rose and misted the windows. He had last seen Danuta in Warsaw.
It had been the spring of 1938 and he’d been due to rejoin his squadron which was fighting in the Spanish Civil War. The picnic had taken place in the park near their tenement apartment on the poorer side of the city. None of them had realised then that their way of life in the ancient, beautiful city was about to come to an abrupt and bloody end.
Aleksy turned off the taps, stripped and sank into the hot, soothing water. He closed his eyes, the memories as sharp and haunting as always. He could see Danuta sitting next to Anjelika, his lovely wife, who had their baby Brygida on her knee. They were laughing with the little girl as she clapped her hands in delight at the flitting butterfly that eluded her.
The tears seeped from beneath his lashes as he sank further into the water. Anjelika had looked so beautiful that day in her floral dress, with ribbons in her dark hair and his locket around her neck. He could hear her laughter and that of his sister and child – could see his elderly parents and read again the anguish in their eyes as they tried to pretend they weren’t concerned that their only son was leaving once more to fight a war they didn’t understand. Could remember so painfully how he’d tried to imprint every moment of that day in his memory so he could carry the images with him. For now, they merely served to haunt him.
Aleksy angrily smeared away the tears, washed thoroughly and clambered out of the bath. Wrapping a towel round his waist, he cleaned the steam from the mirror and studied his face. It was a strong face – like his father’s – and although he was not yet forty, he now had the same wings of grey at his temples.
He looked away, the anguish in his eyes too hard to bear. Warsaw had fallen before he could reach his loved ones – and there had been no word from them since.
Chapter Three
They had all gone into the garden to inspect the Anderson shelter before it got too dark. The boys considered that sleeping in it would be a ripping adventure, and had to be forcefully made to understand it was for emergencies only. The adults were less enthusiastic, and there was muttering about seeking shelter in the basement or under the stairs until Peggy put her foot down and told them in no uncertain terms that they had no alternative.
She told Jim what needed to be done to make it more habitable, and, so he wouldn’t forget, handed him the list she’d made earlier before showing everyone where she’d stacked the spare blankets and pillows so they could be grabbed on the way down to the basement door. She had already placed the paraffin heater and Primus stove in the shelter along with a battered camping kettle and saucepan. A dozen candles and a big box of Swan Vesta matches were in an old biscuit tin to keep them dry.
Sally had watched in admiration as Peggy had organised everyone. Ron was to be in charge of the boys when the siren sounded, but the dog and ferrets would have to remain in the basement. She and Jim would take care of Mrs Finch, and the Pole would make sure everyone on the top floor had been accounted for, and that Sally could manage with Ernie. Once this was organised, they’d returned to the warmth of the house and the delicious aroma of stew.
The large dining room had an ornate fireplace and mantel, and bay windows hidden behind heavy velvet curtains that were lined with blackout material. Several small tables had been put together to accommodate them all, and these were covered with colourful cloths. The chairs didn’t match, the cutlery was diverse, and Ernie had to sit on two cushions to reach his plate. But none of it mattered, for the atmosphere was warm and friendly, and Sally began to feel a little more at ease.
She had been content to watch and listen as the family chatted about their day, Ernie and Charlie tried to outdo each other with tall stories, and Ron continued his argument with his son Jim that if he was going to die, then it would be in his own bed, with his animals beside him – and not in some hole in the ground with a