Dominion

Chapter Twenty-One

SARAH MADE THE JOURNEY HOME in a state of numb shock. Alone in the tube carriage, huddled in Ruth’s duffel coat, she began shivering uncontrollably. She thought, I must get home, I mustn’t draw attention to myself. She hugged her bag close and looked out of the window. It was the same quiet, unremarkable Sunday scene as it had been on the way in with Mrs Templeman, what seemed like an age ago.

A young couple got into the carriage and began arguing irritably about whose family they would be spending Christmas with. Sarah carried on staring out of the window, trying to control her trembling. When the train stopped at Wembley she thought of Mrs Templeman’s husband, at home probably, awaiting her return, and had to put a clenched fist to her mouth to prevent herself crying out.

When Sarah got back to the house she took off Ruth’s duffel coat, laid it on the sofa and stood looking at it. David wouldn’t be back for hours. She thought in sudden panic, I should get rid of it, if they come after me it could incriminate me. She tried to remember if anyone at Friends House had seen her leave with Mrs Templeman. She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure. She was in danger, they might be looking for her, David and her family could be caught up in it all. Her heart started pounding wildly and she took deep breaths to try to calm herself. Then the image of Mrs Templeman falling back onto the road returned to her and she cried out, ‘She’s dead, she’s dead!’ She put her hands over her face and sobbed convulsively in a way she hadn’t since Charlie died.

After a while the telephone rang, the shrill sound making her jump. She went into the hall; it could be the police. Hesitantly, she picked up the receiver.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello, dear.’ It was Irene. ‘Have you both been out? I tried phoning earlier.’

Sarah gasped with relief. ‘David’s had to go to Northampton, his uncle’s in hospital. I’ve been – I’ve been out at a committee meeting—’

‘Are you all right, dear?’ Irene’s voice was suddenly anxious. ‘You sound odd.’

‘No – no. I think I’ve a cold coming, that’s all.’

‘It’s not to do with David, is it? Have you spoken to him about that woman at his office yet?’

‘No. No, I haven’t.’

‘Did you see anything happening in town today?’

‘No.’ A jump of the heart. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Haven’t you heard the news? Apparently they moved all the Jews out of the cities today. To some sort of camps. Mosley’s going to broadcast this evening.’

‘I – I hadn’t heard.’ So it had been publicly announced now.

‘Steve thinks it’s about time. But I hope they’re not being mistreated. We wouldn’t do that, would we?’ Irene’s voice was for once uncertain.

‘I don’t know. Irene, darling, I have to go, David’ll be back soon, I’ve got something cooking—’

‘Oh, all right, dear.’ Irene sounded surprised by her abruptness. ‘Tell David I hope his uncle’s better soon.’

‘Yes. Yes, I will.’ Sarah put down the receiver and stood in the hall. It was starting to get dark; she switched on the light. She would have liked to telephone her father, but she mustn’t tell any of the family. But what about David? She thought, When I stepped out on that pavement I was abandoning him, abandoning them all. She looked through the frosted glass of the front door at the darkening afternoon, thought of uniformed men standing there and felt a desperate need to see David, hear his voice.

She went back into the lounge and sat down. She picked up Ruth’s duffel coat, holding it to her tightly. She wondered where she was, whether she and Joe had made it. She heard the crack of shots in her head again and flinched. She began crying again, not anguished sobbing any more but with a slow, relentless misery.

It was nearly seven when she heard David’s key in the front door. She had been sitting for hours, holding the duffel coat; she hadn’t bothered to light the fire or put the lights on, she was too shocked and exhausted. When David turned the lights on she blinked. At once he came across the room to her, grasping her by the arms.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked urgently, ‘Sarah, what’s happened?’

She said, ‘They’ve taken the Jews away.’

‘I know. I heard.’

She saw that his own face was pale, bleak with anxiety. ‘I saw it. In the Tottenham Court Road. There was a protest, people were shot. Mrs Templeman’s dead, she’s dead . . .’ Sarah gasped and began crying again. He sat beside her and held her close in a way he hadn’t for ages. His strength gave her a feeling of safety, refuge. She told him the whole story. At the end he said, ‘It’s part of some new deal with Germany. It has to be. The bastards.’

‘Where did you hear? At the hospital?’

‘Yes – yes, they were talking about it there. Just that people were being moved.’

‘How’s Uncle Ted?’

‘Better now, they’re going to discharge him next week. He’s grumpy as ever.’ He gave a brief, twitchy smile and looked away from her and something in his tone told her he was lying. Her heart sank again and she thought, I can’t cope, I can’t cope with that, too.

David said, quietly, ‘Do you think they’ll be looking for you?’

‘I don’t know. They never found out who I was, but they saw me. They’ll have found Mrs Templeman’s identity card, they’ll be enquiring at Friends House, questioning her poor husband. She lost a son too, you know, in 1940.’ She frowned. ‘I keep calling her Mrs Templeman but her first name was Jane, I should call her Jane.’

David shook her shoulders, made her turn and look at him. ‘Sarah,’ he said urgently. ‘That duffel coat, it’s evidence. We should get rid of it. I’ll put it in the bin, the dustmen are coming tomorrow.’

‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘Yes, all right.’

‘I’ll light the fire. Look, darling, you’re frozen. Have you been sitting in the dark all this time?’

‘Yes. I – I couldn’t think what to do.’

‘Sit here and get warm.’

She said, ‘I’m sorry, David, I’m sorry, I’ve put you all in danger—’

His mouth worked, and she could see he was close to tears himself. He said, ‘You did a brave thing, a good thing.’

‘What should we do?’

‘If we get rid of that duffel coat there’s no evidence it was you. We just have to sit tight.’

She could see from his face, though, that he was worried. ‘What if they pick up Joe and Ruth and question them?’

‘Did you tell them your name?’

‘No. Will you stand by me?’ she added quietly.

He grasped her hands, looking at her with pain and, she thought, guilt. He said, ‘Of course I will.’ He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It’s ten to seven. We ought to watch the news.’

She nodded wearily.

When David turned on the television Songs of Praise was on, people standing in a big church, singing lustily, all the women in large hats, a normal Sunday evening service. Then the credits rolled and a voice announced, in serious tones, that a broadcast from the Home Secretary, Sir Oswald Mosley, would follow. And there he was, sitting in a big office, hands folded on his desk. He looked firm and avuncular, beautifully dressed as usual, his Blackshirt badge prominent on his lapel. He began, in his deep, rich voice:

‘Tonight I want to tell you that, after much consideration, the government has decided to move all British Jews into special areas which have been set aside for them outside our major cities. For the present they are being housed in temporary camps, warm and comfortable. More permanent arrangements will be made later. Most were moved earlier today. We believe this step to be necessary because of evidence that terrorists from the so-called Resistance movement have been receiving support from subversive elements within the Jewish population. Keeping them in separate areas will protect us, and also protect the Jews themselves, from trouble and disturbance from these outsiders.’ Mosley smiled reassuringly. ‘Today’s exercise was carried out with typical British efficiency and good nature, proceeding smoothly and quietly throughout the country. Any Jews who have not yet been transferred are required to attend immediately at their nearest police station, bringing whatever hand luggage they wish to take and, of course, their identity cards.’

His voice became stern. ‘This measure is necessary for Britain’s security. The threat from Resistance terrorism is, alas, ever-present. Everyone must be vigilant, for their own sakes and for the country’s. These are trying times, at home and in the Empire.’ He smiled in a fatherly way, his grey moustache twitching. He went on, his tone lighter, ‘However, I can also tell you that following the discussions the Prime Minister had with our German allies last week, as well as the new increase in British forces available for India, which Mr Powell announced earlier today, new economic agreements have also been reached which will allow British firms to trade much more fully with Europe—’

He went on for several more minutes, talking of new joint ventures between British arms firms and Krupps to supply heavy artillery for the war in Russia, and joint commercial projects between ICI and IG Farben. He concluded his broadcast gravely. ‘Together the British people can defeat anarchy and communism. God Save the Queen.’ As the National Anthem sounded Mosley stood, chest held out proudly. David switched off the television. He and Sarah sat looking at the blank screen.

‘Nothing about the people that were killed today,’ Sarah said quietly. ‘Nothing. What else has been happening up and down the country?’

‘I suppose they chose a Sunday morning because there’d only be a few people around, and not much traffic.’ He looked at her intently, his blue eyes hard. ‘They must be going to hush up what happened in Tottenham Court Road, maybe in other places too. To avoid any sort of big official enquiry.’

She stood up suddenly, still clutching the duffel coat.

David said, ‘What is it?’

‘Do you have to be so – so clinical? So like a bloody civil servant? I saw people shot this morning, young students running for their lives, a woman I know killed . . .’

He stood too, took her by the shoulders. ‘I’m not clinical about it, Sarah. Dear God, I’m not.’ He took a deep breath. ‘This is how I cope.’ She sat down again. He put his hand over hers. He said, ‘I feel it all as much as you. More, perhaps.’

‘More?’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not easy, always, at work. I see those people, Mosley and the other Fascists and their friends going in and out of Downing Street. I hate it as much as you do. I’m sorry, darling.’

She thought, maybe I’ve been wrong, maybe it’s because of everything that’s happening around us that he’s become so cold and distant. She said, ‘How can people believe such rubbish, that the Jews are a threat to national life?’

‘There’s always been prejudice, and they’ve been stoking it up since 1940. If a government keeps telling people the same simple message year after year, most end up believing it. Goebbels called it the big lie.’ He picked up the duffel coat. ‘Let me get rid of this; take it out to the bin now, I’ll empty the wastepaper baskets on top of it.’

‘There are some potato peelings in the kitchen bin,’ Sarah said wearily, ‘and those chops in the fridge are off. Put them in too, then nobody’ll go poking about in there.’ She surrendered the coat with an odd feeling of reluctance.

David ripped the sleeve of the duffel coat in case some dustman wondered why they were throwing it out. He filled the bin and carried it through the house to the front garden. Their neighbour, a middle-aged man he acknowledged at the station, was taking out his own rubbish. He nodded to David. ‘Cold evening again, isn’t it?’

David answered with forced cheerfulness, ‘Yes, winter’s here by the look of it.’

‘Forecast said there’ll be fog tomorrow.’ The man nodded again and went back into his house, closing the door. Neighbours didn’t talk much in this street; people generally seemed to talk to strangers less and less these days. David stood by the gate, looking across the road. The old air-raid shelter was a ghostly glimmer at the other end of the little park. He thought of Sarah’s courage. When he’d seen her sitting there in the dark he had thought for a second the authorities had found out about him, had been to question her. For a moment he had actually been glad to think all the secrecy and lies were over, and had felt a sudden rush of his old love for her, the feeling he had started to think was twisted and broken beyond repair. But there was no telling her the truth now. Not after today. It was too dangerous.

When they had left Frank’s flat he and Geoff and Natalia had driven round the dark, foggy streets, looking for a telephone box. When they found one Natalia went inside, leaving David and Geoff in the car. They watched as she dropped shilling pieces one after the other into the box. She must have carried them ready in her pockets, like the gun. She was in the box a long time, gesturing with her arms, her face animated. David wondered if she was talking to Jackson but he thought not; she would have been more controlled speaking to him. When she came out and rejoined them in the car she spoke quietly. ‘There’s going to be a meeting tomorrow, some of the top people.’ She paused. ‘I think we’re going to have to move Dr Muncaster. Probably soon.’

David asked, ‘Did you tell them he seemed to trust me?’

‘Yes. We will probably need you again. Perhaps both of you.’

‘I’ll do it. But my wife’s got to be kept safe.’

‘They’ll take care of that,’ Geoff said.

‘What about the Jews?’

‘It’s true,’ Natalia said flatly. ‘They’ve been moved. We didn’t know anything about it, Mosley organized everything from the Home Office.’

They said little on the journey back to London. David’s mind was whirling, going over the meeting with Frank, wondering what the hell exactly was happening to the Jews. Everything was quiet in the cold streets. They drove out to Pinner and dropped Geoff off at his house. Natalia said she would take David on to the bottom of his street. They didn’t speak, but when they arrived he got out and stood beside the car, looking at the rows of mock-Tudor semis, suddenly reluctant to move. She rolled down the window. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ He took a deep breath. ‘How could the Resistance not know what they were planning for the Jews?’

‘We don’t have anyone in the Home Office or in the higher levels of the police. Not any more.’

‘You did have people?’

‘We had a network. There was a betrayal, three years ago. The man we thought was ours was working for them. A lot of good people died.’

‘You carry a gun in your pocket, don’t you?’ David said. ‘I saw, when that old man came into Frank’s flat.’

‘There are circumstances where we have to defend ourselves. You understand that.’

He asked, ‘Would you ever use the gun on Frank?’

‘Only if he were about to fall into their hands.’ She met his gaze. ‘Then it would be best for him, trust me.’

‘Have you ever killed anybody?’

She nodded slowly. ‘Yes. Not in England, though. I wish it were never necessary. But sometimes it is.’

He sighed. ‘Yes. Yes, I know.’

‘What is it, David?’ she asked quietly. ‘Ever since we saw the old man in the flat you have looked – desperate. It’s more than just seeing your friend in that state.’

He smiled sadly. ‘Perhaps we English aren’t so good at keeping our feelings hidden after all.’ He shrugged. ‘It was hearing about what’s happening to the Jews. It’s upset me.’

She nodded, then gave him a long, searching look. She said, very quietly and carefully, ‘I remember my Jewish friends in Slovakia. I saw how they reacted when things began to get bad.’

David took half a step back, nearly tripped on the kerb. He thought, she’s guessed.

She reached through the window and took his hand, holding it in a tight grip. ‘Who else knows?’ she asked.

‘Nobody.’ David’s heart was throbbing violently. ‘Only my father. It was my mother who was Jewish, an Irish Jew. Her records were destroyed, during the Troubles in Ireland. My father is sure. He’s a lawyer. I’ve lied on my census returns, said my parents were both Catholic.’

‘And he is in New Zealand now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your wife doesn’t know?’ She sounded surprised.

‘No. How did you guess?’

‘Like I said, I have seen how people react. Some are pleased when the Jews are taken away. Some don’t care, or don’t want to get into trouble. Some hate it. But I think only those who are themselves at risk show the fear, the sorrow I saw on your face today. And –’ she smiled, an unusually hesitant smile – ‘I often watch your face. Your expression.’

He asked, ‘Will you tell them? Jackson, his people?’

‘Our people.’ She hesitated. ‘No, I will not tell them, though I should. You should tell them yourself.’

He looked at her hard. ‘You said you married a German. In your country.’

‘There was more to the story than that.’ Her mouth twitched suddenly. Then she pressed his hand with surprising strength. ‘Be careful.’

‘I’ve been careful for years.’

‘I know.’ Natalia bit her lip, then rolled up the window again and drove slowly away.