Chapter 22

22

POOLE – MAY 1941

Charlie had half undressed himself for bed, but had ended up lying on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling where, by some strange work of magic in his mind, he could see the face of Peggy Symonds. He had a bubbling feeling in his chest and a sensation on his face that seemed to come from his ancient past. He was smiling. Not just trying to smile, or putting on a smile for effect, or smiling to be polite. He was smiling because he felt happy.

For the last six weeks, a delightful change had come into his life and he had begun to form a strong friendship with Peggy.

He had always been fond of her and had often complimented her on the expertise with which she handled the launch, and she'd accepted his praise as any other colleague would. But one day, she seemed to be smiling so sweetly, and chatting so freely with him that he'd dared to compliment her on how pretty she was looking. No one could have been more surprised than Charlie when she responded by giving him a coy smile and thanking him. Charlie had heard that she was already firmly attached to one of the Australian airmen, but she seemed very open to spending more time with him.

And so they had begun to spend some time sharing drinks together, and he would occasionally walk her home. She had asked him if he might be going to the dance one Saturday night and with all his soul, he'd wished he didn't have this stupid limp, but he couldn't possibly go dancing. He would look a fool, and make a fool of Peggy too, which was worse.

Instead, he suggested they go for a picnic, and she had the most wonderful idea of taking her dad's dinghy out across the harbour.

As he lay there that night thinking of the day he had spent with Peggy, he was in awe of the way his heart seemed to have made room for her. His dead wife still had her place in his soul, but now there seemed to be another space just the right size for Peggy to fill. The idea of Peggy and her lovely smile, her bouncy, blonde curls and her merry laugh filled him with a joy he could not explain. He wondered if he should be prepared to explain his feelings to his wife. What would she think of him? But it was now almost exactly a year since the day she had died and the rough journey that grief had taken him on, though a steep and winding path, seemed to be dwindling now. He shook away his darker thoughts and took himself back to the happy moments of this picnic day.

They went ashore on the little beach near the ruined pottery on Brownsea Island – risking both the wrath of Mrs Bonham-Christie who had banned all visitors, as well as that of the army that patrolled there, manning the bomb decoy site. They drank a flask of hot tea and ate the oatmeal and syrup biscuits she'd made from a recipe she said she had learnt of lately from a friend. He became jittery about them being caught, and he was sure that Peggy had noticed his unease though she said nothing of it. They left and motored across to Arne instead. She'd suggested a walk, and he went for a little way before tiring with his limp, so they'd lain in the late spring sunshine on the heather, watching and listening for the many different birds that flew overhead and hopped around the heathland.

And when it was time to go home, he'd sat in the stern of the dinghy and taken the tiller of the Seagull engine and watched her as she sat in the bow, her blonde curls blowing in the breeze and her fingers trailing in the water. And he had started to hope that, perhaps, she could be his.

Today was Sunday, and tomorrow they would be working again together on the launches, and perhaps driving up to the hotel. He didn't mind what the work entailed, he realised, as long as he could be with Peggy.

As he settled to sleep that Sunday night, Charlie worked hard to scare off the visions of war that troubled his mind and was determined instead to think on the pretty face of Peggy Symonds.

‘Thanks for coming in, Peggy. I've told Patricia that you won't be on the launch as planned this morning as we have some paperwork to catch up with,' explained Fletcher, after calling her into the back office on her arrival at the harbour master's office the next morning.

‘So, it's been over a month and I know you've been spending a lot more time with Charlie than just at work. Do you have anything to share with me?' Fletcher asked, pouring coffee for himself and offering one to Peggy too.

‘I think there might be something in the claim that he is not English, and he openly admits to spending some time on the continent before the war. He can't – or won't – give me any details about where he is really from. He says he had a wife and daughter who died in an air raid, but he won't say where. I tend to believe him, though something isn't quite right. It could have been London, or almost anywhere else in Europe, but he won't give me any details. He is still grieving, but he keeps his heart to himself. I'm a little worried that he might be falling for me, if I'm honest. My mother is a cousin to his landlady, and all she could learn is that he is an honest, polite, hard-working young man. He is making Mrs Rogers' life easier just by being there with her sons away,' Peggy reported.

‘Well, you'll need to keep trying. You may have to get very close to him – see if you can get him to slip up and mention his late wife's name. You'll have to work out how to extricate yourself from the friendship you've developed with him, in your own way, when the time comes,' Fletcher said, as if this was the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. But Peggy's heart was breaking over the rift she knew was already developing between her and Darrell.

After the working day was over, and Peggy had eaten dinner with her family, they'd all gone out to enjoy the warm, light evening with a walk along the quay, which had, inevitably, led them into the Antelope for a drink.

The delights of being able to enjoy the evening in daylight and without the hassles of blackout, brought the community together in a way that was not too dissimilar to their past lives, back before the war began. All except for the masses of uniforms everywhere, of course. The pubs all along the quay were busy with locals and visiting soldiers, sailors, and airmen alike and all were relaxing in the warm, evening air.

Peggy hadn't seen Darrell for a week and although she had been doing her best to explain, she felt sure that Darrell was growing more and more suspicious. Even though the mission that Fletcher – and the British Government – had charged her with was far from over, she was determined to try and spend more time with Darrell again, and reassure him of her affection, and she was hoping to see him tonight. She was looking around the faces in the pub, eager to see him, when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

‘Looking for Darrell, are you, love?' she heard an airman say in that now beloved Australian accent. ‘He's just gone out, down the lane.' He nodded in the direction of the pub's side door. ‘Didn't know you were coming, I expect. You might catch him if you run,' he added touching his cap and heading back to his friends at the bar.

Peggy went out into the evening air, which was beginning to grow dusky with pink in the sky to the west. There was no one in this lane at all and she wondered if she'd been led astray, but went out into the main street to see if Darrell was nearby. Just as she reached the corner, she saw him disappear into another lane opposite. She followed, quietly, checking over her shoulder in case she too was being watched. She got to the end of the dark lane that ran between the terraced houses where Darrell had disappeared and looked out to her right, towards the quay, but he wasn't that way.

Just as she was deciding to give up and go back, a hand was clamped over her mouth and an arm wrapped around her waist and she was pulled quickly backwards into the lane and held tight against the body of man. Her instinct was to scream but the shock had paralysed her, and her mouth was tightly clamped anyway. She shut her eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths to calm herself. Stupid, stupid girl , she thought, running about in and out of dark lanes alone in the evening. What did you expect? And then he whispered her name.

‘Shush, Peggy love, stay calm, it's me,' cooed Darrell as he spun her around to face him. Peggy began to cry then, with relief, but he put his fingers to her lips and squeezed her tight.

‘You must stay quiet, Peggy. Shush,' and he held his hand up to indicate she must stay exactly where she stood while he moved towards the corner again. Peggy nodded, mutely, and she heard a new sound, a foreign sound. Darrell was peering around the end of the lane and Peggy could hear two voices, speaking in another language – German, she presumed, by the sound of it. They were arguing, and their whispered, spitting tone suggested words of hate and anger, though she didn't understand a word.

One of the men began to cry and his tone changed to one of pleading, and then a pair of footsteps ran away. Darrell still stood frozen with his hand up to stop Peggy from moving, and then she heard the second man sniff, and seem to take a moment to calm himself, before he walked away fast, but not running. She recognised something in the uneven rhythm of his footsteps on the pavement.

Then, at last, Darrell came back to face her and breathed a great sigh. She questioned him with her eyebrows, and he nodded.

‘Come on, Peggy, it's safe now. Let's take a little walk. There are some things I need to explain,' he said. ‘And I'm sorry for frightening you back there, but I had to stop you. Who knows what might have happened to you if you'd walked into the middle of that argument.' Darrell led her gently with a tender hand at the small of her back. Once out in the open, he checked to see that nobody had noticed them leaving the dark lane and offered her his arm.

‘Who were they, Darrell? I wish you'd let me see. And what was all that about?' Peggy asked. She held her bag close to her, feeling for the weight of the pistol and knowing she would have used it if necessary.

‘Did you not recognise either of the voices, Peggy?'

She thought about it for a moment before replying. She knew exactly who one of them was, but was not about to tell Darrell she recognised the voice of the man she'd been getting to know very well just lately.

‘One of them had something familiar to it, but I don't even know what language they were speaking. Were they German?' she asked, feigning innocence.

‘That is the big question I'd like to know the answer to. They were speaking Dutch, but they said the word Deutsch several times, and Deutsch is Dutch for German,' Darrell said, and he waited.

Peggy couldn't decide if she was thrilled to have Darrell's help, or angry that she hadn't realised he had been following Charlie too. Either way, she now wished the ground would swallow her whole. She had to think fast to keep her secret under wraps.

‘And I know exactly what you've been doing, Peggy, giving me the run-around with him, and I couldn't have you getting about with someone that nobody knows anything about and not keep an eye on you, could I?' Peggy was horrified to realise she'd been that obvious, and had to make a snap decision to put Darrell off the scent.

‘I don't know what you mean, Darrell. Charlie is a lovely young man and we share a working relationship. Yes, I've spent a little time with him lately, and what's that to you?'

She saw him smart at her words and pieces of her heart fell to her feet and smashed there on the pavement.

‘I see. Well, Peggy, I really thought we had something, but it seems you're keeping all your options open.' He sighed and took a few steps away, stooping to light a cigarette and then turning back to her sharply.

‘Whatever you're up to, you should know this. Yesterday, when you were out all day, I spent a little time watching this other bloke, the one who was holding up our Charlie here. I think his name is Klaus – and he may well be German. He keeps a rough old dinghy on the shore at Hamworthy Beach, not far at all from the RAF base. I've seen him come and go several times. He seems to head off towards the mouth of the river. And your mate Charlie went that way once too, you know.'

Peggy was genuinely shocked.

‘Really? What would Charlie want up the River Frome? And what boat did he take?' she asked.

‘None other than your prized BOAC launch,' said Darrell with an arch look.

‘What? How? When? On his own?' she demanded in rapid fire, standing up straight and turning to face Darrell straight on.

‘Oh yes, that was quite a while ago now, long before you started spending so much time with him. There's something up that river that interests the pair of them. They're not English, they're hiding something, and I'm going to find out what it is.'

Darrell went on to explain what he'd seen yesterday while she and Charlie had been enjoying the most delightful day of picnicking, when she had been supposed to be spying.

He had followed the other man across the lifting bridge to Hamworthy and to his dinghy on the beach, where he'd left, as usual, and headed off up towards the mouth of the river.

Earlier today, on this Monday afternoon, Darrell had watched as Charlie was accosted by this same mystery man who, after an argument, seemed to have showed him some papers. The two had tussled there in the darkness of the lane but the stranger had run away, leaving Charlie looking for all the world like his life was over.

Peggy thought on her feet fast.

‘Darrell, this is ridiculous! Charlie is just a boatman about whom we all know very little. He's a very pleasant man, and he doesn't need you chasing him around, just because you're jealous,' she said, managing to sound more exasperated and less desperate than she really was.

‘All I really set out to do was protect you, Peggy. I just found a few interesting titbits of information along the way. And I think the attention you've been giving him has distracted him to the point he's not noticed that I'm keeping an eye on him. But there's definitely something fishy about this pair.'

‘Darrell, I really think you're being a bit extreme. Everything will look more natural in the daylight tomorrow,' she said, trying to appease him.

Darrell stared at her hard for a few moments before seeming to make a decision. ‘Come on, then, it's time I was getting you home to your parents. They'll have wondered what happened to you,' Darrell said as he took her hand. The air between them was cold as frost, though, and Peggy ached to be able to tell him the truth.

They walked home in the peace of the moonlight, hopeful that it was to be a quiet night, with no air raids. The weather was soft and warm, the night was clear, and a million stars sparkled above them. Peggy chose to forget, for this precious moment, the troubles of the war and this strange double life she had begun to live.

At the front door, Peggy kissed Darrell and held him close, mustering all her energy to try and appear calm, all the time knowing that she had to take control and work out what Charlie was up to.

‘So, you're spending your days with him, and kissing me goodnight now? What will your Charlie think of that, hey? You're going to have to choose, Peggy. You can't keep us both hanging on,' he said, shuffling his feet in the gravel as he looked down.

‘Darrell, I don't know what you mean. I'll see you again soon,' she said, keeping her voice calm and even despite the turmoil she felt inside. Hopefully, it would only be a couple of days before she could explain everything to him. Darrell left to go back to the RAF base, and she went inside, closing the door slowly behind her.

She went through to the kitchen and sat quietly at the table, knowing her family were already upstairs in bed. She stayed as still as one of the bollards on Poole Quay for ten whole minutes, listening to the sound of her own breathing and giving Darrell plenty of time to get up to the lifting bridge and over it to Hamworthy before she set off. Then she crept out the back door, through the garden, and along the beach until she made it onto the road in front of the lifeboat house. She kept her head down as she walked quickly along the quay, thankful that the pubs had all closed for the night and most people were at home by now.

When she reached the Fish Shambles market, she ducked quickly into the end of Blue Boar Lane, checking over her shoulder that nobody had seen her. She found Mrs Rogers' home, and then, looking up at the one upstairs window facing the street, took a punt that it would be Charlie's. If not, she would have to think fast to find some reason she might have for getting Aunty Joan out of bed.

Peggy picked a couple of small pebbles from the ground and threw one at the window. When there was no response, she threw the second. A moment later, the window opened to reveal the puzzled face of Charlie Edwards. She held her finger firmly to her lips before he could speak and signalled to him to come downstairs.

As he opened the front door, hastily pulling his jacket on, Peggy looked from one end of the lane to the other and decided the back way would be safest from prying eyes. She did not speak, and would not permit him to do so until she had led him well away.

‘Peggy, what on earth is going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?' he asked, full of concern.

‘No, Charlie, I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about.' She turned to face him fully, looking him square in the eye and taking a deep breath before she fired her first shot. ‘Had any more conversations in Dutch lately?'

He visibly reeled and now it was Charlie who looked furtively over his shoulder. Seeing that they were still alone, he took her elbow and guided her along the lanes until they reached the church yard. They sheltered on the dark side of the church, not that there was ever really a light side in this blackout. The only sound at this midnight hour was a nightingale that chirruped prettily from one of the chestnut trees in the church yard. Peggy turned to face Charlie and spoke under her breath.

‘Who are you, Charlie? And who the hell is Klaus?' she demanded.

He sighed deeply and, rubbing his face with his hands, he slid down the wall and crouched on the ground. Peggy sat beside him.

‘I am Charlie now, Peggy. This is who I want to be. But Charlie is not who I was. My name is Hans Meyers, and I am Dutch. I came from Rotterdam. My wife, Katrijn, and baby girl, Anika, were killed by a German bombing raid that butchered them and all of the beautiful city, and I fled here, to Poole, as a refugee,' he explained. ‘This injury to my leg, it is not from my childhood. The damage was done in the same air raid that killed my family.'

‘But, you said you'd come from London. And when you speak to me, you don't sound Dutch at all,' she said.

‘I did come from London just before I met you. I was here in Poole, at first on Brownsea Island and then in the town for a few weeks after I arrived. But I could not get work. Everyone thought I was German here, and people were unkind. So, I left and went to London where I could get lost in the crowds. I learnt to speak like a Londoner, and I found work in the docks there. But it is not a friendly place, and I was lonely. I wanted to be here, by the sea, where I feel more at home, and where I left my boat.'

‘And Klaus? Is he a friend of yours?' she demanded.

‘No! I barely know the man, and he is not good news, Peggy. He hitched a ride with me when we fled Rotterdam, and I don't trust him. He's trying to blackmail me to give him information about flying boat passengers, but I won't do it,' Charlie said.

‘Blackmail you? What with? What does he have on you?'

‘I can't tell you – it's nothing really – something personal. It doesn't matter to anyone but me,' he said.

‘And where is Klaus now? If he is causing some kind of trouble, then we need to get him picked up. Is he Dutch? Or is he German?' she asked.

Charlie shrugged his shoulders slightly a pulled a face. ‘He's Dutch. Like me,' he said at length.

They sat in silence for several minutes while Peggy decided what to do.

‘I have to report you for not being who you say you are, Charlie, but I believe you. I believe you aren't a threat. But this Klaus – him we must find and have arrested. Do you have any idea where he is?'

In reply, Charlie simply shook his head.

Peggy sighed deeply. ‘The best thing we can both do now is go and get some sleep. We'll deal with all this in the morning. Come on, help me up,' she said reaching up her hand to him as he stood.

They walked back to Blue Boar Lane in companionable silence.

‘I thought it was going too well,' Charlie said at last.

‘The way you've deceived us all, you mean?' she asked with a cynical tone.

‘No. I mean the way you seemed to like me so much. I thought we had something good, Peggy. But I was wrong. Nothing good is ever going to happen to me again,' he said despondently.

‘Don't say that,' she said, feeling suddenly guilty for having led him on. ‘I'm sure everything will turn out all right, Charlie. You may not be who you said you are, but you aren't the enemy, and you aren't a German spy. Things will be okay, again, I promise,' she said, and despite a little voice that warned her against it, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek in farewell. ‘Get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow,' Peggy said as she slipped away, home to her own bed.

Sleep, when it came to Charlie, was deep and dark and he sank into the rest it brought as though he hoped never to wake again. He dreamed they were walking along the beach, hand in hand, and Hans found a perfect place to lay down the picnic blanket in the shelter of the dunes. He helped Katrijn to sit down and then unpacked the picnic basket, making her a plate with freshly baked bread that he tore apart, a hunk of cheese and some sliced ham. He poured her a glass of wine and then one for himself and together, they drank. She sighed and looked out to sea and then her smiling face shone as she turned to face him again.

‘This is a good place to celebrate,' she said.

‘I have always loved it here. My mother and I used to come here when I was much younger, after we first arrived,' he said wistfully. ‘But what are we celebrating?' he asked her.

‘The news that you are going to be a father, Hans,' she said, her laugh a tinkle and her face aglow with joy.

To begin with, it was as if he'd not heard. As if she'd spoken some strange, ancient language that sounded somewhat familiar but with words and phrases he couldn't quite place. And then the realisation filled his soul with wonder. He reached out to grasp her in his arms but before he could get to her side, he woke up and saw nothing.

Waking fully from his dream, he realised he wasn't on a beach at all, but in bed in Blue Boar Lane, and Katrijn was dead, and so was their baby, and now Peggy knew his secret and all the happiness he had begun to feel was over. It was all over. Charlie pulled the pillow over his head and prayed for death, his hatred for Klaus growing stronger by the second.

As she finally crept to bed that night, and undressed in the dark, Peggy felt angry with herself for allowing things to get this way. How had Darrell managed to tail Charlie, and discover what he was up to, when she'd been spending so much time with him for that specific purpose? What kind of a useless spy did that make her? She sat on the edge of her bed and took the small pistol from her handbag, turning it over so the steel gleamed in the moonlight that shone through the window into the dark room. She wondered what Charlie would have thought if he knew she'd been carrying it with her whenever she was with him.

She tucked the pistol under her pillow and lay down on the cool sheets, and before she closed her eyes, she knew that tomorrow would be different. She could explain that while Charlie was really called Hans, he was not the spy Fletcher believed him to be. Tomorrow, she would contact Fletcher, explain what she knew, find Klaus, protect her country, and save her relationship with Darrell.