Dominion

Chapter Thirty-Seven

SARAH HAD SAT ON HER OWN in the cell for an hour after the German left her. She was still in shock at being there, at what David had done. Where was he? After a while, through sheer tiredness, the cogs of her brain stopped turning and she just sat staring round the bleak room. But fear soon grew again; she thought of the weight of the great building above her, all the power of the Third Reich it represented, the terrible rumours about what they did to people here. She felt faint and had to grip the edge of the table.

Shortly before midnight, there was a rattle of keys in the door. Heart beating fast she looked up, expecting to see the big fair man again. She feared him; for all his civility earlier, there was something implacable about him. But it was a young man who entered, in the black uniform of the SS, with a pudgy face and heavily oiled brown hair. He carried a leather bag, which for a horrible moment Sarah thought might contain instruments of torture. But when he emptied it on the table her own possessions tumbled out, handbag and identity card, purse and keys.

‘You can go, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ the SS man said in a strong German accent. His tone was formal, polite. ‘I will escort you out. You are to go straight home and to remain there until further notice. The British police may wish to speak further with you.’

‘My husband—’

‘You must tell the police if he tries to contact you. And now . . .’ He looked at the items on the table, then waved an arm towards the door.

Sarah gathered up her things and followed him out of the room and down the corridor. Two more SS men approached, half-carrying an elderly man in a rumpled suit with a yellow badge. He was unshaven, his face bruised, grey hair standing up in tufts, eyes wide with fear. They walked past Sarah and her escort; behind her she heard a door slam. She looked at her guard. He took her back up the same flight of steps Gunther had escorted her down, along empty corridors then through a side door and out into the cold night air. He led her round to the front of Senate House, the building and its immense swastika flags floodlit. The guard walked Sarah to a gate in the side of the high wall, bars of thick iron with barbed wire on top, and unlocked it for her. He actually bowed slightly as she passed him and stepped out into Gower Street. A British policeman standing on duty outside the embassy with a sub-machine gun turned and glanced at her without interest. The gate closed behind her with a little clang, and she stood staring blankly down the dark street. Then she began walking away, fast.

She caught the last tube back home. There were not many people on it at that time of night. There was a man, though, a small man in a heavy overcoat, who got into the carriage with her at Euston Square who also got off at Kenton. But he turned in the opposite direction as she left the station. By the time she arrived home she was so frightened and exhausted that when she tried to put her key into the lock her hands shook and it took several tries to open the door. She entered the cold, empty house and went into the kitchen. She stood looking at the table where the men had sat waiting for her. The door to the garden hung open. She closed it – the lock was smashed – and went upstairs, kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed. She fell asleep in an instant, still in her coat. Alone.

She was woken by the sound of the doorbell ringing loudly and insistently. Her body shuddered. She had been having a terrible dream; she was back in the cell with the German but this time David was there, too, a prisoner. His face was turned away and when she called out his name he wouldn’t look round and she knew it was because they had done something terrible to his face. She sat up with a groan. It was daylight, she had slept through the night. She heaved herself up and walked shakily downstairs, in coat and stockinged feet, terrified they had come to take her away again.

But it was Irene standing on the doorstep, smart in her coat and her little circular hat with the red feather. Her eyes widened. ‘Darling, what’s happened to you?’

Sarah swallowed, her throat dry. Irene reached out and took her arm. ‘I rang and rang last night! How’s David, is he better, how ill is he . . . ?’

Sarah stared blankly at her sister. ‘Ill?’

‘He telephoned me yesterday. He said he was ill, he’d been sent home from the office, he was trying to get hold of you—’

‘David was here? Yesterday?’

‘Yes. In the morning – Sarah, what’s happening—’

‘Come in.’

‘Why are you in your coat? Have you been out—’

‘Come into the lounge, let me get the heating on. My feet are bloody frozen.’

Irene took charge, lighting the fire and going to make a cup of tea. Sarah stretched her numb feet to the warmth. The clock on the mantelpiece showed ten o’clock. Irene came back with a tray and set it on the coffee table. Sarah saw that her sister was forcing herself to be calm. She thought, I have to tell her what happened, they might question her and Steve. She took a cigarette, passed one to Irene, and had a sip of the hot, sweet tea. It tasted wonderful. She took a deep breath, then said, ‘David wasn’t having an affair, Irene. He was spying for the Resistance, passing them files from his work. His friend Geoff Drax was, too. They’re both on the run. I spent last night being questioned at the German embassy.’

Irene stared, her blue eyes wide. ‘David was working for the Resistance?’

‘I’d no idea, I couldn’t tell them anything because I didn’t know. They let me go. I’ve been told to stay at home. I think I was followed home on the tube, though I’m not sure.’

‘Did they – did they do anything to you . . . ?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘They were very polite. Though as I was being taken out I saw another prisoner who looked – bad.’ She told Irene everything that had happened. Then she said, in a low voice, ‘I’m scared.’

‘The swine!’ Irene exclaimed. For a moment Sarah thought she meant the Germans, but then she continued. ‘Bombings and riots and killing policemen! They’re murderers! I knew David had gone anti-German the last few years, but this—’

‘What other choice have they left people who oppose them?’

‘We’ve always believed in peace!’ Irene’s voice rose in indignation. ‘He’s placed you in terrible danger! All of us, the whole family! Spying for those Resistance thugs!’

Sarah put her head in her hands. Irene, suddenly apologetic, reached out. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘It’s just such a shock . . .’

Sarah looked up. ‘I know. Thank God Charlie was spared this. But then I think, if he hadn’t died David wouldn’t have done this. I wasn’t enough, you see. All these times he’s not come home till late, disappeared at weekends – God, his uncle Ted, that must have been a lie, too.’

‘He knew what you’d think of what he was doing,’ Irene said bitterly.

Sarah looked at her sister. ‘I wonder if he cared.’ She frowned. ‘You said he phoned you from here, he must have come back to look for me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He must have wanted me to go with him.’

‘On the run? You’re not saying you would have gone?’

‘I don’t know.’ But even as Sarah said the words she knew that she would have followed David.

Irene said, ‘He always looked down on Steve and me, always seemed to think he was better—’

‘I don’t think it was like that,’ Sarah said quietly. ‘I think the anger just grew in him these last few years, anger at what Britain’s become.’

‘Are you saying you agree with him? After what he’s done?’ Irene’s voice took on its familiar self-righteous tone.

‘Maybe I do.’ Sarah thought of Mrs Templeman. ‘I’ve seen some things I haven’t told you about. What Mosley and his people are doing.’ She spoke with sudden fury. ‘Helping the Germans build their empire of sadism.’

‘Oh, Sarah,’ Irene answered impatiently. ‘What would the Resistance bring if they won? More violence, more scapegoats, maybe even communism? And how can they think they could ever defeat the Germans?’

‘Are the Germans really so invincible? Maybe that’s the mistake we’ve been making for the last twelve years. They’re being beaten in Russia, people say the regime would fall apart if Hitler died.’

‘But—’

‘They’re having trouble in France now they’re trying to force French men to work in Germany. And in Spain. And we’re not exactly doing a brilliant job of keeping the Empire together, are we?’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Dear God, here we are arguing bloody politics again!’

Irene’s face softened. ‘I’m sorry, dear. I just – I don’t know. I don’t think it’s right what’s happening to the Jews, putting them into camps like this, but—’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I fear for my children, you see, the boys. If – if order breaks down, I’m so frightened for their future.’

‘This isn’t the world any of us wanted, is it?’

Irene shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Do you remember when we were young, all the peace work we did with Daddy?’

‘It seems so long ago.’

‘Poor Mummy and Daddy,’ Sarah said. ‘I should think this’ll just about finish Daddy off. I wonder if David ever thought of that,’ she added bleakly.

Irene stood up. ‘I’m going to stay with you for a while,’ she said decisively. ‘Steve’s at home, I’ll ring and tell him he can jolly well look after the boys today. Now come on, let’s get you washed and dressed. When did you last eat?’ She took Sarah’s arm and helped her to her feet.

‘I had some tea and buns yesterday afternoon.’ Sarah realized how hungry she was. She remembered the cafe in Highgate, her encounter with Carol and thought, what will happen to her? She groaned. Irene held her close. ‘Come on, dear, let’s get some food inside you.’

Irene looked after her as though she were a child again, running a bath and cooking a meal, then sitting talking to her about their childhood, not their peace activities but ordinary family memories, life at home and at school. The morning was cold and clear. Sarah said gratefully, ‘You’ve always taken care of me, haven’t you?’

‘It’s what a big sister has to do.’

‘Remember when I was little and used to be frightened by Daddy’s facemask? Mummy would get cross but you’d comfort me. I always felt guilty about that, how it must’ve hurt Daddy.’

‘Those masks people wore just after the Great War were terrible things. It was easier for me, I was older. Any little girl would have been frightened.’ Irene led Sarah upstairs and saw her safely into bed again. She drifted off to sleep once more, to the reassuring sound of Irene washing up downstairs.

She slept another couple of hours. When she woke again she felt properly awake. It was nearly three. Irene was sitting in the lounge, drinking tea. She looked tired herself. There were streaks of grey in her sister’s hair, Sarah saw; she was starting to look middle-aged. Irene turned to Sarah with a weary smile.

‘How are you, dear?’

‘Oh – all right. I’ve a bit of a headache.’

Irene stood. ‘Now you’re awake, why don’t I go home and get an overnight bag, then come and spend the night here?’

‘What will Steve say?’

‘It’ll be all right, I’ll tell him you’re not well. I’ll just go to the loo, then get my coat.’

She went upstairs, touching Sarah’s arm as she passed her. Sarah sat looking out of the window. Across the road there was frost on the lawn of the little park with the old air-raid shelter at the end. She thought of David: looking dapper in his suit and bowler hat; dancing with her the night they met; collapsing in the snow after Charlie died. His cold withdrawal recently. Why had he come back for her? Was it just his sense of duty, a reluctance to throw her to the wolves, or something more? If I’d known what he was doing, she thought, would I have supported him? That’s the pity of it, he didn’t trust me enough to ask. A cold anger began to grow inside her.

A ring at the doorbell brought her back to reality with a jump. Fear clutched at her again as she walked to the front door. She called out, tremulously, ‘Who is it?’

‘Police.’

She opened the door a crack. A tall, middle-aged man with a bushy moustache stood on the doorstep, a sergeant’s stripes on the blue sleeve of his coat. He looked like the traditional image of a British policeman but he wore the flat cap of an Auxiliary and there was the bulge of a gun at his waist.

‘May I come in, madam?’ His tone was polite but very firm. Sarah stepped back and he entered, looking around the hall as he wiped his boots carefully on the doormat. He took off his cap, revealing a head as bald as his moustache was luxuriant.

‘Mrs Sarah Fitzgerald?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you in for questioning, madam.’

‘Senate House again?’ Her voice rose.

‘I’ve to take you to the local station for now. There’s a Special Branch officer there wants to talk to you.’

Sarah asked, ‘Is there – is there news of my husband?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about that, madam.’ The sound of the toilet flushing came from the floor above. The sergeant looked up the stairs. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked abruptly.

‘My sister.’

Then, looking past him into the kitchen, Sarah saw the back door slowly open. To her astonishment a middle-aged woman in a grey coat came in; she was short and stocky and had a round face, hard, sharp eyes behind steel spectacles and a tight mouth. She was carrying, of all things, a shopping bag. She put a finger to her lips, indicating Sarah should be quiet. Then, as Sarah watched frozen to the spot, she walked quietly but very quickly through the kitchen into the hall, up behind the policeman. She drew something from her pocket, raised it and hit the policeman sharply on the back of the head just as, becoming aware of something, he’d begun to turn towards her. He let out a cry and stumbled sideways into the banisters, blood seeping from the base of his skull. Sarah saw the woman had a small lead pipe in her hand, the sort of weapon the Jive Boys used.

‘I’m from the Resistance,’ the woman said, quickly and sharply. ‘Your husband is with us, we’ve come to get you.’ All the time she had one eye on the dazed policeman. He groaned and to Sarah’s horror began to stagger upright, blinking as he looked at the two women. ‘You fucking bitches,’ he said groggily, ‘You’ve had it now . . .’

He reached inside his coat. The woman was holding up her piece of pipe threateningly, ready to lunge forward, but the policeman was pulling a gun from his pocket. Sarah heard a click as he cocked it. Then he turned at the sound of a shriek from the top of the stairs. Irene stood there, her coat over one arm, staring at the man in horror.

Sarah reached out and picked up the heavy Regency vase from the telephone table. She lifted it above her head with both arms and brought it down with all her strength on the top of the policeman’s head. He made a little moan and fell down in a heap.

Irene put her hands to her face. ‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ she moaned, over and over again. The stranger reached down and picked up the gun. Then she put a hand to the policeman’s neck. All her movements were swift and professional.

‘He’s alive,’ the woman said in a sharp voice. ‘You did well there.’ She stood up, then went into the lounge and, twitching the net curtain aside, looked out. Irene came down the stairs and stood at the bottom, staring. Sarah put her arm round her. The woman came back. ‘Mrs Fitzgerald,’ she said sharply, ‘we must go now.’ She looked at Irene. ‘Are you her sister?’

‘Yes. Are you from—’

‘The Resistance. Does anyone else know you’re here?’

‘No—’

‘Then you get out of here, now. Get into your car and drive away. We’ll go out the back way. Go on. We won’t have much time; they’ll soon start wondering what happened to him.’ She looked down at the unconscious policeman. ‘I’ll deal with him.’

‘What do you mean, deal with him?’ Irene asked, her voice horrified.

The woman looked meaningfully at the gun, then back at Irene.

‘No!’ Sarah shouted. ‘You’re not going to kill a man in my house.’

‘He saw me,’ Meg answered levelly. ‘And worse, he saw your sister. Do you want her identified, her family arrested and questioned?’

‘Oh God, the children . . .’ Irene sat on the bottom stair, on the point of collapse.

Meg looked fixedly at Sarah. ‘This is a war, and you’re in it now. You’re not on the sidelines any more.’

Sarah said, ‘How did you know to come in when you did?’

Meg snapped, ‘Because I’ve been watching this house for hours. Watching you two through the window. I was just about to come and get you this morning when –’ she inclined her head at Irene – ‘you drove up. I’ve been walking up and down the road, waiting for you to leave, pretending to be a woman shopping. I saw the police car come and thought it was now or never. All right?’ Her voice rose angrily.

‘Go now,’ Sarah said to Irene. ‘Now.’ She went to her and gave her sister an immense hug. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

Irene pulled away. She looked at the body by the stairs, the brightly coloured pieces of the broken vase. She said to Sarah, ‘I love you.’

‘I love you, too. Now go, think of the children.’

For an unbearable moment Irene stood irresolute, then she put on her coat, walked slowly to the door and went out.

The woman turned to Sarah. ‘You’d better get your coat too, it’s cold. Go on.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Meg. Now hurry.’

Sarah fetched her coat and handbag. Outside, she heard Irene’s car engine start and the vehicle pull away. She wondered if she would ever see her again. Meg said, ‘Go and wait in the back garden. I’ll join you in a moment.’

Standing in the cold garden, looking at the brown flowerbeds she and David had worked on not much more than a week ago, Sarah heard a muffled bang from inside the house. She closed her eyes.

Meg came out. Her prim little mouth was set hard. She met Sarah’s look challengingly. ‘We have to climb over the fence, get to the lane that runs along the back. That’s how I got in. Be careful not to tear your clothes. We’re going on public transport, you don’t want to draw any attention to yourself.’

‘Where are we going?’

Meg smiled encouragingly then, the first touch of humanity Sarah had seen in her face. ‘Somewhere safe,’ she said.