When Two Lives Collide, page 12
“Now listen my friend,” I gripped his lapels lifting his face so close to mine; I could taste his fungal breath. “This bloody attitude of yours can’t save you. If these photos get released by their owners, you will spend the rest of your life in solitary confinement. In prison, my dear brother, the ‘ladies’ will find you, forget solitary. I reckon with good luck you’ll last year. Every broom handle, rusty pipe, knife fork and spoon will enter your sacred ass—can you imagine the death you’ll suffer. Your choice dear brother, you resign from this school of sex perverts and become a parish priest……or I’ll make sure the ladies visit you.”
I wish I could have sympathised with my only sibling; but irrespective of the hell he had created for me, the facts were abundantly clear. I held photographic evidence that my older brother had become a filthy pervert and swaying the minds of innocent children. This I could never accept. Realising there was no escape, no one not even his God to help him, he reluctantly struggled to his feet, painfully extracting himself from the crushed rose bushes. Alasdair the confident, Alasdair the perverted bully shook like a leaf. His body contorted as he attempted to come to terms with the malaise he had created for himself. I threw three of the photographs at his feet, leaving my depraved brother to soak in his own mire.
Eventually, I tracked down General Rothercombe in West Sussex. His comfortable summer canvas chair positioned away from the main marquee at Cowdray Park. For the first chukka, the Rothercombe Polo Team struggled to keep pace with an exciting run of play from the visiting Argentine national team. I wondered if the General, now retired, would remember his fleeting visit to Grayson Manor before the outbreak of war. That magical day when the old soldier set me on course for a life changing experience within Military Intelligence. I waited patiently for the second chukka to finish, not wishing to disturb the old soldier. As the second period of play ended, the usual performance of divot stamping began.
A staggering array of elegant ladies each bedecked in the latest summer fashion, some barefooted, others attempting to retain their complete wardrobe, hobbling around the playing area on stiletto heels. General Rothercombe rose from his canvas chair, making his way with careful steps to the closest divots; which those appreciating his advanced years had left close to his canvas chair.
“Long time since we last met young Robert,” the General offered his back still facing me. “Don’t miss much young fella, getting a bloody hiding by these Argies don’t you think? Still trying to rebuild my team takes time and a shit load of money. Anyway, now the good lady wife’s departed, got to find something to keep me from chasing the ladies.” He chortled to himself.
“General, I wasn’t sure if you’d remember…...” I tried to move the conversation along, which he instantly cut off.
“Robert, I know what’s going on. Now let’s see. The Ruskie threatened you, that bloody brother of yours screwing his students…etc. etc.”
“Now Robert,” he continued. “Sometimes you have to think positively. GT always did. Oh, I miss the old bugger so much. This is what we’ve got Robert. Vladimir has no idea we’ve got someone inside his organisation, so I knew about the photographs. Greedy thoughtless boy your brother. Can’t blame you for challenging him. Now we’ve got a mole inside MI and I’m certain we both have our suspicions who it is. You see its check, not checkmate yet. As we’ve got information on Vladimir, his large sticky hands in the till it would seem. Bloody Ruskies treat that like high treason; we can squeeze his balls any time. So I want you to feed the Ruskies what they want which of course will have little value. Now about your brother, we’re watching him as are the Ruskies. Afraid to say one more slip and he may fail to make old bones. But you already knew that, of course.”
As he continued his friendly diatribe, we walked away from earshot of the continuing fashion parade enacted out across the field. Although having seen way past his eightieth birthday, he still held sway at the highest level, prepared to take whatever action to protect the crown and those he respected.
“Robert, we’ve got you down for a bit of sunshine after all the crap you’ve dealt manfully with. My old head of security has been posted to Kenya due to retire in 1950. I’ve recommended you have a change of scene, heading up military security for British citizens for five year spell. Enjoy it my boy, it’s a wonderful country. I’ve suggest a promotion to cover the crap you’ve dealt with. Consider it to be my way, and the country’s of thanking you young man. Now let’s go catch us a spy or two and beat these bloody Argies.”
We continued strolling, occasionally stamping on yet more divots, the conversation regarding military intelligence closed. Again, I could feel the strength of GT around me, shinning out from the grave.
Chapter 16
Teddy
"Mike, it appears to me that for all the excitement in Old Bob’s life, somehow he enjoyed the complications and danger. What I’ve yet to fathom out is how May Cottage fits in and how you become involved with Old Bob later in life."
Mike
Candice Jewell was a classically trained pianist and for years played as a guest artist for many of the country’s leading orchestras. Her career was about to take on new dimensions when she became involved with Simon Emmanuel, the visiting American conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra. She claimed to be unaware he was married to distant American cousin of President Harry S Truman. Suddenly work dried up, many doors began to close and even her closest friends made excuses to deny her access. Whatever the consequences, both Simon and Candice were determined to continue their affair; kept well under wraps.
Candice’s mother had died whilst this affair was in full swing. Her mother had lived at May Cottage in the tiny Hampshire village of Sutton Scotney all her life. As a widow on her death, she left May Cottage to her only daughter. So with her exit from the London music circles, which had previously welcomed her talent, Candice eventually found herself completely ostracised and out of work. May Cottage was her bolthole, her little piece of England that gave her seclusion and time to reflect. Some days Mozart, some days Gershwin could be heard melodically floating across the sports ground that adjoined her cottage as she maintained her love to perform.
Candice Jewell had gone up to Magdalen College, Oxford to study music history in 1938. In fact, she had won a scholarship after winning numerous classical piano prizes from the age of twelve. At first, Oxford had been a challenge to her, coming from a simple middle class family where her parents both secondary school teachers led an unassuming life. Her background offering no concept of the arrogant sophistication and wealth she would encounter from many of her fellow Oxford under graduates. Slowly, Candice found her niche; music lovers she soon understood were not necessarily segregated by class and money.
Rudolph Carrington came up to Magdalen the same week as Candice to read political history. Rudolph from an aristocratic background; a fact never introduced into their initial discussions. Indeed, only later in their relationship did she find out by accident her close friend was in fact the Hon Rudolph Carrington. Ruddy, as everyone knew him, was a bundle of fun, sociable and always the first to lead discussions into areas that many had never explored. Unknown to anyone, Ruddy had a deep and impenetrable secret; for he was a Russian sleeper. Cambridge would eventually be seen as the hot bed of recruitment for the Russian NKVD where notorious members such as Anthony Blunt and Kim Philby were recruited. However, during the pre-war period and through the war years, Oxford was developing its own hot bed of potential enemies of the State.
Ruddy was planted into Oxford with the assistance of his father’s far reaching contacts; many who like Lord Carrington were dedicated communists. Ruddy’s task to recruit from the top brains of the country dissidents who could spy for mother Russia. His plan to build a network of informants who from elevated positions of learning could send back stolen British defence secrets.
Candice was a perfect soft target, for who would suspect an attractive dedicated musician. A girl whose music could introduce her to members of the government, a number of British aristocratic families and endless free thinking academics. Also to a surprisingly large number prepared to sell their country down the river. As with many sucked into a world of espionage, at the outset there would be no real concept of the dangers or punishments if caught. The real menace lurked beneath the surface of any tenuous arrangement with their spymasters. Initially, Candice passed simple messages to unknown parties with no idea of their content. In fact, she found it amusing and slightly exciting meeting strange characters then using comically conceived passwords. Initially, Ruddy was preparing her for greater crimes against the State but rapidly it became clear she could never be more than the lowest level courier.
Like many undergraduates, her education was curtailed by the war. But Candice chose to stay in London, playing concerts whenever the opportunity arose. She also taught music to those children who had not been evacuated to far flung villages deep in the English countryside.
On the outbreak of war, Ruddy was rapidly established within the war office his position offering him access to a treasure trove of information. Much he passed on to Candice who delivered her treasonous packages to a range of other clandestine couriers. Eventually, Candice felt misgivings as she revisited the moral values her mother had instilled within her. During one of her meetings with Ruddy, she explained how she was finding it difficult to continue.
Their next meeting took place at Lyons Tea House, opposite Charing Cross Station. Already a year after the celebrations ending the war in Europe, Candice explained she was returning to her cottage in Hampshire. There she would make a living teaching music and maybe find a way to finish her music degree. Ruddy smiled at his low level courier, gently squeezing her hand. Quietly he reminded her that she was a spy, a traitor to her country and would hang if she was arrested then subsequently convicted. Her only alternative to continue for she was a vital part of the Russian NKVD spy network—there was no retirement plan.
Over the next few years, Candice taught and performed whenever the opportunity arose. Her contact with Ruddy becoming less frequent. In fact, as her relationship with Simon developed, albeit under clandestine circumstances, Ruddy became a faded memory. Her life was changing to the comfortable rhythm she had imagined. Away from the bombs that rained down with horrific consequences; nights hidden in crowded air raid shelters with thousands of frightened Londoners. Her biggest relief was her escape from the constant pressure imposed by Ruddy. Her growing fears eroding of the unexpected hand on her shoulder whilst creeping around some ill lit back alley, passing her country’s secrets into enemy hands. She was becoming free of him—or so she thought.
Her covert visits to meet Simon were becoming more and more difficult to hide. Simon had been coerced by his overpowering Jewish family to marry into another old money Boston family. Initially, his wife remained in New York with their son. But now London was tidying itself up. Following the cessation of the war, Simon’s wife considered she should now join him for the remainder of his contract with the LSO. Candice realised that the love of her life must make a painful decision. Stay and make a life with her, accepting whatever backlash may evolve. Or ditch her and play out a lie with his wife, enabling him to maintain the financial security her family would offer.
In 1949, Candice was three months into her pregnancy. Although she had kept the fact away from Simon, soon her body would tell the tale. Her growing unborn child forcing him into a corner, a decision she wanted to keep from her lover. Their weekend was carefully planned, allowing Simon to escape the clutches of his overbearing wife accompanied by his even more intimidating mother-in-law. Simon had rented a one bed apartment, just a short walk from the Albert Hall in Petersham Place. There, in solitude, they shared their lives when Candice was in London, and Simon could find an escape from his parallel life.
Candice arrived two hours earlier than planned enabling her to implement her plan to remove the obvious problem from Simon’s cluttered life. Simon was still convinced their affair was safe from prying eyes. His family and his wife were well known in diplomatic and upper class circles, both in London and along the East Coast from New York to Boston. Any indiscretion brought to the attention of the senior members of either family would ruin Simon’s burgeoning musical career, doubtless leaving him financially deserted. Candice could not hide her pregnancy unless she aborted their child. She had thought long and clearly, the only course of action open to her was now.
Ruddy was known to Simon, for they had been introduced during a concert in Oxford when Simon attended as guest conductor when launching his latest composition. Ruddy, still her controller, kept a close eye on all those couriers under his command. Envy or any form of physical jealousy would never become an issue. For Ruddy revelled with an open attitude to his sexuality, common amongst a number of his contemporaries. On several occasions, Simon had commented to Candice regarding his concern that Ruddy could be a challenge to their relationship. For whatever reason, Simon would not accept that Ruddy was an aristocratic playboy whose sexuality could swing both ways. Simon was madly in love with Candice and jealous of any possibility that could separate them. Candice struggled for several weeks with her conundrum, eventually deciding her escape route. As excruciatingly painful as it must be, she had to terminate their relationship. Her proposed actions saving Simon the destruction of his married life. But equally important his career that would suffer the fall out if their relationship and her pregnancy was discovered.
"My Dear Simon,
I cannot continue with our relationship as my heart has been captured by another man. For more than a year you have been suspicious of Ruddy Carrington—well your suspicions are correct. Yes, I have loved you and enjoyed the time we have managed together. But I must consider who I will spend my life with, and sadly, it can’t be you.
Please don’t make contact, as for us both it will be too painful.
You have a great future ahead of you, enjoy it, and maybe some time in the future our paths will musically cross.
With love and sincere thanks for the time we shared together.
Candice
Candice held the letter away from her, saving it from the flow of tears edging silently down her glowing cheeks. On the envelope in which the letter was placed, she just scribbled S. Her hands trembling as she placed her letter against a small carriage clock on the mantelpiece together with her door keys. Candice kept but a few personal belongings at the apartment, which she rapidly stuffed into a small case hurrying from the apartment.
Aimlessly she wondered down Kensington High Street, aware she urgently needed somewhere to sit and contemplate her actions. She needed to understand the actions she had just perpetrated against the only man ever to capture her heart. From now on, her life would be controlled by the child she was carrying. A life she could never terminate, a life she would cherish. There was no possibility the identity of her child’s father would ever be disclosed. She would seek nothing. Her savings would keep her and her child, supplementing her living expenses by teaching music.
Matilda Simeon Jewell was born at Winchester County Hospital on Valentine’s Day 1950. The following day, Candice returned home to May Cottage determined her daughter would be sheltered from inconsistencies that had infiltrated her life. Unknown to Candice, Ruddy had maintained a watching brief throughout her pregnancy. It should have been no surprise, when Candice returned home with her new born daughter, her first caller should be her controller and fellow spy. Candice had for several years treated Ruddy’s diminishing control over her life with relief. Also with more than a degree of pride that she had edged herself away from his earlier domination of her life. For now, she had a new direction in her life. One far removed from the sleazy exploits Ruddy had inveigled her into commencing during their early days at Oxford.
“My dear girl, you appear positively blooming,” Ruddy began his oratory. “I brought just a small gift for the child, just to link her to her mother’s past with the continuing gratitude of our people. No need to unwrap now Candice, you’ve both got all the time after I leave,” Ruddy rambled on, his cynicism shining through.
“Please leave Ruddy, you’re no longer welcome. Please!” Candice choked over the words as she pulled her daughter closer.
“Candice, please understand that we are always here for you and your child. Do we have a name as yet?” He continued.
“Matilda, now go……please Ruddy,” Candice sensed she was beginning to beg.
“Of course my dear, just remember if there’s a problem, my family will protect you and Matilda.”
With that he smiled at mother and child, quietly closing the front door before making his way back across the playing field that adjoined May Cottage to his awaiting driver.
A month later, Candice never heard the click of the garden gate, or the bent nail file forcing open the front door lock. Her body was never found. There was nothing left to explain her disappearance. Like many low level couriers, Candice had certainly been liquidated. Her disappearance to protect the chain of informants for the future success of continuing covert NKVD operations. Roy, the local estate game keeper, who most mornings chatted with Candice, eventually became concerned that neither Candice nor Matilda had been seen for several weeks.
PC Saunders, the local village bobby, preferred a quiet life. Most of his time shuffling an increasing heap of documents that piled his cluttered desk or wandering through the village on his aging BSA bicycle. He would smile where appropriate, making frequent stops amongst those offering tea, cakes or layers of local gossip to fill his notebook.
