Bonfire Memories Page 5

  “I’m so sorry. It must have been awful for you.”

  Guy marvelled that she had not run away from him. The war had cast a long shadow across Britain, and Germans were not very popular. Brits especially distrusted those who had lived through the war and had, apparently, done nothing to speak out against Hitler. Perhaps she was just being kind and after this would have nothing more to do with him. “It wasn’t the best upbringing. But I wasn’t alone, and I do understand the reasons, even if I – my family –suffered for them.”

  “What happened to your family?” asked Cara. “You never mention them in interviews.”

  “My father died a year after we left the camp. It damn near destroyed him to be there, and he never truly recovered. My mother is still alive, but very elderly, so she can’t travel. I was a late baby. My sister, Greta, was twenty years older than me. She’s the reason I’m here. Before the war, she married a soldier. They were separated when my father decided to leave Germany. Greta wanted to stay with her husband, but she was having a baby. So my parents, and her friends, persuaded her it would be safer to get out of Germany.”

  “Where are they now? Greta and the child, I mean?”

  “My niece, Brigitte is fine. At least now.” Guy took another sip of his beer. Brigitte was a whole other problem. “Greta? I don’t know. That’s why I employed Anderson. He was a private investigator. After the war, Greta naturally wanted to find her husband. We’d had no word of him for years. She managed to get work on a ship coming to Europe. She couldn’t take Brigitte with her as the journey was too long, but she hoped to be reunited with her husband, and then arrange for Brigitte to join them. For reasons I’m not quite sure about, the last place she was seen is here, in Midchester. That was around November nineteen-forty-six. Nearly twenty years ago.”

  “Is that why you asked me if I remembered what the figure on the bonfire looked like?”

  Guy shut his eyes, not really wanting to think about it. “After she left, we got a couple of postcards from her, then nothing. I fear that something happened to her. Why here, in this place, I don’t understand. And now you’re wondering why it took so long for me to come and find her?”

  “No. Well a little bit, I suppose.”

  “I couldn’t afford it. I was only sixteen at the time, and had missed much of my schooling, apart from what my mother and father managed to teach me and other children in the internment camp. So I didn’t have a trade I could offer a ship. Besides, someone had to stay and provide for my mother and my niece. Mama was too old to work, and Brigitte too young. So I did any work I could for a few years. Then ten years ago, something awful happened. Brigitte ran away. She was only fifteen, but she managed to marry some sailor, and she left Australia. I had to go looking for her first.”

  “And you found her in America.”

  “Good guess. Yes, she was in Los Angeles. The first husband had long gone by the time I found her. She had married again, to a man who treated her as badly as the first one. I managed to get her out of that situation. Somehow, acting as her minder, I fell into acting in films too. And the rest as they say is history.”

  “Guy, I don’t know why you don’t tell people the truth. This is a fascinating story. Much more interesting and less hackneyed than the tale you do tell. Sorry…” Cara looked abashed. “I don’t mean to be rude.”

  “It’s like I said, Cara. Germans aren’t popular at the moment. They were even less popular in the aftermath of the war. So I changed my name to one that sounded Australian and matched the accent I’d picked up along the way. Then, as I say, I let things slide. My niece was safe, relatively speaking. I don’t think she’ll ever truly be safe until she learns to stop picking men who abuse her. I was building up a career and making enough money to send back to my mother, until I had enough to ensure her safe and comfortable passage to Hollywood. But her first question when she got off the boat is ‘Why have you stopped looking for Greta?’ So here I am.”

  “You employed Mr. Anderson to find her?”

  “Yes, and now he’s dead. And in answer to your question as to why I rifled through his pockets, I hoped he had something for me. If he did, I didn’t find it. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but the fact of him dying in such a violent way suggests there’s something going on here. I fear for Greta more than I ever did.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Cara, putting her small hand over his.

  “Really? You’re not running scared because I’m a big bad German.”

  “Oh, that’s old news,” she said, with a gentle smile. “Besides, I know what it’s like to be judged because of your ancestry.”

  “Really? How?”

  “Now it’s turn for my life story.”

  “I’m all ears,” said Guy.

  “Before we moved to Midchester, Mum and Dad were travellers. Our whole family were gypsies. When my dad enlisted, mum settled here. She was having me at the time, and mum said it became hard to move around Britain with the war on. The government certainly liked it better if you stayed in one place. My dad died only a few months after he enlisted, and just before I was born – I’m the youngest of five – but mum stopped here anyway. The villagers never really accepted mum or her children. I gather my elder siblings were a wild lot, having been brought up on the road, but there was no harm in them. Mum struggled to bring us up alone, and she’d never had to keep a proper house. So things were always a bit chaotic. She said that didn’t go down with the housewives of Midchester.” Cara pulled a face. “They seemed strangely fixated on the whiteness of her sheets. A couple of times she was reported to the authorities, because people thought we were neglected. But that’s not true. The house might not have always been very tidy, and her sheets might not have passed muster with the local women, but I don’t remember ever being hungry or cold or unloved.”

  “Your mum sounds like a remarkable woman.”

  “She is. She’s wonderful, and so clever. Even though we all went to school, she taught us other things, about the world and the people in it. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that when you’ve suffered prejudice, you learn a lot about human nature. I think that’s why she was so forgiving of Herbie.”

  “Herbie?”

  “Herbie Potter, my step-dad. He’s the local postman. He did something really stupid in the war, over some girl that he’d really liked. It was covered up, rather than cause embarrassment, but I think mum was sorry for him because the villagers wouldn’t talk to him for a while. She knew how that felt.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Yes, I suppose I love him. He’s the only dad I’ve ever known.” Cara, looked across the bar, towards the main room and lowered her voice. “He can be a bit of a miserable old goat at times. A bit too quick to pass judgement, which is ironic really, given his own history.” She shrugged and grimaced again.

  “He who is without sin, eh?”

  “Exactly.” Cara smiled. Guy thought he could happily sit and look at her smile all day. The women he had known in the past were often very complicated.

  There was nothing complicated about Cara, even though she clearly felt things deeply. He could not help but notice the pain in her eyes when she talked about how her family were the target of prejudice by the villagers. But she seemed to accept it all without malice. She seemed to accept him too. Dare he hope that he could find happiness in this village?

  Chapter Five

  1946

  It’s hard to believe I’ve been happy here. I don’t think I realised just how happy until she arrived and I was threatened with losing it all.

  Here I carry on the fight on my own terms, because one day I know we will be victorious again. It is just a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Midchester may not seem that important, but the information I was able to gain about the airfield during the war was vital to the Higher Command. It is just outside of Midchester, and now is only used for light chartered flights. But during the war it was overrun with American soldiers, who would
tell you anything after a few drinks. What’s more, you could tell them anything and they would believe you, so it was easy to spread misinformation that threatened their morale.

  I may not have been able to fight in real terms, but I helped the cause in my own way. At the same time I earned the villager’s respect. I don’t say that they like me. I’m not a likeable person and never have been, but they admire the things I do.

  How can I give all that up? If I’m found out, I’ll go to prison and they’ll hang me. Even if I manage to get away, how can I return to the Fatherland as it is now, occupied by allied troops?

  Every day I have feared them finding the papers that might implicate me in espionage. Better to be here, where I can easily take flight if needs be, than to go straight into the lion’s den.

  If she is here too, people will start asking questions, such as why I am close to a German girl after all they have done in the war. She dreams of us being a real family. I know that will never happen, not in the current climate. The only way to do that would be to leave and reinvent myself yet again. I cannot do that. I will not do that. Not when I am so close to success.

  How does one kill the thing one loves most in the world?

  ***

  1966

  “Well, what do you think of this?” said Peg Bradbourne, coming into the pub a few evenings later. She threw a newspaper on the bar and hopped up onto her stool. “Another murder in Midchester. The villagers are torn between fascination and horror.”

  Cara, who was polishing glasses, stopped what she was doing to get Peg’s bottle of stout, and then looked at the paper. It reported on the results of the coroner’s report. “There’s nothing to be fascinated about. Poor Mr. Anderson.”

  “Yes, it is rather sad for such a young man. And it is frightening to think we have a killer in our midst. Talking of young men, how is your young man? You know that everyone is gossiping about him being German now.”

  Cara bit back a retort that Guy was not her young man, but only because she liked Peg. “Yes, I heard Mrs. Simpson and one of her friends on about it in the mini market this morning.”

  “But you already knew?”

  “He told me the other night. Honestly, Peg, what does it matter? The war was twenty years ago. People should move on.”

  “Sadly those in Midchester have long memories, as you well know, dear. They’re also inclined to turn on people very quickly. There was that old professor, Solomon his name was. They thought that he …” Peg stopped. “I’m sorry, Cara. You probably already know all this.”

  “No, I don’t. What?”

  “Well when Herbie was being … shall we say, naughty? They thought Professor Solomon was a German saboteur. He had a heart attack whilst in custody. He did recover, thankfully, but he was never the same afterwards. He was a Jew who already lost all his family in the camps. Being suspected of spying in Midchester broke his spirit, I think.”

  “It’s not right, Peg. I understand that it was the war, and everyone was afraid, what with the bombing and everything. But to hound an innocent man like that, oh it’s awful. I didn’t know about it, because mum and Herbie never told me. All I can say is that mum is far more forgiving than I am.”

  “I doubt that sweetheart. You seem to have forgiven Mr. Sullivan for being German.”

  “But he hasn’t done anything, Peg! The sins of the father should never be visited upon the child.”

  “I know this, dear girl. I’m just making an observation.”

  “Sorry, Peg. I just feel so strongly about this. I know what it’s like to have the whole village against you.”

  “Not the whole village, Cara.”

  “No, I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to include you in that. You were always kind to us, and so was Mr. Yeardley who used to own the pub. His daughter, Betty, used to babysit for mum sometimes.”

  “They’re good people.”

  “You’re good people, Peg.”

  Cara had to move away to serve more customers. It was getting very busy and there was no sign of Nancy, who had gone out again.

  “Where is Nancy?” asked Peg, when Cara had a moment to breathe.

  “I don’t know. She’s not usually like this. She never misses an opening or closing time. But lately she just keeps going off and it’s as if she’s forgotten about the pub. I don’t like to say anything, because she is the boss, and she’s been so good to me. I shouldn’t even be complaining about her now.”

  “Maybe I can help,” said a voice from the bar. Cara turned to see Guy standing there. He was dressed in jeans, with a black roll neck sweater that clung to his muscular arms and defined his torso to disturbing effect.

  “What? Sorry, hello, Mr. Sullivan.”

  “I thought we’d agreed it was Guy.”

  Had they? Cara could not remember, but she was happy enough to call him by his first name. Only then did it occur to her to wonder what his real, German, name was. She would really like to know. “What can I get you?” she asked in her usual, cheerful manner.

  “I meant it, Cara. Let me help. I’ve worked in a bar before, in Australia. That’s if you’re not afraid to be seen fraternising with the enemy.” He winked. Cara could not help but smile.

  “I couldn’t let you help,” she protested. “You’re a customer.”

  “And the customer is always right, so let me help you.”

  “Oh go on,” said Peg, “Let him help. Hello, Mr. Sullivan. We haven’t been introduced. I’m Peg Bradbourne.”

  Guy stretched across the bar – he was tall enough to do so – and took Peg by the hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Bradbourne.”

  “Oh now, let’s not be formal. I’m Peg and you’re Guy. And I can tell you that I have no problems about fraternising with the enemy when he’s as handsome as you are.”

  “It looks like you’re outvoted,” Guy said to Cara.

  “It seems so.” She lifted the hatch and let him behind the bar. “I’ll show you where everything is.”

  “Don’t worry, I know my way around a pub. I’ll soon find everything. You just go and serve the customers.”

  The clientele who came in after that all did a double take when they saw Guy behind the bar. It also made it harder for them to gossip about him, because at any time he could be clearing glasses off the table.

  “That’s Mrs. Simpson coming in,” Cara told Guy. Len Simpson had arrived earlier in the evening. “She drinks lemonade. The lady with her drink gin and tonic. Oh and here’s their other friend. She likes a vodka and lime.”

  “How do you remember all this?” Guy asked her.

  “Because I’ve been working here for five years and no one has ever asked for anything different.”

  “Really? Let’s see if we can shake this up a little. We’ll put some cocktails on the menu.”

  “I don’t know, Guy,” said Cara, doubtfully. “Nancy has tried that before, and they tend to get a bit shirty about her bringing in new-fangled ideas.”

  “Come on, live a little. You got any champagne?”

  “I er… yes, I think Nancy keeps a bottle for special occasions.”

  “Right, let’s perk this place up a bit. I’ll find the vermouth and other ingredients. You get the champagne.”

  “I’m not sure anyone will drink cocktails. I hear there was a riot the first time someone suggested adding lime to lager. That was in the nineteenth century, I think, and we’re only just getting the blood out of the carpet.”

  Guy laughed. “They will like cocktails if they see how I make one.”

  Peg grinned at Cara, and nodded her head in encouragement.

  When Cara returned to the bar with the champagne, she found Guy doing incredible things with bottles. He was spinning them over his head, and then squirting short bursts of each into glasses. He added the champagne, then as an extra flourish, he had managed to find some sparklers that were put aside for Bonfire night. He put one in each glass. Some of the customers were standing up, fascinated by the show. “
Who’s going to be first to try my champagne cocktail?” Guy raised an eyebrow, but there did not seem to be any takers.

  “Me,” said Peg. “I want one of those. It’ll make a nice change from stout.”

  “Okay, then as you’re the first, this one is on me,” said Guy, putting the cocktail in front of her. “I’d wait till the sparkler has gone out, if I were you.”

  Peg did as she was asked, and then took a sip. The whole pub seemed to be holding its breath. “Hmm, delicious,” she said. There was a collective sigh of relief, almost as if they had all been afraid the drink would blow up in Peg’s face.

  “Great,” said Guy. “Who’s next?”

  After that, all the ladies wanted to try one, even the normally tea-total Mrs. Simpson. The men muttered something about the drinks being too girly for them, but they did enjoy watching Guy make them. Someone put the jukebox on, and the atmosphere changed considerably as the sound of the Beatles singing Love Me Do filled the room.

  “I’m afraid to ask what sort of gin joints you worked in,” Cara laughed.

  Guy winked at her and said, “Yeah, you probably don’t want to know. We’re out of meat pies. Where do you keep them?”

  “I’ll get them, you just keep twirling bottles. It’s positively hypnotising the men. I’ve never seen them so docile. You’ll have to teach me how to do it.”

  ***

  Guy waited until Cara had gone out back for the pies, then put the bottle down. With the pub so noisy, it would be easier for him to chat to Peg.

  “I hear you’re the one in the know around here,” he said to her.

  “I like to keep my eyes and ears open,” said Peg. She hiccoughed slightly. “Really, Guy, these cocktails are lethal. If I find out you’ve used one to corrupt that lovely girl in there…”

  “I’d never do that to Cara,” said Guy. “Scouts honour.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. What is it you want to know?”

  “Do you remember back to the war years, Peg?”

  “My dear boy, I remember it clearly. I’m not so sure about what happened yesterday morning, but the war is stuck in my head.”