Read Online Season of Darkness by Maureen Jennings - Free Book Online
Authors: Maureen Jennings
Tags: Mystery
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we are dealing with refugees for the most part, mostly professional men, teachers, musicians, students. We’re even housing some priests. They’re all in here because they were originally German citizens who emigrated to Englandand for one reason or another hadn’t got their British papers in order. You should see what they’ve set up. It’s a veritable university. Talks and lectures take place all day long. We’re not dealing with the criminal classes here, Inspector.”
He spoke with undisguised pride, a school headmaster sort of pride, which he’d been before he was called up.
“We’re going to have a roll call and you can come and address them. Mrs. Devereau will act as translator. A lot of them speak English, some of them better than I do, but there are others for whom it’s still rudimentary. Mrs. Devereau’s help is invaluable.” He beamed at her. “She acts as a sort of ombudsman as well, fielding complaints or requests for them. She also handles the post.” He frowned. “We haven’t told them anything about what has happened but I’m sure they’re speculating. They’re probably getting frightened. Contrary to what our esteemed war cabinet might think, these men have no reason to want Herr Hitler to take over England. A few of them have already had terrible experiences under Nazi rule. They feel tied and trussed here, as one man put it. In the event of an invasion they are convinced Jerry will massacre them … Ah, thank you, Nash.”
Private Nash had returned holding a tray with a jug of lemonade and some glasses. Fordham took the tray and put it on the table. “Nash, you know who the camp father is, don’t you? Dr. Beck. Tell him to start the roll call. I’ll be there momentarily.”
“Yes, sir.” He marched off, full of self-importance, to do his job.
The major poured three glasses of lemonade and handed them around. Tyler downed his at once. Somehow the cook had managed to cool the drink, and it was sweet and tart at the same time. Not as good as a long pint of bitter, but it would have to do.
He was so aware of Clare, but he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. He hadn’t lost his hair, thank God, but he was heavier than when she first knew him, although the extra weight was mostly muscle. He wished he didn’t have the sunburn on his nose and cheeks, then cursed himself for that little bit of vanity.
Fordham put down his glass. “I’ll just go and keep an eye on things. Be right back.”
He ducked out of the tent.
“Tommy …”
At the same time Tyler said “Clare,” and they both laughed.
“Rock, scissors, paper,” said Tyler. “You first.”
“No, you.”
If you had asked him a month ago if he would ever say what he said next, he would have scoffed.
“Clare, I have never forgotten you …” He stopped. “But then what bloke would ever forget the first beautiful lass that put out for him?”
It was a crude thing to say and he was glad to see she reacted with a flinching of her shoulders.
“I suppose it’s a bit late to apologize?”
“What, for putting out? Not necessary.”
“You know what I mean. I shouldn’t have left so suddenly.”
He shrugged. “At least you sent me a letter. I’ve still got it. It’s in my ‘life lessons’ file.”
She took a deep breath. “I suppose I deserved that. Now isn’t the time, but I do hope that we will have a chance before long to talk properly.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
He was being a right pillock and he knew it, but the hurt and anger was as strong as if it were last week that she’d left, not twenty years ago.
10.
The internees were jamming into the mess tent. A half dozen irrepressible younger men were kicking around a football on the strip of grass outside. He would have loved to join in, to run and tackle, show off how good he was, but he dared not. A couple of months ago, he’d foolishly revealed some of his skills when a loose ball had come his way. They’d pestered him
He spoke with undisguised pride, a school headmaster sort of pride, which he’d been before he was called up.
“We’re going to have a roll call and you can come and address them. Mrs. Devereau will act as translator. A lot of them speak English, some of them better than I do, but there are others for whom it’s still rudimentary. Mrs. Devereau’s help is invaluable.” He beamed at her. “She acts as a sort of ombudsman as well, fielding complaints or requests for them. She also handles the post.” He frowned. “We haven’t told them anything about what has happened but I’m sure they’re speculating. They’re probably getting frightened. Contrary to what our esteemed war cabinet might think, these men have no reason to want Herr Hitler to take over England. A few of them have already had terrible experiences under Nazi rule. They feel tied and trussed here, as one man put it. In the event of an invasion they are convinced Jerry will massacre them … Ah, thank you, Nash.”
Private Nash had returned holding a tray with a jug of lemonade and some glasses. Fordham took the tray and put it on the table. “Nash, you know who the camp father is, don’t you? Dr. Beck. Tell him to start the roll call. I’ll be there momentarily.”
“Yes, sir.” He marched off, full of self-importance, to do his job.
The major poured three glasses of lemonade and handed them around. Tyler downed his at once. Somehow the cook had managed to cool the drink, and it was sweet and tart at the same time. Not as good as a long pint of bitter, but it would have to do.
He was so aware of Clare, but he wondered what she saw when she looked at him. He hadn’t lost his hair, thank God, but he was heavier than when she first knew him, although the extra weight was mostly muscle. He wished he didn’t have the sunburn on his nose and cheeks, then cursed himself for that little bit of vanity.
Fordham put down his glass. “I’ll just go and keep an eye on things. Be right back.”
He ducked out of the tent.
“Tommy …”
At the same time Tyler said “Clare,” and they both laughed.
“Rock, scissors, paper,” said Tyler. “You first.”
“No, you.”
If you had asked him a month ago if he would ever say what he said next, he would have scoffed.
“Clare, I have never forgotten you …” He stopped. “But then what bloke would ever forget the first beautiful lass that put out for him?”
It was a crude thing to say and he was glad to see she reacted with a flinching of her shoulders.
“I suppose it’s a bit late to apologize?”
“What, for putting out? Not necessary.”
“You know what I mean. I shouldn’t have left so suddenly.”
He shrugged. “At least you sent me a letter. I’ve still got it. It’s in my ‘life lessons’ file.”
She took a deep breath. “I suppose I deserved that. Now isn’t the time, but I do hope that we will have a chance before long to talk properly.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
He was being a right pillock and he knew it, but the hurt and anger was as strong as if it were last week that she’d left, not twenty years ago.
10.
The internees were jamming into the mess tent. A half dozen irrepressible younger men were kicking around a football on the strip of grass outside. He would have loved to join in, to run and tackle, show off how good he was, but he dared not. A couple of months ago, he’d foolishly revealed some of his skills when a loose ball had come his way. They’d pestered him
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