A Fragile Peace

by A Fragile Peace (retail) (epub)

  Bertie? Allie caught his eye over the old lady’s shoulder. ‘Is there anything else I don’t know about you?’ she asked, under cover of laughter.

  Buzz set his slight burden back on her feet, left one arm about her, drew Allie to him with the other. ‘Allie, this is Nan Wimbush. Nan, dear, this is Allie. She’s going to marry me.’

  ‘Goodness,’ said the apparently imperturbable Nan, ‘there’s a brave girl. How do you do, my dear? I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  Allie was having a good deal of trouble with her voice. ‘I – er – how do you do?’ She was staring at Buzz. ‘I am?’

  ‘Well, of course you are. Aren’t you?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Today? Tomorrow? Saturday? I don’t mind. I’m in no particular hurry.’

  Nan’s bright, birdlike eyes moved from one face to the other. ‘While you’re making up your minds, why don’t we have a nice cup of tea?’ She turned and bustled away from them. Allie was still watching Buzz, her eyes wide.

  ‘Well, what did you expect?’ He kissed her softly. ‘A proposal?’

  ‘I – hadn’t thought about it,’ she lied, straightfaced.

  ‘Think about it now. Will you marry me?’

  ‘I – Buzz, can we? I mean – the war – the—’

  He caught both her hands fiercely, brought them up to cup his face. ‘What would you have us do, girl? Wait?’ The words were painfully intense, the meaning behind them hovered blackly on the boundaries of Allie’s happiness.

  She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, in defence against the expression on his face. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Right, then.’ The tension was gone; he was laughing again. ‘Stop arguing and come and drink your tea like a good girl.’

  The couple of hours they spent in the shining little living room of Bendlowes Cottage were happy ones, spent mostly reminiscing about a childhood of which Allie could not hear enough. In this friendly, happy little house in front of a glowing fire that gave off the distinctive smell that she had noticed in the George the night before and that came, she learned, from the fuel – ‘leather bits’ from the local boot and shoe factory – she learned more about Buzz than she had in the less than three months that she had known him. And was greedy for more – when the time came to leave, Buzz almost had to drag her away. When they left, promising to visit again before the short leave was over, the old lady kissed them both fondly, standing at the cottage door with one of the enormous cats in her arms as she watched them down the path to the gate.

  As they turned to wave, neither of them perceived the sadness in her eyes.

  ‘Isn’t she a love?’ Buzz drew Allie’s hand through the crook of his arm.

  ‘Yes,’ Allie said, and added as a solemn afterthought ‘…Bertie.’

  He grinned widely, lifted a threatening finger. ‘Enough of that, my girl. Weren’t you ever taught it was cruel to mock the afflicted?’

  ‘Yes, Bertie.’

  As he swung her to him, she let out a little shriek of laughter. A passer-by glanced at them, smiling. Buzz ignored him. His kiss, started in laughter, ended fiercely. ‘You will marry me? You mean it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This minute.’ She was perfectly serious.

  He put his head on one side. ‘I’m not sure I can wait that long.’

  ‘Can’t make it any sooner, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Where shall we live?’

  ‘In Nan’s coal scuttle with the leather bits,’ she said promptly.

  ‘What a marvellous idea.’ He kissed her, lifted his head. ‘Seriously. There are things to arrange, aren’t there? Next month?’

  Next month. Thirty days. Four weeks. An uncertain eternity of danger. Somewhere in Allie’s head, she seemed to hear the faint rattle of gunfire, the scream of a diving plane. She buried her face in his shoulder, shut her mind angrily to everything but immediate happiness. ‘Next month.’

  They took a long time to stroll back to the George and Dragon. There was so much, suddenly, to say, so much to share, and every moment was precious.

  ‘From now on,’ Allie said in a quiet moment as they retraced their steps through the wood, ‘this is going to be my favourite time of year. Who needs spring?’

  ‘The birds do, idiot. They’ve got a far greater sense of decorum than we have.’

  * * *

  Those five blissful days were for Allie both endless and ridiculously, unbelievably short. When they boarded, for the return journey, what might have been the same dim, cold, crowded, uncomfortable train that had brought them, there might have been no time between — no magical, timeless days in the Northamptonshire countryside, no walks with the dogs, no evenings spent companionably around the fire in the cosy bar of the George, no tea and scones with Nan Wimbush and her lovely cats, no nights behind cloistering shutters with a warm brick for company, Buzz the thickness of a wall away and the knowledge that it would not always be so. Yet as the train swayed and crawled gracelessly back towards the realities of life, she discovered that the memories of that time were measured not in days or hours, but in heartbeats – a thousand thousand heartbeats, and each a word, an event, a discovery. Five days could, after all, be a lifetime.

  And a lifetime could be all too short.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Allie and Buzz were married at the beginning of March, with the Blitz only slightly abated and a new name – Rommel – on everyone’s lips. There was little ceremony – no wedding dress, no church bells, and a tiny cake that, hidden beneath a mouthwateringly splendid cardboard facsimile of the real thing, owed rather more to Myra’s ingenuity than to the confectioner’s art. There was, however, a bottle of fine champagne with which to toast the health of the bride and groom, and another as a personal present to the young couple – these unheard-of luxuries being Sir Brian Hinton’s contribution to the celebrations. Quite unknowingly, too, in deputing his daughter to deliver his gift to the Kensington flat the night before the wedding, Sir Brian also precipitated the private meeting between Allie and Celia that Allie had done so much, both consciously and unconsciously, to avoid.

  When Allie opened the door to Celia’s knock, it would have been hard to judge which of the two was the more disconcerted. Celia, a large and obviously heavy brown-paper-wrapped parcel in her arms, looked blankly at Allie, who was dressed in her father’s towelling bathrobe, her just-washed hair hanging in rats’ tails about her face.

  ‘Allie – I didn’t know – that is, I thought Libby said that you couldn’t get away until tomorrow?’

  ‘I couldn’t. A friend of mine wangled it for me.’ Allie stood uncertainly, clutching the robe to her. ‘Everyone’s out.’ The words were unintentionally brusque.

  Celia’s chin lifted slightly at the tone and her mouth tightened a little. ‘I wouldn’t have bothered you if I’d known. I did try to ring, but the lines are down again. So I came on the offchance, to deliver this. A present from Father. He particularly wanted you to have it for tomorrow. He wishes you every happiness.’ Her voice was cool and controlled. She held out the parcel, added with no change of expression, ‘And believe it or not, so do I.’

  Allie made no move to take the parcel. After a second she stepped back, opening the door wider. ‘Come in. Please…’ she added as Celia hesitated ‘…do come in.’

  Unsmiling, and with a kind of caution, Celia stepped into the hall, followed Allie into the big sitting room, watching the other girl as she shut the door firmly behind her.

  Allie’s heart was pounding. ‘Talk to her, Allie,’ Buzz had said gently, leaning on a wooden gate, his eyes on the peace of the Northamptonshire countryside, ‘listen to her side. You can’t spend your life hating someone for one mistake. Not you.’ And, knowing him to be right, knowing it indeed before the words had been spoken, she had resolved that one day she would. But that the day would come so soon and so unexpectedly was a shock, and she was unprepared. She made a small, embarrassed gesture. ‘Excuse
the outfit. I just got out of the bath.’ She paused. Celia, still holding the parcel, said nothing.

  Allie tried again. ‘Would you like a drink? Not that we have much, I’m afraid, but I daresay I might find something…’

  Celia, after a moment’s just noticeable hesitation, proffered her burden again. ‘Unless I’m much mistaken in my father, the answer to that small problem is probably in here.’ Her eyes were still very wary.

  Tightening the belt of the too-large robe, Allie took the parcel, sat on the sofa and untied the string, winding it carefully round her fingers and tucking it in the pocket of the dressing gown. In a large cardboard box were two bottles of champagne, two bottles of wine and a bottle of French brandy.

  ‘Goodness!’

  ‘He raided his cellar.’ Celia was still standing, her hands deep in her coat pockets, her collar turned up to her ears.

  ‘It’s – oh, it’s really too good of him! Champagne! And—’ She held up the bottle of brandy, looked up at the other girl. ‘Will you stay and have a drink with me? To wish me luck?’

  Real bafflement showed on the thin face. ‘Are you sure you want me to? I’d have laid money that you’d rather have thrown me out,’ Celia said bluntly.

  Allie flushed and fiddled with the top of the brandy bottle. Absurdly and irritatingly she felt that familiar feeling of childhood – an anxiety to please, a fear of being in the wrong. When she spoke, she herself heard the harsh note in her too-loud voice that was the reaction to that. ‘It’s time we talked, isn’t it?’

  Celia hunched her shoulders a little, her face pensive, a small, uncertain line appearing between her fine brows. Then, as if making up her mind, she nodded abruptly, pulled her cap from her red hair and tossed it onto the table, began to undo the buttons of her greatcoat. ‘All right. If you’d like. And – yes – I will have a mouthful of Father’s brandy. It’s cold as death out there.’

  Allie found two glasses in the sideboard, poured a little brandy into each. Celia threw her coat over the back of a chair, watching the other girl’s every movement, her stance still wary.

  In silence Allie held out a glass. Celia took it.

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers. And all the very best to you and Buzz.’

  They sipped the drink. In the silence, the clock on the wall ticked, softly persistent, the only sound. A small, coal-dust fire warmed one end of the chilly room. Allie reached for the bottle, splashed a little more brandy in each of their glasses. ‘Come closer to the fire. It’s cold over there.’

  Celia perched herself on the edge of a big armchair, nursed her glass and waited. Allie, for the life of her, could think of nothing to say. Nervously she took too large a mouthful of the brandy and almost choked. When she could be certain of her voice, she said, ‘Will you thank your father for me? It was very sweet of him.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll write, of course, but – he’s in the country isn’t he? – one can never be really certain of the post these days – with the raids, I mean.’

  Celia nodded, turned her head a little, in a listening attitude. Everything was quiet. ‘Funny, isn’t it? When they don’t come, you almost miss them.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Silence again. Celia, with a quick movement, tossed back the last of her brandy and stood up. ‘Well, I mustn’t keep you. You must have heaps to do.’

  ‘No. Don’t go. I – want to talk to you.’

  Celia straightened and took a long, tired breath. ‘Allie, I don’t see Robert any more. I haven’t seen him – seen him alone, that is – for years. You know that?’

  Allie nodded. ‘Father told me. Tried to tell me,’ she amended with painful honesty.

  ‘So if you want more blood,’ Celia’s voice was flatly weary, ‘more penance, then you’ll have to look elsewhere. I will not be punished any more. I’ll cry no more tears, make no more apologies…’

  ‘No!’ Allie had gone very white. Her hair, drying, fluffed around her pale face. ‘No, you don’t understand. I wanted—’ She gestured helplessly. ‘I wanted to tell you – to ask you—’ She stopped again, biting her lip. Even now she found it hard to say the words. ‘– if we could, well, let bygones be bygones? I’m sorry I was so childish – so hurtful – for so long. To both of you.’

  Very, very slowly, Celia sat down again.

  ‘Buzz made me see. I had to tell him. It was the first time I’d spoken about it to anyone…’ Allie, intent upon her own words, did not notice the wry twist to the other girl’s mouth at that. ‘I told him – all of it.’ Allie paused. Yes, all of it, from that first dreadful moment in the conservatory at Ashdown to the dreary affair with Ray Cheshire – and in speaking of it had lanced the wound. It had not really needed his gentle words to draw away the curtain of blind childhood and show her the new perspective, the clearer light of adulthood. It had been happening within her, slowly, for a long time. He had merely made her face her own reluctant understanding. ‘He made me see what I was doing. I’m not a child any more. I know what it is to love someone enough to be willing to do anything for them. And I know now that you can’t choose who you might love…’

  Celia’s long eyelids fluttered for a moment, veiling her eyes.

  ‘…and though I can’t pretend that I can forget what happened – how it happened – at least I understand it better now. And that’s a start, isn’t it?’

  Celia laid a quick, work-hardened hand on her arm. ‘I’d say so, yes. Allie, thank you for this. And thank your Buzz. He’s a lovely man, isn’t he?’

  Allie nodded.

  ‘And so is your father.’ The tone was even. Celia watched her closely. ‘You know that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And can you finally forgive him for being human like everyone else?’

  The space of a heartbeat. ‘Yes.’

  Celia, for the first time, smiled her old, infectious smile. ‘Shall we be devils and celebrate with a drop more of Father’s tipple?’

  The tension eased, they talked for a while of the inevitable things – of the shortages, of war, of the individual experiences of their services. Allie had forgotten Celia’s intelligence, her dry, often self-deprecating wit. With the brandy bottle showing decided signs of wear, she came to a sudden decision and acted upon it before she could change her mind.

  ‘Would you – do you think you could get away tomorrow? For the wedding?’

  Celia lifted honestly surprised eyes. ‘Would you like me to?’

  ‘Yes, I would. We all would.’ She was pleased that her voice sounded so positive.

  ‘Then, thank you. I’d love to.’

  ‘It’s at St Saviour’s. Just around the corner. At eleven, we hope, providing Buzz can make it on time. And then back here for a small reception. It won’t be much, I’m afraid. Spam sandwiches and orange juice. When you think what we got through at Libby’s wedding—’ She stopped, remembering that Celia had not been at Libby’s wedding. Remembering why. ‘Would you believe it, Libby wanted to give me her wedding dress.’ She laughed a little uncertainly, stuck out long legs from beneath the towelling dressing gown. ‘I ask you! It was a lovely thought, but look at the difference in the size of us! It wouldn’t have come to my knees!’ and then her laughter died as, swirling her drink reflectively in her glass, she remembered that bright and lovely day when she had folded Libby’s beautiful wedding dress back into its box – what had Libby said? – something about keeping it for ever, wearing it on her golden wedding anniversary? There was a faint, recalled smell of roses and box hedge, the sound of bells and of happy voices. For one instantly suppressed moment she experienced a pang of self-indulgent misery, of longing for something that once she might have taken for granted but now could not possibly be. She sniffed. Buzz would look pretty silly in morning dress…

  ‘People think we’re mad,’ she said, suddenly and soberly, not looking at Celia. ‘Getting married now, with things as they are. Perhaps we are. Perhaps they’re right. We’ve both been lectured –
in the nicest way, of course – by our COs. Buzz’s squadron leader isn’t best pleased. My request for a posting to Biggin Hill has been turned down. Mother isn’t keen, I know, though, bless her, she’s done her best not to show it. But Dad – well, he hasn’t actually said much but…’

  ‘But he thinks you’re right,’ Celia said. ‘I know him well enough to guess that.’ It was said easily and with no embarrassment. ‘And, for what it’s worth, so do I. Take your chances for happiness as they come, Allie. They’re few and far between, and not always easy to recognize.’

  Allie looked at her intently, hearing the note of pain in the words. ‘And you?’ she asked, suddenly and softly. ‘Are you happy now?’

  The question stopped Celia in her tracks. She did not reply for a moment, but stood up and moved to the dying fire, leaning both hands, spread wide, on the high mantelpiece, surveying the reflection of the room through the enormous mirror which hung above the fireplace. ‘If you want the truth, I guess I haven’t been happy since the day that I realized that I loved your father. Or no – perhaps that isn’t fair. Perhaps it goes back even further than that. I never seemed to have found the knack – that facility that others have simply to be happy. I don’t know why. Somehow, when it comes to loving, I keep making the same stupid mistake. I always fall for the wrong person. I’ve done it again, as you must have noticed.’

  The brandy was beginning to sing a little in Allie’s head. ‘Noticed?’

  Celia turned as if to say something, shook her head and remained silent.

  ‘Noticed what?’ Even as she said the words, Allie, remembering a strong, sulky face, an imperative voice, felt an uncomfortable understanding stir. She shook her head. She did not want to know.