The Shadow Network, page 14
‘So I did. Said he could sit on it and I’d take him just up the road and back.’
‘I let him have a go on my push-bike yesterday. Had to hold him up, but he must be so bored with nobody to play with.’
‘Just wait while I get my coat on.’
He disappeared into his room and emerged wearing his leather coat.
‘He’ll be waiting round the side.’ Sure enough when they appeared, the boy was already there. This time in his grey knitted pullover and school uniform shorts.
‘Here you go,’ Neil said.
Raymond squirmed through the fence, face aglow, and Neil lifted him onto the saddle of his BSA.
‘This is wizard!’ Raymond mimed driving and they watched him play, while keeping a sharp eye on him.
‘We saw an article in the paper about your father,’ Lilli said. ‘It said he was murdered, shot by an unknown assailant. That’s terrible. Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘So everyone’s gossiping about me, are they?’
‘No. We’re just concerned. It’s a horrible thing to happen.’
‘It can’t be changed now. Nothing will bring him back.’
‘But they’ll catch the man who did it, won’t they?’ Lilli said.
‘The police are asking all sorts of questions. Actually, I find it intrusive, all their poking around. My mother’s at her wit’s end. Witnesses say they saw a stranger get off the bus, before it all happened. A tall man in a tweed jacket and flat cap. But that’s all we know.’
‘No sign of a motive?’
Neil turned away. ‘No.’ He’d closed off the conversation, and that hurt. But for it to be murder, what an awful thing to have to deal with.
A ring of a bicycle bell alerted Lilli to the others who were ready to leave.
‘Hey, Raymond!’ Neil said. ‘I’ll drive you just up the road and back. Then you’re to go inside to the Misses Bailey, all right?’
Lilli got on her bike and was about to push off when she saw Neil hitch Raymond onto the pillion. ‘Hold tight,’ Neil said.
She watched a moment, relieved to see Neil go at a sedate pace to the end of the road before turning back and helping the scrawny Raymond dismount. Neil would be a good father, she thought and it set off something inside her; her own sorrow for Papa. She was about to cycle after the others when she glimpsed the uniformed postman watching Neil’s motorbike too, from the post box. He was straddling his bicycle, his face shadowed by a cap.
She pushed off and was going to wave to him, but too late, the postman had turned and cycled away.
*
Lilli was in the corridor outside Delmer’s office at Wavendon Tower, thinking about the Aspidistra transmitter. It was good to have seen it, even if the tour had been nerve-wracking. The transmitter was the only way she knew to get a message to her father. But she knew it wouldn’t be allowed. Every broadcast was checked and double-checked by Neil or by Delmer. If she was to broadcast a personal message to Papa it would undermine everything they were trying to do here to make the Germans believe they were a genuine radio station.
Yet not to try to reach him when the airwaves were open to her would be unthinkable. She refused to accept that she would never see Papa again. If only she could get access to the equipment, she might stand a chance. She’d written to Delmer to ask if she could have an appointment to see him, and now, after a nail-biting wait of three weeks, he’d finally agreed to see her.
Lilli knocked at Mr Delmer’s door and when he called, ‘Come in,’ she mentally crossed her fingers and entered. The office was cramped, with a solid leather-topped desk on which sat a dozen telephones, a dictaphone, and a reel-to-reel tape-recorder. She picked her way past too many chairs, and piles of discarded newspapers in heaps on the floor. What a fire risk, she thought.
Delmer welcomed her with cheerful good humour. ‘Do sit down, Miss Linde.’
She braced her shoulders. Here goes. ‘I was wondering if there were any vacancies on the technical team for a broadcast engineer,’ she said.
‘I think Ron’s got everyone we need. Is it for someone you know?’
‘Actually, it’s for me. I was wondering if I could transfer.’
Delmer’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. ‘Is there a problem? Has someone upset you?’
‘No, not at all. It’s just that I’m interested in technical things. My father was an engineer and I’ve been watching Ron, how he logs the readings from the transmitters.’ Even as she spoke, Papa’s face loomed in her mind. Desperately she continued, ‘I know a bit about circuitry, and I’m good with diagrams. And practical work – soldering and wiring, all those skills. With my experience, I could be an asset.’
Delmer’s face was blank. It was as if she hadn’t spoken at all. ‘But you’re our singer. We need you on air.’
‘I could do both,’ she insisted. ‘I was going to study engineering at university, but then the war came and … well, I ended up here. I’d just like to be a bit more involved with the electronics side of broadcasting.’
Delmer tapped a finger on the desk, still frowning. ‘It might upset the men if a woman were to be brought in. Everyone’s happy as they are.’
She waited, her hands clamped together, hoping if she just sat tight, he’d relent.
His face suddenly brightened.
Was he going to say yes? She leant towards him.
‘But you see it’s quite impossible.’ He looked at her almost with relief. ‘We could never have a German person anywhere near the equipment. Danger of sabotage, don’t you see?’
Inside she crumbled. Had he plucked this out of the air as a solution to not upsetting the men? She made one last try to persuade him. ‘But I’m already working here, with access to it all anyway, and so are many other German prisoners of war.’
‘I know you are. I meant no offence. Of course I know you’re not a risk, but it would look that way to the Political Warfare Executive. They wouldn’t want me to take any chances.’ He raised his arms in a shrug as if the decision were completely out of his hands.
He must have seen her disappointment, for as she stood, anxious to get away from this humiliating experience, he stood up to usher her to the door, and talking hurriedly all the time. ‘But you’re a fantastic singer. The fact we can’t allow it doesn’t mean we’re not grateful for the role you have as Lilliana Linde. The German soldiers love our station, sweetheart.’ He smiled encouragingly and patted her on the shoulder. ‘Everyone agrees you’re marvellous in that role.’
She hurried out, and heard the door click behind her. For a moment she stood in the corridor and then pummelled her fists on the wall, rage overtaking her. They didn’t trust her. After everything she’d done, Delmer still saw her as an outsider.
Papa, she thought. I tried.
Still shaking, she got on her bicycle and worked off her frustration pedalling like fury to the studio at Milton Bryan.
*
Neil had returned from Scotland. He’d had to go home for the coroner’s report on his father’s death, and the funeral, but now that he was back, he was gaunt-faced, as if all the life had been drained from him. Apparently the verdict had been ‘murder, by a person or persons, identity unknown’.
He’d knocked shyly on Lilli’s door as soon as he got back and they set a date for their delayed cinema visit. Saturday. It filled her with both a thrilling sense of excitement and toe-curling nerves, and almost made up for her disastrous interview with Delmer.
Lilli couldn’t help but watch Neil when he came up to the studio at Milton Bryan that evening. She shot him a sympathetic smile and was pleased to see him brighten.
‘I’ve got a new announcer,’ Max said, as they ate dinner. ‘An actor. Used to be in cabaret in Germany. I think he’ll be great. His German’s impeccable because he lived there, but also studied the language. He’ll be broadcasting tomorrow.’
‘What about?’ Neil asked. ‘Can you get it to me for checking, later?’
‘We’ve got this neat piece about Sweden being full of fleeing Germans – it seems communication with the Abwehr in Sweden is all over the place.’
‘What’s the story?’ Lilli asked.
Max swallowed a mouthful of corned beef hash. ‘We’re putting out the rumour that for every German soldier killed in action, at least five more have deserted. It’s aimed to crush German morale in the occupied territories.’
‘I can’t believe the Nazis would be so inefficient. They thrive on lists. If you’re on one of their lists, it means you’ll soon disappear,’ Lilli said.
‘Is there any evidence that the Jerries are running away?’ asked Ron.
‘Minimal. But it’ll put the wind up the German women at home. They’ll be demanding to know the fate of their sons, and when the Gestapo can’t tell them, it will cause unrest.’
‘Ach. Why is it always the women that are put through that sort of pain?’ Lilli asked.
The men looked at her blankly.
‘Why target the women? What’s the point of that when what we’re really fighting is not the women, but the Wehrmacht, Hitler, all his Gestapo.’
Max slapped down his napkin. ‘Ha! The idea that all the women are innocent victims of this war is a total lie. My family were rounded up because of a word from our neighbour – a woman. That kind soul who went to church every week and was a pillar of our society? She betrayed my father without even a backward glance.’ He was getting heated now, could barely get the words out. ‘D’you know she actually rang the Kommandant personally and told him where my parents were hiding? So don’t you dare feel sorry for the women!’
Neil put out a restraining hand. ‘Max, let’s—’
But Max couldn’t stop. ‘D’you know what they did? My father’s dead with a bullet in the back of his head and the rest of my family – well, no one knows where they’ve been taken.’
Mrs Littlefair put her head round the door. ‘Is everything all right? I heard shouting.’
Silence in the room.
‘We’re fine,’ Lilli said. ‘Lovely bread today.’
Mrs Littlefair went out, but she shook her head in a worried way.
‘Look, everyone,’ Ron said quietly, ‘terror does odd things. Women who support the Nazi regime need to know not all their men want to do this. That some run away. That’s the whole point. Think of it as un-brainwashing.’
‘But I don’t want to end up like them,’ Lilli said, ‘manipulating and pushing lies.’
Neil looked directly at Lilli. ‘You won’t. You haven’t got it in you. It’s only for work, not life. And don’t think of it as lies,’ he said. ‘We’re telling a bigger truth. That the Nazis really don’t care for the people they rule over.’
‘Oh get off your high horse, Neil. War’s bloody and we all know it,’ Max said. ‘There are no good guys and bad guys, just men wanting to save their own skins.’
Chapter 14
The rehearsal that afternoon was tense, because Delmer was in to watch and they all felt his scrutiny, Lilli especially. But today she was loving the swing of the rhythm. After the morning’s row with Max, she’d swallowed back her questions, because they were always the same ones. Was fighting lies with lies really the answer? Just be grateful, she thought. So what if you can’t be an engineer? We’re all away from barbed wire, in a place where only the music matters. She buried her opinions and worries under the blare of jazz trumpets and the incessant gutsy beat of the snare drum.
Lilli was halfway through a syncopated ‘Endless Night’ when a gaggle of men came in through the door. She saw Max take one of the men, a tall, well-built individual, to introduce him to Sefton Delmer, and from the corner of her eye, she saw them shake hands. She continued singing into the microphone until the man turned to look at her.
A ripple of shock made the note waver.
Bren Murphy. No mistaking him. She’d never thought to see anyone she knew from Germany ever again. Their eyes met. The shock made a column of blinding light shoot upwards in her mind’s eye.
Bren froze, as if he wanted to simply disappear.
She continued to sing, her mind racing. Bren had been the boyfriend she’d told Maureen about. The man who she was ninety-nine per cent sure had betrayed her and her father. In an instant, the emotion came back, a hot mix of shame that he’d dumped her, and dumb anger that he’d betrayed her. Yet she still remembered the taste of that first smoky kiss, how she’d felt the pull of his casual confidence. She could never forget him. Nor would she ever forgive him for what he did.
The music was drawing to its final note. She held it a moment longer than usual. She’d show the bastard how good she was.
The men clapped, a small show of applause.
‘Lilli, come and meet Johnny,’ Max said, pulling Bren forward.
Johnny? He was Brendan. What was going on?
‘Johnny Murphy, meet Lilliana Linde,’ Max said, ‘our singer.’
She opened her mouth to say, ‘We know each other’ but Bren’s eyes bored into hers, clearly trying to tell her something. ‘Very pleased to meet you, Lilliana,’ he said quickly. ‘That was a fine rendition.’ His accent, the way he said ‘foin’ instead of ‘fine’, set off a flush of old emotion.
She made a small nod, but she knew her face was stuck in the blankness of shock. So he wasn’t going to acknowledge their past. He was treating her like a stranger.
‘Johnny’s got the news section directly after you, so we thought we’d just do a test run,’ Max said, not noticing her confusion. He took off his glasses to clean them.
She tried to catch Bren’s eye again, but he wouldn’t play. The band meanwhile were putting away their instruments in their cases and heading for the canteen. Lilli would usually have joined them, but today she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Bren Murphy. Was Johnny just the name he’d chosen for himself to broadcast?
‘Bren?’ The word came out as a whisper.
He shook his head emphatically at her, then turned away, cutting her dead.
She slipped on a coat, for in the evening it was chilly, and thrust her hands deep into her pockets. Five years ago she’d resigned herself to the pain of losing him, the first cut amongst so many losses. The fact he was actually here in England made her head reel. How the hell had he got here?
Max came over to usher Bren away, and got him set up at the table with a mic. A script was placed in front of him, then Ron told him to go ahead.
Bren began. ‘This is Konrad Benz, broadcasting for Kurtzwellensender Atlantik …’
Lilli listened with fascination to the introduction, unable to keep her eyes from Bren’s face. He had always been good at voices; he used to impersonate all the masters who’d been at his school, and in their little gang had been adept at the voices of all the well-known German radio personalities. His face was older now; harder, more chiselled, but he would still have the presence to make girls stare. His pale brown hair was short, bristling at the back of his neck.
The radio mic crackled and gave off a muffled thud. Bren tapped a finger onto it.
‘Go ahead,’ said Ron, who was at the control desk. ‘Should be right, now.’
‘Abend, meinen herren,’ Bren began in a low growl. He sounded exactly like a battle-hardened U-boat sailor, stuck under cold water with a Kommandant who had no idea what his orders were. The diatribe was shot through with swear words that made her wince, but there was no doubt he was convincing. It was like eavesdropping into the belly of a U-boat. When he finally turned the page and there was no more, he asked, ‘Will that do?’
He was met by a barrage of praise. ‘God, you had me fooled,’ Delmer said. ‘That’s just the right tone. I can’t wait to hear what the reaction is from Germany.’
Bren was studiously avoiding Lilli’s gaze.
‘Where’s he living?’ Lilli whispered to Max, taking him aside. She needed to know if he was in the same village.
‘Murphy? He’s got lodgings in Aspley Guise about five miles away. A few others that are helping us are there too. No room in Simpson Village with Mrs Littlefair.’
She was relieved. Her heart was all a-jangle.
Some discussion ensued about putting in extra sound effects from the BBC archive to give veracity to the sound, and of adding more reverb. Finally, Delmer, much taken with ‘Johnny’, said, ‘I’ll drive you over to your lodgings now. The two others in your billet are having a tour of the printworks. The stuff they’ll make will support your broadcasts – we’re working right now on Druckerberger an Die Front, deserters at the front. It’s a campaign to hammer home the notion that Wehrmacht officers are tired of the war – make Germans think they’re deserting in droves.’
Bren nodded and followed him out, without even a backward glance at Lilli.
Lilli swallowed, bereft again. It was strange being in England, and seeing his face. It brought back her whole youth in Germany. Made her nostalgic for the place it had once been, the once-safe country they’d shared. The country of bierfests and secret walks in the forest, of stolen kisses under the stars. Before that terrible summer when Bren changed, and the street was full of broken glass.
Was he a Nazi sympathiser? Or had she been mistaken, and it wasn’t him who told the Brownshirts where they lived? Too many questions. Her head reeled with them. Why was he here? Bren had always said he hated the English, so what was he doing working for them? Had he been in the German army? A prisoner of war?
‘What’s the name of that new chap, again?’ she asked Ron.
‘Johnny Murphy,’ Ron said. ‘He’s going to be good.’
She started again at the name. ‘Max said he was in cabaret. So not a prisoner of war?’
‘No. Irish. They’re neutral. But Delmer’s persuaded him to come on board. And you saw him on the mic – seems to be just the ticket.’
But there was something odd about it, or why change his name? Should she tell someone he wasn’t Johnny Murphy, but Brendan Murphy?
The thought filled her with discomfort. No. She should talk to him; hear his side of it first, even though it was impossible to ignore how he’d dropped her overnight, and then in only a few weeks, betrayed her father to the Nazis. She’d try to catch him alone, find out what he was doing here.
