In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

Pamela went over to Trixie. “Are you all right? You look rather washed out.”

“I’m not feeling too wonderful, but I’ll be fine,” Trixie said. “A bit of a migraine. I might go and lie down as soon as the party starts. Nobody will miss me.”

“I’ll miss you. You’ve been a real brick,” Pamela said.

Trixie smiled. “That’s me. Trixie the brick.”

“I should disappear, too,” Ben said to Pamela. “I can’t let the great man see me looking like a dishevelled farm labourer.”

“I think you look just fine,” Pamela said. And she gave him an entrancing smile.

Ben slipped into the shadows between the bushes. A figure was standing behind the rose arbour. A woman dressed in bright-red pyjamas. Ben crept up to her. It was Dido.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She jumped guiltily when she heard him. “Oh, it’s only you, Ben,” she said. “If you must know, I’m sneaking a cigarette. Pah doesn’t know that I smoke. But I felt that I needed something to calm my nerves before I face everyone.”

Ben looked up. “I can hear voices,” he said. “I think the PM has arrived. You’d better go and be visible.”

Dido gave an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose, if I must, I must,” she said.

As Ben watched Dido walk away in her sexy red pyjamas, he heard someone coming through the rose garden. He spun around to see Guy Harcourt coming toward him.

“What are you doing here?” Ben’s voice was sharp.

“I did say I might come and crash the party, didn’t I?” He grinned. “Actually, I came with the advance party to make sure all was well for the PM, old boy. Have you been keeping an eye on Lady Margot?”

“She’s wearing such a skimpy dress that she couldn’t have a weapon on her,” Ben said. He examined Guy as he was speaking. Wasn’t that a gun holster under Guy’s jacket? Should he say something? It all seemed quite unreal. He decided to find the colonel and tell him to watch Guy.

“Ah, champagne. Jolly good,” Guy said. “I thought this assignment might have its perks.”

He left Ben and headed for the table where champagne was now being poured into flutes. Applause and cheers announced the arrival of Winston Churchill. Ben could see the great man coming around the house and walking toward the back lawn with Lord Westerham at his side. Clementine Churchill and Lady Esme walked together, chatting.

Then Ben heard a voice coming from the shrubbery behind him. “Are you there?” The words were hissed, and it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman. Ben crept in the direction of the voice. “I can’t do it! I told you.”

Ben came around a large flowering bush and saw Trixie standing on the other side. A gun was in her hand, but she was turned away from the prime minister and she was shaking. “Take it. I don’t want it. I don’t want any part of it.” She held out the gun to someone standing in the deep shadow. Then to Ben’s amazement, Jeremy stepped out and snatched the gun.

He said in a low voice, “You absolute weakling. You’re not one of us. You’ll regret this.”

He moved into the open to get a clear shot at the approaching prime minister. Churchill was now in full view, some twenty-five yards away. As Ben heard Jeremy cock the gun, he stepped out in front of him.

“Get out of the bloody way. I don’t want to shoot you, old man,” Jeremy said. His eyes had a wild look to them.

“If you want to shoot Churchill, you’ll have to shoot through me,” Ben replied.

“Jeremy, no!” Ben heard Pamela scream as she rushed toward them. Jeremy glanced in her direction, taking his focus away from the prime minister for an instant. Ben took his chance and went for the gun, knocking it upward as it fired. He let out a cry as the force of the bullet threw him to the ground.

He was conscious of everything happening in slow motion, Pamela screaming, “How could you? You betrayed us all.” She dropped to her knees beside Ben while Guy and the soldiers converged on them. They were looking down at him. Pamela was stroking his hair.

“Don’t die,” she whispered. “Please don’t die.”

“I’ll be all right.” Ben managed a brave smile. In truth, he didn’t feel any pain, just strange and far away and warm with the feel of Pamela’s hand on his forehead. “I think he just winged my shoulder.” He tried to sit up. “I must go after him. Can’t let him get away.” Then he fainted.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


In a van in Farleigh wood



Phoebe and Alfie lay sprawled, sleeping in the locked van. They had tried anything possible to attract attention, to kick their way out, but had given up in despair. The sides of the van were smooth metal. And nobody could hear them. The van rattled and hummed as the engine ticked over. Fumes began to seep up, making their eyes water.

“Someone will notice I’m missing and come looking for me soon,” Phoebe said, trying to sound encouraging.

“But what if we’re parked miles from anywhere? What if we’re in the middle of a field or even in a garage?” Alfie said.

Phoebe put her ear to the side of the van. “I don’t think we’re in a building. I think I can hear birds.”

“How much air do you think we have?” Alfie asked.

Phoebe looked at the tiny sliver of daylight where the doors closed. She didn’t really think that it could help them much, but she knew it was her job to stay calm and positive. She was bred to be a leader. And leaders didn’t show they were scared. “I think we’ll be fine,” she said. “And it’s probably better that air can’t get in, because then the fumes can’t get in either.”

“Cheerful thought,” Alfie said, making her laugh in spite of everything.

At one point, their hopes were raised. They heard the sound of dogs, sniffing around the van and then barking.

“Those barks sound like our dogs. Good boys,” Phoebe shouted. “Go for help.” She turned to Alfie. “See. We can’t be too far away. We might even be at Farleigh. They’ll be here soon.”

They hammered, kicked, and yelled again, but nobody came. After a while they lapsed into silence. “Alfie, you’re not falling asleep, are you?” Phoebe asked.

“Bloody tired,” he muttered. “Can’t seem to stay awake.”

Phoebe shook him. “You can’t fall asleep. You absolutely can’t. Do you hear me?”

Alfie just mumbled something unintelligible. Phoebe’s own head was singing. “Must not sleep,” she kept saying. But in the end, she, too, had passed out. They were roused by the van shaking and the slamming of a door. Phoebe couldn’t remember where she was for a moment. Her head felt woozy, as if she had been drugged. When she tried to sit up, she was thrown back against the door as the van took off. It was clear it was being driven very fast.

Then something struck the back of the van with a loud crack.

“Golly, I think someone’s shooting at us,” Phoebe shouted, shaking Alfie. “Wake up, but stay down low.”