A Brighter Tomorrow

by A Brighter Tomorrow (retail) (epub)

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Skye. ‘He seemed to know all about Justin’s condition, anyway.’

  * * *

  Seb Tremayne took the first available train to London and found his way to the military hospital on the outskirts where his brother was being treated for his wounds. He had enough experience of hospitals to know the kind of smells that would assault his nostrils the minute he walked through those doors. The sickly, nauseatingly sweet smell of gangrene and the stifling scent of starched uniforms, carbolic and polished linoleum floors, all mingling with other smells too indescribable to define, well masked by the overpowering stink of disinfectant.

  It was enough to turn the strongest stomach, as was the sound of the poor wretches who would be doing just that, heaving their guts out into the nearest receptacle – providing there was one near enough. Seb prayed that Justin wouldn’t be one of them.

  He thought he had forgotten that time when he too had been brought in to a field hospital to be patched up and sent back as gun fodder. He considered he’d got off lightly when they didn’t think him fit enough. But there was bitterness as well as guilty relief in the fact, and before they sent him back to Blighty, he’d still had to go through the ordeal of sharing a ward with men who were never going to get through another night or another day. He had been unable to avoid listening to their screams and agonies as they struggled for one last precious breath.

  He had waited inevitably for the heaviest silence a man ever knew. It wasn’t the peaceful ending of the very old, dying after a lifetime of fulfilment. It was the jagged silence of a life cut short, long before its time, and it was a silence like no other.

  Here and now, returning to one of the hospitals where such nightmares happened, day after day after day, Seb knew he would never forget it. It was a rite of passage and only those who had endured it would ever really know what it was like.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ said an orderly.

  Seb felt momentarily irritated by the officious voice of the young man in the stained white coat that proclaimed his pride in his work. In civvies now, Seb knew he had no status here. He wasn’t one of the honourably wounded, or the ‘nearly-deads’ as he and his equally macabre fellow patients had called those in the beds nearest the door… he was just a visitor. However, he quickly regretted his assessment of this young man, seeing the weary way he pushed his hair back from his forehead. They were all stretched to the limit these days.

  ‘I’ve come to see my brother. He’s a patient here. MO Justin Tremayne,’ he added with professional efficiency.

  The orderly’s eyes grew more respectful. ‘I think there’s someone with him right now, but I’ll tell him you’re here.’

  ‘I can wait if he’s receiving treatment—’

  ‘Oh no, it’s a friend who comes to sit with him for the best part of every day. I’ll show you to his ward.’

  ‘Is this friend a Captain Giles Peterson?’ Seb said casually, not knowing why his heart should be thudding a little faster. Good friends were more precious than gold, but some friends were more precious than others.

  He had no idea why he should suddenly be having these thoughts, and these feelings. Justin was his brother, and he thought he knew him as well as he knew himself…

  ‘He’s in here, Mr Tremayne,’ the orderly said, pointing to a side ward. ‘Just go on in.’

  ‘Is it usual for a man with his injuries to be placed in a side ward?’ Seb persisted.

  ‘He was very badly burned, and delirious enough to warrant it. We have to consider the other patients, you know,’ the orderly added delicately.

  ‘You mean he was raving. It’s all right, I’ve been invalided out myself, so I know the form.’

  The orderly gave a slight smile. ‘Then I don’t need to explain. Besides, Captain Peterson made a generous donation to the hospital for equipment that’s badly needed. The least we can do is to give his friend as much comfort as we can.’

  You’re too young and too naïve to see what’s right under your nose, thought Seb. And I pray to God that you are, and that maybe I’m wrong.

  As the orderly hurried away to attend to his duties, Seb pushed open the door of the side ward and paused.

  The man in the bed was lying perfectly flat, with varying pieces of equipment attached to him. Because of the heavy bandages covering most of his face and the pads over his eyes, he was completely unrecognisable.

  In that fraction of a moment, Seb felt the gorge rise in his throat, remembering how he and Justin had romped with their cousins as children, up, up on the moors, breathing in the crystal clear air, sliding down the sky-tips that were part of their heritage, and dreaming of the days beyond childhood when all dreams were possible. And now there was this wreck of a man, still young, for whom all dreams had ended…

  His attention was caught by the middle-aged man sitting beside the bed. As yet, he hadn’t turned around to see who had entered the ward. He was too busy leaning forward toward the patient, speaking softly, his strong hand holding the lifeless one, the thumb gently caressing Justin’s, the murmured words of comfort as deep and intimate as if from a lover. And at once, Seb knew.

  He cleared his throat, and the man turned around. He was handsome, full of military bearing, his face etched with pain until he adjusted his expression on seeing a stranger.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in an educated voice. ‘I’ll wait outside if you need to examine him—’

  ‘I’m not a doctor,’ Seb said in a strangled voice.

  The figure on the bed moved its head the merest fraction.

  ‘Seb, is that you? I knew you’d come.’

  Seb moved forward, and saw how Justin’s hand slid away from his companion’s clasp.

  ‘Of course I came, if only to report home how you are and prevent Ma from tearing up here with armfuls of home-made produce, convinced that they’re not feeding you properly.’

  He had to be jocular and talk quickly, because if he didn’t, he knew he would simply fall apart. He was a man, and everyone knew that men didn’t cry… except in wartime. Except when someone they dearly loved was reduced to this…

  He felt the touch of Captain Peterson’s hand on his shoulder, and just managed to resist recoiling from it.

  ‘I’ll speak to you later, if I may, Mr Tremayne,’ he said quietly. ‘You’ll want to spend time alone with your brother.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He left them alone, and Seb realised he was completely out of his depth, not knowing how to begin an impossible conversation. It was one thing to be faced with the most terrible injuries he could have envisaged for his brother. It was something else entirely to be confronted with this new situation that was as shocking as it was unexpected.

  To his amazement he heard Justin give a small laugh. At least, he presumed that the thin sound that came through the bandages was intended to be a laugh.

  ‘Poor Sebby. You had no idea, did you?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t expect to see you quite so swathed in bandages,’ he blustered.

  ‘That’s not what I mean, and you know it. But don’t worry. We’re outwardly respectable citizens, despite the fact that I shall come out of these bandages looking like a gargoyle, I dare say. But Giles will take good care of me. He’s got one of those places in wildest Yorkshire they call stately piles. Ironic, isn’t it? All that money and no heir to leave it to. Well, he couldn’t have, could he?’

  ‘Are you sure you should be talking so much?’ Seb said, when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘I’m supposed to talk, no matter how painful it is. It exercises the facial muscles and stops them seizing up. So what do you think of my friend?’

  Seb winced. ‘Oh, don’t ask that of me—’

  ‘Good God, bruth, I never realised you were so narrow-minded and insular. And you in the Forces too. Didn’t you ever see friends together?’

  Yes; saw them disgraced and hounded out of the army, and shunned them as much as possible…

&n
bsp; When he didn’t reply, Justin went on, his voice still muffled behind the bandages, but with an edge to it now.

  ‘Let me tell you something, Sebby. There would be no future for me now without Giles. I thank God for him every day. For his wanting my companionship in the good days, and still wanting it now. When the doctors and surgeons have finally done with me, we shall move to Yorkshire. He’s retired from the army now, and he’s promised to look after me as long as I live. Wouldn’t you say that’s the best kind of friend there is for a wretch like me?’

  Seb couldn’t doubt the sincerity in his voice, and he sensed Justin’s need for his approval too. It was against his own nature to approve of the kind of lifestyle these two shared, but it was their lives.

  ‘I say that anyone whose friend thinks that much of them is fortunate indeed,’ he said at last. ‘But Justin – you are discreet, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’ve been discreet for years,’ Justin said simply. ‘But I’m still your brother. Aren’t I?’

  ‘And always will be,’ said Seb.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘So did you meet this stuffy Captain Peterson who wrote to me?’ Betsy wanted to know, when she had exhausted every ounce of information she could get out of Seb on his return to Cornwall, and been reassured that Justin was in the best possible hands. ‘What did you think of him? What was he like?’

  Seb paused. What was he like?

  How could he possibly repeat the emotional conversation he had had with Justin’s companion, without admitting to this homely countrywoman that there were more kinds of love in this world than he had cared to believe, and that only the completely bigoted – or those who were as truly blind as his own brother – would condemn it?

  In his heart Seb still condemned it too, but his love for his brother overcame his revulsion. Even so, such a revelation would break his mother’s heart, and since it was against the law for two men to indulge in the kind of relationship that would disgrace a family, it was a secret Seb had vowed to reveal to no one outside the three people who now knew it.

  ‘Well, go on, what was he like?’ Betsy persisted.

  ‘He’s intelligent and well-spoken, and being a medical man himself he’s taken a great interest in Justin’s future. He’s a wealthy man, retired from the army now, and he’s offered to move Justin to his private clinic in Yorkshire to study his case,’ he invented quickly.

  Betsy sniffed. ‘Treating him like one o’ they specimens, is he? I don’t think Justin will take kindly to that.’

  ‘I think Justin will be thankful to be so well looked after, Ma. Strangers can sometimes be the best people to have around you in times of trauma. Your boys here know that, so you should understand a little of how Justin feels. I truly think it’s the best thing for him, at least until he regains his self-confidence.’

  ‘And then he’ll come home to us?’

  ‘Well, that’s for him to decide,’ Seb said vaguely. ‘But Captain Peterson’s promised to send me regular reports until Justin feels well enough to try writing to us himself.’

  Betsy looked at him as if he was stupid. ‘And how’s he going to do that with no eyes to see? How will he be able to read his own words, or even keep the lines straight on the paper?’ she said, bursting into uncontrollable tears at the thought of all that frustration and wasted education. Justin was always so proud of his achievements, and so was she.

  Seb put his arm around her. ‘He’ll be taught Braille, Ma. Captain Peterson – Giles – will see to it all in his clinic. Justin was always quick to learn, he’ll discover how to read with his fingers, and when he wants to write to us he’ll dictate the words he wants to say. Just don’t expect things to happen quickly. They have to patch up his face first, and it’ll be a long time before he’s done with hospitals.’

  Now that he had had that long conversation with Giles Peterson he had to admire the man for standing by Justin. It wasn’t a lifestyle Seb understood, and it wasn’t something he cared to think about too much. But he couldn’t doubt the genuine feelings the two men had for one another, and once away from prying and curious eyes in the wilds of Yorkshire, he knew his brother would be safe and cared for.

  But with an urgent need to prove his own masculinity to himself, Seb had spent his last night in London in the company of an enthusiastic and large-breasted prostitute. And in the best barrack-room vernacular, he had given her a bloody good seeing-to.

  * * *

  By the middle of May, everyone knew what was about to happen. There was an undercurrent of excitement in the very air, as if the promised invasion of France was going to mean the imminent end of all hostilities.

  ‘It won’t, of course. It will just mean more killing,’ Celia Pengelly said to her companions as they paused for elevenses in the field above Penzance where they stooked corn sheaves in the hot morning sunshine.

  ‘You always think you know everything, don’t you, Pengelly?’ said the one they called East End Gertie, fixing her with a scowl and a flip of her brassy hair.

  ‘That’s because she does,’ her friend Lizzie said. ‘She prob’ly knew the date it was going to happen before she left that posh job of hers with the Ministry.’

  ‘It wasn’t with the Ministry,’ Celia snapped. ‘How many more times? It was just an office job—’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Gertie sneered. ‘And since when did the likes of us gels get office jobs? I worked in a button factory before I came down here, and sometimes I wish I’d never bleedin’ left it. Just look at the state of my fingernails.’

  But Celia wasn’t looking at anything except the man making his way over the fields towards them. A man she recognised at once. She got to her feet, feeling as though they were made of lead and as if she was moving in slow motion, dropped her hunk of bread and cheese and began running towards him. She couldn’t think why he was here, but in all this time, apart from the tenuous and general information Moonie had been able to give her, this man had been her one link with Stefan, and if he had further news…

  He swung her around in his arms, and it flitted through her head that he had grown tall and stout since his years in Ireland. He was no longer merely the young brother of her stepfather, or the gangly youthful champion of the infant Wenna, but a stolid man in his thirties, she realised. A husband and a father.

  ‘Ethan, what are you doing here? There’s nothing wrong, is there?’ she gasped, when she could catch her breath.

  For of course he wouldn’t have news of Stefan. The realisation was acute, and her momentary surge of hope vanished as quickly as it came. How could anybody have news of a man incarcerated by his own kind, so far away from the reality that was wartime Britain?

  ‘There is, actually,’ he said, his voice scratchy now. ‘It’s Ryan. We’ve brought him over to England to see if the doctors here can help him. He has a weak chest, Celia, and each winter it gets worse. The doctors in Ireland fear that he might not even grow into adolescence.’

  ‘Dear Lord! Karina must be demented,’ she said, shocked.

  ‘She is. So much so that I had to get out of the house where she’s weeping and wailing all over your mother right now. I can’t take much more of it, which is why I came to see what you were doing these days. It’s funny to see you working as a farm girl,’ he added without a trace of humour.

  Celia glanced around, to see that her companions had already begun work again. She knew she couldn’t let her mind dwell on the awfulness of Ethan’s family problems for too long. The farmer was a stickler for keeping the girls working.

  ‘It won’t be so funny if I don’t get back to work,’ she said quickly. ‘Come and talk to me while I get on with it.’

  ‘I’ll come and help—’

  ‘No, you won’t.’

  ‘Yes, I will. I need to be doing something, and there’s not a farmer alive that won’t welcome another pair of hands.’

  ‘And you didn’t seek me out for any other reason?’

  She had to say it, as casually as possible, knowing
how selfish she was being, for his child’s health was far and away reason enough to be here at all.

  ‘What other reason?’ he said blankly, and then it dawned on him. ‘God, no, Celia, there’s been no news of that kind. We’ve had no POWs in the vicinity for months now.’

  She nodded, her eyes smarting. There were so few people she could speak to about Stefan. Nor did she even dare mention his name. He was one of the enemy, and her fellow Land Girls, looking at her curiously now, would have spat on her had they known the identity of the man whose ring she again wore on a chain around her neck.

  ‘Who’s your feller, Pengelly?’ Gertie jeered at once. ‘Is this the one you’re always dreaming about when you look up at them stars at night?’

  ‘This is my cousin,’ she said stonily. ‘He’s over from Ireland with his wife and their sick child, and he’s offered to help us with the stooking.’

  ‘We won’t say no to that then, will we, Gertie?’ Lizzie said sweetly, smiling at Ethan. Married or not, he still wore trousers and that made him fair game as far as she was concerned.

  They might as well not bother, thought Celia. It was obvious to her that Ethan only had Ryan on his mind, and she doubted that even Wenna would stir his heart any more.

  As if her thoughts transmitted themselves to him, he forced himself to ask about her sister.

  ‘Been in Italy, a proper little Vera Lynn by all accounts, singing to the troops,’ Celia told him. ‘But she’s back in England now, much to Mother’s relief. Olly’s God knows where, of course, flying his kites, as he calls them, and I daresay you’ve heard what happened to Justin.’

  Ethan nodded. ‘Poor devil. It puts everything into perspective, doesn’t it?’

  Celia squeezed his hand. ‘It doesn’t make your concern for Ryan any less important, if that’s what you’re thinking. What kind of father would you be if you didn’t care so much?’

  ‘What kind of husband am I being, to be enjoying myself out here in the fields with three lovely girls, when my wife’s crying her heart out back at New World?’ he muttered.