The Darkest Hour. Barbara Erskine
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had left, their car stuffed with everything of value in the house, she carried it up the lane and lugged it home on the bus.
She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. What to do? She didn’t want to ask Mr Mike. He would be furious with her for taking it all in the first place but she was unrepentant about that. She did it for Evie. Instinctively she had known that Evie would hate to have anyone, never mind her difficult and rude grandson, poring over her diaries.
She glanced at her watch and pulled off her apron. Time to go. She would think about what to do during the day and make a judgement then.
Lucy was already at work when Dolly arrived at the cottage at exactly nine a.m. The old lady frowned a little, but glancing quickly round she was satisfied that Lucy hadn’t touched anything or messed up the kitchen. She opened the door to the cupboard under the sink and pulled out her polish and dusters. At ten thirty she would go over to the studio and take her a cup of coffee. Until then it was up to Lucy. If she had the manners to come in and say good morning that would be a mark in her favour.
Lucy had pushed open the door of the studio with some trepidation when she arrived that morning after a sleepless night. She stood in the doorway and stared at the scattered brushes on the floor. When the jar fell she had not waited to pick them up. She had slammed the studio door and locked it. When she climbed into the car she was astonished to find that her hands were shaking.
Taking a deep breath she put down her bags and walked over to pick up the scattered contents of the jar. She put it back on the table and pushed it firmly to the centre, well away from the edge, then she glanced nervously round the room. Everything was as she had left it last night. Or was it? She looked at the pile of boxes against the wall. Had they been rearranged? She frowned. Perhaps Dolly had arrived early. Walking over to the wall she stooped and picked up the top box. She didn’t remember seeing it before. Her heart thumping she put it down on the table and pulled open the flaps at the top. Within moments she was completely absorbed. Amongst the shabby cardboard files she found two or three that contained flimsy carbon copies of Evie’s letters. They were smudged and faded and occasionally so faint as to be illegible. Obviously Evie went on using each sheet of carbon paper long after it was too worn to be of much use, but there was enough there to show that these were the letters she wrote to galleries and exhibition organisers about showing her work. Lucy felt a shot of adrenaline run through her as she saw the names of various paintings listed again and again, one or two of which she recognised, several which she did not. This must be an inventory of her basic exhibits, the ones she sent off round the country on tour. At the top of each letter was the name and address of the place to which they were going. She found a sequence of dates spanning some five years of Evie’s main exhibitions. Perhaps elsewhere in the studio she would find the catalogues themselves. Dolly was forgotten. This was like striking gold.
An hour later Dolly arrived with a tea tray. Today there was one cup. ‘I don’t want to interrupt or get in your way,’ the old lady said coolly.
Lucy looked up then she glanced at her watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. She should have gone over to the cottage to say good morning. Reluctantly she pushed the files to one side. ‘You are not interrupting, I promise. You haven’t brought a cup for yourself. Can I fetch one so we can have coffee together?’
Dolly looked at her suspiciously. ‘I assumed you hadn’t come in because you wanted to be left alone.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. It was me, not wanting to get in your way. I thought you must be so used to having the place to yourself that I would be under your feet, but I would love to talk to you, when you have some time. I so much want to hear your reminiscences about Evie. You and Mike are the only people I’ve met who remember her, and you both knew her so well.’ She was cursing herself for putting Dolly’s back up again. She slipped off her stool and stood up with a smile. ‘Can I fetch that cup? There is enough in this cafetière for two and it smells so gorgeous.’
Dolly hesitated then she nodded. ‘No, you stay here. I’ll fetch it.’
When she came back she brought a plate of biscuits.
By the time she left that evening Lucy had filled several pages of her notebook with anecdotes and she was clutching Dolly’s exercise book, but she did not know about the box of diaries. The old woman was still hedging her bets.
September 9th 1940
On September 7th Churchill believed that invasion was imminent. High Command at last used the codeword, ‘Cromwell’ and service personnel were issued with side arms and live ammunition. Roads in the south were blocked and guards on the south coast were reinforced. All temporary leave had been stopped. Ralph telephoned home once or twice to reassure his mother, but patrols were constant and the pilots were becoming increasingly exhausted. There was no word from Tony.
Since she was a child Evie had kept her diary under her mattress. She did not think her mother would snoop in her bedroom but she was not taking any chances, and especially not now with the new glorious secret which had overwhelmed her every waking second. She was in love, deeply and overwhelmingly in love. She could not get the thought of Tony out of her head. Everything she did on the farm, every moment she was awake she was thinking about him and at night she dreamed of him as well. And now, overwhelmed with worry, she hadn’t seen him to speak to for three days even though she had biked down to Westhampnett early and spent the whole day loitering round the airfield under the pretence of making sketches. No, not pretence. She was sketching but she had been distracted every few minutes by the possibility that he would appear. He had been declared fit to fly by the local doctor and was once again on operational standby. The squadrons were in constant action, flying out on sortie after sortie. Their lunchbreak never happened and tea was being made for them out in the dispersal huts with the WVS ladies taking their van over to them as they waited for refuelling. She saw Tony in the distance twice and each time he grinned at her and waved, but he was with the other pilots and she knew better than to interrupt or draw attention to herself.
It was nearly six o’clock when Eddie drove down to the airfield, left his car by the gate and strolled in past the guard.
‘Evie?’ He stood beside her and looked over her shoulder at her sketch. It was rudimentary, concentrating on Tony, one face standing out amongst several others who were mere outlines. He made no comment. ‘Your mother asked me to come and fetch you,’ he said after a moment. She had not looked up to greet him ‘You are late for milking and she said you hadn’t done any of your chores today. She is worried.’
Evie scowled. ‘I’ll come back when I’ve finished this.’
‘No, now, Evie. It’s late.’ Eddie saw the guard from the perimeter gate heading his way and groaned. ‘Now they are going to tell me off for coming in here. The security is appalling on this airfield. I should make a complaint to higher authorities. Only that would stop you coming down here too.’
Evie looked up at the implied threat. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘I don’t want to.’ He sighed. There was no point in putting her back up even further by mentioning his feelings about her visits down here to sketch Tony. ‘Come on, Evie.’
‘I didn’t realise the time. I’ll collect my bike.’
‘Leave it. It will be perfectly safe. I’ll run you back to save time.’
‘No!’ Evie snapped. ‘I’ll come when I’ve finished.’ She didn’t want to speak to Eddie. She didn’t want to see Eddie. She wished she had never made love to him. If it wasn’t for his role in furthering her career, she would tell him to go away and never come back. Whatever she had felt for him in the past was nothing compared to what she felt for Tony. Her whole body yearned for the young airman in a way she had never experienced before. She was overwhelmed with longing. In contrast the thought of getting into the car with Eddie was suddenly repugnant to her.
Eddie leaned across her and took the sketchbook and pencil out of her hand. ‘You will come now, Evie. I promised your mother.’ He frowned at her as