The Chilbury Ladies' Choir(91)
“This one is my favorite.” Kitty took a record out of its cover. “Prim told me it was one of her favorites, too, so I hope she’s looking down on us now, listening to her music.”
“What is it?” Mama asked.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” she chimed, putting it on and lifting the needle.
The notes began, after a little crackling. It was a band playing a fast little American number, quite amusing. Kitty and Silvie have clearly been listening to it, as they knew all the words.
“Keep young and beautiful,” they sang, strutting around the room. Kitty scooped up a small towel, pretending it was a feather boa.
It was highly entertaining, and we fell about laughing. Then I found “Blue Moon,” so we put that on. It was sung by some sisters from America. We joined in, with Kitty singing a harmony, such a magical song.
Mama chose an older one called “Putting on the Ritz.”
“It reminds me of when Daddy and I went to dances. Sometimes people would do the Charleston. I always wanted to have a go,” she said shyly.
Kitty and Silvie got up and did a few dance steps, back and forth, pulling Mama up to join in. Silvie was rather good, but Kitty was so pathetic that I felt obliged to get up and show them how to do it properly. Mama, for once, didn’t tell me to get back into bed.
“Let’s do this next.” Kitty put on an English favorite that we all knew called “Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major.” We sang along, sitting in a line on the bed, linking arms and swaying from side to side, until Kitty swayed too far and fell off, collapsing with laughter on the floor.
“We should put on a show!” Kitty said, her little face lighting up. “We should learn all the words and put on a show!”
“Why don’t you write the words out, and maybe we can try and sing along another time,” I said, hoping Mama wouldn’t be a bore and say it was too much for me.
But she said, “What a lovely idea. Perhaps we’ll ask some of the ladies from the choir to come along, too.”
“Hurrah!” Kitty cheered, and Silvie clapped her hands, jumping in her seat.
“It could be our new resurrection,” I said. “The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir becomes a singing show!”
I’ll keep you informed about our show, and if it ever comes into fruition. I’m sure with Kitty at the helm it’ll be difficult to put her off.
Much love,
Venetia
Tuesday, 13th August, 1940
Hitler has clearly resolved to make a decisive air attack on England, as there’s been a frenzy of fighter formations hurtling across our skies the past few days. The Nazis have been targeting military places, and we’re petrified they may hit Litchfield Park or Parnham Airfield.
When I arrived home this afternoon, Carrington was there waiting for me, his slim form perched neatly on the whitewashed bench on the front veranda appreciating the orangey glow of the late afternoon. He was wearing his army uniform but had taken off his hat, holding it in his hand and enjoying the warmth on his face, closing his eyes against the golden sun.
He got up when he saw me, and hurried over to give me a hand with my bicycle.
“How lovely to see you, Carrington,” I said, cheered to see his warm smile. “Is your leg doing any better?”
“Yes, it’s all right. They say I’ll never be able to run properly again, but these days I feel lucky to still be alive.”
“Come and have a cup of tea,” I said, leading him inside. “How is work at Litchfield Park?”
He followed me in, and we went and sat in the front room. “They’ve put me in intelligence, which is fascinating stuff. I’m hoping they might move me to London.”
I made some tea and brought it in, sitting down opposite him and waiting to hear if he had any news for me.
“I found out a few things,” he said after I poured the tea. “It took a little prying, but at last I found a lead, someone who knows how these chaps operate, and bingo! We have a few answers.” He looked jolly pleased with himself. “But, Mrs. Tilling, I must ask you to promise never to repeat what I am about to tell you to anyone. It really is top, top secret, and we will all be in trouble if anyone finds out this knowledge has been shared.”
“Of course,” I said quickly, knowing he should trust me after the dealings with Berkeley’s ring.
“Slater is a spy. One of the best we have. He came down to break a strong Nazi intelligence ring that was focused on Litchfield Park. He found one of the sources—someone’s butler, I believe—and escaped with him and another one to London, where he uncovered a complete network of Nazi spies. Bit of a hero, really.” He picked up his tea and sat back in the armchair while I absorbed this information.
So I’d been wrong about Slater all along. But at least I had been right about one thing: there most certainly was a lot more to him than meets the eye! All the things that the Colonel said to me last month came flooding back, about how much pain Venetia will go through when he puts his life at risk again and again, until he finally loses it. Of course, everything makes sense now.
“Did he leave the night of the bomb?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t to do with the bomb. It was because that was the night he abruptly left for London. They had reason to believe someone suspected them, a girl.”