A set of brass-handled drawers ran down one side. He pulled open the first one. Underwear. He felt around quickly, uneasy at the intimate proximity. Nothing else. He pulled open the drawer below. Brassieres, mostly white, some black and one a lurid red; lace, cotton, strapless, wired; sedate, modest, daring. He stirred the contents, feeling for anything at the back. As he pulled them aside he recognized a sturdy white one, bordered by a patterned frill. She had gone swimming in it one afternoon as a dare, and it had become quite transparent when she re-emerged. Against his better judgement he picked it out and held it to the light, remembering the smooth dampness of it and the dark rose of her flesh blossoming through. A noise at the door made him look up. Lentsch stood at the door with a glass of brandy in his hand.
“Is that strictly necessary?”
“I was looking for her hat and coat.”
It was the first thing that came into his head, but in saying it he realized that they were nowhere to be seen. “You must remember them. She wore them everywhere.”
Lentsch nodded. “Downstairs, perhaps?”
Ned shook his head. “I looked when we came in.” He replaced the brassiere back with the others. One of the straps got caught as he tried to close the drawer. He pushed it back in.
“Never feel very comfortable doing this sort of thing,” Ned admitted. “When I was a boy my mother used to take me with her when she went on her yearly shopping expedition. I’d have to stand in amongst the petticoats and foundation garments while she disappeared into the changing room. Not right, a young boy having to spend a morning surrounded by ladies’ smalls.”
“Smalls?”
“Underwear.”
“Ah. Smalls.”
“God, I hated it. Why do mothers do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t yours?”
“No. People would come to her, I believe, for fittings.”
“I see.”
Lentsch tried to explain. “My mother is a sort of Mrs Hallivand of our town. Only not so formidable.”
“Just as well,” Ned replied. “Unlucky the man that gets on the wrong side of Mrs Hallivand.” He took another look around the room.
“You know Mrs Hallivand well?” Lentsch asked.
“Off and on. Uncle Albert would bring us stuff from the vegetable garden. Sometimes I’d come over and help him with the gardening, mowing, raking the leaves in the autumn. If she were about she’d take me to the kitchen, make sure I had a slice of cake, put a bag of runner beans in my hand. My mum used to say that the reason I never caught a cold was because of Mrs Hallivand’s greens. It’s Mum that needs them now.”
“Your mother is sick?”
“She’s lost a lot of weight since Dad died.”
“Does Albert give you anything from the garden now?”
Ned was anxious not to get his uncle into trouble. “Oh, no. He’s a stickler for doing things by the book. If so much as one of his gooseberries goes missing…” He stopped, remembering an earlier conversation about thieves and loganberries. Lentsch broke the silence.
“This was her room, then. I never saw it before.”
“No.”
“You have, I think.”
“Once or twice, a couple of summers ago. Before…”
“Quite. I did not know of your former attachment. If I had, I would not have summoned you so harshly.”
“It doesn’t matter. It was all over between us, like her father said. Did you hear him down there, what I asked him?”
Lentsch nodded. Another pause. He fingered the light switch, turning it off and on.
“It wasn’t true then, what he said, that you wanted her back?” he said. “That was not why you were here last night?”
Ned couldn’t bring himself to tell him the truth.
“I don’t know. I found myself outside her house that was all, walking back home. It was stupid, but it’s what you do, isn’t it? Walk where you hope she might walk, look up at a window, hoping to see a light. Even in the blackout.”
Lentsch nodded. Below they could hear van Dielen moving about. Ned walked out onto the balcony and looked down. Van Dielen was coming out of his study with rolls of transparent paper under his arm.
“I did love her, you know,” Lentsch said with a suddenness that embarrassed him. “It is important that you realize this.”
Ned leant against the balustrade and looked at this man, holding his military cap in his hands like a beggar on a street.
“Does it shock you so very much?” Lentsch asked. “That I should feel like this?”
“Of course not.”
“But that she should feel for me in this manner, perhaps. Is that it?”
“Not exactly.”
“But it is part of it.”
“It’s not you or her, is it, Major? It’s the circumstance.” He walked back into the bedroom. “Three years ago it wouldn’t have mattered one way or the other. Just one man losing out against another. But now it’s all muddled up with nations and honour and serving one’s country.”
“She was betraying England, that is what you thought?”
“No, but many people did.”
“She was a brave girl, braver than all of you, fighting for what she believed in, fighting for what she loved.”
“I don’t follow.”
Lentsch took a deep breath. “She found it difficult sometimes, feeling for me, our countries at war, of what others might think of her. I felt that while I was away something had happened that upset her more than usual.”
“I thought you said you hadn’t seen her.”
“I did not. I talked to her late afternoon.” He sighed. “I was not going to tell you this. It was a private moment, and we had very few of those. As you know I was not meant to know about that evening.” He smiled. “It was a secret, a Geheimnis. It was one of our favourite songs, Hilde Hildebrand’s ‘Liebe Ist Ein Geheimnis”, “Love is a Secret’. I rang her here, to tease her, pretending I knew nothing.” He sat down on the bed and recited their conversation as best he could.
“That was all?”
“Yes. She rang off, and though it was…” the Major tapped his knee in search of the right word, “…abrupt I did not ring back.”
“And when she didn’t turn up,” Ned persisted, “why didn’t you send the car here? Or come yourself?”
“I was afraid,” Lentsch admitted. “Perhaps she no longer wanted to see me. I had always told myself that if she became frightened or wanted it to stop, I would do nothing to prevent this. She was a young woman. It would not be right. Later I was ashamed.”
“Ashamed?”
“The parties. The drinking. Most of the girls are very…willing. Last night with Isobel not there, suddenly they did not seem right. They were not ordinary parties any more, they were like a worship to a false god. After it was over I was glad she had not arrived. In my mind I had decided that it would be the last party.”
Ned moved to the window, rubbing the breast of his jacket. Perhaps this was the right moment to show him. He could hear the palm trees, brushing against the window. The blinds were down. He put his hand into his pocket, half drawing the letter out, but a sudden squeal from outside drew him to the window again. Ned eased the metal slats aside, their metal syncopation sending shivers of memory skittering round the room. Across the way, in the garden of the bungalow opposite, the group of women they had seen earlier were chasing each other across on the small lawn in bare feet, their army greatcoats flapping round their ankles as they ran. Reaching the far end they stood in line and turning round began to call out impatiently. Almost immediately two men appeared. Ned recognized both, Major Ernst and the island’s censor, Captain Bohde. Ernst carried a huge rubber ball. Bohde struggled through the door with a black tripod and camera which he tried to balance on the uneven ground.