I lay awake listening to the sound of people’s feet on the pavement above my head, afraid one of them would be a policeman come to get us. It was late, but people kept clattering by. It was much too hot to close the window. I kept thinking about Uncle Phil being arrested and maybe tortured, and Malcolm too, and nice thoughtful Bob Nash. How could Siddy be sure they wouldn’t tell everything about us right away? Devlin had said they have ways of making everyone talk. Why did I only believe people when they said things in a tone of breaking things to me gently? Did I really believe that Pip, my own sister Pip, was a monster? The terrible thing, lying awake in the dark, was that I did, and that I recognized the callous places in myself that could have made me like her. I don’t suppose Pip particularly wanted to be horrid to the Jews, but she was having a lovely time on the Continent and she just didn’t care.
I would take the bomb and hope that it blew her up, and her horrible Heinie with his sweaty hands, and sadistic Mark Normanby, and even old Hitler, who seemed nice enough but must have been as bad as any of them. I briefly entertained a fantasy that all the horrid details had been kept from him and he would stop the whole thing if I explained it to him. He was the only one of them I had liked. But no, I had heard him raving on the radio at the huge torchlit rallies at Nuremberg—splendid theater—and his way of blaming the Jews for whatever had gone wrong.
I slept eventually, and dreamed of childhood, of Pip pushing me into the duckpond and the weed catching and tugging at me and trying to pull me under, while Pip, transformed somehow into the adult Pip while I was still a child, stood on the bank and laughed.
The dress rehearsal went wonderfully. Everything that had been awkward before went smoothly. Mollie didn’t fall off the dais once. Everything came together as it should. It helped a very great deal that Antony was staying in character as Claudius and not leaping out of it to berate someone every two minutes. He was a terrific Claudius now that he had the feel of it, always certain he knew what was right for everyone. I threw myself into character, glad to be Hamlet and not myself for a few hours. Afterwards, he congratulated us all, told us to sleep well, and to make sure to be at the theater early for the first night.
Mollie and Pat and some of the others were going to Mimi’s, and I’d have liked to go with them, but Devlin was waiting in the car. “How are things?” I asked.
He didn’t answer until he’d driven away from the theater. “Nobody’s been near the flat, nobody’s following me, we’ll see now if anybody’s following you,” he said. “How did the dress rehearsal go?”
“Almost too well,” I said. “Mrs. Tring was practically in tears.”
“Too well? They say a bad dress rehearsal means a good first night, but I never heard it the other way around.” Devlin was smiling as he drove, but looking in the mirror.
“I have,” I said. “Is anyone following?”
“I don’t think so.” He wasn’t doing anything to shake them off if they were, just driving a little slowly so that he’d see anything unusual.
“If we’re going ahead, when are you going to do it?” I asked.
“The flowers will arrive in the afternoon, and be taken to your dressing room, then about an hour before curtain you’ll spot them and take them around to plug the hole in the box.” Devlin’s eyes were still on the road. He signaled and waited to turn right, across traffic, onto Regent Street.
“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “I mean when in the play will you set it off.”
“Why?” Devlin asked.
“Because I was wondering after that stupendous dress rehearsal how much of it the audience were going to get to see. If you could wait until my duel with Laertes—”
“I’m not going to tell you, love,” he said. “I don’t want you to know, you might do something on stage to give us all away. I want you to be as natural as possible when it happens. You passed up the chance to do it yourself, which gives me control of the timing. I’ll pick a moment when they’re all in the box. But let it surprise you.”
“I thought Loy was going to do it,” I said.
“No. I am. I told you I couldn’t trust him for it,” he said. “And we’re clear, nobody following, we can go home. No reason not to go back to the flat, and I take it you’d prefer that to the hotel?”
“Emphatically,” I said. “But Loy—”
“Loy will be up in the ha’pennies and he’ll try it from there, sitting down. I don’t think that will work, but if it does, good. If not, I’ll stand up in the front row, just for an instant. That’s line of sight, it will work.”
“If they get you they get me too, right away,” I said.
“True enough, darling. But you don’t want me to tell you how to get away. There’s a pub on O’Connell Street—”
“There won’t be any getting away,” I said, impatiently.
“They might not connect us up for a few hours. If you went straight to Paddington you’d have a chance.”
I let him tell me about the pub in O’Connell Street, Dublin, and what I was to say. Just in case it isn’t burned, I won’t say any more about it.
“What are you going to do tomorrow, before going to the theater?” he asked, as we got out of the car at his flat.
“I don’t know. I suppose you’ll be busy?”
He nodded. “I have my appointment with Siddy. I could meet you afterwards, for lunch if you like, love?”
“Oh, let’s go to Benetto’s by Camden Lock and eat ice cream!” I said. It was a treat Mollie had introduced me to, and one I often indulged in before first nights. Benetto’s is a real Italian ice-cream parlor and they make their own ice cream and often have as many as five or six flavors. I have to watch what I eat, of course, but as Mollie had said long ago, one ice cream per play can’t do any harm. “And if you’re going to the florist, can you send roses from me to the cast?”
“If you give me money and a list of what you want,” he agreed warily.
So Devlin agreed to come back after going with Siddy to the florist and meet me to take me to Benetto’s. Before that we had the evening, and the night. Devlin didn’t fall asleep like a lump that night, but instead we made love, and it was better than ever. He paid attention, that was what made him so different, he caught my rhythms instead of expecting me to catch on to his the way most men do. I slept much better that night. I didn’t even think about being near the bomb until the next morning when he took it out from under the kitchen sink and went off with it.
He was late coming back to pick me up. I’d had breakfast and I wasn’t starving—ice cream is hardly something you eat when you’re starving anyway—but I was impatient and ready to go. Then I stopped feeling impatient and started to worry. They had arrested Uncle Phil. They could have got Siddy, and she could have led them to Devlin. It might be police cars that came for me. I had an unpleasant half hour before I saw Devlin’s little car drawing up outside.
He was sitting very still. He was always very controlled in his movements, very graceful, but there was something about this that was different. He looked really shaken.
“Everything all right?” I asked, getting in.
“Well, the florist was Siddy’s boy, or rather Moscow’s boy, all right, but not all of the assistants were, so we had to do the work while nobody was looking. But it’s done and sent off, so you don’t need to worry.” He turned the car and set off.
“Siddy’s all right?” I asked.
“Siddy is always all right. Siddy is off, she said to tell you good-bye. She’ll be in Moscow, or anyway in Lisbon, before you go on stage.” He sounded quite savage.
“I didn’t know,” I said, stupidly.
“No more did we, but it’s not unexpected. It might be a shock to Loy, but he’ll get over it. What’s surprised me is what she’s found out since Wednesday night about the arrests at Coltham. Lord Scott’s in custody, and so are his servants, but Malcolm and Bob were shot dead by the police. Lord Scott’s charged with murdering a policeman with a double-bar
reled shotgun. Seems as if the silly buggers saw the police were coming and snatched up their hunting weapons to make a desperate last stand.”
“Poor Malcolm! Uncle Phil will be gutted,” I said. “And poor Bob too. I didn’t know him well, but he always seemed so very nice.”
“Very nice,” Devlin echoed, savagely, mocking me. Then he relented. “They were both good men, none better. I’d have liked to have thought they’d be here making the world a better place. And if they’re arming the police that’s a bad sign.”
“I’d quite understand if you don’t want to go and have ice cream in the circumstances,” I said.
“I’d like to raise a glass to them,” Devlin said.
So we stopped at the next pub, which was called the Queen’s Head. It was a horrible place with brass spittoons and drunks, even though it was lunchtime. There were no other women except the barmaid, who gave me an old-fashioned look. Devlin went up to the bar and ordered two whiskies. He brought them over to me in the corner. I took a sip from one of them as a toast to Bob and Malcolm, then Devlin looked at my face and downed mine straight after his and we went out again. He didn’t normally drink very much, wine sometimes and beer sometimes, but that time and the time Loy brought whiskey to the flat were the only times I ever saw him drink spirits, despite what they say about the Irish.
“Ice cream,” Devlin said when we were back in the air.
“It’s still on?” I asked, getting back in the car.
“Makes no difference whether they’re dead or imprisoned, does it?” he asked. “Except to them.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
“Will you mourn for me, Viola?” he asked after a little while. He must have seen the shock and distress on my unguarded face, because he laughed. “Oh you will, won’t you, darling? Not with whiskey, but you’ll miss me?”
“Are you expecting to die?” I asked.
“Of course I am, you silly bitch,” he said. It was the drink talking. He caught himself a moment later. “I’m sorry, love, but you’d have known that if you thought about it. I’m not about to give them the chance, but I could die tonight if any of the bodyguards are quick enough to pop a shot off after I’ve pressed the button. Or if not, then they’ll hang me after. There’s not much chance of me getting out from the front of the stalls, and people will have seen me. We talked about this before.”
“Did you think Siddy would help?” I asked, ignoring the name he had called me as best I could. Anyone could see that he was upset.
“Loy may have. I didn’t think she’d bugger off quite so quickly, but I didn’t expect much out of her. Like we said before, Stalin’s no better, only further away.”
Perhaps I had two sisters who could bear to support terrible things. “Do you really think it’s worth it?” I asked.
“Yes, I do really think it’s worth it,” he said, imitating my tones exactly. “Jesus! If this wasn’t the kind of opportunity that comes along only once don’t you think I’d have called it off a hundred times already?”
We were at Benetto’s. The whole place is tiled inside and out in ice-cream white with the name set in green tiles. Devlin parked the car and we went in. Mollie and Pat were sitting at one of the tables in the middle of the floor. Mollie spotted us immediately and waved. “They have banana!” she called. “Can you imagine, banana ice cream?”
“Don’t have it,” Pat advised. “The mint is much nicer.”
There was nothing for it but to sit with them and eat ice cream. Devlin was surprisingly good at being casual and friendly to them, though I think Mollie guessed that he was preoccupied. He had the banana ice cream in a banana split and I had a chocolate nut sundae, which wasn’t very adventurous but it is my absolute favorite and was wonderfully comforting. There was a certain Twilight of the Gods atmosphere about everything and I thought that perhaps this might be my last ice cream ever. At the same time, everything seemed so real and undramatic that I couldn’t quite believe it. I kept on eating ice cream and laughing at Pat’s gossip and inside I was thinking that if this had been a play this would have been the time for passionate speeches.
As it was, I didn’t even get to have time for passionate farewells. It would have seemed awfully strange for Devlin not to have offered Mollie and Pat a lift to the theater, so of course he did. They crowded into the back and enthused about how much more comfortable it was than the Underground. It occurred to me then that I had hardly been on the Tube for ages, with Devlin running me around everywhere, and normally I used it every day and took it for granted that I would.
“Are you going to be watching tonight, Devlin?” Mollie asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Devlin said. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”
I kissed him when I got out. “Break a leg,” he said. They were still there and could hear. “You’re a good girl, Viola. Break both legs, eh love?”
“You too,” was all I could think of to reply. He laughed and shook his head. He had such a versatile face. He’d have made a great actor. He could go from looking like thunder to soft as butter in two seconds.
“Break a leg!” he called to Mollie and Pat and then we all went up the alley to the stage door and he went off to park the car.
Mollie let Pat go a bit ahead. “Had the two of you had a fight?” she asked.
“Something like that, but it’s all right now,” I said.
She looked at me severely. “I hope so. You shouldn’t let it upset you and disturb the play.”
“No, mother,” I said.
We had to show our cards and be searched going in through the stage door. I was glad I didn’t have the radio detonator on me, because they even opened my little compact. The man who spoke to me was English, but there were Germans there too, in uniform. I tried to imitate Mollie’s impatience with them. “At least this will be back to normal tomorrow,” she said, over her shoulder as they were going through my bag.
Unless the bomb had been stopped at the stage door, it ought to be in my dressing room. I had one last cowardly thought then that I could leave it there, where Devlin’s detonator wouldn’t reach it through the walls, and we could all walk away safely, at least unless Uncle Phil incriminated us. I thought about Lord Ullapool’s quiet voice, his fear, although he was who he was, and Devlin saying “Jesus!”
Mrs. Tring was in my dressing room. The place was full of flowers, so many there was almost nowhere to walk. It was quite natural to remark on them. “More flowers than ever,” I said, blinking.
“There’s a whole tree from your young man,” Mrs. Tring said, indicating a huge flowering jasmine in a pot.
“That’s really sweet of Devlin,” I said, and it was. I knew it was part of a bluff with Siddy’s florist, but even so, it was a lovely thing, covered in flowers and very fragrant.
“That’ll last the run, if we don’t forget to water it,” Mrs. Tring said.
“Maybe even longer,” I said. “I wonder if we have anywhere to put it at home?”
“Oh, so you’re planning on coming home after? I was wondering.”
I looked at her, completely at sea.
“Well, you seem so taken up with this Devlin, and he with you, I wondered if he was thinking of this tree as something he’d be getting back in your bottom drawer.”
I wanted to laugh, and I wanted to cry too. Marriage with Devlin was so far from anything we’d been able to think about I couldn’t even begin to guess if it was something I wanted—would have wanted, in other circumstances—or whether he would. He had called me “love” there at the last, but he was always calling me love or dear or darling, I had no idea what, if anything, it meant to him. “I don’t know,” I said, helplessly. “He hasn’t said anything about that.”
“I didn’t mean to speak out of turn,” Mrs. Tring said, and put her arm around me.
“Well, what else do we have in the way of flowers?” I asked, hoping she’d think I just wanted to change the subject, but really to get hold of the bo
mb as fast as possible.
“Huge bunch of roses from Her Hitler.” She always pronounced it that way, and it always made me smile. “Big bouquet from Mr. Normanby, orchids and carnations and everything. Irises from your sister Dodo, very pretty, more roses from your sister Celia, and all this lilac from your sister Siddy—your family are very well represented today, I must say! Then these pink roses are from Antony, the spring bouquet is from the management of the theater, the apple blossom is from the cast, this white bud in the vase is from Mollie, and I hope you remembered to send her something.”
“A bunch of roses,” I said, confident, though I hadn’t checked that Devlin had remembered. “I sent buds to everyone else.”
“These carnations are from a Captain Keiler,” she went on, reading the label. “Then this African violet doesn’t have a tag. The purple lilac is from Andrew.” Andrew was an old boyfriend.
“How about that big thing in the corner?” I asked, having spotted what I thought was it. It was a red and white box, like a window box, full of red and white azaleas.
“It’s from Mrs. Normanby,” she said.
I went over and looked, and saw how clever they had been. The top label said it was for me, from Daphne Normanby, which would encourage the guards not to check it too closely, but underneath was another tag, saying it was for the Royal Box. I half-pulled off the top tag, tutting.
“This isn’t for me at all. This tag must have come off whatever Daphne really sent me, probably that violet, and got attached to this somehow. This is part of the display for the Royal Box. I should take it round to them at once.”
“Get a porter to do it,” Mrs. Tring advised. “Not that they’ll probably miss it.”
“I don’t know, they might have a hole this size,” I said. I bent and picked up the flower-topped bomb. It wasn’t as heavy as I had expected. Devlin had sworn it couldn’t go off by anything I could do to it carrying it, but even so I felt quite light-headed holding it and as if I couldn’t quite get enough breath. “I’ll run round quickly with it, and then when I get back we should start my makeup.”