The Telegram: Completely gripping and emotional WW2 historical fiction by Debbie Rix

Author:Debbie Rix [Rix, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2024-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

19

March 1944

Charles

It was the first day of spring, and the midday sun was just piercing the fog as Charles walked down Clarendon Road. He was in London for a long weekend, and was relieved to be back on home turf. He had spent the previous few weeks observing Mosley, travelling between Oxford and Crux Easton in Hampshire, where Mosley had temporarily set up home. Now, Charles was looking forward to one or two home-cooked meals, and sleeping in his own bed. As he let himself into the hall he called out, ‘Hello…’ The house felt quiet and empty. He unlocked his room, laid his suitcase on the bed and placed his beloved typewriter on the desk. He ran his hand down the front of the drawers, checking they were all firmly locked.

Reassured all was well, he went downstairs, but there was no sign of either Violet or the baby. He peered out into the back garden, but they weren’t there either. Hungry suddenly, he opened the larder and found the heel of a loaf and a slab of cheese. He made himself a slice of cheese on toast under the grill, boiled the kettle for a pot of tea and sat quietly at the kitchen table, eating his lunch.

Afterwards, he put the dirty plate and cup into the stone sink, but didn’t wash up – Violet would only redo it. She often complained that his domestic skills were inadequate.

He was tempted to spend the afternoon writing – it had been weeks since he’d had time for any creative work – but he knew he should really visit his daughter. After leaving a note for Violet on the kitchen table, he put on his coat and went outside, the remnants of the fog catching in his throat.

He crossed the road to number 43, and tentatively rang the doorbell. There was no response, and he half-hoped that Elizabeth was sufficiently recovered to be back at work. He was just considering leaving and returning home when the door opened. To his amazement, Violet stood before him.

‘Charles! How lovely. When did you get back?’

‘An hour ago. What are you doing here?’

‘Same as you, I imagine – I came to see how Elizabeth was. Madeleine asked me to call in while she was at work. Elizabeth’s in the kitchen. Come down.’

Disconcerted, Charles followed his wife down the stairs to the basement kitchen. She led the way as if this were her second home. Elizabeth was sitting at the kitchen table, dandling Freddie on her lap. ‘Dad! How lovely.’ She handed the baby to Violet, and rushed over to hug her father.

‘Hello, my dear,’ he said, kissing her. ‘I must say, this is a delightful domestic scene… my wife and two children all together, like one happy family.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘Your boy’s such a little charmer. Violet’s been a godsend recently – keeping me company. It’s done me the world of good.’

She smiled broadly at Violet, who blushed a little.

‘Would you like some tea?’ Elizabeth asked.

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