Dominion

Chapter Thirty-Six

GEOFF OFFERED TO DRIVE THIS TIME. Natalia sat in the front with him, David in the back again. As Geoff put the car into gear David looked at his watch. Past six already. They must arrive at the asylum by eleven; Ben would come out at a quarter past. The porter’s lodge should be lit; Ben would have dealt with the porter. Jackson had told them that once they collected Ben and Frank they were to drive at once to a safe house in the countryside, fifteen miles from the hospital, in case the alarm was raised quickly. Once they arrived there, they would be sent further instructions about getting back to London; they would stay in London at least one night before driving on to the south coast. If Ben and Frank did not appear by midnight they were to drive to the safe house anyway.

They said little in the car. Geoff put the radio on and they listened to the Light Programme, cheerful music and, every hour, the news. The announcer said in his clipped, even voice that the threatened rail strike had been called off. Ben Greene, the Minister of Labour as well as Coalition Labour Leader, had reached agreement with the railwaymen’s unions.

‘Didn’t think that would happen,’ Geoff said.

Natalia agreed. ‘They were talking yesterday about using troops to run the railways, arresting men who didn’t turn up for work. Public sector strikes are illegal.’

David said, ‘Maybe they think they’ve got enough on their plate just now, without taking on the railwaymen as well.’

They drove on through the dark, along almost empty roads. Near Stratford they saw that one of the exits from the motorway was blocked off; armed Auxiliary Police standing beside a hastily erected wooden guard-post. David wondered if one of the new camps for the Jews was down there. He put his hand in his pocket where the tiny rubber pellet was. He knew he shouldn’t fiddle with it, but his hand was drawn to it like a tongue to a bad tooth. He thought of the gun Natalia was carrying, somewhere under the big trenchcoat she wore. He was very conscious of her presence, as well as his terrible anxiety about what might be happening to Sarah. But he knew he didn’t feel her loss, her absence, in his heart as a lover should.

The journey went without a hitch. There was no sign they were being followed and the narrow wooded lanes leading to the hospital were deserted, lights from farmhouses the only sign of life, everyone indoors on the cold, frosty evening. The rain had stopped outside London and it had got steadily colder as they drove north. They came in sight of the hospital, its big dark shape outlined against the top of the hill, only a few pinpoints of light visible within. It was well past ten o’clock now; the patients would be in bed, in their sad drugged sleep, with only a few night staff on duty.

They waited in a lay-by until almost eleven, then drove slowly along the asylum fence, towards the porter’s lodge. There was a dim light within, but no sign of any occupant. On Natalia’s instructions they drove past, drawing up a little way beyond and turning off the headlights. Natalia, briskly professional, said, ‘I’ll have a look. Geoff, if there is any trouble, drive away.’

She got out and walked steadily down the road. She had a hand in her pocket, holding onto the gun no doubt. David shifted to the middle of the back seat so he could see more clearly through the windscreen. He thought, how many missions like this has she done?

She approached the lit window of the lodge. She stood on tiptoe to get a good look inside, then turned and walked quickly back to the car, looking relieved as she got back in. ‘The porter’s tied up under his desk,’ she said. ‘He seems to be out cold. That means Ben is in the hospital now, fetching Frank.’ Unlike Jackson, she used his first name. ‘Put the headlights out for now, please.’

Geoff switched them off. ‘Will the porter be all right?’ he asked.

‘He should be. He’s gagged, if he wakes up he can’t move or shout.’

‘If someone’s gagged and unconscious there’s the risk of them being sick when they wake up, choking to death. There was a case in Kenya when I was there, a robbery that went wrong.’

‘Ben is a professional,’ Natalia replied steadily. ‘He knows how to do these things.’

‘I’m just saying—’

‘You know what’s at stake here,’ she answered sharply, her accent stronger. ‘There are risks we have to take – ’ She broke off. Something was happening at the gates. David saw one of them was slightly open. He leaned forward to look more closely. ‘Someone’s coming out – no, two people.’ As he watched a short, stocky figure slipped through, leading someone else, slight and stumbling, by the arm.

Natalia leaned over and switched the headlights on. Frank and Ben stared at the car, blinking. David opened his door and got out, Natalia and Geoff following as he walked over to them. He saw Frank sag suddenly, almost falling, but Ben held him. His head had flopped forward onto his chest. David touched him gently on the shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Frank,’ he said. ‘It’s me. Geoff’s here too, we’ve come to help you.’

Natalia took the wheel. They drove through a sleeping village. Just beyond it she slowed the car. Frank seemed to have fallen asleep, his head lolling on his chest. David gave him a little nudge; he grunted but did not wake. The country road was very dark. Natalia said, ‘We’re looking for a long brick wall, with the name Rose Grange on a plaque by the gate.’

‘Who lives there?’ David asked.

‘A retired military man. Colonel Brock. He spent most of his life serving in India.’

‘One o’ thae types,’ Ben said disapprovingly.

‘He’s been with the movement since 1940. He’s too old for action now, but he has sheltered many of us before. Look, there it is, the plaque.’

She stopped the car. Geoff got out and opened a pair of creaky iron gates, and they drove up a short gravel drive with shrubbery on either side. They passed a palm tree, the leaves looking shrivelled and dead, and drew up outside a Victorian detached house, probably once a country vicarage. There were no lights. Inside, a dog began to bark. Natalia got out and opened the rear door. ‘Bring him out,’ she said gently.

Ben and David eased Frank out of the car. He muttered a little, shivering as the cold air hit him. He couldn’t stand unaided but between them Ben and David got him to his feet. They stood supporting Frank on the gravel, while Natalia went up to the front door and rang the bell. It was very cold; you could smell the frost in the air.

A light came on in the hall. The barking grew louder. A man’s voice shouted, ‘Nigger, shut up!’ David and Ben walked Frank up to the front door. It opened and a man stood looking at them. He was tall, with thin grey hair and a lined, stern face.

‘Colonel Brock?’ Natalia asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Aztec.’ It was the code word for their party.

The old man nodded. ‘Mission accomplished?’ he asked quietly.

‘Yes. We got him out safe.’

‘Hiya, pal,’ Ben said cheerfully.

The colonel nodded stiffly, then looked at Frank. ‘That him? He looks pretty groggy.’

‘He’s drugged,’ Ben said. ‘He needs putting to bed.’

‘Come inside.’

They took Frank into the house. The cold had woken him up a little and he gazed fearfully around the hall, blinking in the light. The furniture was an odd mixture of shabby English fittings and exotic mementos of India – a little stone sculpture of an ox pulling a cart, a portrait of a royal-looking Indian in a turban. A big black Labrador stood beside Colonel Brock, looking uncertainly at the visitors. An inner door opened and a short, plump woman came out. ‘My wife,’ the colonel said, nodding at her. ‘Elsie, my dear, could you help our visitors to some food?’

‘Of course.’ The woman looked at them nervously, her gaze lingering on Frank.

‘He’s all right,’ the colonel said firmly. ‘We’re going to put him to bed. Come on now, darling, food. Chop! Chop!’ Colonel Brock led them to the stairs. David and Ben helped Frank, the old man walking ahead, a gnarled hand on the banister. David saw that though he tried to keep his back straight he had a stoop.

He led them to a little bedroom with a single bed: a boy’s bedroom, a map of the world with pictures of the peoples of the Empire round the edges, schoolbooks on shelves, old copies of the Magnet piled in a corner. On the front of the topmost comic Billy Bunter, trying to skate on an icy pond, was falling over, other boys laughing as he went up in the air. They eased Frank onto the bed, where he turned over and fell asleep at once. Ben checked his pulse, then eased off Frank’s shoes and put a blanket over him. ‘He’ll sleep till morning, I should think. But someone should stay with him.’ He looked at David. ‘I’ll sit wi’ him till say four, then can you take over? If he wakes he should see someone he knows.’

‘Of course.’

The colonel looked down at Frank. ‘What’s he on?’ he asked bluntly.

‘Largactil. It’s a sedative. I gave him a heavy dose to quiet him while I got him oot.’

‘Looks done in, poor bugger.’

They left Ben with Frank and went back downstairs. The colonel showed David and Geoff into a big dining room. The television was on with the sound turned down, a quiz show, Isobel Barnett in an evening dress. A statue of the four-armed god Shiva stood incongruously on a Welsh dresser. David looked at it. ‘Pagan stuff, I know,’ Colonel Brock said, ‘but it’s very well done.’ He turned to Natalia. ‘I’d better get to the radio, let them know you’ve arrived. Elsie’s got it in the kitchen.’

‘Thank you.’

David asked, ‘Is there any news of my wife? Someone was being sent to pick her up.’

‘I haven’t heard anything.’ The colonel looked at him sympathetically. ‘I’ll ask.’ He went out. David and Natalia and Geoff sat down at the dining table.

‘Maybe no news is good news, old chap,’ Geoff said.

‘If they’ve got her safe, you’d think they’d have let us know by now.’

The colonel’s wife came in with a large tray containing bowls of vegetable soup, a loaf of bread, some butter. Geoff got up and helped her lay it on the table. ‘Short commons tonight, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘We’ve sent our housekeeper on holiday for a few days, since we heard you were coming.’

The colonel returned and sat at the head of the table. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said to Elsie. ‘You’d better get back to the radio.’ He looked at David. ‘No news about your wife yet, Fitzgerald,’ he said gently, ‘but London might not have been able to get through. There’s been a lot going on with this Jew business. Elsie will come and tell us if anything changes.’

‘Thanks,’ David said.

‘I’m told the chap upstairs is pretty important?’ Colonel Brock said.

‘He could be, sir,’ Geoff answered.

The old man raised a hand. ‘Don’t need to know the details. I gather Churchill’s been personally involved with this one, though.’ He looked at Natalia, a little uneasily David thought. There was another silence while they ate the thick, flavourless soup. David suddenly felt very tired. He thought, about forty-eight hours ago I was sitting in my office, at work. How fragile our lives are, how a day can turn them inside out.

Geoff said, to break the silence, ‘You have a lot of Indian mementos, sir.’

‘Yes. Served there thirty years. My son’s out there now, God help him. Rioters broke his bloody arm with a brick in Delhi last year.’

‘I worked in the Colonial Office. I was in Kenya for quite a while.’

The colonel smiled. ‘Wondered if you’d been out in the Empire. Your tan hasn’t quite faded.’ He grunted. ‘Quieter out in Africa. The blacks know their place. God knows how it’ll all end in India.’ Geoff set his lips, but didn’t reply. The colonel continued, ‘Lefties in the Resistance say we should pull out, and even Churchill seems to have accepted that now. I suppose I must, too, though it’s not what I joined the Resistance for.’

‘Why did you join, sir?’ David asked.

Colonel Brock pulled himself upright. ‘Because it was cowardly to surrender the way we did in 1940. I always knew it’d end with these Nazi thugs dictating to us. Winston was right, we should have let them try to invade and fought them off.’ He looked at them fiercely. ‘I know I’m an old relic of Empire, my views aren’t popular in the Resistance any more. But it’s hard, when you see your life’s work falling apart. God knows what sort of mess the Indians will make of independence if they get it.’

He got up abruptly. ‘Let’s have something stronger.’ He crossed to a tray of drinks beside the statue of Shiva. He poured whisky for them and, quaintly, a sherry for Natalia. As he passed the glasses round the door opened. David looked up sharply, hoping it might be the colonel’s wife with news of Sarah, but it was Ben, carrying a tray. He laid it on the table. ‘Yer wife said tae bring this doon when I’d done,’ he told the colonel. He was deliberately exaggerating his Glasgow accent.

‘Your chap still sleeping?’

‘Frank? Aye, like a wee bairn. No’ bad soup, mate,’ Ben said to the colonel with a grin. ‘Compliments to the wife.’ The old man answered, ‘Thank you,’ stiffly, as Ben went back out. The colonel looked at the door and grunted, ‘He’s a Communist, you know, that chap. Outranks me in the movement, likes to remind me of it.’

‘He’s done brave work tonight,’ Natalia said quietly.

‘Oh, I don’t question his courage. Just worry that one day his lot will put me up against a wall.’ Brock gave a humourless laugh, then took a long slug of whisky and stood up. ‘I’d better take that dog for his evening walk, or he’ll be restless tonight.’

David was deeply asleep when Ben woke him at four. For a second he thought he was in bed at home and it was Sarah shaking him awake, then he remembered everything and his stomach went as cold as the dark little room.

‘Ready to take over?’ Ben whispered.

David nodded and got up. Geoff was still asleep, breathing regularly. David asked quietly, ‘Is there any news? About Sarah?’

Ben shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, pal, no’ yet.’

David dressed quickly, then followed Ben across the corridor to Frank’s room. Inside Frank lay curled up, his hands one on top of the other by his head, like a child praying. ‘Not a peep out of him,’ Ben whispered. ‘Here, the colonel’s left a cardigan out for you, it’s cold. He’s no’ such a bad old sod, I suppose,’ he added grudgingly. ‘For one of his sort.’

David nodded; he didn’t want to wake Frank. He thought, let him sleep through, wake in daylight. He looked at him, deeply asleep. He thought of the hell Frank must have been living through, his attempted suicide. He wondered if he had been trying to take his secret with him. He wished he had written to him more often these past few years. Even back at Oxford, Frank’s hopeless, desperate vulnerability had made David fear that one day something bad would happen to him.

He looked at the orange-and-blue covers of the Magnet in the corner. He remembered reading it himself as a boy. Colonel Brock’s son would have lain on the bed reading the same public-school stories. He was out in India now, on the wrong side so far as the Resistance was concerned. David remembered his mother telling him off sometimes for reading comics, such nonsense she called them, so common. He realized now how lucky he had been, the only child of devoted parents, top of the class and good at sport, like the heroes in the Greyfriars stories. Yet he had always resented the demands people made. He didn’t want to be special, just ordinary. But had people really asked that much of him? He looked down at Frank’s thin, unhappy face, and felt a renewed sense of purpose; Frank knew something that could help the Germans and they had to stop them getting it, whatever it took.

He had meant to stay awake, he had been on night watch plenty of times during the Norway campaign, but the armchair was comfortable and he must have fallen asleep because suddenly he was being shaken again, and it was full day. He blinked in the sunlight, then stared at Natalia. She was looking down at him, smiling a little ironically. She wore a white roll-neck pullover, like someone in the navy; it suited her. ‘Oh God,’ David said. ‘I fell asleep—’ He turned round quickly. ‘Frank—’

‘He’s fine.’ Frank was still asleep; he hadn’t even changed position.

‘I’m sorry—’

‘You had a hard day yesterday. It’s all right, Ben and I have been up all night manning the radio, and watching to make sure nobody came near the house. We looked in on you from time to time. We sent the old people to bed.’

‘The radio – is there any news—’

‘Of your wife? No, I’m sorry, not yet.’

David rubbed a hand over his stubbly face. Natalia stared at him hard with those green, slightly slanted eyes. ‘Your wife is safe, I’m sure. We’ll get her out, you will all get to America.’

David laughed hollowly. ‘It sounds like a dream, a fantasy.’

He looked at her. He wanted her, he knew she wanted him, but she had been right to say he must put Sarah first. And she was staying behind, in England. David sighed, and turned to Frank again. ‘I suppose we need to wake him.’

‘Yes. I’ll get Ben. It will be good if he sees you both when he wakes up.’

David said, ‘The colonel says Ben’s a Communist. Like your brother was.’

She smiled. ‘You remember me telling you that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Peter was not a Communist after he went to Russia.’ She looked down at him. ‘Maybe I will tell you all about it one day.’

‘On the way to the submarine, eh?’

She smiled and left the room. David wondered where Natalia stood on politics. Where did he stand himself, for that matter? He wanted democracy, an end to authoritarianism and fear, and to the persecution of the Jews. Beyond that he didn’t know. He leaned over and shook Frank’s hand gently, feeling the thinness of his wrist under his sleeve. He didn’t move at his touch, just lay there breathing heavily.

The door opened and Ben came in. He too looked tired, unshaven, but his eyes were sharp and keen as usual. David said, ‘I’ve tried to wake Frank, I shook his arm, but he didn’t move . . .’

Ben walked over to the bed. ‘He’s just in a deep sleep, poor wee man. It’s all right, I’ll wake him.’ He pinched Frank’s arm. He stirred and groaned. His hands shifted, revealing the right one with its withered fingers and scarred palm.

‘Come on, Frankie boy,’ Ben said encouragingly. He gave him another, harder pinch. Frank’s eyes opened and he blinked. He stared at them in terror, then sat up and screamed.