V2 A Novel of World War II - Robert Harris Page 0,78

arm. Finally she surrendered, and allowed herself to be marched off the grass. The wall of backs closed behind them. Arnaud didn’t let her go until they were clear of the open area and in a side street. She leaned against the wall and covered her face with her hands.

Barbara was rubbing the top of Kay’s arm. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

‘Who was that woman?’ She lowered her hands and looked at Arnaud. ‘Do you know her?’

‘No.’

‘What had she done?’

‘They thought she was a collaborator.’

‘They thought?’

‘They’re not usually wrong.’ He shrugged. ‘Someone said she had had a child by a German soldier.’

‘God!’

‘You mustn’t be too hard on them. They suffered a lot.’

‘Were you part of it?’

‘No!’ He seemed angered by the suggestion.

‘Then what were you doing there?’ When he didn’t reply, she said, ‘Were you following us?’

He paused for a moment or two. ‘Yes, as it happens,’ he answered calmly. ‘I saw you crossing the square. I thought to myself: those two could get into trouble. And I was right.’ He looked back at the crowd. It was starting to break up. People were walking in their direction. The cathedral clock chimed the half-hour. ‘We should get away from here. Where would you like to go? Back to your headquarters?’

Barbara said, ‘Is there a place where we could get a drink?’

He led them on a circuitous route through the back streets to the river. It was dark by the time they reached it. A flight of worn stone steps led down from the bridge to a quay. Barges were moored up close to one another, mist rising off the water. He held out his hand to help them.

They would never have discovered it in a year of searching. From the outside it looked like a derelict warehouse, with a block and tackle hanging above a pair of doors with a smaller entrance cut into one of them. Inside, the smell of beer and tobacco was so strong it was like walking into a wall. A dim light cast by naked electric bulbs showed sawdust on a bare brick floor, a long counter with wooden kegs behind it, chairs and tables that did not match, a game of shuffleboard in progress in one corner, and an entirely male clientele. They turned to stare at the two Englishwomen in their uniforms.

Arnaud found a table and pulled out two chairs. Kay said, ‘This is Barbara Colville, by the way. Barbara, this is Arnaud Vermeulen. I’m billeted on his family.’

He kissed her hand. ‘Enchanté.’

He went over to the bar, said something to the barman and then started talking to a man who was drinking on his own, perched on a stool. Barbara said, ‘He seems charming. Rather attractive, from the knees up. Like Byron with his club foot. “Mad, bad and dangerous to know.” ’ She pulled out a powder compact and checked herself in the little mirror, then quickly applied some lipstick.

Kay watched her uneasily. ‘We can’t stay long, you know. There is a curfew.’

‘All right, don’t fuss. You’re the one who almost got us involved in a fight.’ She offered Kay the lipstick.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Most of the men had gone back to their drinks and their games of cards, but a few were still staring at them. Kay doubted if any other British servicewomen had ever been seen in Mechelen. It was not official policy to send women abroad. She felt exposed, embarrassed. It had been naive of her to try to intervene earlier. Stupid. What had she been thinking?

Arnaud came back. ‘I’ve ordered us beer, if that’s all right.’ He sat across the table from them.

‘Heavenly.’ Barbara offered him a cigarette. He took one and she lit it for him.

He said to Kay, ‘You shouldn’t judge us harshly. If England had been occupied for four years, the same would have happened in your country.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Barbara. ‘I’m sure I would have lost all my hair.’

Kay laughed. Arnaud didn’t. ‘When the British soldiers first came, they made the collaborators kneel in the Grote Markt and clean their boots. I watched them do it.’

There was an awkward pause that was only ended when a waiter in a dirty white apron came over and set down three glasses of beer.

Barbara said brightly, ‘What shall we drink to?’

‘Happier times?’ suggested Kay.

‘Good,’ nodded Arnaud. ‘That we can agree on.’

They clinked their glasses. The man Arnaud had been talking to earlier slid off his stool and approached their table. He said something to Arnaud in Flemish, and