Irene stared, her blue eyes wide. ‘David was working for the Resistance?’
‘I’d no idea, I couldn’t tell them anything because I didn’t know. They let me go. I’ve been told to stay at home. I think I was followed home on the tube, though I’m not sure.’
‘Did they – did they do anything to you . . . ?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘They were very polite. Though as I was being taken out I saw another prisoner who looked – bad.’ She told Irene everything that had happened. Then she said, in a low voice, ‘I’m scared.’
‘The swine!’ Irene exclaimed. For a moment Sarah thought she meant the Germans, but then she continued. ‘Bombings and riots and killing policemen! They’re murderers! I knew David had gone anti-German the last few years, but this—’
‘What other choice have they left people who oppose them?’
‘We’ve always believed in peace!’ Irene’s voice rose in indignation. ‘He’s placed you in terrible danger! All of us, the whole family! Spying for those Resistance thugs!’
Sarah put her head in her hands. Irene, suddenly apologetic, reached out. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘It’s just such a shock . . .’
Sarah looked up. ‘I know. Thank God Charlie was spared this. But then I think, if he hadn’t died David wouldn’t have done this. I wasn’t enough, you see. All these times he’s not come home till late, disappeared at weekends – God, his uncle Ted, that must have been a lie, too.’
‘He knew what you’d think of what he was doing,’ Irene said bitterly.
Sarah looked at her sister. ‘I wonder if he cared.’ She frowned. ‘You said he phoned you from here, he must have come back to look for me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He must have wanted me to go with him.’
‘On the run? You’re not saying you would have gone?’
‘I don’t know.’ But even as Sarah said the words she knew that she would have followed David.
Irene said, ‘He always looked down on Steve and me, always seemed to think he was better—’
‘I don’t think it was like that,’ Sarah said quietly. ‘I think the anger just grew in him these last few years, anger at what Britain’s become.’
‘Are you saying you agree with him? After what he’s done?’ Irene’s voice took on its familiar self-righteous tone.
‘Maybe I do.’ Sarah thought of Mrs Templeman. ‘I’ve seen some things I haven’t told you about. What Mosley and his people are doing.’ She spoke with sudden fury. ‘Helping the Germans build their empire of sadism.’
‘Oh, Sarah,’ Irene answered impatiently. ‘What would the Resistance bring if they won? More violence, more scapegoats, maybe even communism? And how can they think they could ever defeat the Germans?’
‘Are the Germans really so invincible? Maybe that’s the mistake we’ve been making for the last twelve years. They’re being beaten in Russia, people say the regime would fall apart if Hitler died.’
‘But—’
‘They’re having trouble in France now they’re trying to force French men to work in Germany. And in Spain. And we’re not exactly doing a brilliant job of keeping the Empire together, are we?’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Dear God, here we are arguing bloody politics again!’
Irene’s face softened. ‘I’m sorry, dear. I just – I don’t know. I don’t think it’s right what’s happening to the Jews, putting them into camps like this, but—’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I fear for my children, you see, the boys. If – if order breaks down, I’m so frightened for their future.’
‘This isn’t the world any of us wanted, is it?’
Irene shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Do you remember when we were young, all the peace work we did with Daddy?’
‘It seems so long ago.’
‘Poor Mummy and Daddy,’ Sarah said. ‘I should think this’ll just about finish Daddy off. I wonder if David ever thought of that,’ she added bleakly.
Irene stood up. ‘I’m going to stay with you for a while,’ she said decisively. ‘Steve’s at home, I’ll ring and tell him he can jolly well look after the boys today. Now come on, let’s get you washed and dressed. When did you last eat?’ She took Sarah’s arm and helped her to her feet.
‘I had some tea and buns yesterday afternoon.’ Sarah realized how hungry she was. She remembered the cafe in Highgate, her encounter with Carol and thought, what will happen to her? She groaned. Irene held her close. ‘Come on, dear, let’s get some food inside you.’
Irene looked after her as though she were a child again, running a bath and cooking a meal, then sitting talking to her about their childhood, not their peace activities but ordinary family memories, life at home and at school. The morning was cold and clear. Sarah said gratefully, ‘You’ve always taken care of me, haven’t you?’
‘It’s what a big sister has to do.’
‘Remember when I was little and used to be frightened by Daddy’s facemask? Mummy would get cross but you’d comfort me. I always felt guilty about that, how it must’ve hurt Daddy.’
‘Those masks people wore just after the Great War were terrible things. It was easier for me, I was older. Any little girl would have been frightened.’ Irene led Sarah upstairs and saw her safely into bed again. She drifted off to sleep once more, to the reassuring sound of Irene washing up downstairs.
She slept another couple of hours. When she woke again she felt properly awake. It was nearly three. Irene was sitting in the lounge, drinking tea. She looked tired herself. There were streaks of grey in her sister’s hair, Sarah saw; she was starting to look middle-aged. Irene turned to Sarah with a weary smile.
‘How are you, dear?’
‘Oh – all right. I’ve a bit of a headache.’
Irene stood. ‘Now you’re awake, why don’t I go home and get an overnight bag, then come and spend the night here?’
‘What will Steve say?’
‘It’ll be all right, I’ll tell him you’re not well. I’ll just go to the loo, then get my coat.’
She went upstairs, touching Sarah’s arm as she passed her. Sarah sat looking out of the window. Across the road there was frost on the lawn of the little park with the old air-raid shelter at the end. She thought of David: looking dapper in his suit and bowler hat; dancing with her the night they met; collapsing in the snow after Charlie died. His cold withdrawal recently. Why had he come back for her? Was it just his sense of duty, a reluctance to throw her to the wolves, or something more? If I’d known what he was doing, she thought, would I have supported him? That’s the pity of it, he didn’t trust me enough to ask. A cold anger began to grow inside her.
A ring at the doorbell brought her back to reality with a jump. Fear clutched at her again as she walked to the front door. She called out, tremulously, ‘Who is it?’
‘Police.’
She opened the door a crack. A tall, middle-aged man with a bushy moustache stood on the doorstep, a sergeant’s stripes on the blue sleeve of his coat. He looked like the traditional image of a British policeman but he wore the flat cap of an Auxiliary and there was the bulge of a gun at his waist.
‘May I come in, madam?’ His tone was polite but very firm. Sarah stepped back and he entered, looking around the hall as he wiped his boots carefully on the doormat. He took off his cap, revealing a head as bald as his moustache was luxuriant.
‘Mrs Sarah Fitzgerald?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you in for questioning, madam.’
‘Senate House again?’ Her voice rose.
‘I’ve to take you to the local station for now. There’s a Special Branch officer there wants to talk to you.’
Sarah asked, ‘Is there – is there news of my husband?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about that, madam.’ The sound of the toilet flushing came from the floor above. The sergeant looked up the stairs. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked abruptly.