Diamonds in the Sand

By Maurice Robin

It is 1940, and a catastrophic German invasion of Belgium and Holland is
imminent. Against his will, Henk de Ridder a captain in the Netherlands army
helps his father-in-law to smuggle a priceless box of cut diamonds from Antwerp
to Java. The stones arrive safely but by 1941 the Japanese are preparing to
invade the Dutch East Indies. Again Henk must hurry the box away, this time to
Australia. But the Dutch airliner carrying them is shot down by Zeros and crashes
in the wilderness of North Western Australia. Where are the stones? Can they be
recovered? Henk is one of many determined to fi nd them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Mar 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469168517

Maurice Robin

MAURICE ROBIN was born in England and immigrated to South Africa in 1948. Subsequently he lived in Israel where he served in the Israeli army. Upon his return to South Africa he studied law. He married his childhood sweetheart Joy in December 1959 and was admitted as an Attorney of the Supreme Court in 1960. He practised as an Attorney in Johannesburg but moved with his wife to Plettenberg Bay on the southern Cape coast in 1980 where they still live. They travel extensively and on a trip to Broome in Australia he became intrigued with the fate of Smirnoff’s aircraft and the whereabouts of its cargo of diamonds. This novel is the result.

Book preview

DIAMONDS IN THE SAND

Maurice Robin

Copyright © 2012 by Maurice Robin.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012902882

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-6850-0

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4691-6849-4

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-6851-7

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Postscript

Acknowledgments

This work of fiction is loosely based upon genuine events. Many of the players who stroll across the stage really lived and performed their roles, allotted not by me but by fate. Some names have been changed. The references to specific reports, discussions and speeches between 1937 and 1943 are not my invention and are generally well documented. However as they weren’t always recorded in detail I have allowed myself licence to add in or interpret what I believe the participants might have said.

To this day the vast majority of the diamonds, including The Charlotte have not been recovered. The question is, ‘what happened to them?’ What follows is my personal idea of why they were never found.

*     *     *

CHAPTER ONE

The firm of N. F. Jerling, diamond merchants had been trading in Antwerp since the early eighteen hundreds. It prospered, opening retail branches in Holland, in Bandoeng and in Batavia in the East Indies. It’s cutting and polishing industry was retained in Antwerp where it had started. Every year the company marketed thousands of sparkling diamonds and other precious stones of varying grades, mainly wholesale but also retail around the world.

Generally, the companies’ purchases were conservative. The directors preferred to keep money in the bank and the inventory on the low side, but in September 1936 in anticipation of a looming shortage on the world market it purchased from the de Beers Corporation an extremely valuable consignment of uncut South African diamonds. The transaction took place deep in the bowels of de Beer’s London offices in Charterhouse Street. Three of the firm’s trusted cutters, together with a Belgian assessor and the managing director of the firm, a Mr. de Groot spent four days inspecting grading and discussing the stones before the sale was concluded. When both sides were satisfied, authority was given to the company’s bankers, Barclays Bank to transfer the purchase price from Jerling’s account to the sellers. That purchase price was Two Hundred and Forty Seven Thousand Pounds.

The jewels were transported to Antwerp under the protection of six heavily armed guards borrowed from the Belgian military in exchange for a favour, and on arrival were lodged in the underground vaults of the company. Then started the huge task of cutting and polishing the pure flawless diamonds’ of different sizes and clarity, a feat that took over three years. By 1939 once the cutting and polishing was completed their total value had escalated to approximately half a million Pounds Sterling.

The prize of the collection, a thirty six carat flawless blue-white beauty was named ‘The Charlotte’, after Mr. de Groot’s daughter. The others were not named individually. Perhaps they should have been. An appropriate name for all of them might have been The War Diamond Collection for they had the uncanny ability to attract trouble.

*     *     *

Holland is a cold country in winter and the night of January 30th 1937 was no exception. Scudding black clouds pregnant with rain, icy sleet, temperature just below zero. The streets of Rotterdam were dark and forbidding.

But the officer’s mess of the First Corp, Royal Netherlands Army was snug and smoky, heated by the oil heaters and the body heat of the crowded officers seated around the room and crammed at the long beer-stained bar. A welcoming place to be on this frigid night.

The noisy chatter ceased abruptly just after 9 p.m. as the volume on the wireless was suddenly turned up by one of the barmen. The ignored background music was replaced by the voice of a clearly excited Radio Nederlands announcer.  . . . terrupting our current programme to bring you a live broadcast direct from the Reichstag in Berlin. The next voice you hear will be that of the German Chancellor, Mr. Hitler.

Hurriedly the officers seated at tables scrambled forward between their comrades at the bar and clustered around the wireless to listen to the German Chancellor. A whining carrier wave, a moment of silence, and then the sound of enthusiastic clapping.

Finally the huge, soft spoken Captain Hendrik de Ridder, known by all as Henk, prize prop for the Dutch Infantry rugby team was to hear the famous Adolf Hitler’s voice.

Translate Henk, shouted a Major. You’re our prize German speaker.

Sir, Henk replied throwing a mock salute. He shouldered his way effortlessly through the military scrum until he could hear clearly, and then translated the German into Dutch as the angry words thundered from the wireless speaker.

I have revoked the iniquitous Locarno Treaty with immediate effect screamed Adolf Hitler, to a roar of approval from his audience. The German Reich will no longer be bound by its terms. Henceforth Germany will retain such arms as it needs for its defence. We will re-arm, as we think fit. He paused and took a breath. Again he screamed into the microphone, distorting the sound. From today, nobody but we ourselves will dictate what armaments we can and cannot have for the defence of the Fatherland. More uproarious shouts of approval from Berlin.

Presumably the Fuehrer raised a hand, for the roaring audience quieted. Not a sound could be heard in the mess as they waited. Finally Hitler continued, this time softly, reasonably, man to man, Government to Government.

We know that the Low Countries fear that we have designs on their territory. That is simply not true. We have… and he banged a fist onto the rostrum underlining each word  . . . no territorial demands in Western Europe. The German Government has given the assurance to Belgium and Holland that it is prepared to recognise and to guarantee the inviolability and neutrality of those territories. This I will personally honour. The last was followed by polite but unenthusiastic clapping from his audience. Apparently they were more impressed with the prospects of rearmament than assurances of peace.

The speaker crackled and the announcer’s voice returned. That concludes this special transmission. We now return to our scheduled programmes.

Leaning against the bar, Henk turned to his colleagues who were looking at each other with pained expressions.

Why are you all so glum? Maybe I’m naïve but I just heard Mister Hitler guarantee our security to the entire world. Shouts of disagreement erupted from the older officers around him.

A major wearing decorations earned in the Great War, spoke bitterly.

You don’t understand, Henk. You are too young. But I remember as if it was yesterday. In 1914 the Kaiser blathered on about the sanctity of his obligations to maintain world peace and respect our sovereignty. And when the time was ripe… he shook his head sadly… the Germans invaded us. Frankly, I wish he hadn’t given that undertaking. The moment I heard it I knew we had moved into the firing line.

The uniformed men returned to their tables, still discussing what they had heard.

One good thing Henk… said a friend pausing to finish his beer. At least we know that the beast is loose and armed even if he says he’s friendly. Now that the Locarno Treaty is officially down the toilet France and England will have to rearm. There is no longer any excuse for them to drift hopelessly down the river until they pull us over the waterfall. They have been warned.

In 1938, having served a spell at the Staff College, Henk now a major returned to the First Corp and in March attended a briefing by the French General staff.

Gentlemen, it is my honour to present General Henri Honore Giraud.

Giraud rose, acknowledged the polite round of clapping and stood for a moment gazing short-sightedly around the hall. He gave a resume of the political situation and finally declared that Hitler would not be ready to attack the West for some years. His stated target was Poland.

A Belgian officer rose from his chair. Mon General, what could we do if Hitler became tied up in the East? Would that not be the time to get rid of him once and for all?

Giraud nodded as the officer slowly resumed his seat.

A good point but don’t underestimate the might of the Reich, Gentlemen. We know that Hitler has sufficient divisions to overrun the East and still leave strong forces in the West to hold us to a stalemate if we attacked.

Further questions Gentlemen?

Nervously, Henk raised his hand and stood. Heads around him swivelled to see who was talking. Major Henk de Ridder RNA. If Hitler should attack on two fronts, which way will he go? Assuming he comes at us how can we resist him? He sat down, his forehead speckled with perspiration, his heart beating fast at the temerity of questioning a General. And a French one at that.

Giraud sighed as if he were suffering and spoke directly to Henk. "Major, if Hitler were so misguided as to start a second front, the French army would protect you. We have the most powerful army in the world and we are not afraid of the Germans.

Henk was not abandoned by his superiors. A Dutch General stood, turned his head to smile approvingly at his junior officer and said,

General Giraud, I think Major de Ridder has a point. If things go seriously awry, we will be in the forefront of any attack on the West by the Nazis. How long would it take for your forces to swing across to join us?

Giraud was becoming annoyed. As long as is required! That is the answer.

The Dutchman refused to be cowed. "General it’s a question of time. We would resist with 10 divisions in all, one mounted on bicycles. Perhaps you could lend us a few modern tanks? There was a ripple of applause around the hall. Henk’s question had hit the mark.

Five days later German troops marched unopposed across the border into the independent state of Austria to be greeted by a screaming, enthusiastic populace. The Anschluss between the two countries was seen as a private, almost internal German affair.

Four months passed and the Sudeten Germans started rioting. Hitler threatened to invade Czechoslovakia. On September 15th Mr. Chamberlain announced that he was flying from London to Berchtesgaden in Austria to meet Mr. Hitler.

At lunch in the mess, Henk disagreed with his fellow officers who had confidence in the British statesman. Chamberlain is a pacifist and I think he might capitulate.

Nonsense, scoffed a man at the table. Why should he? If he stands firm he wins.

Chamberlain flew back to England waving a scrap of paper bearing Adolf Hitler’s signature and proclaimed a hollow, ‘Peace in our time". Incredibly the Prime Ministers of England and France jointly advised President Benes of Czechoslovakia that if he went to war with Germany they would not support him.

Within a week of Munich Hitler declared Once the Sudeten problem is settled, no territorial problem in Europe will remain. It is the last Territorial demand I have to make in Europe. This I guarantee. I want no Czechs at all. and sent German forces to occupy the Sudetenland.

By March 1939 Czechoslovakia was occupied by the Germans who wanted no Czechs at all. Almost immediately, Britain abandoned the policy of appeasement. Chamberlain rose in the House of Commons to announce that Britain would defend Poland militarily in the event that that countries’ independence was threatened.

CHAPTER TWO

During the years leading up to the war, and later, during the ‘phoney war’ liaison between the Allies and the military of the Low Countries was centred in Brussels. Any ambitious Dutch officer wanted to be there. To his delight Henk was informed in mid May 1939 that he should leave Rotterdam as soon as possible and report to the chief of station in Brussels,

It was with a sense of barely controlled excitement mixed with some trepidation that he set off for Brussels by road in his exotic right hand drive MG sports car. Brussels was where it was all happening.

The chief of station was a Major Sas. He was in his early forties and rapidly climbing up the promotion ladder. A man of great charm and ability he and Henk hit it off immediately. They were both fluent in French, English and German, which made it possible for the two of them to debate and analyse the various reports and daily newspapers, in their original languages. He was married and as his wife had accompanied him to Brussels he was allocated a flat in the city; Henk was invited and accepted regular invitations to dinner. After the meal, Sas’ wife invariably left the two of them to themselves. They spent hours discussing policy and more especially worked together on the reports they were submitting to GHQ in Holland. Henk was becoming a full time analyst.

One evening they sat talking and smoking on the balcony of Sas’ second floor flat; the air warm and the traffic noises muted by the trees that surrounded the building. They were in shirt sleeves; ties loosened, braces folded down their sides. On the floor, beside each of them, rested iced bottles of beer.

In the event of war we will need our forces to be propped up immediately by French armour said Henk, turning to his colleague and adjusting a cushion behind his back. Not that there’s anything new about that. But since I’ve been here I haven’t felt a sense of urgency. At least not from the French".

"You’re right of course Henk.

Sas drank from his bottle You know I have connections in Germany…

Henk nodded. He understood that Sas was friendly with various senior abwehr officers.

 . . . they tell me that the German Panzers and air force are practicing a new manoeuvre called blitzkrieg that will enable them to advance at lightning speed. It’s a fascinating concept involving coordinated aerial and tank attack.

Will it work?

Well nobody knows yet, because its only been tried in manoeuvres but my German friends think it will if the weather is good. Fighter bombers knock out the enemy armour and defences and your own tanks advance at full speed under the aerial umbrella. The infantry follows on behind. If the new tactic works the French will have to get their shield across our lines at the first hint of an attack; otherwise they may be too late.

Even with the deployment of huge French and British reinforcements including armour and air cover, a catastrophe loomed.

Yet Brussels was not overrun with war hysteria. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die might have been the worm eating the root of every well educated citizen’s consciousness, but it didn’t show. The lights burned brightly. Well-dressed, affluent civilians thronged the restaurants and theatres. ‘Gone with the Wind’, winner of the 1939 Academy Award for best picture, ‘The Wizard of Oz’ and ‘Goodbye Mr Chips’ were breaking records in crowded cinemas throughout the country. But oh, those dreadful inaccurate Belgian sub-titles! They were a perpetual source of dissatisfaction; not least the fact that they were printed in white and disappeared as soon as there was a white background. This was regularly greeted by roars of disapproval from parts of the auditorium and laughter from the English speaking members of the audience. A reguler joke was that they were probably prepared in India. The newspapers tended to ignore politics. Instead, the headlines reflected the latest scandals of the rich and famous, while the European sports results were the most discussed feature among the people.

Spring turned to idyllic summer. Day after day was warm and dry. Perfect tank weather Sas muttered.

During this strangely calm period of 1939 when war loomed and was ignored, Henk enjoyed himself behaving as any personable, but distinctly immoral young officer would do in the circumstances. He laughed, joked and danced the nights away at parties and like everybody else concentrated on fun. He purchased an elderly black Raleigh bicycle and thereafter spent weekends cycling around the countryside, preferably in the company of one of his female friends.

On the morning of the 8th July 1939, Henk met Charlotte de Groot the girl he was destined to share his life with. Clever, sophisticated, fun to be with, a softly curved slim figure and beautiful. Later he would learn that she had been educated at the best schools in England and Switzerland and that her sophistication sprang from having been raised in a wealthy household. He had always been critical of coincidences but the way they met was meant to be. He had a day’s leave and decided to try the road that ran from Brussels to Anderlecht. This was a route he hadn’t ridden before. He might just as easily have chosen to ride in any other direction, but fate decreed Anderlecht, so Anderlecht it was. About fifteen kilometres from the city he saw her standing alongside the road facing towards Brussels, her bicycle propped on a stand. She was scrutinising a pump closely. The exasperated expression on her face and her pursed lips stopped him in his tracks. He pulled up alongside her and dropped his bicycle onto the grass verge.

Can I help, he asked, noticing, as he got closer that she wasn’t just pretty, she was downright beautiful.

I had a leaking valve, and I managed to fix it she said, smiling at the handsome blue eyed stranger with the Dutch accent, but I can’t pump up the tyre. There’s something wrong with my pump. It just won’t do anything. She examined him carefully and suddenly became helpless, clearly a distressed maiden in need of rescue. Even her voice dropped.

I think it’s broken, she said breathily.

Let me see he said, holding out his hand. She passed him the heavy black pump and he unscrewed it. The slide and gasket were disconnected It took a moment to reattach the parts and screw them together.

Now I’ll pump it up for you, he said manfully, broadening his already substantial shoulders and pushing out his chest.

She grinned. OK Thanks.

And that’s how their life-long love affair began.

They climbed onto their bikes and set off towards Brussels.

I thought you were going the other way, she pointed out.

He looked into her eyes and melted. I was, he said but not anymore. I’m going where you’re going.

They chatted about everything, and nothing, had lunch in a pub next to a canal, and finished with a candlelit dinner in the Grande Plage in Brussels When they eventually parted they arranged to meet at the vegetable market in Antwerp on the following Saturday morning. After that fate could take its course. Who cared what they did, as long as they did it together. Henk was in love, his thoughts only for this marvellous girl. And although she only told him later, Charlotte shared his feelings.

They agreed to become engaged nineteen days later on the 27th July 1939. All that remained was her father’s consent. It was a very speedy romance but that’s how things were in the precipitous days leading up to the start of the war. There was no time and certainly no desire for prolonged courting.

Henk had no interest in his future father-in-law’s business and it meant little to him when Charlotte mentioned casually before his formal visit that he was the Managing Director of N. F. Jerling, diamond merchants of Antwerp, Amsterdam and Java and that she worked for him. As he said to Charlotte, What do I care what your father does for a living? I am a soldier, not a businessman. And I love you.

Charlotte’s mother was long dead so it was to her father alone that Henk would have go to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage. In view of the speed of their courtship Henk expected substantial resistance from her father. In fact the coming visit terrified him. What if her father didn’t approve, especially as he was a career soldier with no money and few prospects? Charlotte assured him that her father was in reality a soft bunny rabbit. But did bunny rabbits like rifles?

When the day eventually arrived for the interview his pulse started racing when he left Brussels and accelerated as he arrived in Antwerp. Charlotte’s words ‘managing Director’ made him think of his last school headmaster who had always been abrupt with the huge schoolboy.

Mr. de Groot was a short corpulent man with alert blue eyes, jowls that needed shaving twice a day but sporting a genuine welcoming smile. He was dressed in a heavy three-piece black suit, a gleaming white shirt with a hard butterfly collar and a red bow tie. On his nose, heavy black spectacles. He looked every inch the affluent Belgian diamond broker that he was. Henk was ushered into the house, his body clammy, perspiration running down his back. Surreptitiously, he wiped his right hand on the back of his best uniform trousers before shaking hands.

They sat in the parlour, Henk bolt upright on the edge of his chair, Mr de Groot reclining comfortably in his. Charlotte had excused herself as soon as Henk arrived and was somewhere in the large house making coffee. De Groot examined him curiously trying to understand what his only daughter had found in this giant soldier. Well, he was well turned out, his face open and guiless and his eyes were penetrating and icy blue. He appeared at least moderately intelligent. Far more important however was Charlotte’s warning of what would happen to him if he even thought of refusing permission and giving his blessing to the union. Clearly Henk wasn’t going to start the conversation so his host helped him.

Tell me about yourself Mr de Ridder, he said.

Henk was only too happy to tell Mr de Groot about his background. It put off the moment when he would broach why he was there.

Well Sir, I was born in German South West Africa. My mother is of English German stock. She teaches French and English at the Windhoek High School. My father is a land surveyor. He is a Hollander. I have four brothers, all married and still living in South West. There is no University in South West so after Matric my parents sent me to the University of Cape Town in South Africa where I read for a B.Sc degree. After qualifying I travelled to Holland on holiday to visit family. I never went back home. Instead I joined the military, was sent to an officer’s training course and here I am now, some years later a Major in the Royal Netherlands Army.

Ah yes, very interesting, said de Groot, "but let’s move onto the reason you’re here. Why do you wish to marry my daughter?

Henk breathed a sigh of relief and looked at his wily father-in-law to be with gratitude.

The speech he had prepared started rolling off his tongue. He reached the part about security and his ideas about the sanctity of marriage when Mr. de Groot stopped him.

My boy, you have persuaded me. There it’s done. Congratulations to both of you. Now let’s have coffee. He rang a bell and a beaming Charlotte came into the room from outside the door where she had been standing listening.

The discussion that Henk had been dreading was over. Actually it had never really started. Henk hadn’t reached the part where he asked for Charlotte’s hand in marriage.

Over coffee and a large Cigar, Mr. de Groot insisted that Henk and Charlotte call at his diamond cutting factory and select something suitable as an engagement ring. Knowing that Henk’s salary as a Major must be very small he overrode their half-hearted objections to his generosity.

Don’t be insulted or obstinate, he said smiling broadly putting his arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. I am a diamond merchant. Leave it to me. I’ll arrange a small family discount. It would demean me Henk, if I allowed my only daughter to walk around with a Woolworth’s engagement ring.

Henk decided to ignore this comment, realising that it was well meaning. He knew nothing about the cost of diamonds, but was sure that he could have managed a little better than Woolworths. In any event, without Henk’s knowledge the price of the stone that the couple selected at the factory was reduced to a fraction of what it should have been and Henk bought a substantial diamond ring for his fiancé.

This was Henk’s first experience with diamonds.

July 1939 certainly wasn’t the best time to fall in love, especially for a professional soldier. Probably there isn’t a best time to fall in love, or a worst for that matter. He had little time to spend with his fiancé.

During dinner at a restaurant on the evening of the 15th August she spoke her mind.

Surely you’re not that busy. We hardly see each other. Perhaps you’re tired of me already she said pouting prettily but very artificially."

He smiled and explained at length why he had to deal with numerous complicated matters every day

Oh do get on with it Henk. All I asked is why I’m not seeing as much of you now as I did.

I suppose I am a bit of a lecturer Charl. Sorry, but that’s the way I was trained. He raised his hand for the waiter. Please replace these horrible potatoes, they’re inedible.

The offending plate was removed and he continued. The big problem at the moment is that Stalin is dragging his feet on signing the mutual defence pact because the Poles won’t agree to Russian troops crossing their border. He explained the history between the two countries.

Henk’s plate was returned by the apologetic waiter. While the man hovered he tried a potato, chewed thoughtfully and pronounced his satisfaction.

Continue! ordered the imperious Charlotte leaning over and stealing a potato. She had finished her entrée and had an empty plate in front of her.

It is extremely important to the West to have Russia as an ally. A Russian army on Poland’s eastern border might persuade Hitler not to adventure eastwards at all.

He pushed her sly hand away as she tried to pinch his last potato.

"I still haven’t the faintest idea why you are suddenly so busy.

Would you like a dessert?"

Cherries and Ice cream murmured Charlotte.

The waiter appeared, took the order and disappeared into the kitchen.

So does this story have an ending Henk? she asked, once again grasping his hand which was now unoccupied.

Not yet Charl, but it’s close. Suddenly the German are drinking Uncle Joe’s vodka. Hitler and Stalin might kiss and make friends. So that’s why I am busy. If Russia and Germany enter into a pact, Germany will immediately attack Poland and it’s only a question of time before we get involved. He paused thoughtfully. Now eat your ice cream and we’ll go somewhere for a drink.

That same evening, at Henk’s insistence the marriage plans were changed. The wedding date was brought forward from December to September. Henk suggested the 2nd, but this proved impossible. The grand affair that had been planned for December became a small family wedding to take place on the morning of the 1st September. Henk had planned that his parents would come over for the ceremony and spend the Xmas season in Europe, but the change of date made this impossible.

On the 23rd August, Henk and Sas were summoned from their offices by a Belgian sergeant and requested to report immediately to lecture hall two for a briefing.

The British Brigadier Mitchell stood at the podium. "Gentlemen, I am authorised by my government to inform you that the Russian and German Governments have today signed a Non Aggression Pact in Moscow. According to a report that I have just received from London, the position is as we expected when I last spoke to you. There is a secret protocol to the Pact. He smiled, for the first time. Well not as secret as they would have liked. After all, we know about it. Should Germany attack Poland from the west Russia will move in from the east. Our agents report that they are both ready to strike immediately. He sighed. As a result the British and French governments have today issued instructions recalling their diplomatic staff around the world for consultations and advising their citizens in potentially dangerous areas to make immediate arrangements to get home. The German and Italian embassies in Paris and London are burning their documents as I speak". As soon as Henk returned to his office he phoned Charlotte, his voice grim.

I am driving through to Antwerp in the morning. Please ensure that your father is at home. No. I can’t say what it’s all about on the telephone, he said abruptly, in reply to her urgent questions and hung up.

The rain gushed venomously as he drove to Antwerp. The fields and sad cattle were sodden. Heavy mud was interspersed with irregular shallow brown pools like semi healed shell craters. The dark grey clouds and the monotonous swishing of the slow, vacuum driven windscreen wipers only served to increase his feelings of despair. He wanted to marry Charlotte with all his heart but in view of the circumstances he felt that their wedding might not be such a good proposition for either of them.

He pulled up outside the front door of her house. The door opened and she stood there beneath a large black umbrella, looking drawn and anxious, her father, grey faced and gaunt just behind her, his hands on her shoulders. She ran from the protection of the umbrella as Henk pulled himself out of the low slung car and hugged him, careless of the rain cascading down. For a moment they stood, locked together and then dashed into the shelter of the hall. Henk shook hands with his perhaps future father-in-law and the three of them walked into the kitchen. Before he could speak the formalities had to be observed. Yes, he was well. No he didn’t want coffee just yet, although he would enjoy a cup after they had spoken. Yes, it had rained all the way from Brussels.

They ran out of things to say

Now it was Henk’s turn to lead the conversation.

You know that war is imminent…

They nodded mutely in unison

 . . . and there is a good chance that I will be recalled home almost immediately.

Again they nodded.

Henk coughed, squirming inwardly. His next words came out in a rush.

In the circumstances I would understand if you wish to call off the wedding.

Have you changed your mind? Charlotte asked hesitantly.

No of course not! It’s just that… he had no chance to finish the sentence.

Charlotte’s face lit up. We thought when you phoned that you were coming to say goodbye, she said. Then she laughed. Henk de Ridder, you are not getting out of it that easily. We are getting married on Friday. That’s settled. Now I’ll put the kettle on for that coffee.

Her father, who had said not a word sat at the kitchen table, beaming from ear to ear. There was nothing more to be said. The matter of the wedding ceremony was settled. If Charlotte was prepared to throw her lot in with him in the present circumstances, he would be the happiest