Her Secret War Read online

  ‘My pleasure,’ Rob said, before introducing him to Sarah as Alfie’s father, Mr Atkins. They shook hands.

  ‘Are you an art lover, Miss Gillespie?’ Mr Atkins enquired.

  ‘Not especially, sir, I’m afraid my knowledge of the art world is scant, but I know what I like. Have you heard of Edward Hopper? He’s an American artist with a unique style. I read about him in a magazine last year. His work has an almost melancholy quality to it which, I have to say, I found appealing.’

  Mr Atkins’ face clouded. ‘I don’t hold much store by Yankee artists when we have so much talent here at home. In fact, I don’t like them Yanks at all.’ He turned to Rob. ‘Why won’t they help us out this time round? They should be fighting alongside us, not dragging their heels.’

  Sarah winced at his words; she had unwittingly hit a nerve. Desperate to change the subject, she gushed: ‘Yes, I couldn’t agree more, Mr Atkins. We could really do with their help.’ Sarah waved towards Alfie’s paintings. ‘And, sir, even I can tell your son is incredibly talented. You must be proud of him. He captures scenes so effortlessly. I’m only a short time here, but I recognise some of these places.’

  Mr Atkins smiled. ‘Thank you, yes, I am proud of him. Once this blasted war is over, he will go to art college: the finest I can afford.’ He nodded towards the paintings. ‘In the meantime, I’m happy to facilitate little exhibitions for him and his friends. The proceeds go towards his university fund.’

  ‘I’m sure he will be very successful, Mr Atkins,’ she replied.

  Alfie’s father grunted, nodded to Rob, and moved away.

  ‘I’m not proving popular with the Atkins family, am I?’ she said to Rob with a self-effacing smile.

  He chuckled in response. ‘Never mind; I still like you. You do look pale, though; are you all right?’

  ‘Sorry, I’m finding the heat and the crowd overwhelming. My head is throbbing.’

  Rob tugged her sleeve. ‘Come on, we’ve done our bit. Let’s go for a stroll down by the river. That will help, I’m sure. It’s a shame to waste a sunny afternoon cooped up in here. Besides, I can’t afford for you to alienate any more of my friends.’ Sarah glowered at him, but he just smiled and took her glass, placing it on the floor next to his own.

  ‘Won’t Alfie mind if we go?’ she asked as they made for the door.

  ‘Not a bit. There’s a good turnout; he’ll be happy enough I showed my face. That’s if he even remembers I turned up!’

  It was a relief to be out in the open air again. Rob appeared at ease as they walked along, but Sarah’s heart was still pounding. The crowded gallery had made her fretful; the horrible sensation of being trapped was only a breath away. She kept a firm grip on Rob’s arm as they walked on, and gradually the dread eased. If Rob noticed, he was kind enough not to draw attention to it, which was something in his favour.

  Winchester’s streets were busy with Sunday afternoon strollers taking advantage of the unseasonably good weather. It was so pleasant it would have been easy to forget, however briefly, that there was a war on, except for the number of uniformed personnel walking around. Just ahead of them, two small boys were ambushing anyone in uniform, looking for autographs. Sarah was impressed to see most of the personnel approached obliged the two small lads, sometimes bestowing a piece of chocolate or a sweet, which resulted in huge grins and much hilarity.

  Eventually, Rob steered her down behind the cathedral enclosure before turning under an archway which brought them to a near-deserted street. Rob came to a halt, smiled down and swooped in for a kiss. Taken by surprise, she didn’t quite stiffen, but at the back of her mind she was filled with distaste. Instinct made her jerk her head to the side and his kiss landed on her cheek. It took a deal of strength not to recoil completely.

  He straightened up and frowned down at her.

  ‘Gosh, I’m sorry. You took me by surprise,’ she said, desperately trying to appear apologetic and not nauseous. Sarah knew well his pretence of romance was only a means to an end. She smiled up at him whilst digging her fingers into her palms. She should have been more prepared for something like this.

  His frown melted away. ‘No, I’m sorry. It’s just … I couldn’t help myself.’

  She glanced away, feigning embarrassment with a hint of a smile. How much more of this would she have to tolerate? The physical side of this job was going to be the most difficult. Just how far would Northcott expect her to go? I must remember why I’m doing this. This is for Maura. I’m doing this for revenge.

  Rob put his arm around her shoulder, and they ambled on down the street. ‘I’m so glad I changed your mind, Sarah. I thought I had ruined my chances after our night out in Hursley,’ he said. ‘Sorry. I didn’t behave very well. I guess I was trying to impress. I couldn’t believe such a pretty girl as you had agreed to come out with me.’

  What could she say in response? She rustled up another smile instead and cursed a certain naval captain and his machinations.

  Away from the crowds, the street was a tiny haven of tranquillity, with only birdsong and the breeze in the treetops to be heard. It was as if they had stepped back in time. The ancient walls of Winchester College framed one side of the road, whilst on the other, the trees were sporting autumnal colours and throwing shifting shadows on the grass verge below. If only she weren’t here under false pretences; she could have enjoyed the walk and Rob’s company. Sarah hadn’t missed the admiring glances he received from other girls as they walked along. They probably envied her. If only they knew. It was surprising he was unattached; but then, if he were what Northcott claimed, a girlfriend would be an impediment and a risk. With a sinking feeling, she concluded that it further validated Northcott’s assertion that Rob McArthur was up to no good.

  But how to reconcile all of it? On the whole, Rob appeared to be a decent bloke. It was hard to believe he could be a Nazi sympathiser; and worse, a spy willing to betray the country of his birth. At that moment, she hated Northcott and the world he represented. Asking her to use her sexuality to trap a man was repugnant; it made her feel cheap, even if it were all a ruse, and Sarah hated the deceit. The thought of this charade dragging on for months was almost intolerable. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more worried she became. If she didn’t manage to convince Rob she was genuine and ready to help him, might he turn on her? Could he be a dangerous man to cross? Nazis weren’t known for their forgiving nature.

  ‘Have you been in this part of Winchester before?’ Rob asked as they sauntered along.

  ‘No. It’s lovely here. This must be the oldest area of the city,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, as far as I know the college dates back to the thirteen hundreds, but I don’t know exactly how old the buildings are. Of course, the cathedral is much older again. Have you been inside it yet?’

  Sarah laughed. ‘No. I’d be in serious trouble. Catholics don’t enter Protestant churches. Well, at least back home they don’t.’

  ‘But that’s just silly.’

  ‘You underestimate the control of the Church back home. Protestant is equated to “English” and therefore “oppressor”.’

  ‘What did you say that night in the pub? Eight hundred years of British rule?’

  ‘Exactly. Not something that can be wiped from the collective memory too quickly.’

  ‘I think it’s a shame. You would love the cathedral. It’s a beautiful building, inside and out.’

  ‘Would you take me to see it someday?’ she asked. ‘I’ll risk being struck down by a bolt of lightning.’

  Rob guffawed. ‘Of course!’

  Up ahead, Sarah saw the path narrowed and turned to the left. ‘Is it far to the river?’ She could just make out the sound of running water.

  ‘Just a little further along. This is my favourite area of the city – I come down here often. It’s a pleasant place to clear your head after a day’s work. Though with the evenings starting to draw in, I don’t get to enjoy it as much as I’d like. I find the flat claustr
ophobic. I’m not used to living in the city and I miss the open fields. But I’m slowly getting used to it.’

  Rob motioned for Sarah to go ahead. Somewhere close by, Sarah could smell lavender in the air. Stretching, she could just see over a hedge into someone’s garden. One small section of the garden was a riot of late autumn colour with salvia, aster and dahlias bursting from its borders. The rest was given over to vegetables. Sarah smiled; Uncle Tom’s gardening tuition was paying off. A few months ago, she wouldn’t have recognised any of the plants.

  Rob poked her in the back. ‘Come on, nosey parker! Don’t dawdle. At this rate, it will be dark before we get to the water.’

  The path swung round, and at last the river came into view. The Itchen was fast flowing after the recent rain. On the far bank, a weeping willow skimmed the water, and a raft of ducks swam downstream. The romance of the scene made Sarah sigh. It was inconveniently idyllic.

  Rob moved up beside her on the path. He clutched at her hand awkwardly before capturing her fingers. Sarah was surprised to catch him blush before he looked away from her, out over the water. His other hand brushed along the top of the wooden railing between the path and the river. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was uncomfortable. She would have to try harder if he was unsure of her.

  ‘This is lovely, Rob. To think you have this right in the middle of the city. It must be busy in the summer. Does the city get many visitors?’

  ‘Yes, the place was full of cyclists and hikers during the summer. Many of them stay in the old mill up at the bridge. It’s a hostel these days.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t see the attraction of cycling around as a holiday, at least not in England with our unpredictable weather. Now, if it were somewhere foreign with lots of sunshine, I’d be far more likely to consider it.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Rob. It could be fun to explore this area on a bike. Just taking your time, meandering about. I’d love to do something like that. Maybe next year.’

  ‘You plan to stay around, then?’ he asked.

  ‘Why yes. I love my job and living with the Lambes. I don’t miss Dublin as much as I thought I would.’

  They stepped aside to let a couple stroll past, hand in hand. Sarah hoped he wouldn’t feel obliged to be more lover-like again. That kiss earlier had felt like an afterthought rather than a romantic impulse. She almost laughed. Did he have a checklist of romantic gestures to draw her in? He wasn’t terribly good at this game. If she didn’t know he was a fraud, she would be confused by the mixed signals he was giving her. Most of the time, he chatted away as if she were his sister, not a potential lover. Though her reaction to his attempts at intimacy on their first date might be holding him back. Perhaps he was afraid of scaring her off. It was almost funny: they were both acting their socks off.

  ‘This path is famous hereabouts. It’s known as the Weirs.’ Rob broke into her thoughts.

  ‘It’s lovely. How far does it run?’

  ‘Up to the bridge, but you can continue to walk the banks of the river for miles in both directions. Even as far south as Southampton if you have the stamina. This section of path only takes us up to Bridge Street.’

  Sarah pulled a seedhead of grass from the verge and plucked the seeds out one by one. ‘I can see why you like it here,’ she commented at last. ‘It’s very peaceful.’

  ‘There’s an old bench a little further up,’ he replied. ‘It’s a lovely place to sit when it’s in the sun.’

  ‘And watch the world go by?’

  Rob chuckled. ‘Yes, something like that. When I need to mull over a problem, it seems to help. The solitude, I suppose, because the flat is always noisy.’

  Sarah smiled half-heartedly, wondering what the nature of Rob’s ‘problems’ might be. Perhaps persuading young ladies to help him betray his country?

  ‘Noisy?’ she asked. ‘It didn’t appear to be a busy street to me.’

  Rob sighed. ‘Traffic isn’t the issue. The girls in the flat next door always have the radio on.’ A flash of annoyance crossed his face. ‘Ninnies the pair of them. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Alfie likes to blare his music as he works. I’ve hinted to him several times it’s a bit much, but he laughs it off, saying it “helps the creative flow”, whatever that means. I can’t complain to the landlord, now can I?’

  ‘I suppose not. Mr Atkins would be unlikely to take your side. You could always hide Alfie’s collection of records,’ Sarah suggested with a grin.

  Rob hooted with laughter. ‘What an evil mind you have! Ah, I couldn’t do it to him. I must put up with it for the sake of his art.’

  ‘Or move,’ she said.

  ‘I wouldn’t get anywhere else so cheap,’ he replied with a self-effacing smile. ‘Ah, we are in luck; there’s no one else here.’ Rob pointed to a lopsided wooden bench half-concealed by the pathside flora. ‘Would you like to sit here for a while?’

  ‘Sure!’ Sarah sat down and sighed contentedly. As Rob joined her, he put his arm around her shoulders, but she had been expecting it this time, and she relaxed into him. This was going to be an audience-worthy performance. Only a shame Martin wasn’t here to witness it. Oh dear; probably not the cleverest idea to pop into my head right now, she thought.

  They sat unspeaking for several minutes and Sarah was happy to take in the scenery. It was a beautiful spot, and anything was better than talk of treason.

  ‘You know, Rob, this place reminds me of a spot back in Dublin near our old house. It was down by the canal. Not half as pretty as here, as it was a dumping ground for the locals, but it was a magnet for most of the kids in the area. Most days we played down there. My sister and I once found a couple of old crates and dragged them under the railway arch to use as seats and a table. We had some grand tea parties with the other kids down by the water until some of the boys thought it would be fun to throw our furniture into the canal.’

  ‘Typical boys,’ Rob said.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said as she watched the ducks swim past again. ‘Sometimes the swans would come. If we had stale bread in the house, we would sneak it out and feed them. Maura, my little sister, was half terrified of the birds, but I loved them. Such beautiful creatures, almost mythical. Have you ever heard of the Children of Lir, Rob?’

  ‘No, tell me.’

  Rob listened, head bent, as Sarah recounted the story. ‘In ancient Ireland, there was a King named Lir. When Eve, his wife, died, he was left alone with his four children. Soon, however, he married again. At first his new wife loved his children, but eventually she grew jealous of their father’s affection for them. One day, she took the children to a nearby lake. Using her magical powers, she put them under a spell, turning them into four white swans. She told them they would remain swans for nine hundred years, until such time as they heard the sound of a Christian bell. The poor swans endured endless misery, until one day they arrived at Erris in County Mayo. There they encountered St Mochaomhóg, who turned them back into humans. Taking pity on them as they were now withered with age, he baptised them and they were able to die peacefully.’

  ‘That’s powerful stuff! Can’t say I know much about Irish mythology,’ Rob said.

  ‘I adored those stories. Probably the only thing the nuns at school taught me that I enjoyed. Those swans on the canal?’ she looked at Rob, who nodded, ‘I imagined they were the Children of Lir.’

  ‘Of course you did! You have a fertile imagination, Sarah Gillespie.’

  ‘Yep, and the nuns hated me for that. You had to conform, accept whatever they told you, or pay the penalty. But I couldn’t help myself. I asked too many questions.’

  ‘But it’s healthy to question things. You must have posed a threat to their closed community.’

  ‘And their closed minds.’ Sarah winced as some bad memories came rushing back.

  ‘I guess that comes from being cooped up with a load of women all the time,’ Rob said with a shudder. ‘Can’t be a healthy environment.’

  ‘They weren’t all bad. Som
e of them were kind – the younger ones in particular – but there was one, Sister Brigid, who disliked me. I could never figure it out because I wasn’t cheeky or bold, and I was reasonably bright, but she used to mispronounce my name deliberately. The first time she did it, I corrected her, thinking it was a genuine error. And that was my fatal mistake. From then on, she tormented me. One day the local priest visited and posed a Bible question to the class. Not one other child put up their hand, but I did and gave the right answer.’ Sarah shrugged at the memory. ‘That really annoyed her. When he left, she found an excuse to use the cane on me. Not that she was ever slow to use it. She was always going to my Da with tales of my so-called misdemeanours.’

  ‘Of which there were many?’ Rob asked, looking highly amused.

  ‘In her eyes. I always suspected the old biddy got a sadistic pleasure from stirring up trouble.’ Sarah cleared her throat. ‘That woman is the reason I cannot, to this day, stand a bully.’

  Rob smiled and took her hand, squeezing it. ‘Good for you. Did you always live in the city?’

  ‘Yes. A pure Dub, as we would say. Our house was close to the centre, but North Strand was almost like a village. A very close-knit community. Of course, it has been destroyed now. We’ve been scattered far and wide.’

  ‘Do you miss it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, but it has changed forever now. It has lost its heart.’ Sarah took a deep breath. ‘Sorry for being mawkish. I have been avoiding thinking about home. It makes me angry to dwell on what the Germans did that night. I have to move forward and make a new life.’

  Rob drew her closer. ‘You have every right to be sad and upset. It must have been devastating. And to lose your family as well. I think you’re coping very well, in the circumstances.’

  Sarah shrugged, but there was a lump in her throat. ‘Lots of people are in the same position. This bloody war! Did we learn nothing from the last one?’

  ‘There were too many loose ends, particularly for Germany. It was bound to blow up again. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like it will end soon, either.’