Hampstead Heath
Take your son and heir where there is sun and air
London Underground poster
Sunny whirled around the floor of the ambulance depot's day room in a dizzying blur of red silk. Her feet skimmed the freshly-waxed floor, seeming hardly to touch it.
She was having, oh, the most wonderful time, I could tell. If anyone could tell, it was me. It was just the sort of thing that Sunny enjoyed. She had been to so few parties since her mother died. Because it was an informal event - a typical Sunny affair - there were no dance cards. None of the officers could reserve a dance with her, but they were disciplined men. Good manners were second nature to them.
Good manners came naturally to Sunny, too, despite her harum-scarum approach to life. She was the kind of girl who could get you into all sorts of trouble and you'd get all steamed up about it and really want to lay into her; but then she'd defuse your anger with a swift apology and a winning smile. And then she'd go and put it right, like that time last summer when she got Gloria Winchelsea into such a terrible state over the swimming gala results. It all turned out well and - no surprise to anybody - not only was Gloria proved innocent of fiddling the lap times but Sunny still came out the winner. As ever.
During the gaps between the songs, while the comedian Joey Dunn was on, Sunny and I gathered around the makeshift bar while she drank refreshing fruit punch out of tall glasses. Captain Lowther was there, holding a large ladle (which I suspect was the same one that the cooks used to dole out the evening soup ration) and smiling broadly at the sight of her young ladies enjoying themselves. Sunny chatted with the young men, treating them all equally, being careful not to favour any particular one over his fellows. Aunt Sybil had trained her better than she knew.
Then there was a roar of laughter and a burst of applause from the wireless, and the music started again. 'Who's next?' asked Sunny and the young men, and they were such very nice young men, looked around to see if there was one of them who hadn't yet danced with her and pushed him forward, blushing furiously as like as not. Being Sunny, she could be the belle of the ball without upsetting any of her friends. For example, she didn't monopolise the best-looking of the men. In fact, if anything she picked the shy ones, the ones who needed her help, whether it was in gathering together the confidence to ask the prettiest girl in the room if she would like to dance, or some actual physical assistance; for many of them were still limping from their wounds, or were missing an arm, or a hand, or a foot. They were the ones she went for. The hurt ones. I loved her more than ever for it.
About half past eight there was a banging at the outside door, and Mabel went over to answer it. It was one of Lady Margaret's nurses, rather flushed, asking if this was Lady Gresham's party. Quite truthfully, for she knew no differently, Mabel told her no, she must have made a mistake, and the girl left, stammering an apology. I wondered how Sunny would explain that to the Countess. She'd find a way, I knew.
And so the evening passed in a blizzard of delight. I had never seen Sunny and her friends looking so deliriously happy and of course I shared in their happiness. With a final surge of applause Glamorous Nights ended and was succeeded by a programme of gramophone records. Some of the songs they played were romantic ballads; others were up-tempo dance numbers, like the Albery hit She's The Girl:
Who's the girl who,
Is always true to,
The one who's,
In sight?
Who's the flame who,
Is just the same to,
The left or,
The right?
And who's the one who,
Might just succumb to,
The one who,
Just might?
(Unison) Her!
Yes, she's the girl who,
You'd like to,
Be nice to,
Tonight!
There could not have been a man in the room who would not have relished the opportunity to be nice to Sunny; and not one of them who wouldn't have remembered the promise he made when he left home; to treat every girl he met as he would expect a brother officer to treat his sister.
When the slow songs came on, and the couples in the room grew closer together, holding each other gently and moving slowly around the floor, I sensed the love in Sunny; flowing out from her and touching everybody there. It was the most extraordinary sensation - I cannot begin to describe it. The air was smoky and warm. The lights - orange, yellow and red - diffused an amber glow and the young men and women, hands clasped, cheeks touching, entered a kind of rapture. Each of them had naturally gravitated to another; had sought them out even though they did not consciously know it. I knew it. I felt it. It was as true for Sunny as it was for all her compadres.
A hush settled over the day room. It was... it was a form of sanctity, I think. A blessing, if that doesn't sound too presumptuous.
Round and round the floor they went, sharing one another's warmth; fears and pain and hardship a long way off now, no enemies left in all the world except one. One enemy who could not be sent away. One enemy from whom it was impossible to hide. One enemy who would come - and did come - when he was ready. He came in a raucous clangour of bells and chimes; within the day room and outside. He came, although nobody wished him to, and he spoke the same words to everyone there.
'Time's up,' said Time, the uninvited guest, the parent at the top of the staircase, the constable at the door. 'It's time to stop and put away your dreams and go home.' Somebody turned the wireless off, and somebody else turned on the glaring white light in the centre of the room, and the couples stopped, and stood apart from one another; surprised, embarrassed at being caught in such sudden, shameful intimacy.
The young men and their daemons bowed to their partners. The young ladies curtsied in their turn. Promises were made; to see one another soon, to throw another party in a week or two, to come and visit at the hospital, or at the depot. Then the sound of klaxons in the yard, and it was time to go.
As Sunny had brought the officers from the Hospital (for her own good reasons), two of the girls took them back. No doubt they received a stiff telling-off from Lady Margaret about the appalling way her nurses had been treated. No doubt they felt betrayed by Sunny, even though they understood what she had done and why. I knew that Sunny would do her best to make it up to them, as she always did.
'We'll tidy up tomorrow,' announced Captain Lowther in a softer voice than I had ever heard her use before. 'Bed now. Sweet dreams, everybody.'
'Thank you, Ma'am,' they all said and turned to leave. The Captain stood by the door and gently kissed each girl as she passed. I knew why - and so did many of the girls - but none of them had any thought of denying her this small pleasure.
In the dormitory, Sunny threw herself onto her bed in a flurry of silk, feathers and lace, and gave an ecstatic sigh. She picked me up, held me to her face and kissed me. 'Well, Alfie,' she said in a voice that was utterly saturated with joy. 'What did you think of that?'
I was grateful for the tabs that were fixed to the shoulders of Sunny's working tunic. Many people keep their daemons in their pockets, as if they were a handkerchief or a packet of sweets, but I think that lacks dignity. I like to see where I am, and where I'm going. Were I naturally formed after one of the larger animals - a cougar, say, or a lion - I would walk next to Sunny. That much is obvious. But the mink-form I adopted was too small to be allowed to spend much time at ground level, so to be able to loop those tabs around my forelegs and cling on to Sunny's shoulders was a great relief.
I clung on now as we swept the floor of the day room, before going around the corner to Saint Barnabas' Oratory to attend Divine Worship. I made sure that Sunny took her spiritual duties seriously. Why were we fighting this war, if not to ensure our spiritual survival? The Horde had no respect for our beliefs or way of life, that was certain.
Sunny was whistling - yes, whistling, Aunt Sybil - She's The Girl while she lifted the dust and crumbs from the night before into a great cloud and hustled it out of the door. I knew that she would do just as good a job of singing The Holy Spirit Triumphant in an hour's time. A grain or two of dust entered my right nostril and I sneezed, not because it irritated my mucus membranes but because I thought it was time that Sunny paid me some attention.
'Alfie?', said Sunny. 'Are you all right?' She was wearing her second-best uniform against the dirt and mess. Soon she'd have to put down her broom and get ready to go out.
'Just a small particle of matter. Nothing to worry about.'
'Good,' said Sunny, and returned to her sweeping.
After Church came lunch - a proper Sunday dinner. Because of the lull in the War the food shortages had eased a little and so the helpings were more generous than they had been only a few weeks previously. Sunny ate well - she always ate well, I saw to that - and if the other girls envied her ability to eat like a horse and yet remain lithe and slender they said nothing about it. Then we were free to do as we liked for three hours. I knew what we would do and where we would go.
Sunny gathered together the Three and we all hopped on a 'bus and took a twopenny ride to Hampstead. Nancy wanted to go to the Spaniards Inn, and Mabel was keen on window-shopping on Haverstock Hill but Sunny wanted to go out on the Heath. 'We'll do the other things later,' she promised, 'But not yet. I want some exercise.'
'More exercise? After last night?' said Mabel, with a look of exaggerated horror. Her Hal winked knowingly at me.
Sunny ignored her. 'Come on, slowcoaches,' she called out and leaped from the rear platform of the 'bus to the pavement. 'Last one to the Ponds buys the teas!'
I held on like grim death as my lovely girl galumphed along the paths and through the trees and bushes until she reached the largest of the Ponds. The Papal Legate's residence was not far off. I could see its yellow flag flying over the treetops. Sunny's hair had come undone from its clips and was tumbling down her back in great cascades of darkness. I was tempted to hold on to them instead the material of her tunic. It would have meant I was holding on to her - my beloved Sonya.
By the time Nancy and Mabel arrived panting at the stall, Sunny had bought three cups of tea. She handed them out, and the others thanked her. The seats around the Pond were occupied - it was a bright, fine day and not at all cold for January - but Sunny found us somewhere to sit on a half-empty bench. An old man shoved up to make room for us. His magpie-daemon regarded us quizzically. I couldn't help noticing that the daemon's gaze lingered on Sunny and me and a shiver ran up and down my back. The old man's expression was difficult to read, but I sensed that he was deeply disturbed by us. In some way, he knew about us. I wondered how that could possibly be. Sunny turned and stared back at the man, but he said nothing, did nothing. After a while, he stood up, tipped his cap to us, and, with one last glance in my direction, walked off.
'What a bloody cheek!' said Sunny. 'Did you see the way he looked at me? How extraordinarily rude!'
'I thought you were used to that,' said Mabel.
'Being looked at by men, I mean,' said Nancy.
'It's not as if,' said Mabel.
'It doesn't happen all the time,' finished Nancy.
'Yes, but... no, but... it was different.'
'I should hope so, sweetie. He was old enough to be your grandfather.' Hal and I exchanged grins. Mabel could be most exceedingly dry when she wished.
'Oh, forget it!' said Sunny. But we didn't. Instead, we wandered around the Heath, and watched the kite-flyers, and had another cup of tea. Then we drifted over to Haverstock Hill and walked most of the way down it. The shops were full of nice clothes - though not as nice as they might have been a year or two previously, before material began to be diverted to make uniforms and bandages and parachutes.
Mabel shook her head. 'Too late,' she said. 'That's the way it's always been for me. Too late!' The shop windows mocked her, blackout-lined and empty-eyed.
It was all going wrong. We had all been so happy last night, and now... Now we had ordinary life, and a long, dull Sunday afternoon to get through. It was becoming unbearable all over again, just as it had when we were working all hours and looking after horribly injured men, women and children. We still didn't understand the meaning of war - the way you spend most of your time doing nothing, or wasting your time in trivial tasks, preparing for action. The action, we were finding, wasn't the problem - not at the time, anyway. It was the time before or afterwards - when you were dreading what was to come or remembering what had happened. When were the nightmares worse? 'Before,' said Sunny and, 'Afterwards,' said I.
There was only another hour or so left before we had to report to the depot, so we decided it was better to go home now and maybe read for a while than to mope around the streets of north London for the rest of the afternoon.
We waited by the 'bus stop for what seemed like hours, but no 'bus came. In the end we walked home. It wasn't really very far. (We walked, I say. I rode on Sunny's shoulder as usual). Sunny was still whistling that dreadful song as we entered the depot yard. 'Please,' I said in her private ear. 'Give it a rest!'
She turned her head and glared at me. I glared back. We were still upset by the incident with the old man. I decided to let Sunny go on whistling. Perhaps one of the compadres would throttle her for me.
The yard was the usual mixture of order and chaos. A row of ambulances stood against the right-hand wall. They were the ones that were ready to go. Their fuel reservoirs were full of benzenol, their oil sumps were topped up and their voltaic cells freshly charged. Although we were drivers, not mechanics, we were expected to know how our vehicles worked and how to carry out simple repairs. A driver who telephoned the depot and called out a breakdown crew over a simple matter like a broken plug-lead would get, at the very least, an ear-charring lecture from Captain Lowther.
The sound of hammering and drilling came from the workshop. The crew were doing some damage repairs, or an engine decoke probably. Not our fault - we hadn't had any incidents for more than three weeks now. A bright blue-white light suddenly flared in the fast-growing gloom. Ah. Damage repairs, then and the welders would be working until late.
There was one other vehicle in the yard. It was a most unusual one for this part of Mornington. 'Ooh look!' cried Nancy. 'A Wolseley!' Indeed it was. The flying W mascot on the bonnet proved it. It was a Wolseley Roadster, a special model with wire wheels, chromium-plated wings and triple exhaust pipes. Even though it was rapidly getting dark, the roof had been folded back, revealing a red leather interior.
There was nobody in the car, so we were free to speculate about its owner. 'They cost a fortune,' said Nancy.
'And they go like the wind!' said Mabel.
'Perhaps it's the General's,' I suggested to Sunny. We were inspected from time to time by someone from Brigade HQ. It was depressingly likely that some staff officer with nothing better to do might suggest to his superior that now would be a good time to go and check up on the silly fillies at Depot Number 12.
'Let's go and look in the office,' said Sunny. Good idea, I thought. Any visitor would automatically be taken to see the Captain. She never took any afternoons off. The Three tiptoed across the yard to Captain Lowther's door and Sunny stood next to it with her back to the wall. 'In you go,' she said to me.
I might have guessed. Sunny and I can manage about three yard's separation without any undue discomfort.
'Very well,' I said. If I must.' Sunny knelt down and I slipped from her shoulder and crept as inconspicuously as I could into the office. The Captain was sitting at her desk as usual and in front of it stood a man in uniform. Not the khaki uniform of a soldier, nor the dark blue of a naval officer, nor yet the sky-blue of the Aerial Corps. No, this main was wearing a suit of mid-grey, and he was holding his cap in his hands. He had, we think, not been standing in the office long.
'You must understand,' the Captain was saying, 'that I cannot, under any circumstances, give out the name or whereabouts of any member of my staff to any person, unless he or she is a relative of the staff member concerned. Are you in that position?'
'No, Miss, no I ain't,' said the man. He was middle-aged, balding and stooped. Too old to serve, then, and too unfit even if he had tried to volunteer. 'But the Major said...'
'The Major?'
'Major Clarke, Miss. My employer. He said that I was to come here and...' He faltered.
'And what, man? Spit it out!'
'And find Lady Gresham.' I felt a twinge run down my back. Behind me, Sunny started.
'Why is your Major Clarke looking for a Lady Gresham?' Captain Lowther's voice was grim. The man's mouse-daemon whimpered and sucked on her whiskers - a dirty, disgusting habit.
'He would like to extend his compliments, Miss, and invite her to a soiree at the officers' mess.'
'Just her?'
'And any friend she might like to bring with her, the Major said.'
'I see. Well, my man, I do not know why your employee believes that we have a Lady Gresham here, or why she would consent to accompany you. When is this so-called soiree to take place?'
'This evening, Miss.'
'And where?'
'The Officers' Mess, King's Guards Barracks, Miss It's in Chelsea.'
'Well, that sounds very fine. But, unfortunately for your Major Clarke, a mistake has been made. There is no Lady Gresham here. You have wasted a journey and you have also wasted valuable benzenol fuel that is needed for the fire service and our ambulances. You had better go home now.'
'Yes, Miss.' The chauffeur turned and left the office, nearly treading on me where I hid. Sunny and the rest of the Three watched while he got into the driver's side of the Wolseley. I caught sight of his face as he passed. It was full of fear.
With a whir of the self-starter and a roar from its Series III engine the Roadster left the yard. Its tail-lights quickly faded into the evening darkness. 'Whew,' Nancy said. 'That was close!'
'Close? What do you mean, close?' said Sunny.
'I mean close, you donkey. He was probably a white-slaver, or something like that.'
'No, he wasn't?'
'How do you know?'
'He knew my name. Lady Gresham!'
'You're not Lady Gresham,' said Mabel. 'You're Sunny Moon. Miss Sonya Moon. Driver Moon. Third Class.'
'Yes I know, Mabel,' and Sunny adopted her you're-terribly-dim-so-I'll-explain-this-very-carefully-and-slowly tone of voice 'But I'm nearly Lady Gresham.' She explained that Mummy had been Lady Gresham before she married Daddy. 'She was just ordinary Mrs Moon for ages before Daddy got his knighthood and she became Lady Moon. Before she died...' Sunny choked, and so did I. There was a silence, broken only by the barking of a dog in one of the houses nearby.
'Well, anyway,' said Nancy. 'You've had a lucky escape. Come on, let's go inside.' So we went, and only I knew how Sunny was feeling.
Eight-thirty and time for lights-out. Sunny was restless, unlike most of the other girls in the dormitory. They were still tired after the previous night's excitement. But Sunny had experienced the party in a different way from her friends. It had been her party, her night. She had been excited too, but more than that, she had been deeply moved by the wave of emotion that had flooded over her, and me, that night. She wanted more... she wanted to feel the blood fizzing in her veins again. She wanted, above all, to hold, and be held by, a man.
I could have stopped her, I know. I argued with her silently, but it was an argument I was doomed to lose, because I felt the urge too, and I dreamed of the union that would be ours, if once a man's hand touched my back, and stroked my fur, and spoke to Sunny with words of love. Perhaps if the afternoon hadn't been such a flat disappointment, or that strange old man hadn't upset us so... No. I'm making excuses for us. We knew we were behaving foolishly.
Nine o'clock and all was quiet. Sunny and I got silently out of bed, dreading creaking springs, and crept down the stairs. She carried her bag with last night's party frock bundled up inside it. I preceded her, shivering in the cold. While she waited by the door I ran across the yard and slid back the bolts that held the gates shut. There were goose-bumps all over my legs and their hair was standing up on end.
I beckoned Sunny over. 'Quick!' I mouthed, afraid to break the silence. She ran across the yard and stood next to me.
'Alfie,' she said. 'You're shaking!' Her frosted breath was full in my face.
We passed through the gate and I pushed it back. 'There,' I said. 'That'll do, until we return.'
Sunny picked me up, and we walked to Eversholt Station, where we found a taxicab driver who was willing to take us to Chelsea. She changed her clothes in the back of the cab, to the driver's great amusement and severe loss of concentration. I helped her again, clandestinely this time. At a quarter to ten we pulled up outside the Chelsea Barracks. 'Here we are, Miss,' the driver said.
'How much?' Sunny asked, burrowing into her handbag.
'On the house,' the cabbie said. 'Worth every penny for the show you gave us.' His stoat-daemon nodded her head vigorously. 'You call me when you're ready to go home.' He winked and drove off, leaving us standing outside the guardhouse. Sunny walked up to the sergeant sitting behind the glass and asked him to inform Major Clarke that Lady Gresham was waiting for him. The man picked up his telephone, spoke, smiled at some shared joke, and told Sunny that the Major would be with her directly.
I blame myself. I still do. Even then, I could have done something. It wasn't too late. We could have disappeared into the night, walked across London and made it back to the depot by midnight. It was a Sunday night, and quiet. We would have been safe. Nobody would have known. But... there was that tingling in Sunny's blood, and our shared desire. And so we waited. And presently a man came, and a door was opened, and we followed him into the corridor that lay beyond.