The Dominafuhrer - THE GODMOTHER

Episode 9 - Kelly Comes Home

Part 2

Norfolk, England. November 1956

….Aircraft of the British and French Air Forces and Fleet Air Arms are now in the fourth day of their bombing campaign against strategic targets in the Suez Canal area. There are reports of numerous casualties among Egyptian civilians. Preparations continue in Cyprus and other bases in the Middle East for an airborne assault and an amphibious landing from British and French naval vessels in the Eastern Mediterranean. The Speaker of the House of Commons has warned that if there any further disruptions in the chamber similar to those that took place this week, then he will again suspend the sitting of the House. Diplomatic pressure is increasing on Britain and France not to intervene in the Middle East conflict and for Egypt and Israel to agree to a cease fire in the Sinai.

In other news; Fighting is reported on the streets of Budapest as Soviet Troops and Tanks take control of more areas of the city; Viewers in Yorkshire were able to watch Independent Television for the first time last night when broadcasting began from the Emley Moor Transmitter; The Postmaster General, Mister Ernest Marples has declared that the first weeks sales of Premium Bonds have been an outstanding success; There is a full programme of matches in the Football League today and our sports correspondent will be previewing some of the more interesting games; This is the last weekend of campaigning in the Election for the President of the United States and we have a report on a new phenomenon from America: Self Service Shops, will they mean the end of the traditional British Grocer?….. 

I felt like screaming at that plummy voiced News Reader. ‘I don’t care if I don’t have to queue to have my cheese cut and wrapped anymore! I want to know if my David is going to be shot at!’ The car radio ignored me and I turned it off in disgust. I looked at my watch and got out of the car, the train from Kings Cross was almost due.

The wind was cold and little rain drops spotted my raincoat as I lit a cigarette and then drummed my fingernails on the roof of my car. I patted it and apologized, looking around to make sure that no one had overheard me talking to a motor vehicle, but I had the forecourt of Kings Lynn Railway Station to myself.

I loved my car, it was the only one that I had ever owned and it was responsible for one of the biggest rows that I had ever had with David. He had been pleased when I had told him that I would be using some of my ‘compensation’ money to buy a motor car but had exploded when I had chosen a Volkswagen Beetle. “What,” he demanded to know, “was wrong with a British car such as a Morris, an Austin, a Standard or even a Ford? Why did you have to buy a bloody German coal scuttle helmet on wheels?” My reasons of Volkswagen reliability, economy and being cheaper to buy were all swept aside as he claimed that I knew nothing about cars and couldn’t even drive. Well, I could hardly tell him that the SS had taught me to drive at the age of eighteen, that I had driven armoured cars and troop carriers into battle, chauffeured Miss Spiteful in Berlin and had taken part in a high speed car chase through the streets of occupied Paris (I’ll tell you about that another time). The argument moved on to name calling, insults and obscenities in our native languages and my launching myself at his face with my nails extended. Blood was drawn on both sides when my long suffering nose was flattened yet again by his fist and, honour satisfied, we tore each others clothes off and made passionate love on the hearthrug. The gore, sweat and semen stained object was then dumped alongside the dustbin the next morning for our neighbours in the married quarters, who must have heard our fight, to view and gossip about.

Strangely, David had never questioned the source of my sudden and seemingly limitless wealth which had funded my Doctorate, the Car and some comfortable extras usually beyond the salary for his rank. He seemed to accept the cover story of a payment from the West German Government for being imprisoned and tortured by the Nazis but David was a deep thinker. Many years later, after he had retired from the Army as a Major General, he was reading the book section of his Sunday Newspaper at the breakfast table and then looked up at me with a deadpan face.

“There’s a new book reviewed in here about all the Nazi Gold and other riches that went missing at the end of the war. It mentions a mysterious red headed woman who was involved in the plot. I wonder if that is anyone we know?” The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement but I innocently returned his gaze and shook my head as I proclaimed my ignorance. What David did not know that Miss Spiteful had obtained a proof copy of the book before publication and had already sent us all a telegram: “Relax Girls. We are not in it.” 

I heard train like noises nearby and a plume of sooty smoke rose above the station roof to be dispersed by the strong wind off the North Sea. Passengers emerged from the entrance, tugging their coats around them as they scuttled off into the Town, trudged slowly to the nearby Bus Stop or waited forlornly for a Taxi. I squealed and Kelly shrieked as we spotted each other and ran into each others arms, oblivious of the curious stares in our direction. Miss Spiteful walked at a more sedate and regal pace, followed by a sheepish looking Porter with their luggage on a rickety wooden push barrow.

“Guten Tag, Stürm.” Miss Spiteful acknowledged my presence in German and bent her cheek forward for me to kiss it. “Please order this sulky minion to put our cases in your vehicle and then reward him with the smallest coins in your purse so that he can return the thirty metres to the cupboard that I had to pull him out of!” 

I allowed myself a few moments of amusement as the Porter went to the rear of my car and struggled to lift the engine cover before directing him to the luggage compartment at the front. I held the passenger door open and pulled the front seat forward so that Miss Spiteful could enter and settle her self on the back seat. Kelly tucked her long legs into the front and, after paying the Porter two shillings and calling him ‘Dickhead’ in German when he touched the peak of his cap, I got in behind the steering wheel.

A few minutes later we had left the town and were driving through open countryside.

“I’ve looked up on the map the address that you gave me and it could take us nearly an hour to get there,” I offered. “The roads in this part of the country are not very good.”

Kelly, alongside me, was very excited, her eyes taking in everything we passed but Miss Spiteful was strangely quiet and lost in her own thoughts. I tried to give a running commentary on the sights that we passed, the ruined Castle Rising; the Queen’s residence at Sandringham; Lavender farms that became seas of purple in the summer and Hunstanton, the only town on the east coast of Britain where you could see the sun set over the sea to the west, but gave up when I saw Miss Spiteful’s bored face in my driving mirror. Kelly however was still bubbling with enthusiasm.

“My grandfather was born near here and I still have some family in Norfolk County. In fact,” her voice tailed off and I looked across to see that she had almost a pathetic, pleading look on her face. “I have a really big favour to ask of you, Mistress.”

I raised my eyebrows and then had to look away as I spun the wheel to avoid a flock of wildfowl that was wandering across the road from a nearby pond.

“I want to visit a cousin who was once very close to me and I would like to spend one night away from the house party.” Her voice choked slightly before continuing. “Which means that Mistress will be without a slave for tomorrow night, unless you could stand in for me? Please?” Kelly really was begging and I shrugged nonchalantly.

“Sure. I will be my honour to serve our Mistress. It will be just like old times.”

While Kelly almost burst into tears with gratitude I glanced at Miss Spiteful again and saw her lips twitch momentarily into a smile before she resumed her glum mask.

“How’s Tom?” I threw the question back over my shoulder and was rewarded with a grunt before I noticed Kelly’s eyes widen in alarm and her lips form the word ‘No!’

Kelly squeezed one of my nyloned knees in reassurance and then tried to change the subject.

“Have you ever got in touch with your family again? You’ve never mentioned them.”

It was my turn for my eyes to water and I gripped the wheel tightly as replied in a low voice; “My family were all at home in Hamburg on the night of the twenty seventh of July, nineteen forty three. Nothing was found of any of their bodies after the firestorm.”

Kelly gulped and turned pale. She confessed to me a long time afterwards that her elder brother had been one of the Royal Canadian Air Force Bomber Crews that had taken part in the four days of air raids that had reduced much of my home city to rubble and many of its population to ashes.

We continued in an uncomfortable silence until I spotted a road sign almost hidden by the ivy covering the church wall it was fixed to. I turned left and beyond the village we were suddenly onto a wide causeway across marshlands with the grey sea on either side. At the far end the road led into a village of small red brick and white painted cottages. Barely a soul was in sight as we drove through and passing between white stone gateposts entered a beautiful, wooded parkland.

“Who is our host, Mistress?” I asked. “”I can’t say that I’ve heard of him beyond what you told me.”

Miss Spiteful sighed and shifted on her seat. “His father, Sir Hartley Southcote was one of my first clients in London and one of my dearest friends. Despite his predilections he was a sweet and honourable man. During and after the war he worked hard to raise money and credits for Britain and wore himself out in the process. He died of a massive heart attack only half an hour after his last session with me in New York. Apparently, despite the pain, he had a smile on his lips. Sir Geoffrey is an even greater success at making money but is totally immoral, less reliable and I do not care for some of the company that he mixes with. Nevertheless, he spends a lot of money with me and I do feel a little affection for him.”

At that moment we left trees behind and ahead of us, on the far side of a sweeping green lawn was a Palladian style mansion.

Even Miss Spiteful’s fine eyebrows rose as Kelly and I gasped in awe.

I drove on to the graveled forecourt and parked at the foot of the steps that led up to the granite pillars of the Portico. Kelly nudged me and whispered, “Jeez. What a joint! Shouldn’t we going in by the servant’s entrance?”       



To continue this story, click The Sage Of Southcote



        

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