No, but I was planning to, he thought, and the Dunkirk Commemoration at Dover and the Eagle Day Air Show at Biggin Hill and the “Life in the Tube Shelters” exhibit at the London Transport Museum. And if he had, Binnie, or Alf, or one of Eileen’s other children would have been there as well. They’d spent nearly as much time and effort searching for him as he had for Polly. “Binnie—” he said.
“My, will you look at that,” a woman’s voice said from only a few feet away, “a gas mask! Do you remember having to carry them everywhere with us? And having those tiresome gas drills?”
“Oh, dear, they’re coming back from lunch,” Binnie whispered. She stood up.
“Wait,” Colin said. “You still haven’t told me where they are.”
She sat back down. “I’m not sure I did tell you. I think Mr. Dunworthy may have—”
“Mr. Dunworthy? I thought you said they were all in one place.”
“They were, but Mr. Dunworthy was the one who found you. Or you found him—I don’t know that bit of it—and brought you there.”
“But where did I find him?”
“In St. Paul’s.”
St. Paul’s? That meant he’d used Mr. Dunworthy’s drop. But it hadn’t opened once since Mr. Dunworthy had gone through, despite thousands of attempts. “Did I use the drop in St. Paul’s?” he asked.
“I don’t know that either. Why?”
“Because it’s not working.”
“Oh. Then you must have found him—or he found you—somewhere else. All I know is that we left him at St. Paul’s that night—”
“Which night? You still haven’t told me the date.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that either. It was so long ago, and we were only children. It was sometime in late—”
“Have you been in the air-raid shelter yet?” a woman’s voice said, and the door opened on Talbot, Camberley, and Pudge. “So here you are, Goody,” Talbot said, looking from Binnie, who’d shot to her feet, to Colin. “What are you two up to?”
“I was showing him the shelter,” Binnie said.
“We can see that,” Pudge said dryly. She looked around at the shelter. “My, this is cozy.”
“And much nicer than I remember shelters being,” Talbot said. “We were looking for you, Goody. You must come see the ambulance display. You drove an ambulance.”
“I’ll come in a moment,” Binnie said. “Mr. Knight and I weren’t quite done—”
“Obviously,” Talbot said.
“I only have one or two more questions,” Colin said, belatedly pulling out his notebook. “Would you mind if I borrow Mrs. Lambert for a bit longer?”
“Of course not,” Talbot said. “We shouldn’t want to stand in the way of true love.”
“Don’t be a noddlehead, Talbot,” Binnie said. “Mr. Knight’s a reporter—and young enough to be my grandson.”
“Impossible,” Colin said gallantly. “And at any rate, I’ve always liked older women.”
“In that case,” Talbot said, taking his arm, “you must come with us to see the ambulance display.”
“Yes,” Camberley said. “It looks exactly like the ones we drove.”
“You can ask her your questions on the way there,” Talbot said, leading him, her arm still firmly linked in his, toward the ambulance exhibit, but he had no chance to ask Binnie anything. Half a dozen women latched on to her before they reached it, asking her questions, and when they reached the ambulance, half a dozen others were waiting for her. They insisted she climb into the back and then the driver’s seat.
He pushed through the crowd to her and leaned in the window. “If you could just clear up a few details, Mrs. Lambert,” he said. “You mentioned the bombing of Westminster Abbey. When did that happen?”
“May tenth,” Camberley said before Binnie could answer.
And so much for that clever idea, Colin thought.
“I remember,” Camberley said, “because I was supposed to go to dinner and a show that night with a simply gorgeous flight officer, and instead I spent the entire night ferrying casualties. I’ll never forgive Hitler for ruining my evening.”
“What show was he taking you to?” Binnie asked.
This is no time to be discussing “Theater During the Blitz,” Colin thought in annoyance.
“Was it the naughty revue at the Windmill?” Talbot suggested.
“ ‘We never closed,’ ” Pudge quoted.
“Nor wore any clothes,” Talbot said.
“No,” Camberley said. “He took me to a play! And I wore—”
“What sort of play?” Binnie asked. “A pantomime?”
“A pantomime?” Camberley said. “Pantomimes are for children.”
“I saw a pantomime once during the Blitz,” Binnie went on as if she hadn’t heard her. “Sleeping Beauty. At the Regent. Sir Godfrey Kingsman was the Bad Fairy.”
“Oh, speaking of sleeping,” the woman who’d passed out the name badges said, “you all must see the display on ‘Sleeping Through the Blitz.’ Do you remember Horlick’s? And those siren suits? It’s this way,” she said, and they all started through the doorway and down the corridor, taking Binnie with them.
Colin followed, but before he reached the door, a new group of women with Union Jacks on their name badges swept in, and by the time he made it into the corridor, he expected her to have vanished. But Binnie was only halfway down it, stopped in front of a black-and-white photograph of a church, its tower in flames.
“Isn’t that St. Bride’s?” Binnie asked, pointing at it. “I remember the night it burned. The raids were so terrible that night. It was sometime at the end of April—”
“No, it wasn’t,” Browne said. “St. Bride’s burned in December.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Binnie said, “the same night St. Paul’s nearly did.” She looked down the corridor at Colin. “I must have got it confused. I know something happened at the end of April.”
I found Polly and Eileen and Mr. Dunworthy, Colin thought. Thank you, he mouthed silently at Binnie, but she’d already turned back to look at the photograph. Camberley said something to her, and the other women closed in about her, blocking her from his view. The Union Jack women surged into the corridor, chattering and exclaiming.
“Harris!” someone in a bright green hat called. “There you are. I thought I’d never find you. It’s time to go.”
Time to go. Colin squeezed out of the corridor and walked back through the exhibition toward the exit. And now all I have to do is get Mr. Dunworthy’s drop to open. If that’s the drop I used. And not get caught by the fire watch. Or, if it won’t open, find another drop. And then find Mr. Dunworthy. And the theater. But he had the name of it. And the knowledge that he hadn’t been too late, that Polly was still alive.
He reached the exit. It was flanked by a photograph of the King and Queen, waving to the jubilant VE-Day crowds from a balcony of Buckingham Palace, and a life-sized cutout of Winston Churchill making the V-for-victory sign. As he walked through the doorway, the triumphant note of the all clear sounded.
He made his way quickly through the lobby to the ticket desk. “Can you give Ann Perry a message for me?” he asked the ticket seller. “Would you tell her thank you and that the exhibition was extremely informative? And tell her I’m genuinely sorry I wasn’t who she thought I was.”
“Yes, sir.” The ticket seller wrote the message down, and Colin went outside, thinking about what he had to do. Find out the address of the Regent and how to get there from St. Paul’s, and decipher what “the end of April” meant. The twentieth? The thirtieth? He hoped it wasn’t the thirtieth. Mr. Dunworthy’s deadline was May first. The thirtieth would be cutting it a bit fine.
Binnie had said the raids were bad the night he came. That should narrow it down a bit, unless there’d been raids every night in April. He went down the steps. If he could find out what dates Sleeping Beauty had been performed, that would—
Binnie was standing down by the Lily Maid. “
How did you get out here?” Colin asked.
“I used a trick I learned from Alf,” she said.
He looked back at the building. “You set the Imperial War Museum on fire?”
“No, of course not. I told them I’d dropped my contact lens,” and when he looked at her blankly, “Contacts are eyeglass lenses which fit directly on the eye. Breakable lenses. They’re all crawling about on the floor looking for it. But I haven’t much time. I wanted to make certain you understood everything.”
“Yes. The Regent Theater. During a performance of the pantomime Sleeping Beauty.”
“No, a rehearsal,” she said.
“And you don’t know the date?”
“No, Alf and I tried to work that out. It was after the north transept of St. Paul’s was hit—”
Which had been on April sixteenth. “And there were raids that night?”
“Yes. At any rate, I think so. It’s difficult to remember. There were so many raids. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” She put her hand on his arm. “You mustn’t grow discouraged if you’re not able to find the right date straightaway.”
“Did Eileen tell you that happened?”
“No, and I’m not certain it did, but you seem younger today than you did the night you came through.”
“Is that why you gave me that odd look in the air-raid shelter?”
“The air-raid shelter?” she said, looking suddenly cornered, caught out.
“Yes,” he said. “We were talking about Eileen and then the bomb sound effect went off and the shelter lit up, and you gave me an odd look and said, ‘I wonder if she … that would explain …’ Was that what you meant? That I looked older?”
“It must have been. That’s the worst thing about growing old. One can’t remember what one was talking about five minutes afterward.” She laughed. “I can’t think what else it could have been. Oh, I know—it wasn’t about you at all. Mrs. Netterton said she didn’t remember there being red lights in the shelters, and I had no idea what she was talking about. She’s rather scattered, poor dear. And then when the bomb went off, and there was that red light, I realized that must have been it.”
It sounded plausible, and he’d have no doubt believed her if it hadn’t been for that Evacuation Committee head telling him, “They’d stand there looking all wide-eyed and innocent and tell you the most outrageous fibs.”
But what possible reason could she have for lying to him? She had spent the last six years trudging from one place to another to find him and tell him the truth, not hold it back.
Unless it was something terrible. But she had looked bemused, not distressed. Perhaps something had occurred that night at the theater that she hadn’t fully understood till now.
Whatever it was, it was clear she had no intention of telling him. “I must get back before they miss me,” she was saying, looking up at the museum. “They’ll think we’ve run off together.”
“I wish we could,” he said. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done.” He leaned forward and kissed her on her cheek, in spite of what it was likely to do to her reputation. “It was above and beyond the call of duty.”
She shook her head. “It was the least we could do for her after all she did for us. She took us in, fed us, clothed us, sent us to school. She was ‘the only one what was nice to us,’ as my brother would say.” She smiled at him. “I doubt if we’d have survived the war without her. And even if we had, I’d have ended up on the streets, and Alf—I hate to think of where he’d be.”
“But I thought—you said he was down at the Old Bailey.”
“He is. Oh, you thought because I said he’d been detained that he was the defendant.” She laughed. “Oh, dear, I must tell Alf that. No, he’s had an important case on this week, and the jury stayed out longer than expected.”
“He’s a barrister?” Colin said, astonished.
“No,” she said, and laughed again. “He’s a judge.”
All shall be well, and
All manner of thing shall be well.
—T. S. ELIOT, FOUR QUARTETS
London—7 May 1945
AT THREE, EILEEN PICKED UP COLONEL ABRAMS FROM THE Savoy in the staff car. “To the War Office, Lieutenant,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she said. She pulled out of the drive onto the Strand and then jammed on the brakes as a man ran straight in front of the car and across the road, shouting, “It’s here!”
“It’s not a V-2, is it?” Colonel Abrams, who was newly arrived from the States, said, peering anxiously out the window.
“No,” she said. It’s the end of the war.
And as soon as she’d delivered him to the War Office and he’d gone inside, she drove straight to Alf and Binnie’s school.
“I’ve come for Alf and Binnie,” she told the headmistress. “I need to take them home with me at once.”
“Have you heard something, then?” the headmistress asked.
And what should she answer? The surrender wouldn’t be officially announced till tomorrow, even though it had been signed at three this morning. And the newsagents’ signboards she’d seen on the way had said only, Surrender Soon?
“I haven’t heard anything official,” she said, “but everyone’s been saying they expect the announcement at any moment.”
The headmistress beamed. “I’ll fetch them,” she said, and bustled off down the corridor.
She was gone for what seemed like forever. They’d better not have chosen today to play truant, Eileen thought anxiously.
She leaned out the door to look down the corridor, and caught a glimpse of a teenaged girl at the end of it, taking her coat out of the cupboard. The girl was tall and graceful, with shining blonde hair. What a pretty girl, Eileen thought.
The girl shut the cupboard and turned, and Eileen realized with a shock that it was Binnie. Oh, my, she’s nearly grown up, Eileen thought, and then saw the stunned look on Binnie’s face.
She’d seen that look before—on Mike’s face when she told him Polly had already been here, on Polly’s face when the warden told them Mike was dead.
Binnie thinks something dreadful’s happened, Eileen thought, and hurried down the corridor to reassure her. “It’s not bad news. The war’s over. Aren’t you excited?”
“Yes,” Binnie said, but she didn’t sound excited.
She’d been very moody lately. Don’t be difficult tonight, Eileen thought. I haven’t time for this. “Where’s your brother?” she asked.
Alf came tearing down the corridor, shirttail out, socks down, tie askew, followed by the headmistress.
“The war’s over, ain’t it?” he said, skidding to a stop inches from Eileen. “I knew it was going to be today. When’d you hear? We been listenin’ to the wireless in class all day”—he glanced guiltily at the headmistress, but she was still beaming—“but they haven’t said anything at all!”
“Come along,” Eileen said. “We need to go. Alf, where’s your coat?”
“Oh, I forgot it! It’s in my classroom. I’ll fetch it.” He tore off down the corridor.
“Don’t tell—” Eileen said, but she wasn’t quick enough. There was a loud whoop from the end of the corridor, followed by the sound of cheering and doors banging open. The headmistress scurried off to deal with it.
Alf came tearing back with his coat clutched to his chest. “Alf,” Eileen said reprovingly.
“It was just on the wireless!” he shouted. “The war’s over! Come on, let’s go. They’re gonna turn on the lights in Piccadilly Circus.”
He caught sight of Binnie’s face, and his grin faded. “You’re lettin’ us go, ain’t you, Mum?” he said to Eileen. “Everybody’ll be there. The King and Queen and Churchill.”
And Polly, Eileen thought.
“The whole city’s goin’. The war’s over!” He appealed to Binnie. “Tell Eileen we must go!”
“Are we going?” Binnie asked.
“Yes, of course,” Eileen said, wondering if Binnie had somehow pic
ked up on her anxiety. “We must be there. Come along, Alf, Binnie.”
Alf shot through the door, but Binnie still stood there, looking resentful.
“Binnie?” Eileen said, taking her arm, and when she still didn’t move, “I’m sorry, I forgot you wanted to be called Roxie.” She’d insisted on the name ever since seeing Ginger Rogers play an unrepentant murderess in Roxie Hart. Which wasn’t surprising.
Binnie wrested free of her grasp. “I don’t care a jot what you call me,” she said and flounced out of the school.
Alf was waiting for them at the bottom of the steps, but Binnie marched past him and started up the street toward the tube station. “We’re not going by tube,” Eileen said. “I’ve got Colonel Abrams’s car.”
“Can I drive?” Alf said, clambering into the front.
Binnie stood there, looking at the car. “Don’t you have to take this back to headquarters?”
“They won’t miss it,” Eileen said. “Get in.”
Binnie did, slamming the door.
“And I’m not certain I could get it there. The crowds were already starting to gather in front of the palace when I drove past,” she lied.
“Is that where we’re goin’ Mum?” Alf asked. “To Buckingham Palace?”
“No, we must go home first so I can change out of my uniform,” Eileen said.
“Good. I need to fetch my Union Jack.”
“I think you should take the car back,” Binnie said from the backseat. “If you get in trouble, you might lose your job.”
“She can’t lose ’er job, ’cause she won’t ’ave a job,” Alf said jubilantly. “And you ain’t got a job drivin’ ambulances no more neither, Binnie. The war’s over. I think we should go to Piccadilly Circus and then Buckingham Palace.” He leaned out the window, waving. “The war’s over! Hurrah!”
Her lie about the crowds turned out to be the truth. People clogged the streets, shouting and waving flags. It took forever to reach Bloomsbury.
I’ll never be able to get the car to Trafalgar Square through this, Eileen thought, parking outside the house.