My Name is Eva(13)
‘I think they might be army-issue guns.’ Pat heaves an exasperated sigh. ‘Guns, uniform, papers and there’s other stuff in there as well. Where has it all come from?’
‘Well, I wonder who put it there?’ Evelyn’s head turns at the sound of a light knock on the door and Mary appears with a tray laid with cups of coffee and a plate of biscuits. ‘Thank you so much, Mary. Ooh, you’ve brought us some Jammie Dodgers. Yummy, my favourite.’ She smiles and takes a biscuit.
Pat waits until they are alone again, then says, ‘But what am I supposed to do with all these guns? I can’t exactly send them off to house clearance or the charity shop, can I?’
‘Can’t you just throw them all away, dear? There’s that awfully useful council refuse dump in Milford. I always took all my unwanted things over there when I could still drive my old Volvo estate.’ Evelyn looks wistful, then says, ‘I do miss driving. It was so nice being able to pop down to the shops whenever I needed something.’
‘I’m sure you miss it, Aunt, but that’s not the point. These guns and all the other things I’ve found… I don’t even know what they all are… they must be illegal. I’m pretty sure I’ve got to take them to the police or somewhere and explain how they got there in the first place.’
‘Oh, what a nuisance for you, dear. Here, do have a biscuit.’
‘So, what am I supposed to tell them? They will want to know how these weapons came into your possession.’
‘My possession?’
‘Yes, yours. Until you shuffle off this mortal coil, everything at Kingsley is deemed to be part of your estate. I know it’s held in trust, but legally, it’s all yours so the police are bound to ask me where these guns came from.’
Evelyn frowns, then says, ‘I think Father might have had a gun. And I wonder if perhaps Charles brought one back with him from his time out in Africa?’
Pat sits back with her arms folded and sighs. ‘But all of this stuff must be yours, not theirs. I’m absolutely sure of it, because there’s even a uniform, just like the one in that photograph we found in the tin the other day, and there’s personal correspondence with your name on it in the cases as well. Look…’ She leans forward and fishes around in her tattered carrier bag, then pulls out some papers. ‘How else do we explain these?’ She holds out the first piece of paper, a letterhead with some typed wording. ‘It’s addressed to you, isn’t it?’
Evelyn looks at it and adjusts her glasses. It’s her transfer to the interrogation centre at Bad Nenndorf. But it means nothing, unless someone finds out who else was there at the same time.
‘And look, there’s an old passport in your name.’ Pat shows her the out-of-date passport with her young face, so young, so innocent. ‘And there’s another one here as well and that’s also got your picture, though I don’t understand why it’s got a different name. Eve Kucha or something.’
‘Eva Kuscheck,’ murmurs Evelyn.
‘Oh, whatever! It’s all yours, I tell you. So, I’m betting the guns belong to you as well.’ Pat purses her lips and frowns.
Evelyn shakes her head, then says, ‘Well, I’m very sorry, dear, but I don’t remember any of this. Maybe it wasn’t me who put all these things away in the cases.’
‘Maybe you didn’t. But all these papers, the gun licence, letters and so on are addressed to you. This is all your stuff, yet you’re telling me you had no idea what was in the suitcases.’
Evelyn looks at Pat with a smile, then says, ‘I really do wish I could help you, dear, but my memory isn’t what it was.’
She looks down at the tray. ‘You haven’t drunk your coffee, dear. Don’t let it go cold.’ Then she takes another biscuit, looks at it, wrinkles her nose and says, ‘I don’t know why Mary’s given me Jammie Dodgers. She knows I don’t like them. I want chocolate digestives.’
14
27 January 1944
Dearest darling one,
I know if you were here, you would tell me I am far too flighty and impatient and I should wait a bit, but I am seriously thinking of giving up my chauffeuring with the ATS and following in your footsteps.
I feel sure I can do something much more useful than just sit around waiting for high and mighty officers. It looks at last as if we might soon finish this blessed war and we’ve heard that the poor people of Leningrad are finally free, now that blasted siege has ended.
It was all right for a bit, getting used to my lovely Humber and so on, but on New Year’s Eve, when I would much rather have been letting my hair down, I had to drive a pair of officers to Portsmouth again. I knew the route quite well by then, but would you believe, they let me sit there all night without a word and what’s more, without anything to eat or drink to celebrate the New Year? And when they finally came back to the car in the morning, all they said was, ‘Oh, driver, we forgot all about you,’ and then I had to drive them all the way back to London, feeling wretchedly tired and annoyed. I feel so taken for granted and badly misused that I am quite fed up and feel like a change, as well as being frustrated that I have come no nearer to taking your nemesis to task.
What kind of a change could there be? You might well ask. Well, today, on our company noticeboard, I saw a poster asking for volunteers with secretarial skills and languages, so I am going to offer my services and see where that gets me. My French is pretty good, though I think my German is much better. Driving has been fun and at least I am now a far better driver than I was, but waiting around for inconsiderate, selfish officers isn’t enjoyable or worthwhile and I do so want to do something useful, just as you did, my darling. And if that means I end up taking risks just like you, then I know I shall be in good company. Who knows, I may meet you again sooner than I’d thought and then we’d have such fun. I miss you so much, my darling.