Читать книгу The Crooked Olive Branch - Frederick Munn - Страница 26

Chapter 18

Peter returned with sandwiches, fruit and drink courtesy of Dorothy and the group.

“Problem solved as far the hostel is concerned?”

Hal was pleased to see Peter return. Being left alone with his thoughts was getting to him.

Peter raised the table, setting out the food. “That put paid to my thoughts of you and me lunching in the restaurant car now we don’t need to watch the money.” When Hal didn’t answer, he added, “Using our cash not Miriam’s, I mean.”

“Did Dorothy know about the money, Pete?”

“I’m certain of it, but she didn’t admit it.”

“Sure, she knew. She’s known all the time.”

Peter took a bite of a sandwich. Hal watched him eat but made no attempt to have anything himself. “I’d like to know what else she knows. One thing’s for sure she’s no soft chuff. Do you think she knew Mim’s Ma and Pa? Maybe helped them. They have certainly done all that’s possible to provide for this little girl. She could have been part of that. Think about it.”

“Except Hal,” said Peter between mouthfuls, “Miriam’s father could have been a bit more discreet. He must have known he was living dangerously.”

The story in almost its entirety had been laid before them in the last hours. It was all becoming a little bit too much for Hal who began to mutter under his breath. Peter had noticed that he had been doing this on and off since yesterday and began to show concern.

“Hal, you’re beginning to talk to yourself.”

His friend didn’t answer at once but gave a great shuddering sigh before speaking with great emotion and difficulty. “The bastards, those bastards, rotten stinking bastards.”

Hal struggled with his feelings.

A tear squeezed out of one eye followed by another and his whole body began to shake. Peter was alarmed and did not know what to do at first. Mim woke up, stood and put her arms around Hal.

Peter found his voice.

“Hal, we’ll cope. You are upsetting Mim. Come on old chap we need a plan.”

Hal did not answer. He was clinging on to Mim silently weeping. The little girl climbed down from his lap and picked up Peter’s pocket handkerchief which he had been using as a serviette, climbed back on Hal’s knee then began to dry his tears.

“I would say you are truly an Anglophile. You were cursing like a navvy.”

This forced a smile from his friend. Hal did not reply at once then gathered Mim to him and took a series of deep breaths before apologising.

“I’m sorry Pete, its all been a little too much these changes over the last week. I have been pitched into another world. I can’t find my way back.”

Then, seeing just how much Peter was concerned, Hal continued.

“Yet it is less than eight weeks since that beautiful day in St Mary. It was idyllic, I’d even gotten to like cricket.”

“Really?’

“No.” Hal replied. “Not really.”

Peter smiled, Hal was back in control, or so he thought. Now more relaxed he sat back and finished his sandwich. In the meantime, he watched his friend closely. Hal was the closest he had ever had to an older sibling. Even though he had looked at Pen as a sibling from being small, she had always looked to him to lead, take decisions. Hal? He was different, he was the leader, more the older ‘brother’ he didn’t have.

Hal, meantime, sat staring out of the window. Mim resumed sucking her thumb.

“You know Hal, I’ve been thinking. When Dorothy pointed out that we are travelling as a separate group then, afterwards, you said she was giving us the green light to go it alone?”

Peter was looking to raise Hal’s spirits.

“So, what gives?”

“I must have some influence now, being appointed an executor, perhaps even guardian of Mim’s affairs in the U.K. We need more than that though, we need a plan. A plan that will get us by the immigration authority. That won’t be easy.”

Hal looked at his friend, surprised by this sudden change of tack,thinking what had caused this?

A short while ago he was at best not interested. At times he was even hostile to the idea of retaining any contact with Mim. Peter had previously made it clear his hopes were to hand Mim over once clear of Austria then move on.

“Confirmation of my guardianship is in the lawyer’s hands. I doubt that immigration will take any notice of Helga’s letter. However, I have the germ of an idea.” Peter paused.

“Give me time. I need to work on it.”

Hal was confused, even suspicious of Peter’s motive, surprised at his reaction yet unable to dispel his fears. This suspicion transferred to Mim who clung on to her Papa Yo, looking over her shoulder at Peter who either didn’t notice or because the little girl had never accepted his presence, saw no change in her demeanour.

“Do I figure in this plan?”

“Not worked it through yet.”

“Will I figure, or won’t I?’

“I can’t see how you can be involved, best leave it to me. At least I have some sort of delegated authority.”

A plan really was beginning to form in Peter’s mind. In a strange way it connected to the thoughts that had troubled him throughout the last weeks. The happenings of the last days had failed to dispel these suspicions, dramatic and dangerous though they were, so much so that if anyone asked him if he trusted both his fiancé and his friend, he would not be able to decide.

Or, if asked whether to choose between one or the other, he could not have done so.

It might have focused his mind. He had no such counsel which was not helpful.

Watching Hal closely Peter chose his words carefully.

“To adopt Miriam in English law you would have to be married.”

At the mention of her name Mim stopped what she was doing and turned to look at Peter, who forced a smile and spoke to her in German.

“Yes Mim, we are talking about you and where you might live.” Then he explained to Hal.

“I’m telling her that we are discussing where she might be living.”

Hal picked Mim back on to his lap. “You’d best be telling me also because all this is confusing me.”

“There is one possible solution.”

“There is? Then give, Pete. Give.”

“That Pen and I bring our wedding forward then we could then apply to adopt.”

Peter paused and watched for his friend’s reaction. He half expected a sharp response at the mention of his marriage to Pen, if only in Hal’s body language.

Hal studied before answering, giving no indication of concern other than the adoption of the little girl. “Yes, but how do I fit in?”

Relieved, Peter continued. “As a reporter, you can work anywhere, am I right?”

“Sure can, so long as I am in easy reach of London.”

Hal was beginning to believe that Peter could have a workable plan. “Where will Mim be?”

“With you.” Peter replied without hesitation.

“Where? She can’t travel with me, even just to London.”

“Ah but she could stay with Pamela Avery, Hal. She was Pen’s and my Nanny and what’s more, Paul, Pamela’s son, starts at Brunel this autumn. She will have a spare room which I am sure she will rent to you.”

Peter was warming now to his idea, forgetting, that is if he ever knew, how the discussion all began.

“She will still be your daughter though. I won’t figure legally.” Hal stated the obvious.

Peter looked at his friend who was displaying a cross between pleading for and demanding a solution that could not be delivered. Peter was also aware that if Pen and he could, by some miracle, adopt Mim, it would add an opportunity to pursue an association with his fiancé.

Having noted earlier Hal’s reaction and as their adopting was an unlikely outcome, he decided to humour Hal. It seemed that it was an impossible idea yet in a strange way it intrigued him.

Peter took seriously the responsibility of looking to his charge’s affairs. He had no intention of letting Helga down.

“No.” He answered Hal’s question honestly. “But you could be there to watch over her and know that in Pamela, she is in good hands. Technically, Pen and I would be her guardians but that’s all.”

Hal studied for a while before asking. “What will your Pa and Pen’s Ma and Pa think?”

Peter chuckled as if he was sharing a quiet joke. “Once they know the value of this little girl’s estate it will be done and dusted.”

“Done and dusted? I guess that means a home run?”

Peter nodded. “Nothing is certain but it’s our best chance.”

Hal liked Peter’s use of ‘our’ and lapsed into his thoughts as did Peter.

Mim snuggled down into Hal’s lap and went back to sleep.

After a while Hal spoke. “She feels safe with me Pete, don’t let them take from her only Papa.”

Peter didn’t answer. Hal continued, thinking about the future of this little girl.

“Do you reckon there’s a chance she could eventually be reunited with her family, with her real Ma and Pa?” Hal was indicating that the only people he would willingly hand Mim to would be her own parents.

Peter didn’t know how to answer. From what they had learned from Gerda and others in the last week, the chances of the Nazis releasing the Kesslers were slim.

Why else would families separate themselves from their children except in the direst of circumstance? He could only guess what the real situation could be. His friend had become obsessively possessive over the last days. Peter could imagine that could be the reasoning behind the question. According to his father’s opinion and many others in political circles, war with Germany was a probability even though the government was pursuing peaceful solutions.

Rearmament was already under way in the U.K.

The silence following was only broken by the rhythm of the wheels over the track as each retreated into their thoughts.

Peter shook off his darker thoughts and began to develop in his head the plan already partly formed. He felt the responsibility now of looking after Mim’s welfare. Despite his recent attempts to break the bond between Hal and the little girl he now decided to try and include his friend.

Hal partly believed in Peter’s plan, out of desperation. Part of him was not sure, thinking that he would still lose his grip even if it did work. Fatigue and the rhythmic drum of the wheels plus the warmth of the child asleep on his lap began to play on his mind forcing him to plead.

“I know I’m all screwed on this Pete but please I really need your help.”

Peter looked at him wondering how to answer. He was getting irritated by Hal’s refusal to accept the truth. “Hal, you need to come out from under the butterfly bush.”

It was Hal’s turn to be irritated. “That’s no answer, what the heck does it mean anyway?”

“It means stop hiding in your dreams and come out into the real world.”

“How come? This is not the first time you’ve used that butterfly bush crack. You never explain it. Sounds screwy to me.” Hal now wished to divert the discussion, not liking the way it was going. Peter, realising that they were on the cusp of a row, sat back and took deep breaths counting to ten. Once this exercise was completed and it had worked, he got back to thinking through the plan when Hal interrupted his muse.

“Are you going to give with this butterfly crap or not?” Hal asked. Refusing to be side-tracked.

Peter was shocked to realise his friend was still angry. It being ridiculous to get into an argument over such trivia, he quickly realised this was more to do with Hal’s state of mind than the issue of an explanation.

“Pamela was my lifeline as a child, my only contact with humanity.”

It was Hal’s turn to be shocked. “No,” he gasped, “what about your Ma and Pa?”

Peter looked down. “Never knew my mother.”

“Not dead?”

Peter nodded then continued hurriedly, without comment.

“My father was always at work or somewhere else, rarely home. Even on those few occasions when he did come home, I was always in the way or a scratching post. Pamela was my refuge. Back then she was all there was, housekeeper, cook and nanny. In effect, she was my mother.”

Hal was shocked, his anger melting into sympathy. He felt it prudent to avoid further questions about his friend’s parentage. “And the butterfly bush?”

Peter, relieved to change the subject, began.

“You’ve not been to my father’s house. It is quite big in its own grounds up a steep slope and reached by a steep drive and overlooking a valley. To one side are the moors and to the other a large coppice.”

“A coppice? Remind me, what is this?”

“Managed woodland from the Middle Ages or earlier. This one was used for wood supply and charcoal, mainly it was to provide fuel.”

“Nothing like that back home to my memory.”

“You must come up and see the house, it’s worth the visit. The frontage overlooks six broad terraces reaching almost to the road at the bottom of a steep hill. On the second terrace, up against the wood to one side, is a well-established butterfly bush, a buddleia. In the summer when I was small, Pamela would take me down to see the butterflies. We had to go right down to the third terrace to do so. The bush was right on the edge of the second terrace and curled down to the third.

The spear-like flowers touched the grass. Later when I was a little older, I discovered that I could get into a cavity between the bush and the terrace wall. It was where I would go to hide whenever my father was home.”

“You were scared of him?”

“I suppose I was in a way, but the real reason was that it was my dream world where I could escape into my imagination, into my own little island.”

“We all do that as kids I reckon.”

Peter lapsed into silence and his memories. After a short while, Hal, interested to learn about his friend’s history, asked, “Go on then Pete, give with the rest. How does this ‘coming out’, figure?” Thinking his friend could guess the rest Peter was reluctant.

“You’re sure you wish to hear this? It’s a long story.’

“Sure I do.”

“All right but remember you asked for this.” Peter, now intrigued by his friend’s interest, continued. “Well, Pamela would read me one chapter of a story each night at bedtime. I became fascinated by one story. It was about some folk shipwrecked on a desert island surviving by their wits and available materials. Self-sufficient, away from civilisation. My favourite character was a boy called Peterkin.”

Hal smiled at this and interrupted. “That figures.”

“My little cave behind the bush became my island of refuge. When my father demanded my presence, Pamela knew exactly where to find me. She would come down to the edge of the second terrace to call ‘Peterkin, tell Peter his father wants him.’ I didn’t always answer. Pretended I couldn’t hear. This forced Pam to come down to the third terrace to look for me. I suppose she always knew I was there. She would come and pull the branches to one side and say, holding out a hand “Peter, my love, it’s time to come out from under the butterfly bush.”

Peter was almost crying as he spoke the last words with difficulty.

Hal was choked and unable to speak so he looked out from the carriage window at the passing scenery trying to gather his wits thinking that he should say something, but what?

Peter left the compartment and when he returned soon afterwards Hal was ready, having had time to come to terms with the sharp contrast between their upbringings. He had assumed that Peter was from a well-grounded family, as was his. That Peter’s reticence in not referring to his background was just British class reserve.

Unable to stand up because Mim was still sleeping he held out a hand to his friend.

“O.K. Pete, let’s get to grips with reality.”