Lana watched as the blond man walked slowly over to the vegetable plots where she’d left Peter and Freddie just a short while ago. She thought she heard someone whistling. From where she stood she couldn’t see the boy clearly, but she saw him standing very still, his back to the man. Then to her astonishment he whirled round and she heard him shout, ‘Papa!’ and hurl himself into the stranger’s arms.
Peter’s father?
The tall man held the boy tightly and kissed the top of his head. Lana couldn’t take her eyes off the two of them. Bingham Hall was an orphanage, yet it seemed as though Peter had unexpectedly been reunited with his father. She felt the tears prick and turned away, not wanting to encroach on their private moment.
This wasn’t at all the right time to speak to Maxine Taylor who’d probably had no idea at all that these gentlemen would be turning up when she’d suggested Lana go over to introduce herself around teatime. She’d leave quietly and telephone the matron in the morning to apologise and make a firm appointment next time.
She slipped amongst the trees lining the drive, the children’s shouts and squeals of laughter sounding far away now, and made her way back to the school, the image of the tall blond man gathering his son close to his chest still sharp in her mind. She wiped a tear away with the back of her hand and smiled to herself for being so sentimental, but somehow it was comforting to know that in this interminable cruel war, the scene that had unfolded in front of her looked as though it had all the elements of a happy ending.
But there was no happy ending for Priscilla, Lana thought sadly, as she turned the key to open the cottage door, imagining the young girl in her mind’s eye watching such a reunion.
Lana put the kettle on, feeling a little light-headed as she remembered the way the blond man’s eyes had held hers. Why had he made such an impact?
She drank her tea without tasting it.
May Day – that night
‘Put the torch out!’ she hissed.
‘That’s no good. I can’t see a bleedin’ thing now.’ The youth switched the torch back on.
‘Well, put your hand over it.’
‘To hear you, you’d think Jerry was flyin’ overhead lookin’ down at us.’
‘You never know.’ The girl gave a nervous giggle.
The two of them crept up the drive, the gravel crackling underfoot at every step.
‘Go on, then, I dare you.’ She dug the youth in the ribs. ‘I’ll keep watch but they’ll all be asleep.’
The youth stretched his neck to assess the open window on the first floor of Bingham Hall. Then he twisted round to her. ‘Whadya bet?’
‘A shilling.’
‘Nah, it’s not werf it.’ He sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his nose. ‘I dunno, though. Maybe it is. It’d buy a packet of fags.’
‘Go on, then.’ The girl’s eyes blazed with the intensity of her bet. ‘There’s a drainpipe next to the window.’
The youth nodded and shinned up it without making a sound. He stuck his hand in the gap and pushed the sash up to make enough space to crawl through.
‘You coming?’ His harsh voice reverberated around the walls of the building.
‘Shhhhhh!’ The girl put a finger to her lips. ‘Go in and unbolt the kitchen door near where I’m standing.’
The youth raised his thumb and disappeared through the opening. Two minutes later he had the door open and the girl slipped through like a shadow.
They were in.
‘Look at the size of this kitchen.’
‘That’s nothing,’ the girl said, taking his arm and leading him along a short corridor into the Great Hall.
‘Cor, this is something.’
The youth’s eyes almost swivelled in their sockets as he took in the vaulted ceiling, the massive stone fireplace, and the chandeliers and sconces, unlit now because of the blackout as well as the late hour. His eyes roamed the walls of oil paintings, mostly portraits, and what looked like hundreds of coats of arms, and the solid oak furniture. He turned to her and gave a low whistle.
‘The nobs know how to live, don’t they?’
The girl pulled a face. ‘They might’ve been nobs in them days but Lord Bingham and his family did a runner when the war started.’
‘Who told you that?’ The youth narrowed his eyes at her.
‘I used to work here, didn’t I?’ the girl said. ‘I got ears. You hear things when you work here.’
He threw a look of disbelief that she could have landed such a job.
‘Wot did you do?’
‘I looked after the special children,’ the girl said proudly as she led him along the corridor to the magnificent library. ‘Well, I did until that bitch nurse reported me.’
‘You weren’t crafty enough. You shouldda hung on to yer job.’ He stared at her. ‘Chance to pinch all kinds of stuff and they’d never notice.’ He stared at her. ‘What she report you about, anyways?’
‘I told them we got a Nazi kid amongst us and we should get rid of him.’
‘How d’ya know that?’
‘I saw a photo of his German pa in his uniform, didn’t I?’ A satisfied smirk curled her lips. ‘I might not be a clever clogs but I know a swastika when I see one. His jacket was full of ’em. I was the only one who dared speak out and got the sack for me trouble.’
‘Phew!’ The youth blew his cheeks out. ‘You never know what goes on in these places, do you?’
The pair padded up the main staircase in their rubber-soled shoes.
‘Wot’s that room?’ He nodded towards an open door.
‘Where the kids paint.’
He pushed it open with his foot and looked around at the childish paintings pinned on the walls.
‘I always fancied doing a bit of paintin’ meself,’ he said, ‘but never got the chance.’
‘Maybe you would if you hadn’t been expelled so many times.’
He grinned, then took a piece of thin paper from his pocket and poked some tobacco into it. With a practised movement he rolled it and licked the ends together with a large red tongue, and stuck it between his heavy lips.
‘I don’t think you ought to do that,’ the girl said, her expression suddenly anxious. ‘Someone might smell it and think the place is on fire. And we’ll be caught and punished.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ He struck a match and lit it.
‘I mean it, Billy. Put it out. It’s too dangerous.’ She blinked and waved the smoke away from her face.
‘Oh, awright. Just give me a few puffs.’ He inhaled deeply and blew out a long stream of smoke.
‘Billy …’
‘Stop nagging, Hil, for Chrissakes.’ He took one more drag, gave the roll-up