Frances, âbut that would be good. I wish you would.â
âI wonât.â Opaline looked at Frances through the mirror. Her elegant face was as hard as stone when she said, âThe bastardâs cooked his goose this time.â
Frances felt sick. This was horrible, and not for the first time, she wished that Hugo was here. Heâd always got on better with Opaline than she had. But he wasnât and she would have to deal with it on her own. Growing up, sheâd always known that her parents had a rocky relationship, but something had tipped her mother over the edge. Surely it couldnât only be the black-market petrol; it had to be more. For a moment, she considered asking her, but what would be the point? Instead, she said, âIâm going back to London in the morning, so Iâve come to say goodbye.â
Opaline looked up from her nails. âAre you still staying with Beau Bennett?â
Frances nodded. âIâve got a room in his flat.â
âI wouldnât hold out any hopes there, honey.â Opaline gave a short, sour laugh. âHe sure ainât a ladyâs man, you know. Not like his father.â
Frances thought about that last remark as she sat on the train back to London. She had guessed that Beau preferred men, but that was beside the point. Had her mother had an affair with Rolly Bennett, Beauâs father? That brought further thoughts about the reason her mother appeared to be leaving Parnell Hall. Could it be that she had a boyfriend in London, a lover?
âGod, Iâm glad to see you,â said Beau, when she walked into the flat.
âThatâs nice,â she grinned, taking off her coat.
âHereâ â he went to the sideboard â âhave a drink.â He poured a large measure of gin into a glass and a minuscule amount of Angostura bitters. âHow were the folks?â
For a moment, Frances was tempted to tell him, but only for a moment. âAlright,â she said lightly. âThe same as ever.â
âGood. Now, letâs get down to business.â
The Bennett Playersâ travel plans had been finalised. âWe get a troop transport ferry from Gosport,â Beau said. âThatâll take us to Arromanches, and then youâll drive the bus to our first venue. Itâs a field hospital and transit camp near Bayeux. Theyâll be glad to see us; at least, I hope they will.â
âHave you told everybody?â Frances asked. âThey all think theyâve got another four or five days off.â
âNot all of them. I sent a telegram to Colin Brown in Glasgow and heâs coming to London tomorrow. I phoned Godfrey and had to speak to that dreadful wife for five agonising minutes before she let him on the line.â
Frances laughed. âWhat about the girls?â she asked.
âIâm leaving that up to you. Iâve got their addresses. I did phone Catherineâs house, but her mother answered and we didnât understand each other at all. She seemed to think that Catherine was away performing with the Players. So perhaps you can go round there first thing in the morning. As for Della, she hasnât answered my phone calls either.â
âShe did say once that the phone was in the hallway of her digs and that she didnât always hear it. Iâll go round.â Frances took a gulp of her drink. âAnd Tommy?â
âGot him. I went to the Criterion the other night and he was playing with the band, so he knows.â
âAnd that leaves the hateful Eric Baxter,â sighed Frances. âCanât we just forget to tell him and go to France without him? Everyone would thank you.â
âNo, we canât.â Beauâs face lost its normal pleasant expression. âDonât worry about him. Iâll do it.â He cleared his throat and then said, âBy the way, weâre having a liaison officer. Heâll be meeting
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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