Page 38 of The Lost Story of Sofia Castello

37

LONDON 1941

For the next couple of hours, we sat under the bridge on the bank of the Thames talking and talking. To my surprise and delight, Trafalgar turned out to be that rare breed of person who is genuinely interested in another and good at listening. And I mean truly listening, not just nodding along while thinking of what he was going to say next, which so many are so talented at. He asked me all about Portugal and my childhood and my mother and what it was like going to Lisbon at sixteen to sell fish for a living.

‘My manager likes me to tell people that it was the most gruelling existence,’ I said with a laugh. ‘Pounding the streets in bare feet with a basket of fish on my head.’

‘You didn’t wear shoes?’ he exclaimed.

‘It was too much hassle, having to wade into the water to get the fish from the boat,’ I replied with a shrug. ‘It was easier to keep shoes out of the equation.’

He laughed, but in a warm, not mocking way. ‘You really are a fascinating woman, Sofia. No wonder you aren’t fazed by being outside during an air raid.’

‘Hmm, if you remember correctly, I wasn’t exactly happy to be dragged outside.’

‘But now?’ He looked at me hopefully.

‘Now I might have changed my mind.’

But then the hum of aircraft filled the air and my body instantly tensed.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘They’re heading back to base.’ He moved closer so that our sides were touching, and I appreciated the subtle yet comforting gesture. ‘You’re shivering,’ he exclaimed, and in a second he’d wriggled out of his coat and was putting it round my shoulders.

‘Thank you.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was shivering from fear rather than cold.

But thankfully the planes flew over without dropping any bombs, and a loud volley of anti-aircraft fire rang out as if bidding them farewell.

As we scrambled up the riverbank, the long singular tone of the all-clear signal rang out across the city, and relief washed over me.

‘What a night!’ I exclaimed as we reached the road.

‘Yes, I suppose I should get you back to your hotel and collect the sheet music. Billingsgate market will have to wait,’ he added, somewhat glumly.

Up on street level, the air was strangely musty and hard to breathe.

‘What’s that smell?’ I asked.

‘Bricks,’ Trafalgar replied. ‘Or, rather, the dust from the bricks of the buildings that have exploded.’

‘Oh.’ I shivered at the thought that we were inhaling the remains of people’s homes and shops and workplaces. Then I thought of the poor souls I’d seen down in the Underground station. What must it be like to emerge from the shelter not knowing if you still had a home or workplace to go to?

We walked on alongside the river in silence, and I saw the outlines of iconic London buildings begin to emerge in the first light of dawn. The fat round dome of St Paul’s Cathedral and, in the distance. the elegant turrets of the Houses of Parliament.

‘It looks like a fairy-tale palace,’ I murmured.

‘Hmm,’ Trafalgar replied as if he wasn’t so impressed.

‘What?’

‘Let’s just say that not everyone in the palace is a fairy-tale hero.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Never mind. Come on.’ He grabbed my hand and quickened his pace.

As we hurried along, I pondered why he might have said what he did. Then I remembered what Emilio had said about influential Britons being sympathisers of Hitler. Could that include Members of Parliament as well as royalty? Being in the SOE, Trafalgar would probably know. I decided not to press the point as he clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

The walk back to the hotel soon dampened our spirits. Evidence of the German bombing raid was all around, with fresh craters in the roads and buildings still smouldering.

‘How can people do this to one another?’ I murmured.

‘They’ve always done this to one another,’ Trafalgar replied. ‘It’s just that they’ve invented ways to be even more deadly.’

‘But that’s just so…’ I paused to try to find the right word in English. ‘Obscene – it’s obscene.’

He stopped and gently put his finger to my lips, causing a charge to rush through my body. ‘Let’s not think about that. Let’s focus on the good – like the fact that we’ve met.’

I nodded, feeling another rush of warmth at his words. It did indeed feel like a good thing that we’d met, even in such stressful circumstances.

We arrived at the hotel, and the doorman greeted us with a weary smile.

‘The Bosch have been busy again,’ he said with a sigh.

‘Yes, more’s the pity,’ Trafalgar replied.

‘I hope you two were able to find proper shelter.’

‘Oh yes, we were grand.’ Trafalgar looked at me and winked.

When we arrived at my room, I found a note pushed under the door. It was from Bertrand. ‘ Sorry you were taken ill. I hope you’ll be OK for your rehearsals tomorrow! B’ I scrunched it up and threw it in the bin.

Trafalgar looked at me questioningly.

‘It was from my dinner date – panicking that my supposed illness might affect the show I’m doing for him.’

‘Ah.’ He laughed. ‘When is your show?’

‘The day after tomorrow – or, rather, today!’ I looked at the clock on the mantel. It was almost seven in the morning. I hurried over to my case and took out the folder holding the sheet music. ‘This is for you,’ I said, handing it to him.

‘Thank you.’ He put the folder down on the armchair beside him. ‘So…’

‘So,’ I echoed. The tension between us felt almost unbearable – for me at least.

‘I know that our business is done, but I’d really like to see you again.’

‘I’d really like that too!’ I exclaimed, once again marvelling at how he’d managed to break down my defences so effortlessly.

He looked so relieved, it warmed my heart. ‘Are you free tonight?’

I nodded.

‘Excellent. I shall come and call for you.’ He stood looking awkward for a moment. ‘Well, goodnight. Or good morning.’

I laughed. ‘Good morning.’

‘Thank you for a great time.’

‘Thank you.’ I felt so uncharacteristically tongue-tied and shy, it was very disconcerting.

He took his hat off and held it to his chest. ‘I’m going to remember yesterday’s date forever. Wait a minute, what was the date yesterday?’

‘Thursday the eighth of May, 1941.’

‘Thursday the eighth of May, 1941,’ he echoed softly. ‘The date fate brought us together.’ Then he kissed me lightly on the cheek, put his hat back on and left.

I stood rooted to the spot, gazing after him, feeling dazed. Maybe it was all of Trafalgar’s talk about fate, but I had the certain knowing that the eighth of May 1941 was the date my life had changed forever. And, of course, I was right, but for reasons I never, ever could have anticipated.