until you find a cabbie, get in and tell him to bring you here. I’ll pay for the cab. You can stay here until Ruby finds a solution.”
“Naw. Thanks, Jamie, but I’ll kip down in the tube station wiv the others. Ta, anyway.”
“Dulcie and I are going to the East End tomorrow, to help distribute food. We’ll meet you.”
“Where? It’s bombed, every fing. It’s a pile of rubble. Yer’ll never find me. I don’t even know where Bow Common Lane is, that’s wot a bleedin’ mess it is.”
“Try and find me then. And if you don’t I’ll see you at the rehearsal hall on Monday. Take care of yourself, Sid.”
“I don’t aim to bloody well die ’cos of them bloody Huns,” Sid muttered. “Not bloody likely.”
* * *
Not one of them could believe the scenes of devastation they encountered on Sunday when they went to the bomb sites in the East End. They had been driven there on one of Emma’s buses, and James, Dulcie, Ruby, Diedre, William, Miles, and Tony walked in a group, distributing food to the people who were working on the piles of rubble. It was rubble that had once been their homes.
But they were cheery and warm, polite and grateful. The men and women thanked them for bringing food and hot drinks; many of the men had quick retorts, always disparaging, about the Jerries. But the amazing thing was that they had ready smiles and easy laughter, and were obviously endeavoring to make the best of it. The attitude seemed to be: What else can we do?