Page 47 of V2

‘He said he wasn’t, but I could tell he was.’

‘Well then, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, darling, he sounds a complete and utter shit.’ Kay laughed at the ferocity with which she pronounced the word. Barbara looked at her. ‘I tell you what, why don’t we get out of this dump and see if we can find a proper drink?’

It was only just after three, but already the day was fading, the temperature dropping, the lights in the buildings opposite standing out brightly in the dull winter afternoon. Kay stood on the step outside the headquarters and wrapped herself more tightly in her greatcoat. She didn’t much want to go looking for a bar. She would have preferred to go over to the bank to see if there had been any more launches. But Barbara had already set off up the street. She turned, walking backwards, and beckoned to her. ‘Are you coming?’

‘But what if something happens? What if they need us?’

‘Don’t be a bore, Kay. They won’t. Come on.’

Kay hurried to catch up. Barbara threaded her arm through hers and they wandered together towards the Brusselpoort, then turned left towards the river. The wide cobbled street was lined with shops, half of them shuttered, the rest offering mostly empty windows. Outside a butcher’s, a group of quite well-to-do-looking citizens, including an elderly lady in a fur coat, were picking through the dustbins.

Further on was a café – a seating area on the pavement, the chairs all folded, the parasols down – obviously closed for the winter. Even so, Barbara hammered on the door and peered through the glass into the darkened interior as if they might open up specially for her.

‘Bugger it,’ she muttered. ‘This whole place is shut.’

‘Why don’t we just call it a day and go back to the mess?’

‘Let’s give it another ten minutes.’

They started across the bridge into the old town. A barge passed beneath them, rusted and empty. The big market square was surrounded by ancient tall, thin buildings, all crooked and squashed together, like an illustration from a Grimms’ fairy tale, crowned by a profusion of turrets, stone urns, weathervanes and golden balls. The tower of a cathedral loomed behind them. In the centre of this cobbled expanse, a couple of British army lorries were parked. Squaddies stood around smoking, watched by a group of children. One of the men whistled as the two women went by, and Barbara turned and blew him a kiss. They pressed on up a side street. Kay glanced back at the square, which seemed to her a more promising spot for a bar than wherever they might be heading. She stopped.

Barbara said, ‘Is something wrong?’

‘I just think this is a waste of time.’

To their right was a pair of huge closed wooden doors with Seminarium Archiepiscopale written in faded gold paint above the lintel. To their left, a narrow alley. Barbara said, ‘Let’s try this way. I have a good feeling.’

Kay peered along it doubtfully. ‘Really? I don’t think we’ll find anything up there.’

‘Just give it one last go, all right?’

The street was narrow, twisting, medieval, enclosed like a tunnel on either side by dilapidated buildings of red brick and crumbling stone. At the end of it, entirely unexpected, was the cathedral. Kay thought she heard footsteps behind them and glanced over her shoulder. Barbara started to say something, but Kay held up her hand to quiet her. She halted and tilted her head, listening, but as the silence lengthened, she decided she must have imagined it.

Barbara was grinning. ‘Don’t tell me you think we’re being followed, darling? How thrilling!’

‘I’m not sure.’ Kay felt slightly foolish. ‘We were told to be careful, remember? The Germans have only just left, and we’re pretty conspicuous.’

Barbara looked at her in amusement for a few more seconds, then shook her head and moved on.

Kay said, ‘Where are you going?’ She hurried to catch her up.

‘We might as well look inside now we’re here.’

The first door they tried was locked, but a little further on, the handle of the second turned and it opened with a clatter that was amplified by the deserted space inside. They stood on the threshold of the giant nave – pillared, vaulted, hushed, chilly with the smell of incense – a universe unto itself. For a moment even Barbara seemed awed. ‘Well, we won’t find a drink in here,’ she said.

Kay laughed and took a few steps up the aisle towards the altar. Her footsteps echoed on the polished stone floor. Out of habit, she genuflected and made the sign of the cross. She glanced around at the statues of the saints. Now she came to think of it, she vaguely remembered a St Rumbold of Mechelen – an Irishman, supposedly, which must have been why the sisters made such a fuss of him. How odd that she should find him here! Offertory candles flickered beneath an icon on a table close to the door. On impulse she went over and lit one; she might even have got down on her knees and said a prayer if she hadn’t been conscious of Barbara watching her sceptically, her arms folded.

‘You’re praying for him, aren’t you?’

‘No, I am not!’ But she realised to her dismay that she was about to. ‘You’re right. That’s enough piety.’

They stepped back out into the gathering dusk. An old-fashioned lamp had come on, attached to the building on the corner of the alley. And then: an odd thing. As they turned into the narrow passage, they heard the sound of running feet, and a woman darted round the corner clutching a loaf of bread. She ran between them, knocking them out of her way, and as she passed, Kay caught a glimpse of her face, grimacing with terror. A second later came the pounding of more footsteps, and suddenly the alley was a mass of running people – twenty or more, men mostly, with a few women and some children tagging along at the rear. The WAAFs had to press themselves into a doorway to avoid being trampled. The mob disappeared around the bend; as abruptly as it had filled, the passage was empty.

Kay looked at Barbara. ‘What was all that?’

‘God knows. It looked like they were trying to kill her.’

‘Maybe she stole the bread.’