The Darkest Hour

‘Unlike Dolly.’

‘Oh, Dolly is shrewd enough in her way.’ He held her gaze for a moment as though reassuring himself about what he had just said, then he turned to the front door. ‘I’ll see you soon, OK?’

For a moment she stood still in the silence of the hall, listening to his footsteps as he ran down towards the gate. Only when she heard it clang shut behind him did she head towards the studio.

The clouds had turned to brazen overcast and it was already beginning to rain when she started to pack up for the afternoon. She tidied the table, picked up her laptop and her notebook – a real paper one which would, she hoped, reassure Dolly – and went over to turn off the lights. It was at the very last minute that she paused and looked back. Had they left it that Dolly would come in to take stuff away which she thought would not be needed? She wasn’t quite sure now. She studied the cardboard box near the table thoughtfully. In the top sat the attaché case with the letter drafts. Surely it was legitimate to take them and scan them into the computer at home. Then she could return them. Mike hadn’t actually told her not to remove anything. He trusted her to make her own judgements.

It took only a couple of minutes to open the case, remove the contents and then put it back, tucked into the bottom of the box.

September 3rd 1940

‘Evie!’ Eddie found her in the cowshed. She had finished evening milking and was tidying up.

She turned towards him with a smile and pulled the scarf off her head with a sigh. There was only one cow in milk now that Daisy was in calf, which eased her load, but even so she was exhausted. From the yard the sound of the generator filled the evening air.

‘I thought you had gone to London,’ she said. She pushed the milking stool into the corner with her foot.

‘I changed my mind. Work to do down here.’ As always he was vague about his duties with the Ministry. ‘My God, I love the way you look in those dungarees!’ He moved towards her and swept her into his arms. ‘Irresistible.’

‘Get off!’ She tried to push him away.

‘Why? You know you enjoy it.’ He caught her hand and pulled her towards the hay store. ‘Come on. What about a little snuggle? I bet you’ve been working all day.’

‘I have, Eddie, and I’m tired.’

‘Just five minutes, eh? I’ve got a present for you in the car. Wait till you see it.’

He pushed the door closed behind them and set to work undoing the straps of the dungarees and pulling them down. ‘Your mum is out. I checked.’ He nuzzled her neck, then her face as he began to unbutton her blouse.

At first she didn’t resist; she enjoyed sex, except the whole silly business with the johnnies, which she hated but insisted on. She might have been an art student, but she was not naïve and she had no intention of getting pregnant. But now, suddenly she did not want Eddie to touch her. She pushed him away. ‘Not now, Eddie!’

‘Oh, go on, you know you want to.’ He had his hand around her wrist and he pulled her against him.

‘No, I do not!’ Suddenly she was angry. She pushed him hard in the chest and surprised, he let her go.

‘Evie!’

‘No, Eddie! I am not in the mood!’

‘What about your present?’

‘You mean I don’t get the present if I don’t make love to you?’ Her voice sank dangerously.

Eddie shook his head. ‘Of course I don’t mean that. Don’t be silly.’ He sounded hurt. He turned away and took a deep breath. ‘I thought you wanted it as much as I did.’

She was rebuttoning her dungarees. ‘Not now.’

He shrugged. ‘All right. Have it your own way.’ Somehow he managed to summon a smile. ‘So come on out to the car and I’ll show you.’

The present was a wooden box of oil paints. She stared at it wide-eyed. ‘Where on earth did you get this? It’s wonderful.’

‘I did a favour for a friend,’ he tapped his nose in the irritating way he had, ‘and he asked me what I would like as a way of saying thank you. I knew he was going up to the Smoke and I asked him if he could lay his hands on some oil paints. I have to say, I didn’t expect something quite so splendid.’ He leaned across and kissed her on the top of her head.

‘Evie! Eddie!’ Her mother’s voice rang out sharply from the kitchen door. They were standing by Eddie’s car and hadn’t noticed that Rachel’s bicycle was leaning against the wall. They jumped apart.

‘Mummy, look at this fantastic box of paints,’ Evie called out. She carried it over towards the house.

‘Wonderful,’ Rachel said. The look she gave Eddie belied the enthusiasm in her voice. ‘Are you staying to supper, Eddie?’

‘Best not. But thanks for the invitation.’ He glanced at Evie. ‘Enjoy the paints. I’ll call in in a day or two and see how you’re getting on with them. Don’t waste them all on the Scots cherub, will you!’

Evie froze at the words and opened her mouth to protest, but he had already turned towards his car.

‘Sounds as though he’s jealous,’ Rachel said tartly.

‘He didn’t like me painting Tony’s portrait to give to his parents.’

‘I bet he didn’t.’ Rachel looked at Evie with narrowed eyes. ‘Judging by the hay in your hair and the fact that your dungarees are not properly fastened, young lady, I suspect Eddie has a more than artistic interest in you. Do be careful, won’t you? I don’t want you bringing disgrace on this family. That would kill your father.’

She turned back into the kitchen so she didn’t see the flood of angry colour in her daughter’s cheeks.

Saturday 13th July, evening

The sky was even darker than before and the thunder clouds were massing overhead as Lucy drove back from Rosebank Cottage towards Chichester. The air smelled metallic and large raindrops began to fall as she turned onto the main road, hitting the windscreen as she drove.

She found a parking space almost outside the gallery and let herself into the house just as the rain began in earnest. Robin had locked up and switched on the display lights in the window, setting the alarm before he left. She picked up the note he had left on the desk. Good day! Oodles of dosh. I’ll drop it into the bank on my way home. Come and have Sunday brunch tomorrow. I’m cooking. Sleep well, darling.

She gave a quiet chuckle as she ran upstairs to the kitchen and she turned on the lights as the first rumble of thunder echoed round the streets outside.

The kitchen was hot and airless with the window closed. She opened it a crack and the room was at once filled with the smell of wet earth and pavements and the sound of the torrential rain cascading off the roof and bouncing on the paving slabs in the little garden below.

She wasn’t sure what made her look at the studio door. It was ajar. Robin must have gone in there during the day. She walked towards it and raised her hand to push it open. At the last minute she hesitated.

Behind her the sound of the rain faded; in front of her, the studio was oppressively silent as she pushed open the door. She peered in, holding her breath. Something was wrong. She felt herself grow cold.

Somehow she forced herself to stand her ground and raised her hand to grope for the light switches to the left of the door. The room was shadowed by the rain clouds outside and the streams of water running down the glass of the skylights. She flipped the switches and flooded the studio with light. Moving to stand in front of the picture on the easel she gasped. Someone had painted out the figure behind Evie. It had gone.

‘No, it can’t be.’ She raised her hand and touched the surface of the canvas with her fingertip. The paint was dry. She found she was breathing in short tight gasps as she stared round the room. The table full of paints and chemicals did not appear to have been touched. The brushes and palette knives and swabs were all neatly stowed and clean and dry. There was nothing there to show anyone had been in there. Robin? Would he have done it? She looked at the painting again. He didn’t have the technical ability never mind the inclination to do something like this.

She turned round helplessly.

The skylights were illuminated suddenly by a brilliant flash of lightning and a loud crash of thunder reverberated round the room, and it was then she saw him. The tall young man she had seen in her bedroom. The blue uniform. The mournful eyes. He was looking directly at her.

‘Ralph?’ she whispered.

Another crash of thunder echoed up from the streets outside, more distant this time. The lights went off for a moment. When they came on again he had gone.

September 4th 1940