In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

His thoughts turned to Mavis. If she could only find the site in the snapshot, then all would be explained. He tried to picture it now—the hill with the pine trees—but couldn’t imagine any relevance, unless there was a stately home on the hill behind those trees where an aristocrat lived who was an important part of the Ring. Or that this might be a place the royal family had planned to visit.

Then he found himself thinking not of his assignment, but of Mavis herself. She was an attractive girl. Vivacious. Fun. But did he really fancy her? Was it just that she was nothing like Pamela, and he needed to take his mind off the girl he couldn’t have? His thoughts drifted to her now—how soft and serene and elegant she always looked. How her eyes sparkled when she smiled. How her hair smelled somehow like fresh gardens.

Stop it! he commanded himself. Think of something else. Pamela’s friend, Trixie. She had seemed interested in him, which he found amazing, because clearly she was the kind of debby girl who would go more for the Jeremy Prescotts of this world. The party might prove interesting after all.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


Mayfair


Jeremy’s flat



“You’re looking remarkably couth tonight,” Guy Harcourt said as he stopped by Ben’s room. “Don’t tell me you’re going somewhere civilised?”

“A party in Mayfair, actually,” Ben said.

“Good God. Are there still such things?”

“It’s being given by a friend who has taken over his father’s flat,” Ben said.

“Anyone I know?”

“Jeremy Prescott. I think you do know him. He was up at Oxford at the same time as us.”

Guy nodded. “Of course, I know him. We used to cruise around together on the deb circuit and then Oxford, of course, although he was a Balliol man, wasn’t he? Do you think he’d mind if I tag along? I am actually in the slough of despond and in desperate need of cheering up.”

“I don’t see why not,” Ben said. “He seemed to be asking all and sundry.”

“Wizard! I’ll go and change.”

“I’d better give you the address,” Ben said. “I have to pick up a girl at the station.”

“You’re bringing a date, you sly dog?”

“You don’t know everything about me,” Ben said with a grin. “However, I’m not sure how much of a date she is . . .”

“But she’s a warm body. That’s all that counts in wartime,” Guy said. “God, I’m feeling positively sex-starved, aren’t you? And all this having to keep silent about what we’re doing. It really cramps one’s style. The girls who would be impressed by my chasing German spies now think that I’m a physical wreck who is a filing clerk.”

Ben nodded agreement. “It definitely is trying. But cheer up. You can drown your troubles in Sir William Prescott’s good wine.”

He left Guy putting on evening clothes and made his way to the station. Mavis was waiting for him. She smiled when she saw him, but there was a flicker of nervousness, too.

“Cripes, I didn’t realise it was to be a formal affair,” she said. “I’m dressed for an ordinary party.”

“I’m sure you look just fine,” Ben said. “And I’m also sure there will be some people there not wearing formal dress. I put this on just in case and because I don’t have a decent-looking suit anymore. Mine was made before the war, and I’ve filled out since then.”

“I think you look just right,” she said and slipped her hand through his arm. She was wearing a little too much perfume, and her dress was a little too frilly, but her eyes sparkled and he liked the feel of her closeness.

“You didn’t have any problem getting away, then?” he asked.

She made a face. “My mother wasn’t at all keen on my going up to London alone, but I told her I was going with a group of friends from work, and we were going dancing.”

“What time do you have to be back?” Ben asked.

“I told her I might spend the night at Cynthia’s house,” she said, giving him a knowing look. “I’m not sure that she believed me, but Cynthia’s family doesn’t have a telephone, and I know my mum is not about to walk two miles to check on us.”

They caught the bus down to Marble Arch. Ben wondered if he should have splurged for a taxi but reasoned that there were precious few to be found these days, and all sorts of people took public transportation. From Marble Arch they walked down Park Lane. It was almost nine o’clock at night but not dark yet, and people were still out and about, enjoying the fine weather. Several men in uniform were going into Grosvenor House, and Ben heard the faint strains of a dance band. So there were elegant evenings still for those who could afford it. An ARP warden, one of the volunteers who handled air-raid precautions, was standing watch on the corner of Curzon Street, ready to pounce on blackout violators.

“Off somewhere nice, then?” he asked as they passed him.

“We’re going to a party,” Mavis said.

“Make sure you keep the noise down, and don’t let any lights show,” he said. “Your lot in this area think you can disregard all the rules just because you have money.”

“Pleasant sort of chap,” Ben whispered as they walked away. Mavis laughed, and slipped her hand into his. Her hand felt warm and comforting. He looked at her, and they exchanged a smile.

Jeremy’s flat was not in a large block, but occupied an entire floor of an older Georgian house. A small lift had been installed beside the staircase, and they rode this to the third floor. Ben was conscious of Mavis’s presence and suspected that she was deliberately pressing herself against him. As the lift doors opened, the wailing of Benny Goodman’s clarinet came to greet them. The front door to the flat was half-open, and music and cigarette smoke wafted out to them as they entered a foyer. Beyond it was a large and well-appointed drawing room. The blackout curtains hadn’t yet been drawn, and the room was still lit by the last of the twilight. It was hard to make out the colours of the upholstery or to identify the Old Masters on the white walls tinged with a rosy hue. There were a dozen or more people inside. Two couples were dancing, but Ben didn’t recognize either pair. Jeremy was playing bartender. He looked up and waved a cocktail glass as he saw them.

“Come on in!” he called. “I’m just about to open a twenty-year-old Chateauneuf-du-Pape.”

“Won’t your father kill you when he finds out?” Ben asked as they approached the bar.

“Doing him a favour, old man. What if we got a direct hit and all that lovely wine flowed into the gutter? At least we’ll be enjoying it. And knowing my father, he’ll find out where to acquire more once the war is over.”

“Only it may be hock and Mosel,” someone standing near joked.

“Oh gosh, you don’t really believe the Germans will invade, do you?” Mavis turned frightened eyes on them.

“It’s a possibility we have to face,” the young man who had made the joke replied. “They had little trouble invading every other country in Europe. There are only twenty miles of Channel separating us.”

“Let’s not talk about gloomy things tonight,” Jeremy said. “I’m home. I’m in a cosy flat with my friends around me, and we’re damned well going to enjoy ourselves. Wine or cocktails? Help yourselves.” Then he looked up as Guy came into the room. “Good God, it’s Harcourt. How did he get here?”