Over Here

Peggy picked up the newspaper Karl had just dropped on the couch.

'Honesty, Karl, as fast as I tidy the house you clutter it up again. Don't you want to make a good impression?'

'He's just a guy Peg, he won't notice how tidy the house is.'

'Maybe not but Annie will. Don't you want to do your best for our daughter?'

'Sure, I do, but he's not the first guy she's brought home. What makes this one so special?'

'Don't be such a grouch, Karl. He may not be the first guy she's brought home, but I think he could be the last. I don't know what it is, but there is something about the way she talks about him that tells me that this one is special. I think he could be "The One".'

'Yeah? Well, I couldn't see what was wrong with the last one, at least he was a good American boy, not some limey jerk.'

'He is not "some limey jerk". His name is Oliver and he's a Squadron Leader in the Royal Air Force. I'd have thought that you, of all people, would be happy that she's chosen a flyer just like her Dad.'

'I quit being a flyer a long time ago and if it wasn't for the god damned Limeys I might have still been in the service. We went over there to save their asses and were they grateful? No, they were not. Do you know what they used to say about us? There are only three things wrong with the Yanks, they're overpaid, oversexed and over here.'

'You've said all this before, but you never tell us what happened over there. Please, for the sake of your daughter, put it out of your mind while Annie and Oliver are here. Just be nice.'

'I'm always nice to our guests.'

'Tell that to someone who doesn't remember Ellis Bruckner.'

'Honey, everyone knows that Ellis Bruckner is an asshole. Is it my fault that no one had told him before I did?'

'Karl Peter Brockman, I will not have you using that sort of language in our home.'

'I'm sorry, Honey, but it wasn't me that brought up Ellis Bruckner.'

'Okay, okay, don't worry I'll be nice to Oliver whatever his name is.'

'Mortimer, his name is Oliver Mortimer. Annie says he's from a very good family.'

'Mortimer, are you sure?'

'Yes I think so, why, do you know him?'

'No it doesn't matter, I'm sure there are plenty of Mortimers in England.'

'Okay, then let's try and make a good impression. You're both flyers so you'll have something to talk about.'

'It's not that simple, Honey. So much has changed since I left the service.'

'Then that's what you talk about. I'm sure he'll be fascinated by what it was like to fly a B17.'

It wasn't that Karl was deliberately ignoring his wife, his mind was elsewhere. Since hearing that name he kept hearing another voice. A voice that belonged in the past. A voice from inside his head.

'There have been Mortimers at Granby Hall for four hundred years.'

He heard the voice and saw the eyes that sparkled blue contrasting with her dark hair. For a few seconds, he was back in 1943 in Lincolnshire, England.

***

The roar of the B17s taking off drowned out the sound of Karl's Jeep engine as he bounced along the lane. He stopped the Jeep and watched them fly over no more than a few hundred feet above him. Up there was where he wanted to be, not down here on the ground acting as liaison officer between USAAF and the local population. He couldn't even see that it should be necessary to have a liaison officer but if there was one thing the English were good at it was complaining. So far, he'd been sent to talk to a farmer who insisted that the noise from the planes had caused a reduction in his milk yield. A sow lost three of its piglets, blame the Yankee bombers. If potatoes rotted in the fields, it was because the labour force had quit in order to work for the Americans. All this he could shrug off but now they were focussing their complaints on the men and that was something he would deal with. He released the parking brake and set off for Granby Hall.

He realised he'd made a mistake when he saw the sentries at the main door.

'What's your business here?' asked the guard.

'I'm meeting with Lady Daphne Mortimer.'

'Moved out mate. You'll find her down at the gatehouse.'

'Are you sure?'

'Certain. House has been requisitioned by the War Department.'

He jumped back in the Jeep, turned around and headed back down the drive. The gatehouse was significantly smaller than the main house. Karl thought how much of a shock it must have been to move from such splendour to this small house. He walked up the path and rapped on the front door. As he stood looking out on the flat Lincolnshire landscape, he failed to notice the door opening behind him.

'Yes, is there something I can do for you?' asked the melodious voice behind him. He turned to see a smartly dressed slim woman with shoulder-length dark hair and blue eyes. He couldn't shift his gaze away from those eyes. She smiled at his look of surprise.

'Sorry, Ma'am, I'm looking for Lady Daphne Mortimer.'

'Then you're somewhat ahead of yourself sir. I shall not be Lady Daphne until my father in law dies, which I hope will be a long way off. Until then it's just Misses Mortimer.'

Karl felt the colour coming to his cheeks.

'I'm sorry, Ma'am, I was misinformed.' He held out his hand.' Lieutenant Pete Brockman United States Army Air Force.' Karl was a family name passed down to the eldest son. Only his wife called him Karl everyone else used his second name of Peter. Now in a country at war with a country where Karl was a common name he had no intention of using it.

'I believe you made a complaint to the base commander.'

She shook his outstretched hand.

'I see Lieutenant. You'd better come in.' He followed her down the hall to the parlour and watched the swing of her hips. Her back remained ramrod straight as she walked. He admired her trim waist and the way her skirt swung as she walked.

'Please sit down; I was just going to make some tea, would you like a cup?'

'Only if you're making it Ma'am don't put yourself out on my account.'

He sat on the edge of the sofa and looked around. There was sticky tape across the windowpanes and heavy blackout curtains either side of the window. Some of the furniture looked like it belonged in the big house but the sofa and armchairs didn't look out of place in the small room. He could hear the whistle of the kettle in the kitchen. A few minutes later, his hostess returned carrying a silver tray, which she placed on a small table in front of the sofa. On the tray were a fine china teapot and two matching cups and saucers with a sugar bowl and milk jug. She placed a cup and saucer in front of him and poured the tea.

'Please help yourself to milk and sugar.'

Kurt had no desire to drink tea but had come to realise that it was a welcoming ritual in Britain. The tea here was stronger than he'd had in The States so he added more milk than he would have. It amazed that the British always seemed to offer tea and cakes although their food was strictly rationed.

'I know you Americans prefer coffee but I'm afraid such luxuries are hard to come by thanks to Mister Hitler's U' boats.'

'We seem to have plenty at the base; I'll see what I can do for you.'

'Oh no, I couldn't possibly let you do that, not when so many have to go without. It's not so bad out here in the country but those poor people in London must be starving.'

'I understand that Ma'am but me getting you some coffee isn't going to make their lot any worse. The way I see it you've already suffered by having to move out of the big house.'

'It's only temporary, once this war is over and Germany are defeated we will go back. There have been Mortimers at Granby Hall for the last four hundred years. Once that nasty little Austrian corporal is out of the way, we will return. In the meantime, like everyone else, we must make sacrifices. I imagine you also have made sacrifices. I daresay you gave up a promising career in civilian life.'

Her eyes never left his all the time she was speaking. They seemed to look right into his soul.

'No Ma'am I joined the service straight out of college.'

'And you enjoy it do you, being a flyer?'

'To be honest Ma'am, I'd rather be up there right now rather than down here flying a desk.'

She reached out and put her hand on his knee.

'Now, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?'

'You made a complaint to the base commander, Ma'am.'

'Please call me Daphne, Ma'am sounds so stuffy.'

'Okay, then you must call me Pete...Now about the complaint.'

'Oh yes, now where do I start? This is second hand, you understand, the villagers come to me with a complaint and I take it up on their behalf. People are concerned about the way your men are acting with local women. I believe it has already led to problems.'

'Would you be talking about the brawl outside the Black Bull last Saturday? Several of the men came back with injuries and the Black Bull is off-limits at the moment.'

'Your men gave as good as they got Lieu...Pete but it is the cause of that fight that worries me.'

'Our men are a long way from home and haven't seen their wives and girlfriends for months. We can't stop men doing what men do. Now unless you are telling me that our men are abusing the women there is little I can do.'

'Are you married, Pete?'

'Yes, Ma'am,' he pulled out his wallet and produced two photographs. 'That's my wife Peggy.'

'She's very pretty, tell me how would your brother or other relatives react if they saw another man taking advantage of her loneliness.'

' My brother, Jack, would tear him limb from limb. Ah, I see what you're getting at, the fights are over married women.'

Her eyes twinkled as she smiled at him, and what a smile it was, it seemed to warm him right through to his toes.

'We understand that your men have needs but taking advantage of lonely women while their menfolk are away fighting god knows where is something we will not tolerate. This beastly war is hard enough on women who don't know when or if they might see their husbands again, without being tempted with stockings for their legs and chocolate for their children.

'Well, I can talk to our commanding officer to see what he can do, but I am just the liaison officer, my powers are limited. To be honest I'm not sure what the C.O. can do short of restricting the men to base.'

'There is always something that can be done. These men are damaging the reputation of the USAAF, if your forces are anything like ours, that's a serious charge. Couldn't you threaten them with that?'

'I don't know, we'll certainly do what we can. Now is there anything else?'

She gave him that smile again and her eyes looked directly into his. He felt as if she was looking into his very soul.

'That isn't the question you meant to ask, is it? Weren't you going to ask me about the "quid pro quo"?'

'Was I?'

'Oh, I'm sure you were. You were going to ask what we could offer you in exchange for your help. Well, you are right there are things we could do to help. For a start, if we were to receive assurances that you will treat the matter seriously, your men would, once more, be welcome at the Black Bull, which is the only pub within walking distance of the base. In addition to this, some of the ladies would like to offer dance classes to your men and single girls. What better way is there for a man to get to know a girl than taking her in his arms and waltzing her around the room?'

'And this offer is conditional on our men staying away from the wives?'

'Of course.'

Karl smiled and shook his head. Slapping his knee, he said 'Well, I'll be damned. You got this all figured out, don't you? You are making the men police this agreement for you. If one of their buddies steps out of line those that enjoy dancing with the girls will soon pull him back. If you'll excuse my language Ma'am you are one hell of a negotiator.'

'I picked it up from my father. He owns several steel plants in the North. He always said the carrot is more powerful than the stick. Now, Peter, do we have a deal.'

'I can't say yet, Daphne, I've got to run it past the C.O. but I think he'll jump at it. The men will appreciate it also. Now if that is all I'd better get going, I've got to see a farmer who claims our planes are stopping his pigs from farrowing, whatever that means.'

As he drove away, Karl felt like someone had re-laid the road surface, he didn't feel a single bump.

***

Karl went to meet her as soon as he heard her key in the door. Anne Brockman stood five foot six in her heels, her long dark hair fell down and over her shoulders. She had her mother's oval face, turned-up nose and large brown eyes. She walked in the door pulling her wheelie case behind her. Her father stood and looked at her and saw the same things in her that had attracted him to her mother all those years ago. He walked up and took her in his arms.

'Welcome home, Baby.'

'Hi, Dad, where's Mom?'

'Oh, she's fussing around the house, making sure everything is perfect for Oliver.' He stopped and looked around her and through the open door. 'Speaking of Oliver, where is he? You two haven't fallen out already?'

'No, Dad, we haven't fallen out. He was called away to Langley on Wednesday and he's coming straight here from there. It made no sense him flying back to Washington just so we'd arrive together.'

'No, I guess not, it's just that your mother, I mean we, have been looking forward to meeting him.'

'It's Okay, Dad, I know I'm your baby girl and no one will ever be good enough for me, but give him a chance, you'll like him, he's a flyer just like you.'

Karl moved past his daughter to close the door then came back to pick up his daughters bag.

'We've put you in your old room. Oliver can take the guest room if that's alright?'

'Oh, Dad, you can be so old fashioned at times. We have already slept together if that's what you're hinting at.'

'That's not fair, your Mom and I know it's a different world these days and we accept that. If you and Oliver want to share the guest room that'll be fine.'

'Don't worry, Dad, I think Oliver is expecting separate rooms. His family will probably be the same.'

'So you're planning on meeting them soon, where do they live in England?'

'I'm not sure, somewhere near Lincoln I guess. I know his parents were married in Lincoln Cathedral.'

'Lincoln Cathedral, that's some building, it always surprised me that it never got hit in the bombing raids.'

'Is that where you served? You and Ollie will have plenty to talk about.'

As he dropped his daughter's bag in her room, he felt a cold shiver. Yes, he'd served in Lincolnshire and it was something he'd spent decades trying to forget.

***

In many ways, Lincoln was like most other British cities. Butchers and grocers had queues outside as the people waited to get their ration of meat and food, such as it was. He couldn't believe people could live like that, the country was a haven for black marketeers who could get supplies from places like his own base. Gas was also tightly rationed which meant his jeep was one of few vehicles on the road. He tried to imagine what it would have been like before the war, a bustling town, no doubt. One thing that hadn't changed was the way the Cathedral dominated the town. No matter where you were in the town, you looked up and there it was. Unlike London, most of the entertainment venues were still open and taking advantage of the trade provided by the G.I.s from the bases outside the city. His own base provided busses to get the men there at the weekends. Indeed, it was those trips that gave him cause to go there. Three of his men had not returned and were currently residing in the cells beneath the police station. His job was to get them released and back to the base where they would face military charges. The station sergeant was glad to see the back of them but unhappy that he was unable to press charges of his own.

'You know,' said the sergeant, 'There are only three things wrong with you Yanks.'

'Yeah, yeah,' said Corporal Morelli,' Were overpaid, oversexed and over here. We heard it all before; can't you come up with something new? You know we like it here even less than you like us being here. It's only because your limey army can't fight their way out of a paper bag that we had to come over here and save your asses, again.'

'Well it's a pity you turned up late, again, isn't it.'

Karl turned to Morelli. 'Not another word from you. You are already absent without leave, don't make me add to it.'

He turned back to the sergeant. 'Do I have to sign something to take these jerks off your hands?'

'Just take em and make sure they don't come back.'

Karl ushered the men out to the Jeep and set off to the base. All the way back the men were complaining about rough justice and how the police had taken the side of the locals involved in the altercation. Karl ignored them. Driving on the narrow roads was bad enough without having to deal with them.

As they approached Granby Hall, he slowed hoping to catch sight of Daphne as he passed the gatehouse. It had been two months since they'd met, and since that day, he couldn't get her out of his mind. Her plan was now in full swing and since the start of the dance lessons, there hadn't been a single fight in the village. The men had been reluctant at first when it was just older women teaching them but once the young single girls started to turn up there were more men than partners. Karl made it his job to monitor the progress of the classes. He claimed to be interested in taking it further, and to this end, he arranged regular meetings with Daphne at the gatehouse. She was now able to offer him coffee which she poured from a tall china pot. They had already moved on to regular dances being held in the village hall and Daphne was investigating the possibility of a second in the neighbouring village of Morby-in-the Marsh.

As soon as Karl had dropped his three charges off at the guardhouse, he turned his Jeep around and headed back to Granby Hall. He stopped the Jeep at the garden gate of the gatehouse and made his way to the front door. After rapping on the front door, he stood and waited. He could hear voices from inside and it saddened him to find that she was not alone. After a minute, the door opened and Karl found himself face to face with a man. The man looked younger than Karl. He had fair hair, blue eyes, cleft chin and wore a white crew neck sweater.

'Something I can do for you, old chap?'

'I've come to see Misses Mortimer, is she at home?'

The man turned and called back into the house.

'Daffers, your American friend is here to see you.'

'I'll be down in a minute.'

'You'd better come in, old chap. My name's Clifford, by the way, Clifford Mortimer. And you are?'

'Oh, Pete, Peter Brockman. Pleased to meet you. Look this isn't urgent, I don't want to interrupt anything.'

'Nonsense, it's time we were up and about. Had a bit of a lie in this morning, you know how it is.'

Indeed, he did know how it was and the thought of what had kept Daphne, and the man he assumed to be her husband, in bed so late stirred intense feelings of jealousy.

'I think I should go and let you two spend some time together.'

'Well, I think you should at least wait and talk to Daphne. I don't want her thinking I don't support her projects. It's, important that she has something to occupy her time while I'm away and if that helps your chaps while they are here so much the better.'

The longer he spent in Clifford's company the more uncomfortable he felt. His desire for Daphne made him want to see Clifford as some sort of monster, but he seemed like a decent guy, which made the guilt he felt even stronger. He was about to protest once more when Daphne appeared. She was wearing a dressing gown and she was rubbing her wet hair with a towel.

'Peter, this is an unexpected pleasure. I see you've met my husband. Clifford this is Lieutenant Brockman we've been working together to help his men settle in.'