Guy Saville - The Afrika Reich

‘Let’s go,’ said Burton. Nobody needed telling twice. They left the cover of the trees, Vacher joining them as they crossed the runway. Dolan kept glancing behind, his machine gun ready. He seemed disappointed when no Nazis emerged.

Even though the wind from the propellers was too far away to be felt, the airman was hunched up against it. ‘Nares,’ he introduced himself. ‘You all set?’

Burton nodded.

‘Good. Cos I don’t want to spend a second longer on the ground than I have to.’

‘That’s why I love flyboys,’ said Patrick.

Nares asked, ‘Is the area secure?’

‘Not for much longer,’ replied Burton.

The airman’s mouth turned queasy.

At the opposite end of the runway the Vickers had completed its turn and was ready for take-off. The pilots revved the throttle. Nares led the group towards the plane, not bothering to check if they were following him. They had three hundred yards to go. If the Nazis were closing in, the roar of the propellers drowned out their approach.

Burton glanced backwards. The runway was empty. So were the trees.

Ahead, another airman emerged from the plane and encouraged them on. Every wave of his hand said one thing. Home.

A surge of jubilation flooded through Burton. He was going to keep his promise to Madeleine. Five plus five plus ten: they’d never have to worry about anything again. Next to him, Patrick was running with the vigour of a free man, sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, pistol in his hand; he seemed younger.

They were fifty yards from the Vickers.

‘Told you so,’ Burton mouthed to his old friend; all his fears had been unfounded. He tore off his swastika armband and threw it to the wind.

The plane exploded.

Saltmeade Farm, Suffolk, England

28 August, 20:35

THEY both had secrets to tell that evening.

Burton and Madeleine were sitting in an arbour at the back of the farmhouse. They had bought the place earlier in the year after finally admitting their affair was something deeper: they wanted to be together. Madeleine, with her pluck and inner quiet, had given Burton a contentment he hadn’t felt since childhood. In front of them was a lawn dotted with weeds, beyond that sloping orchards. Although the sun was setting the air was still warm from the day’s cloudless heat. Whenever they moved, the arbour creaked beneath them as though it might splinter.

Just as Burton was about to speak, Madeleine broke the silence. Although her English was flawless she still carried an accent that spoke of Vienna and persecution.

‘I’ve decided,’ she said. ‘I’m going to tell him. When I get back.’ She sighed before adding, ‘I’m so happy here.’

When Burton made no response, Madeleine turned to face him. She was wearing tailored slacks and a jersey. Her dark hair was tied in a loose ponytail, smelt of honeysuckle and breezy sweat. ‘You don’t look very pleased. I thought that’s what you wanted.’

‘It is.’

‘Then why the face?’

Burton reached out for her hand and took hold of it. She had beautiful fingers – long, delicate, with nails always in a French manicure. They looked so fragile compared to his, so unblemished; Burton’s hands were pockmarked with scars. Instinctively their fingers curled into each other’s. Burton squeezed gently but still didn’t speak. He felt elation at her words but also trepidation at what he must tell.

‘Promise me we’ll always live here,’ she said. ‘This place is perfect. So quiet after London. Listen: you can actually hear the sun setting.’

Burton cocked his ear to the sky. ‘All I can hear is old man Friar chugging away on his tractor somewhere.’

Madeleine gave him a playful dig in the ribs. ‘ Komiker . You know what I mean.’

‘Are you really going to leave him?’ asked Burton.

‘I have to.’

‘You promise?’

‘We can’t keep sneaking about like this. Besides, Alice is getting to the age where she understands. What if she says something? Better I tell him than he finds out.’ She raised his hand to her lips. ‘I want to be with you.’

They sat in silence for several moments, Madeleine waiting for a response.

Finally he said, ‘I’ve got to go away.’

Madeleine smiled – that wide-eyed, girlish smile she used when teasing him. ‘Go where?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

She smiled again. ‘Oh, you know how much I like your surprises! What is it this time? More cakes? Silk underwear?’

‘It’s not that kind of surprise. It will only be for a few weeks.’

Madeleine stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll be back by the end of September.’

She snatched her hand back and stood up. ‘You promised, Burton. You promised!’

‘You’ll wake Alice.’

‘No more, you said. You were giving up that life.’

‘I have.’

‘Then what are you doing?’

‘This is different.’

‘And you tell me this now. Just when I want to leave him.’

Neither of them ever mentioned her husband’s name any more: it was too awkward, too unsettling. He was simply referred to as him .

‘It’s got nothing to do with that. Of course I want you to leave him. How many times have I asked you? Do it when you get back to London. Then come and live here.’

‘On my own.’

‘I’ve already told you,’ he said in a defensive voice. ‘I’ll be home in a few weeks.’

‘And if you’re not?’

‘I will be.’

‘No, Burton. I’m not going to do it.’ Her hands curled into fists. ‘I’m not going to walk out to find myself alone. Not again.’

‘Please. Will you listen to me? I’m not saying that.’

‘I didn’t have a choice when I left Vienna. This time I do. Besides, there’s Alice.’

‘We need the money.’

‘That’s the type of thing my father used to say. Look where it got him.’ She sat down again and put her face in her hands. A curl of hair came loose from her scalp. Burton watched it bounce up and down before tucking it behind her ear.

Madeleine looked up. ‘Burton, I’m pregnant.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve been looking for the right time to tell you all day. But there was Alice, there was the house…’

‘You can’t be.’ Burton suddenly felt like a boy soldier again on that first Legion march. Unsteady in the sand, tripping on the crests of dunes, tumbling in a cloud of dust and confusion. ‘You’re just saying that.’

‘Four months. I was going to tell you last time but wanted to make sure first.’

‘Is it mine?’

A stab of such profound pain creased Madeleine’s face that Burton felt it in his own heart.

‘He hasn’t touched me in months,’ she replied.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

The last time Madeleine visited they had gone for one of their strolls and ended up making love beneath an ancient oak. Burton could see the spot now. He remembered the roughness of the ground, the creamy, taut flesh of her thighs: she brought the world alive for him. As they lay there afterwards, semi-naked on the grass, Madeleine joked, ‘I won’t be doing this come January.’ Burton had laughed and traced the meniscus of her belly, thinking it looked a little swollen. He had put it down to her insatiable sweet tooth, never once suspecting she might be carrying a child. His child.

‘We’ll definitely need the money,’ Burton said.

‘No, we won’t.’

‘How will we live? We’re not going to get rich on quinces this year. Meantime the place is falling apart.’