‘You won’t. I know it was hard there. There won’t be such harsh conditions under communism. Hell, there’ll be nae reason for people to get mental.’
Frank didn’t reply. He had grown to like and admire Ben now he knew the risks he had run to save him, but he wished he didn’t get so misty-eyed about communism. ‘Now that bastard Hitler’s deid,’ Ben added, ‘things’ll change. You wait . . .’
Then, through the floor, they heard shouting, a woman’s voice. Next David shouting back. ‘No! It was because the persecutions had started and I’m Jewish!’
Frank and Ben looked at each other in astonishment. Ben whistled. ‘That’s a turn-up for the book. David? Jewish?’ He looked at Frank. ‘Did you know?’
‘I’d no idea.’
Ben frowned. ‘They’d better stop yellin’ at each other like that, sound travels.’
But there was no more shouting, just murmuring voices. Then they heard a door shut downstairs, and footsteps mounting the stairs rapidly.
‘They’ve got to get themselves sorted out,’ Ben said anxiously. ‘We need to be on the ball tonight.’
Frank didn’t answer. An odd feeling of betrayal had stolen over him, just as it had when he had overheard David and Natalia making love in the O’Shea house. David was Jewish? All the time he knew David, he’d had this secret, too. He told himself it was stupid; David owed him no confidences. ‘Everyone thought David’s parents were Irish,’ he said.
‘They must have had Jewish blood and kept it quiet.’ Ben sighed. ‘People fake their ancestry all over the place these days. There’s parts of Scotland now, SNP strongholds, where if you’ve English blood you don’t talk about it.’ He made an angry, scornful sound. ‘Nationalism, what a world we’ve let it make.’
‘It’s strange. It feels – a shock. I suppose it doesn’t matter if someone is Jewish, does it?’
‘No. A lot of the best Communists have been Jews. Karl Marx himself, for example.’
‘Capitalists too,’ Frank said with a quiet smile. ‘Like the Rothschilds. And scientists, like Einstein. You know, the Nazi idea that there’s a conspiracy between the Bolsheviks and Jewish capitalists always seemed so crazy. Each hates the other’s system.’
‘That’s because Fascist ideology never makes sense, not if you ever really stop to think about it.’
‘Nothing does make sense, much,’ Frank observed sadly.
Ben looked at him seriously. ‘You know David and Natalia were – well, you saw, when we all ran from the O’Sheas’, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Frank answered heavily, ‘I saw. Do you think David told his wife? Downstairs, just now?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t think so, or they’d have been shouting about that, too. But we can’t have the two of them going off like fireworks all over the place. I may have to have a word.’ He looked at Frank. ‘You’re a bit down in the mouth about it. Did ye have a bit of a fancy for Natalia yerself?’
Frank smiled sadly. ‘No. She’s very attractive, but she’s –’ he laughed awkwardly ‘– real. I’ve only ever thought about film stars, unattainable people, in that way.’ He had reddened with embarrassment. ‘What about you? Do you like her?’
‘She’s a good leader. Clear-headed, fast. But no, she’s –’ Ben smiled wryly ‘– no’ my type.’
‘Haven’t you got someone?’ Frank asked. Ben had always seemed so focused on action, on what needed to be done next, that Frank hadn’t thought of him having a private life.
Ben folded his arms on his chest. ‘No. Never met the right girl. Never met the right anybody.’ He gave a sad little laugh.
‘What would they be like if you did?’
‘Someone ma own class. But – nicer, gentler.’
Frank frowned. There was something odd in the way Ben had put it, but he couldn’t quite grasp what. He said, ‘I can’t imagine what being married’s like. My father died before I was born. In the trenches.’
‘My parents are still alive, somewhere. Sod the pair o’ them.’
‘You didn’t get on?’
‘Let’s just say I wisnae what they expected.’
‘Married couples. I’ve only really met colleagues’ wives at the university. Christmas parties, things like that. Some seem happy, others you can see are miserable. You can’t blame David’s wife for being upset. If she never knew anything. That he was a spy, or Jewish—’
‘Not our business, Frankie boy. All that matters is keepin’ everyone focused. You too.’
‘Can you not give me a pill tonight? I want to be alert. In the fog, I got – confused.’
‘You sure? You won’t get twitchy?’
‘Not if we just leave it for a few hours.’ Frank smiled weakly. ‘I’ll have one on the sub.’
Ben looked at Frank seriously. ‘Okay. But whatever happens, you stay with us this time.’
‘I will.’
Half an hour later Frank heard footsteps in the corridor outside again, then Bert’s voice and a woman’s. There was a knock at the door and Bert and Jane came in, followed by the woman Frank had seen from the window, David’s wife. She looked tired, angry too. Bert was carrying his big map, rolled under his arm. He said, ‘We need to meet and talk about tonight. Get all the arrangements clear.’
‘I’ll get the others.’ Jane went out. Ben stepped forward, extending a hand. ‘You must be Sarah, David’s wife,’ he said cheerfully, for once playing down the Glasgow accent. ‘I’m Ben.’
Sarah shook his hand. Her expression was wary, her pleasant voice cool as she asked, ‘How long have you been with my husband?’
‘First met him a fortnight ago, believe it or not. Feels like years though, doesn’t it, Frank?’
Sarah looked at Frank intently. He imagined her thinking: you’re the one who brought all this about. Then she forced a smile and reached out her hand. ‘How do you do. My husband used to talk about you, the letters you wrote.’ She shook his hand gently; she had noticed its deformity.
Frank said, ‘David’s been a good friend. For a long time.’
‘Please, sit down, sorry it’s all untidy,’ Ben said, all cheery politeness. ‘Two fellas sharing a room, you know what that can get like.’ He took a stray sock off the bed. Sarah sat down. The door opened and Bert and Jane came back in, followed by David and then Natalia. David looked at his wife. She stared back angrily. She turned to Natalia, smiling uncertainly. ‘I’m Sarah Fitzgerald,’ she said.
‘Natalia.’ The two women shook hands, Natalia looking at Sarah coolly. Frank realized Sarah didn’t know about her and David; he hadn’t told her. Bert spread the map on the other bed.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Tonight at ten thirty, Natalia will drive you all over to Rottingdean. There’s the coast road, here on the map, but we think it’s safer for you to drive north into the country and then come down into Rottingdean from there.’ He pointed at the map. ‘All clear so far?’ Everyone nodded. Bert continued. ‘There’s a path that leads under the cliffs from Brighton, too, but that’s exposed, no cover at all if anything goes wrong. When you get to Rottingdean you go to a house in the village where our man will meet you. You’ll all change into dark clothes, so you won’t be seen so easily, and then walk down to the cove. They’ll be thick clothes, it’ll be very cold out at sea.’
‘It looks like a small place,’ Sarah said, looking at the map.
‘It is. There’s a lot of posh houses up round the green, mostly retired people. Rottingdean’s always had a lot of writers and artists, people like that. Then along the High Street there’s shops, smaller houses. That’s where our man lives, he’s a retired fisherman. It’s a quiet place, nobody will be about on a cold December night. Then you make your way down to the cove.’ He looked round the little group. ‘From that point on, you’re all at risk, there’d be no cover story to explain a group of people going down to the beach at night in December.’