Page 36 of The Lost Story of Sofia Castello

35

LONDON, 1941

‘ Al credo !’ I muttered under my breath as the man came and stood beside me. He was now wearing a fedora hat and an overcoat, his hands thrust into the pockets. Torn between whether to attack or flee, I remained rooted to the spot.

‘What does that mean?’ he asked, meeting my gaze in the mirror.

‘Oh God,’ I muttered, finally coming to my senses. ‘I need to get back to my dinner guest,’ I said in my most efficient and businesslike tone, as if there wasn’t anything remotely peculiar about this turn of events at all.

‘But do you want to?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’ I turned to look him in the face. Show no fear, I imagined my mother whispering – the advice she always gave me when I was little and frightened of the stray dogs that roamed our neighbourhood. Make them think that you’re the leader of the pack. I pulled my shoulders back and stood a little taller.

‘From what I could tell, your dinner guest is what we Londoners would call a right old bottle and glass.’

I stared at him blankly. ‘I take it that isn’t a good thing.’

‘No. It’s a very bad thing, trust me. So, I have a suggestion.’ He smiled, causing the skin at the corners of his eyes to crinkle and a dimple to appear in his right cheek. It was hard to be afraid of someone who looked so boyish and happy, so I allowed myself to relax a little.

‘Go on.’

‘Why don’t you escape with me?’

‘Hmm, are you proposing that I leave the safety of this hotel with a man I know nothing about who has just followed me into the ladies’ bathroom?’ I said sternly, although he was so affable his proposition seemed a lot less menacing than it might have done coming from someone else.

‘Yes, exactly!’ he exclaimed, clearly missing my point – or choosing to miss it. ‘But I ought to state for the record that I didn’t actually follow you.’

‘What, this is all just some bizarre coincidence?’ I smirked. ‘Do you make a habit of using the ladies’ bathroom then?’

He remained annoyingly unfazed. ‘No, I guessed you’d come in here. I knew you’d need a reason to get away from that bottle and glass, and excusing yourself to go to the bathroom was the most obvious one.’

‘Can you please tell me what a bottle and glass means? Obviously I know what a bottle and glass are, but why is it an insult?’

‘It’s cockney rhyming slang, innit. Bottle and glass – arse.’ He grinned and pointed to his backside, and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from smiling.

‘I see. Well, for your information, I was contemplating walking straight out of the hotel, he was so insufferable.’

‘There you go then!’ he said with a cheeky grin.

‘There I go where?’

‘Escape with me. It makes total sense, seeing as you were going to leave anyway.’

‘But I’m a guest here. And the bottle and the glass, as you call him, is a work colleague of mine. And… and there could be an air raid.’

‘So? So? So?’ He grinned, causing that annoyingly cute dimple to appear again.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Who cares about any of that?’

‘I do.’

‘Do you though?’ He sighed. ‘I had you down as being way more fearless.’

‘I am! But…’

‘You’re scared?’

‘No!’ I stared at him defiantly. And I really wasn’t by this point. I was too annoyed at his impudence.

‘Perhaps I could take you to Trafalgar Square,’ he said.

‘I have no need for a tour guide, thank you very—’ I broke off. ‘Wait a minute, where did you say?’

‘ Trafalgar Square.’ His grin returned. ‘It’s very nice this time of year. I hear they might even have some music there.’

‘You’re—’ I broke off again.

‘Yes,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I am your contact and it’s a pleasure to meet you!’ He tipped his hat at me. ‘They didn’t tell me who I’d be meeting, just that it would be a musician. I thought it was going to be some crusty old tuba player, so when I saw you come into the restaurant, I couldn’t believe my luck.’

‘And what on earth makes you think your luck is in?’ I said sharply.

He at least had the grace to blush. ‘Oh no, I didn’t mean my luck was in. I meant, you look like excellent company – unlike your dinner guest.’

‘Hmm.’ I gave him one of my most withering stares, but I had to admit, I was starting to feel like my luck was in too. Now I knew who the man was, and why he was in the bathroom, I could fully relax.

‘So, how about it?’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to rush you, but I don’t have much time left.’

‘How very dramatic. Why, are you about to expire?’ I arched an eyebrow.

‘No!’ he exclaimed. ‘I mean before I get caught loitering in a woman’s bathroom. I don’t think they look too kindly on that kind of thing here at the Savoy.’

I nodded. ‘Ah yes, you could have a point.’

‘So, what do you say? Do you fancy a night out on the town with me?’

‘But aren’t I supposed to give you?—’

‘Yes, I know,’ he interrupted. ‘But I can collect the music from you later. Let’s go and have some fun before there’s another bloody air raid.’

I instantly relaxed some more. He was clearly who he said he was, and the prospect of throwing caution to the wind and seizing the moment certainly appealed to my sense of adventure. ‘OK. Let’s go.’

We hurried into the corridor and upstairs to the lobby.

‘You go ahead; I’ll meet you outside,’ I said to Trafalgar before asking one of the receptionists to tell Bertrand that I’d been taken ill and had retired to my room. Something told me that I wouldn’t be caught out as he wasn’t nearly empathetic enough to think of checking I was OK.

Once the receptionist had left for the restaurant, I hurried outside and onto the street. It was so dark, it took a moment to spot Trafalgar, who was leaning against an unlit street light smoking a cigarette.

‘You came,’ he said with a grin as I hurried towards him. ‘I thought you might have chickened out.’

‘You thought what?’

He laughed. ‘Chickened out. I’m guessing you don’t have that saying in Portugal. It means to be too scared to do something.’

‘I’m not too scared to do anything,’ I retorted. I’d wanted to appear cool, but as soon as I said it, I felt idiotic. For some reason, the twinkly-eyed Trafalgar was denting my impenetrable armour.

‘Oh really?’ He looked at me, clearly amused.

‘Yes. So where are you taking me then – on this grand tour of London?’

‘I’m going to take you somewhere real,’ he replied.

‘And this wasn’t real?’ I gestured at the grand silhouette of the Savoy.

‘Not really, no. Not for most Londoners, any ’ow.’

I was becoming intrigued by his accent. ‘Where are you from?’ I asked as we started walking along the street. It was bustling with people all doing an awkward dance of trying not to bump into each other in the dark.

‘London!’ he replied indignantly, as if offended that I didn’t know.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… It’s just that your voice is so different to the other people I’ve met.’

He stopped walking. ‘Clearly you haven’t met any proper Londoners then,’ he said. ‘But don’t worry, we’re gonna fix that.’

‘OK then,’ I replied, feeling more intrigued by the minute.

‘Quick,’ he called, ‘there’s the bus.’

I ran after him to the corner of the street, where one of the iconic red double-decker London buses had come to a halt. Trafalgar leaped onto the opening at the back and held his hand out to me. I ignored it and jumped on just as the bus pulled away.

‘We timed that well,’ he called, ushering me up the curving stairs to the top deck. ‘It’s a shame it’s not light,’ he said as we sat in the seat at the very front. ‘This is one of the best ways to see London.’

‘That’s OK, I can still see some things,’ I replied, peering out. An almost full moon hung in the sky in front of us, casting the buildings of London in an ethereal glow. It was all quite magical, until I remembered what I’d overheard in the shelter earlier. The moonlight made it easier for the German bombers to see too. I shivered and sat back in the seat.

‘You cold?’ he asked, about to take off his jacket.

‘No, I’m OK, thanks,’ I replied, but I appreciated the gesture and the fact that he’d noticed. ‘So where is this real part of London you’re taking me to then?’ I asked.

‘We’re going to start at Billingsgate,’ he said.

‘What is that?’

‘A fish market. I thought you might like it.’

I instantly bristled. Was he mocking me the way Bertrand had? ‘If that’s meant to be a joke, you’re wasting your time,’ I said curtly. ‘I’m proud to have been a varina , and I will be until my dying day.’

To my surprise, he looked genuinely shocked. ‘Of course it isn’t a joke. I know all about your background. It’s why I like you as a singer. I really admire people who’ve worked hard to get where they are.’

Now it was my turn to be shocked. I hadn’t been sure if he even knew who I was other than being a musician.

‘I thought you might be interested. I read an article about you in the Evening Standard when your song “This Doll” came out,’ he continued. ‘I loved the fact that you went from selling fish to singing smash-hit records. That was what interested me the most about you.’

‘Why?’ I asked, trying to work out if he was just feeding me a line.

‘Because it gave you substance,’ he replied matter-of-factly. ‘And it made me look up varinas in the Encyclopaedia Britannica.’

‘Really?’ If he was feeding me a line, he was going to extraordinarily detailed lengths.

‘Yes, which made you even more intriguing.’ He looked out of the window. ‘We don’t have to go to Billingsgate if you don’t want, but I thought it might be fun. And it’s a beautiful building.’

‘OK, I’m sold – let’s do it.’ I glanced sideways at him and saw that he was grinning from ear to ear.

The bus continued trundling its way along the street, collecting more passengers as it went. To my surprise, everyone appeared to be in good cheer. It must have been the infamous Blitz spirit I’d read about in the British newspapers. I had to admit it was very impressive. How people managed to get on with their lives in the face of such relentless bombing was beyond me.

We turned a corner, and I saw a huge crater between two of the buildings and couldn’t help gasping.

‘There used to be a row of shops there,’ Trafalgar said. ‘Got hit by a parachute mine – destroyed the whole lot.’

As I stared out at the crater, I thought of the Great Lisbon earthquake of 1755 which destroyed most of the city. The bombed-out buildings in London reminded me a little of the Carmo Convent, one of the few buildings to survive the earthquake, although the stone roof of the church was completely destroyed and never rebuilt. But of course, the empty shell of the church hadn’t been caused by other human beings. Knowing that the devastation in London had chilled me to the core.

We reached another turning, and I saw water shimmering in the dark.

‘And there on our right we have the River Thames,’ Trafalgar said, adopting the official tone of a tour guide.

At that moment, a conductor appeared and issued us with tickets, which Trafalgar paid for. As the conductor gave me mine, he stared at me curiously.

‘Is that? Is she…?’

‘My cousin Mildred from Wolverhampton?’ Trafalgar said quickly. ‘Yes, indeed she is.’

‘Oh.’ The conductor set off along the swaying upper deck, looking disappointed.

‘I hope you don’t mind me saying that,’ Trafalgar said apologetically. ‘I just assumed that you didn’t want to be recognised.’

‘I don’t, so thank you.’

‘There’s London Bridge.’ He leaped up and pressed a button that rang a bell.

We went downstairs and leaped off the back of the bus as it came to a stop. This time, he didn’t offer me his hand, which I felt strangely disappointed by, even though I would have obviously batted it away.

‘I’ve decided to make a slight alteration to my tour,’ he said, sweeping his hand out and gesturing across the water. ‘First stop, the Tower of London.’

I peered across the river to a building with thin slits of light shining from its walls. ‘I thought there was a blackout,’ I said, puzzled. ‘I can see the lights inside.’

‘Yes, they had a few problems blacking out the old gun slits in the tower walls, so now, at the first sign of an air raid, an electrician cuts the power to the tower instead.’

‘Ah, I see.’ I looked back at the thin slits of light feeling slightly comforted. As long as they were shining, there was no attack imminent.

‘Do you know about the history of the tower?’ Trafalgar asked as we began walking across the bridge towards it.

‘I know about the child princes who were murdered in their sleep. My mother told me the story of them when I was a kid. She loved history.’

‘Your mother?’ He looked at me, confused.

‘Yes, why should that be such a surprise?’

‘I thought she…’ He fell silent, and I realised what must have happened.

‘Ah, I guess the article you read about me talked about my tragic backstory of alcohol, neglect and abuse.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry, I’m not prying at all. I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it.’

Normally, this would be my cue to feign distress and change the subject, but for some strange reason, it felt important that Trafalgar should know the truth about me and, more importantly, my mother. He was a member of the SOE after all – surely he could be trusted with a secret.

‘My backstory is – how should I put this…’ I paused for a moment. ‘A complete work of fiction.’

He looked at me and laughed. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, but you can’t tell anyone. It was my manager’s idea. He thought it would help capture the public’s imagination and sympathy. And, to be honest with you, I didn’t mind at all. I prefer keeping the truth about my mother and my childhood private.’

‘What about your father?’

‘I never knew him. So, I suppose you could say he was neglectful. But there was no alcoholism or abuse. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m glad. And it makes you even more intriguing.’

‘It does?’

‘Yup.’

Hearing that Trafalgar found me intriguing made me fizz with excitement, and once again I was shocked at how he’d somehow managed to break through the barrier I’d erected around my heart after Bing. It was slightly unnerving but also invigorating – like waking up after a long, deep sleep. But before I could give it any more thought, the glowing slits of the tower were suddenly plunged into darkness and, seconds later, the air-raid siren began to wail.