The Chilbury Ladies' Choir(106)

“No, Venetia.” He smiled and kissed my hand. Then he told me all about it, but swore me to secrecy, so I really mustn’t tell you, my dear! Suffice it to say, he is not the villain I thought him. Rather he is one of the good guys.

When he finished, I ran my fingertips over the collar of his coat, which was a little scruffier than the suits I was used to him wearing. “But why did you leave me?”

“I had to go. I had to follow Proggett. He led me to the others. I had to make sure I had them all.”

“And the shots in the wood that night—” I began.

“Yes, that was an altercation between Old George and Proggett. I saw it all as I was following Proggett.” Then he added with a smile, “Both are disastrous shots, though. Never stood a chance of harming each other. And after that they both fled.” He paused, looking down at my hand. “I never got to say good-bye, but I always meant to come back as soon as I could. Believe me, Venetia, I wouldn’t have left for anything less.”

“You’re a pretty good liar, though, pretending to be an artist. Was that part of your prep for the job? Like seducing local beauties?”

“Now, Venetia. It was you who seduced me, remember? I was trying to maintain a professional distance.” He gave me a knowing smile.

I suddenly felt that I didn’t know this man at all. Well, rather I know him in one sense, but not the details about him, and little by little he began telling me. He comes from Somerset and was sent to a boarding school and then went up to Cambridge, where he studied philosophy of all things. It was there that he was approached to “work for the country,” as he puts it.

“I moved to London, and have a flat in Bloomsbury for in between missions. It’s got much more intense since the war. We’ve had a feeling it was going to get rather messy for years before the war actually started, tracking the buildup of German military and espionage. Frankly the war seemed almost inevitable from about 1936. The Government never listened to us, of course,” he laughed. “But they’re listening now.”

I took this in with vague confusion, especially when he began to elaborate on the simplest details of his life: his parents being old and strict, his love for fishing, his twin brother dying in infancy, him never feeling quite right afterward, “as if there’s always someone missing.”

“That’s how I felt about you,” I said, feeling estranged from this new man. “I don’t feel that I know who you are anymore. I mean, who is my Alastair Slater anyway, the man I loved?”

“I’m still here, Venetia,” he said, taking me in his arms. “I’m still the man who loves you, the real Venetia. I’m still the man who loves cooking candlelit dinners for you, and loves art and poetry and painting your portrait. I’m still the man who wants to love and cherish you from this day forward.” He paused, pulling back and looking at me. “But there is one thing you need to know.”

I pulled back again. “What now?”

“My name isn’t actually Alastair Slater. That was made up for me for the mission.”

“So what is your real name, then? Mr. Nobody?”

“No, it’s John—”

“John MacIntyre,” we both said together, then laughed.

“The same as your grandfather,” I said, and took out the battered pendant, on a necklace under my dress. “I’ve been thinking about him, you know.” Then I began to tell him about all that happened since he’s been away, and he was horrified and utterly guilt ridden.

“I wish I’d known, then you wouldn’t have had to go through it all. I am so incredibly sorry I wasn’t here, and that you were forced to go to that scoundrel.” The light from the moon reflected in his eyes. “Will you ever be able to forgive me?” Then he scooped up my hand, turned it over, and kissed my palm. “Venetia, my darling, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” he asked, a seriousness in his eyes taking me back to that moment when we were hiding behind the tree, his fingers interweaving mine, his eyes so sad, so intense.

My heart broke, as I slowly shook my head. “There’s a war on, and we’ve both got lives to live. In any case, I need time to get to know you better, Mr. MacIntyre.” With that, I stood up from the bench and offered him my hand, and we continued our moonlight walk together, careful not to disturb the swans.

We’ve spent all our days together since. He’s on leave to be briefed for his next job—he’s not allowed to say where he’s going, but it’s abroad, and he promises it’s not dangerous, although I can’t imagine it isn’t. Well, where isn’t dangerous these days? He’s been staying in a barracks in Litchfield and spends a lot of time here at Chilbury Manor—Mama said it’s all right as it’s good for my health.

We’ll both be leaving next week, him for his secret destination and me for London. I can’t wait to be there with you, Angie, and be free to live my own life. I dread the thought of Alastair—I mean John, of course—leaving, so we’ll just have to keep incredibly busy, shan’t we? That’s all for now, my dear Angie. Until you see me next week.

Much love,

Venetia





Wednesday, 28th August, 1940

There was a singing show and everyone joined in. There were silly songs, like “Run Rabbit Run” and “Knees Up Mother Brown.” For that we have to do a dance. Mrs. Tilling was bad, but Mrs. B. was very good. We laughed as it was so funny.