‘You mean,’ I said indignantly, ‘that all those reports about that night fighter pilot, Cat’s Eyes Cunningham, eating lots of carrots – they weren’t true? He actually shot down all those bombers in the dark because he used this radar thing?’
‘Imagine, the government lying to its own people,’ said Toby. ‘Shocking.’
‘If this radar is so effective,’ said Veronica, frowning at the photographs, ‘then surely the Nazis will detect any British planes approaching Montmaray. The soldiers there will have plenty of warning, and plenty of time to prepare themselves for a fight.’
‘Oh, but that’s the brilliant part of my plan,’ said Toby. ‘You see, it won’t be a British plane. The RAF has quite a few Luftwaffe aircraft in its possession by now. You know, from aircrew who’ve surrendered. And then there are planes that have crash landed, that the RAF mechanics have fixed up to see how they work. They’re the planes that I’ve been learning to fly these past few months.’
‘And I suppose in that time you’ve also managed to become fluent in German,’ Veronica said, sarcasm dripping from her voice, ‘so that if they challenge you over their radio system, you’ll be able to reassure them. Oh, and when you land, you’ll no doubt be wearing a Nazi officer’s uniform, so they’ll do whatever you say and you’ll be able to talk them into surrendering!’
‘You must be using your super mind-reading powers,’ said Toby, ‘because you’re entirely correct, except for one small detail. It won’t be me speaking German –’
But he was interrupted by Julia, who’d been studying the writing along the border of the photographs. ‘Who took these photographs?’ she demanded.
‘I did,’ Toby said. ‘I went down to Cornwall and borrowed a reconnaissance plane from Coastal Command.’
‘Toby! You said you weren’t going to be flying any operations!’
‘I said I wasn’t going to be flying in combat. And I didn’t. I just took a quick trip to Montmaray and back, and no harm done. They didn’t even fire their anti-aircraft guns at me.’
‘Oh, excellent, they’ve got an anti-aircraft battery there as well!’ said Veronica. ‘This is sounding better and better!’
‘They didn’t fire it because they’re either slow and stupid, or they’ve run out of ammunition,’ said Toby patiently. ‘Their supplies must be getting pretty low, now that the Nazis have been kicked out of France and the Spanish have finally stopped helping them. It’s an ideal time to launch our attack. Anyway, they definitely won’t be shooting at one of their own planes, so we needn’t worry about that. Obviously, there are still a few little details to work out, but overall, what do you think of my plan?’
‘I think it’s unnecessary, extremely risky and altogether one of the stupidest ideas you’ve ever had,’ said Veronica.
‘I can’t believe they let you work in the Diplomatic Services,’ said Toby. ‘Soph, what do you think?’
‘I’m already imagining a dozen things that could go disastrously wrong,’ I said.
‘Oh, good,’ he said. ‘Well, write them all down, then we can figure out a solution for each problem.’
‘And what did you mean,’ I continued, ‘when you said that you won’t be speaking German? Who will?’
Toby hesitated for the first time. ‘Um . . . well, there’s someone who’s volunteered to help. Perfect for the job.’
‘A German?’ I asked.
‘No, no. He just speaks German, knows a lot about Wehrmacht officer behaviour . . .’ Toby began to falter under Veronica’s stare. ‘And he’s . . . er, familiar with the terrain –’
She jumped up, setting all the teacups rattling. ‘Absolutely not! You are not involving Daniel in this ridiculous scheme!’
‘Well, that’s up to him to decide, isn’t it?’ said Toby. ‘I just happened to mention the idea to him, and he said he wanted to help.’
‘When was this? When you just happened to be visiting Bletchley? And I suppose you just happened to have arranged with the Colonel for Daniel to be released from his duties there?’
‘Mmm,’ said Toby, suddenly very busy shuffling his photographs into a pile.
‘Right! That’s it! I’m going to telephone him this instant!’ she shouted, and stormed off.
And that was the end of our meeting.
After dinner, I tackled Julia, the only person who might possibly be able to talk Toby out of this.
‘Oh, I know, Sophie,’ she said at once. ‘I know exactly how you feel! I wish Toby would just wait till Germany surrenders. But I’m not sure anyone can stop him, he’s so determined to go ahead with it. Even though it seems terribly dangerous . . .’
‘I think Toby wants it to be dangerous,’ I said. ‘I think he wants a chance to have his revenge on the Nazis. To pay them back for what they did to him, and to Henry.’
‘Yes, you’re right, I think he does,’ she sighed. ‘Still, I must admit, he’s brightened up a lot since he started planning this thing. I had a vague idea of what it might be, of course . . . And you know, the Colonel wouldn’t have agreed to help unless he felt it was a feasible scheme. That’s the only thing making me feel slightly better about it. Oh, you will help Toby, won’t you? You and Veronica? Because you’re both so clever and you know Montmaray. He needs you to make this work.’
Toby walked into the kitchen just then with his notebook. ‘Simon,’ he announced to both of us. ‘Soph, do you know where exactly in Italy he is now? We’d better get him back, we might need a spare pilot.’
Julia and I looked at each other after he’d gone back upstairs.
‘Well,’ I said, giving up. ‘Just as long as he doesn’t try to draft Rupert into this.’
12th November, 1944
WE SPENT MOST OF TODAY ensconced in what Toby insists on calling ‘HQ’ – a large second-floor bedroom he’s converted into his study, the wallpaper of which has now disappeared under dozens of maps, diagrams, photographs, meteorological charts and scrawled lists, as well as a dartboard featuring Hitler’s face. It turned out Churchill was quite enthusiastic about the idea of a commando raid on Montmaray, when the Colonel told him our plans, but his generals all said they didn’t have any ships, planes or men to spare for such a ‘strategically insignificant’ mission. The most they could promise was some help afterwards, collecting prisoners of war, and clearing up any land mines or unexploded bombs. Upon hearing that, Toby put in a request for Jimmy Smith’s bomb disposal company, because the poor boy’s been abroad for months and Alice is going out of her mind with worry over him. Of course, there won’t be any need of their bomb-disposal services until we’ve got rid of the Nazis, which depends on us coming up with a foolproof plan – and sometimes I’m not sure we’re ever going to manage that.
This afternoon, Daniel joined us for one of our interminable meetings. We still didn’t come to any firm decisions, but he did prove quite effective at mediating between Toby and Veronica, who keep having the same argument over and over again.
‘Even if there are only six soldiers stationed there – and I must say, the evidence for that isn’t very convincing – it still means three of them for each of you,’ said Veronica. ‘That’s why I ought to come with you.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ said Toby. ‘And it’s got nothing to do with you being a girl, so don’t even start on that. The plane only seats two. Therefore, unless you can learn to fly a plane or speak fluent German in the next fortnight, you’ll just have to be in charge of the support crew in Cornwall.’
‘Anyway,’ said Daniel, putting his arm round her, ‘there won’t be any physical combat, so it doesn’t matter how many of them there are. We’re going to talk them into surrendering.’
‘Yes, how’s the script going?’ Toby asked me.
‘Well, I’ve written three scenarios so far,’ I said, frowning at my notebook, ‘but none of them sound all that plausible to me. I mean, Nazi soldiers aren’t really going to believe that Hitler’s committed suicide and the war is over, are they?’
‘Well, what if Daniel tells them that all the Nazi generals have banded together behind Hitler’s back?’ said Toby. ‘Because they want to negotiate a peace treaty, in order to save the Fatherland from annihilation?’
‘But would a high-ranking Nazi officer bother flying to some remote island outpost to inform the soldiers there?’ I said. ‘Especially if there are only six of them?’
‘What about if I’ve come to tell them they’re being posted back to Germany, because that’s where all the fighting is going on now?’ said Daniel.
‘Yes, I wrote one about that,’ I said. ‘But there’s still the question of why you’d want to disarm them before they left the island.’
‘And surely we’d bring a bigger plane if we were meaning to transport troops,’ pointed out Toby. ‘The problem is, we’ve only got access to a two-seater. Well, there is another plane available, but I’m not sure I could land it safely on that tiny airstrip.’
‘I think this scenario’s the best,’ said Veronica, who’d been reading my notebook. ‘Daniel accuses them of treason – says one of them was picked up on a listening device, overheard making jokes about Hitler’s sanity, so they’re all being taken back to Berlin to stand trial.’
‘But do Nazis have trials?’ Toby said. ‘They just shoot traitors on the spot, don’t they?’
‘Either way, it provides a plausible excuse to handcuff and disarm them,’ said Veronica. ‘Or some of them, at least.’
‘And they’re bound to have said something bad about Hitler at some stage,’ I said, scribbling down notes, ‘so they’ll all be feeling a bit guilty and be more likely to go along with it. I’ll add some bits about Daniel being sympathetic to them. You know, “I hate to do this to you, I can just imagine what it’s like being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, but just cooperate with me, and we’ll get it all sorted out as soon as possible, and then you can have some leave in Germany.”’
‘Sounds good,’ said Toby. ‘Show it to Daniel when you’re done. Now, what’s next on the list? Oh, yes, communications. I’m not sure yet how we’re going to contact the authorities after we’ve recaptured the island. We obviously can’t use the German radio system –’
At that point, Julia came in with her tape measure, to check Daniel’s size for the Nazi uniform she’s sewing him. And then it was time for tea. So we still haven’t figured out even half of what we need to do . . . but we’re getting there.
30th November, 1944
I SEEM TO HAVE SPENT a significant proportion of this war feeling either very bored or very anxious, and at the moment, I’m managing to experience both at once. So I have taken out my journal, in the hope that writing down a detailed description of events thus far might provide some distraction from our nerve-wracking wait. We’ve been sitting here, in this wooden hut on the edge of a wind-blasted Cornish heath, for more than six hours now. Well, I am sitting – Veronica is wearing a groove in the floorboards with her pacing, and Simon keeps leaping up to peer out the window in the direction of the airfield. I don’t know what he expects to see there. The message we’re anticipating is far more likely to arrive from the other direction – along that bridle path that leads to the farmhouse pigeon loft where Rupert is stationed. Meanwhile, Julia remains in London by the telephone, ready to alert the Colonel if anything goes wrong – not that there’s very much he’ll be able to do if it does . . .
Oh, but I’m meant to be distracting myself. Very well – I’ll write about Simon. It was rather disconcerting at first, to have him back with us again. He looked so unchanged – perhaps a little older, and rather more tanned than the last time I’d seen him, but just as handsome. Yet how could he be the same, when I felt so differently about him? For I realised at once that my complex, intense emotions of several years ago had been smoothed flat by the weight of subsequent experiences, so that all that remained was a mild affection. Any resentment or anger had been brushed aside long ago. Veronica initially seemed far less inclined to forgive him for his Great Disappearing Act (I’d always wondered how much she’d known about Simon and me). But then the two of them had a noisy argument about what time he’d said he’d be arriving, and now they seem to have settled back into their usual, comfortable level of squabbling. As for Toby – he looked so pleased to see Simon again that I couldn’t help thinking that my brother’s feelings, at least, were exactly the same as they’d ever been. And Simon did such an excellent job of disguising any shock he felt at Toby’s altered appearance that I felt a rush of gratitude towards my cousin, and was suddenly very happy that he’d returned . . .
Except he’s just left again – gone out to talk to the RAF pilots sauntering down towards our hut. They were all madly curious about Toby’s Luftwaffe plane when he landed it here yesterday afternoon. Then Daniel arrived with his suitcase of Nazi uniforms, which was even more entertaining for them. Fortunately, most of the pilots at the air base were either asleep or on duty when Toby and Daniel were preparing to leave this morning, so we didn’t have a crowd gawping at us. It was quite bizarre enough as it was. Veronica bidding a passionate farewell to a Nazi general (and I must say, for someone who once professed a lack of interest in physical love, she seemed remarkably proficient at kissing, and Daniel didn’t appear at all lacking in expertise, either). And there was Toby in his Luftwaffe uniform, going through a third meticulous check of the plane and firing a lot of intelligent-sounding questions at the RAF mechanic. Then Rupert and his farmer friend arrived with their baskets of pigeons.
‘Wanted to wait till the last minute,’ Mr Briggs explained, still puffing from his rapid walk. ‘You see, I put each cock pigeon in a cage with his favourite hen, then take him out again after five minutes, before they have a chance to . . . well, consummate their marriage, you might say. Makes them extra keen to fly back to their nest, as quick as they can.’
‘Oh, the poor things,’ I said. ‘It sounds so cruel.’
‘It is,’ agreed Rupert. ‘I can just imagine how they feel.’ Then he climbed into the plane to fasten the pigeon baskets into place.
‘Right!’ said Toby, striding over and rubbing his hands. ‘The plane’s ready. The pigeons are being strapped in. We’ve had the traditional phone call from Aunt C forbidding us from going ahead with our plans, which we’re ignoring, as per usual. Someone pry Daniel away from Veronica, then we can be off. Oh wait, where’s Simon?’
Meanwhile, I could hear Veronica saying to Daniel, ‘It’s not too late, you know. You can still change your mind.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ Daniel told her. ‘We’ve gone through every possible problem that might come up. We couldn’t possibly be more prepared. Anyway, don’t forget – I’ve got a gun now, and I’ve been trained how to use it.’ And he patted the pistol in his holster.
‘That is not reassuring in the least,’ she said, but she let go of him and stood back to watch him scramble into the plane.
‘Yes, let’s hope Daniel’s excellent communication skills carry the day,’ Toby murmured to me, ‘because he’s a bloody awful shot.’
‘That’s not his fault, it’s just that his eyesight’s not very good,’ I said. ‘Anyway, you said there wouldn’t be any fighting.’
‘That’s right, there won’t be,’ said Toby emphatically. ‘Absolutely not. Oh, there you are, Simon. Did you get that weather update?’
Simon handed it over, then stared past Toby at Rupert, who’d just jumped down from the plane.
‘Rupert!’ said Simon, stepping forward and holding out his hand. ‘Good to see you again. I believe congratulations are in order. You’re a lucky man.’
‘Oh, thank you, Simon,’ said Rupert. ‘Yes, I certainly am.’ They shook hands, looking each other straight in the eye. For some reason, I’d always pictured Simon as the taller of them, but if anything, he was a fraction shorter. Perhaps he’d shrunk. Then Simon turned away, back to Toby.
‘There’s a storm brewing,’ he said, nodding at the piece of paper Toby held. ‘Coming in from the west.’
r /> ‘It’s the Bay of Biscay in late November,’ said Toby. ‘Of course there’s a storm brewing. But it won’t reach Montmaray until at least noon – probably a couple of hours later. You know what it’s like at this time of year.’
‘You could postpone this, you know.’
‘The weather will be just the same tomorrow, if not worse,’ said Toby. ‘Right, let’s get going! Au revoir, everyone.’ He embraced first me, then Rupert.
‘Take care,’ Rupert said. ‘Don’t take any risks, just turn straight back if it looks bad.’
‘Oh, you’re just worried about those birds,’ teased Toby. ‘Bye, Veronica. Yes, yes, I’ll look after your boyfriend. Or is he your fiancé now? No? Oh, Aunt C will be relieved. There’s still hope for you and that Elchester nephew, then.’
He climbed into his seat, still tossing quips over his shoulder. I think I was the only one who’d overheard what he’d said quietly to Simon as he’d hugged him goodbye: ‘If anything happens, you’ll look after Julia, won’t you?’
The RAF mechanic bustled about, checking latches and gauges, and exchanging signals with Toby through the windscreen. Then we all stood back – were forced back, really, by the roar of the engines. The plane rumbled down the tarmac, gathering speed and power, and then exploded off the end of the runway in a furious blast of noise. Within seconds, it was streaking across the sea, the early morning rays catching one side and turning it, for a moment, into a brilliant flash of white. Then it was gone.
‘I wish Henry could have been here to see this,’ I said, into the sudden silence.
‘If Henry had been here,’ Veronica said, ‘she’d have stowed away on board the plane.’