Page 55 of V2

KAY WOKE, TURNED OFF THE alarm, rolled over and glanced at the other side of the bed. It was too dark to make out whether he was still there. She reached under the blanket and put out an exploring hand. The mattress was cold. He must have left a while ago. She couldn’t remember him going.

She slipped naked from beneath the covers and felt her way along the wall to the light switch. The room was in a mess that told its own story. Her shoes, coat and jacket were in a heap next to the door; her shirt and skirt at the foot of the bed; her underwear and stockings strewn across the bedspread along with her tie, which he had struggled to unknot and which had been the last thing to go. She went around gathering it all up. In the bathroom she dashed her face and neck with freezing water and considered herself in the mirror.

He had been tender, passionate, anxious. Once, when she made a noise, he had put his hand over her mouth and stopped to look at the ceiling, listening. The floorboards creaked above their heads. It had given her a fit of the giggles. ‘Poor Arnaud,’ she whispered, ‘aren’t you allowed to have a girl in the house?’

‘My parents are very old-fashioned,’ he whispered back, ‘very religious. They would be appalled.’

She smiled as she brushed her hair. The more nervous he was, the bolder she had become. What a game it had been.

Once she was dressed, she inspected the bed for any telltale traces, smoothed the sheet and tucked in the blankets. If there was one skill she had learned in the WAAF, it was how to make a bed perfectly. She turned off the light and let herself out of the room. In the darkness she moved cautiously to the end of the passage. On the landing, she paused. The doors were all closed. She wondered which room was Arnaud’s. Was it on this floor or the one above? The deep, chilly silence was disturbed only by the ticking of the long-case clock in the hall.

It was hard not to make a noise descending the old wooden staircase. When she reached the ground floor, she saw the familiar faint light shining from the kitchen, but when she went in, it was deserted. A kettle was boiling on the stove. She lifted it off the hob and looked around. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. A chair was pulled back from the table. A cupboard hung open, its shelves bare. She couldn’t see any sign of the food she had brought. The key was in the back door, but she didn’t need to turn it: the door was unlocked.

As she stepped outside, she thought she could smell cigarette smoke. She stopped and called out quietly, ‘Arnaud?’ She glanced over her shoulder, then continued down the path along the side of the house. In the middle of the garden she stopped again, and repeated, more urgently, ‘Arnaud?’ She was sure she could sense him watching her. She picked her way across the rough grass to the gate in the wall and out into the street. The pre-dawn sky cast a greyish light over the empty cobbles. He was not here either, she realised with dismay. It was as if he was embarrassed by what had happened and was trying to avoid her. She would have to find her own way across town.

The bell of the cathedral chimed seven, and that at least gave her something to aim for. She moved off down the street and into the twisting side roads. The town was slowly waking up. Lights were coming on in some of the houses. A dog barked as she passed. Occasionally she stopped and checked behind her, but it didn’t seem that she was being followed. She told herself not to be so melodramatic. But then she remembered that Arnaud had followed them the previous day – he had admitted as much – so why shouldn’t he be doing the same now? And as he knew where she was going, he didn’t need to keep behind her: he could get ahead of her and wait for her to pass. The idea, however illogical, that she might be the object of some cat-and-mouse game unsettled her, and she set off again, quicker now.

She entered the echoing empty space of the food market and strode across it, out into a winding lane of little ancient houses. At the end of that, she recognised where she was: the shopping street with the closed café, the bridge over the river where Arnaud had left her the previous morning, the Brusselpoort, and the wide boulevard of Koningin Astridlaan. As she approached the British headquarters, she imagined herself to be a pilot at the end of a hazardous mission glimpsing his home airfield.

The officers’ mess was already busy. The two lieutenants from the Survey Regiment – Sandy, the good-looking one, and the gloomy Yorkshireman (what was his name? Bill, that was it) – were already seated at the same table as before. Sandy waved to her as she came in. He said cheerfully, ‘Did you hear we managed to get a couple of the blighters yesterday?’

‘So I gather. Well done you.’

‘And you too! My God, the speed of those things! Blink and you miss them.’

‘Did we stick at two, or were there more in the afternoon?’

‘No, that was it. They didn’t launch again. Maybe they’ve decided to pack up and go home.’ He glanced at her more closely. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘You’re out of breath.’

‘It’s a long walk. I was worried about being late.’

‘Fancy a drink later? The four of us maybe?’ He nodded to the corner where Barbara was sitting smoking a cigarette.

‘That would be nice. I’ll ask her.’ She smiled and moved away. ‘Good morning, Barbara.’

‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’ Barbara squinted up at her through her smoke. ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘Well? You know what I mean.’

‘Let me at least get a cup of tea.’

She went over to the table beneath the window. Tin trays of bacon, scrambled eggs and fried bread were laid out next to the tea urn. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was. That was sex for you, she thought. She resolved at that moment not to say a word about what had happened. If Arnaud was avoiding her, it was probably best forgotten, at least until she found out where she stood. She piled food on her plate. When she returned, Barbara said, ‘Come on, then. Something’s happened, hasn’t it? I can tell. You’ve got that look.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. My goodness, I’m famished.’ She started to eat her breakfast. The eggs were too chewy to be anything other than powdered, but it didn’t matter. The effect of the warm food in her stomach was instantaneous. She felt her spirits lift. ‘Anyway, never mind about me. How was your walk home with Jens?’

‘Highly satisfactory.’

Kay stared at her, a forkful of bacon suspended in mid-air. Despite her own behaviour, she was slightly shocked. ‘You didn’t?’

‘It’s wartime, darling.’ Barbara took a drag on her cigarette. ‘One could be killed at any moment.’

‘So you’re going to see him again?’