he stroked her forearm. She would have said it was a loving touch if she hadn’t known better. ‘And you could choose, Daisy.’
‘I haven’t seen Grayson Harte for months. We’ve gone our own ways.’
‘I’m sure you know where he works though.’ She didn’t answer and he took her silence as confirmation. ‘You could pay him a visit. Call on him for old times’ sake. Don’t mince your words—tell him your husband has reappeared and is an embarrassment, an embarrassment you’d like to get rid of. I’m sure he’ll find a way of obliging.’
‘I can’t turn up out of nowhere and demand papers for you. He’ll want to know why you’re here, how you got here. He’ll know you’ve deserted. What if he decides to turn you in?’
‘Dear Daisy, he won’t. Because, if he did, you would be implicated. You would be the wife of a deserter. Think how your nursing colleagues would react to that little piece of news, think what the hospital might do. About your job, for instance.’
‘You’re threatening my job?’
‘Not threatening, merely pointing out the salient facts—as a friend, of course. You really would be best to keep my unfortunate situation as quiet as possible, and Mr Harte will appreciate how necessary that is. He’s a master of discretion, I’m sure.’
She was caught. She could feel the underlying menace in every one of his words. If he didn’t get papers, didn’t get money and a way out of England, he wouldn’t go quietly. If he were taken into custody, he would shout his story to the sky and it would spread like a fungus, inching its diseased path into every crevice of her life. Including her workplace. And the job she loved would be in ashes, another dream destroyed.
‘If I go to him and he refuses to help—even if he doesn’t inform the authorities you’re in London—will you leave me alone?’
‘He can’t refuse.’ Gerald’s tone was adamant. ‘He has to help. My situation is desperate. Spies are his forte, aren’t they, and I’m surrounded by them. I have to get out now.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Surrounded by spies?’
‘Yes, spies. I’m almost certain of it.’ She recalled the anxious scanning of the park before he’d consented to sit down. It seemed he believed what he was saying. ‘There’s something odd about the two men who rent the room below me. For a start they’re both Indians. Well, one is Indian, the other’s Anglo. I met the Indian chap on the landing one day and he said he was a soldier. I saw his cap, it had the badge of the Pioneer Corps pinned to it, so I reckon he was telling the truth. But why isn’t he with his regiment? And if he’s left the army, why hasn’t he returned to India? There has to be something going on, some reason they’re hanging around. They’re watching me, I’m sure. They must know I’ve deserted.’
‘How can they know?’ The claim seemed utterly absurd and she wondered if Gerald’s ordeal had affected his mind as well as his body.
‘If they don’t actually know, they suspect. Think about it. I’m an able-bodied man of twenty-eight, yet I’m not with any of the Services and I’m not engaged in essential war work.’
‘And are they? They might be deserters too.’
He shook his head. ‘Deserters from what? The character from the Pioneers has a limp, so he’s unfit to fight. I know his unit was brought over from the Punjab to work on demolition. Clearing derelict buildings, that sort of thing. Some of them were skilled engineers. They’d need to be, using dynamite. He might have been one of them and suffered an accident. But that doesn’t explain why he hasn’t been put on a boat back to India. He’s not British and he shouldn’t be here.’
‘And the other man, the Anglo-Indian?’
‘Yes, what about him? What the hell is he doing in this country?’ Gerald’s voice rose and she could see panic bubbling beneath the surface. ‘Why hasn’t he been interned with everyone else, I ask you? Every foreigner, anyone who might assist the enemy, even the poor blighters who’ve escaped from Hitler, has been banged up.’
‘But why should these men be a threat to you?’ She hoped a quiet voice would calm him.
‘They are, I know they are.’
She had never known her husband so agitated, not even in the dark days of mischief in India. His voice had risen even higher and Daisy saw the woman who had just rescued her child’s boat look up, perplexed by the sound.
‘They sent me a white feather. How about that? It was under my door this morning. You know what that says.’
‘Cowardice?’ She hardly dared say the word.
‘Precisely. They’re calling me a coward. The next step will be to denounce me to the authorities.’
‘But how do you know they were the ones who posted it? It could have been anyone in the neighbourhood.’
‘I can’t be entirely sure, but who else would it be? They’ve been watching me closely and they know my movements, know I don’t have a job. And that I’ve a connection with India. They speak to each other in Hindi and I accidentally let on I understood some of what they were saying. That must have made them even more suspicious.’
She shook her head. Gerald was imagining a persecution she was certain didn’t exist. He had built a ridiculous story around two innocent men, interpreting their looks and actions in the worst possible way. It was because he was strung tight by the fear of discovery, she could see, and if he didn’t get away soon, he was going to do something very stupid. She had no alternative. She would have to try to help, even if it meant searching out Grayson and braving a face-to-face meeting with him.
‘I’ll go to Baker Street. That’s where Mr Harte works. I’ll try to see him.’ There was only a slight quiver to her voice.
‘When?’ The question was urgent. Her promise had not been sufficient to calm him.
‘As soon as I have time off.’
‘Soon?’
‘Yes, soon.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I must go now. If I have any luck, I’ll send a message to the address you gave me.’
‘You’ve got to have luck.’ And his tone allowed for no other outcome.
The meeting had been unsatisfactory. He wasn’t sure he could depend on her to go to Grayson Harte. He’d said she had changed and he’d been right. Not to look at. She was still as pretty, prettier if anything. She’d filled out since he’d last seen her, become more womanly. The dark eyes, the darker hair, the skin that in an English climate had regained its smooth creaminess, not quite peach, not quite olive, but soft and clear, still drew him. Was it any wonder he’d lost his head all those months ago in London. It had been a thoroughly boring leave, he remembered, and then he’d gone to buy perfume for the woman he’d decided to love, and there she’d been. Beautiful Daisy. He’d meant only to enjoy a few days with her, but the days had stretched into several weeks and, when he’d left to go back to India, he’d felt real regret. Although not that much regret, he supposed. He’d been looking forward to rejoining his regiment, getting back to the pleasures of life as a cavalry officer. Looking forward, too, to seeing Jocelyn Forester. He’d set his sights on winning the colonel’s daughter and was sure in time that she would reciprocate.
