The Chilbury Ladies' Choir(76)

“We can’t all choose who we fall in love with,” I said, rather annoyed at his insensitivity.

He pulled down the paper and looked at me for a moment, suddenly thoughtful, then replied, “You’re right.”

I poured out the tea. “So should I tell her to wait for him?”

“That depends on how much time she has,” he said quietly, then added as an afterthought, “and how much pain she’ll go through when he puts his life at risk again and again and again, until he finally loses it.”

And that’s all I could get out of him. He utterly refused to tell me anything else, even though I tried my most conniving methods. What a stubborn man!

I began pondering other ways I could find out more about Slater, and remembered Carrington, who also works in that department now. Perhaps he could find out about Slater for me. He of all people would know that I’m trustworthy.

I called his number, even though it was getting late.

“Parnham House,” pronounced the officious tones of the butler.

“I’d like to speak to Lt. Carrington, please,” I said, trying to keep my voice confident and firm.

“He is not available.”

“It is a bit of an emergency,” I said quickly.

There was a pause and a small cough. “I shall inquire. Who shall I say is calling?”

“Mrs. Margaret Tilling, from Chilbury.”

A minute later I heard the soft upper-class tones of Carrington, whispering in the echoey room. “Hello there.” He seemed pleased to speak to me, which was a good sign. “Hope you survived the Chilbury bombs all right?”

“I did, but a friend of mine is in a spot of trouble. It is a matter of the heart. I was wondering if you could use your connections at Litchfield Park to find out about someone?”

“I’ll try,” he said quickly. “I can’t promise anything. Who is the person?”

“A Mr. Alastair Slater. Could be a black marketeer, could be caught and in prison, could be dead, but almost certainly is known by your lot. I just wanted to know his story. Whether my friend should hold out for him or not.”

“Yes, quite agree. I’ll be onto it straightaway,” he said cheerfully, obviously disguising the nature of our conversation. Then he paused, and I heard voices in the background. “Look here,” he whispered. “I’m afraid I have to leave now, but I know what you’re after and I’ll ask a few questions and telephone if I find anything. Cheerio.” And he was off the line.

The Colonel came downstairs and eyed me suspiciously, so I picked up my duster and gave the telephone a quick dust, beaming a cheerful little smile at him.





Thursday, 8th August, 1940





The Money


This morning, Silvie and I went to have a look at the massive pile of broken buildings in the village square. Lots of people have started digging through it, some helpfully trying to find the things of the people who lived there, but most are looters, stealing anything they can find.

Much to our surprise, we found Tom there. Hands on hips, he was standing on top of a heap of debris, dirty as a bandit.

“I’m trying to find an envelope of money,” he said in hushed tones as we climbed up beside him. “Miss Paltry asked me to find it for her. She said she hid it under her floorboards.”

“Well, you’re looking in the wrong place,” I told him sternly. “Miss Paltry’s house was next to Hattie’s, over here.”

I led him to the right spot, and then we climbed around and started looking for the envelope. I was longing to find it so that I could be a hero like Venetia. And finally I did, holding it high in the air and calling over to Tom, “Here it is!”

Of course, everyone looked around, some coming forward to see.

Ralph Gibbs was there, watching the fat envelope. “Do you know how much money is in there?’

“Don’t know,” Tom said, and much to my annoyance, he snatched it away and shoved it down the front of his shorts, of all the horrid places. “Come on, Kitty. Let’s go.”

“But I’m the new hero!”

He grabbed my hand rather roughly and dragged me away, Silvie running behind.

We sprinted down the lane and across the fields to the hop pickers’ huts, dashing into Tom’s and shutting the door behind us. Laughing, we opened the envelope and took out all the money.

All the money!

There was so much of it! “Where did she get it from?”

“I don’t know,” Tom whispered.

“Come on, let’s have a party,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’ll go and see if the farmhands in the barn have some biscuits or milk.”

“I’ll come, too,” Tom said. “Look after the money, Silvie.”

Off we ran, Tom beating me by a fraction, although I hadn’t been racing at all. But the place was deserted, and after a spot of searching we quickly realized there wasn’t anything to be had.

I was just checking one last corner, when Tom decided to grab me around the waist, pulling me to him and planting a rather soggy kiss right on my lips.

“Stop, stop!” I yelled, thrusting him away. “Don’t you know I’m engaged to be married?”

“No, are you?” He laughed in a disbelieving way, wiping his mouth.