Starting Over

by Jack Sheffield

  ‘Rudi … that man … he’s a dreadful person, but how is he?’

  ‘Yes, yes, he’s fine. Just winded and he will be dazed for a while. I’ve seen it many times.’

  ‘How did you know where I was?’

  ‘The village postmistress in Amersham always found it hard to keep a secret for too long, as you may remember.’

  Lily smiled, recalling fragments of an earlier life that she had tried so hard to forget.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come.’

  They gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity. It was Lily who broke the tension between them. ‘Rudi – you promised.’

  He moved closer and rested his hands gently on her shoulders. There was a long pause and his grey eyes were full of sadness. ‘Ich wollte mich verabshieden.’

  ‘Wohin gehst du?’ replied Lily.

  He smiled at her response. ‘You remembered my teachings.’

  She nodded. ‘Why do you need to say goodbye? Where are you going?’

  ‘To Hamburg to start a new life.’ There was barely a trace now of his German accent.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon – in August.’

  ‘And why are you here?’

  ‘I wanted to see Freddie before I go.’

  Lily considered this carefully. ‘Mother must not know you’re here.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Lily’s thoughts were racing. ‘She’s going away for a week at the end of the month.’

  They spoke quietly for a while and then he took his leave. As Lily watched him go she knew it was the end of trust, a time of despair and heartache. Then finally realization dawned and she thought of Tom. She knew now it was a road that she should never have travelled.

  Rudolph Krüger was back in her life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Stolen Waters

  It was Friday, 1 July and, after a night when dense clouds lay heavy on the sleeping earth, a humid summer day was dawning. Early-morning mist covered the distant fields like a cloak of secrets. It had been a stifling night and Lily had tossed and turned. She had made excuses to Tom, saying there was a lot on her mind, and they had seen little of each other during the past few weeks. Tom was puzzled, but said he understood. After all, he thought, marriage is a big decision.

  Slowly she climbed out of bed, opened her bedroom window and breathed in the summer air. The scent of roses drifted up to greet her as a pink dawn crested the horizon and the clouds cleared.

  The cottage was quiet. Freddie was sleeping and Florence had left the previous day to spend a week with her cousin Ingrid in Pickering. Millicent Merryweather had volunteered to take Freddie to school and then on to the junior cricket practice afterwards. Apparently Freddie was showing great promise. ‘They start them playing cricket young in Yorkshire,’ Milly had announced.

  However, it was Rudi who dominated her thoughts. She had arranged for him to visit Laurel Cottage that evening at 6.30, an hour before Freddie’s bedtime. Then in early August he was due to return to a new life in Germany.

  She closed the window and selected the lightest of her summer dresses from her wardrobe as the heat of the morning touched her skin. An eventful day lay ahead.

  Vera had risen early and collected sprigs of mint from the vicarage garden. In her kitchen she chopped it carefully and added equal parts of sugar and brown vinegar. It was intended to create a tasty accompaniment to the lamb chops that were to be the centrepiece of the evening meal.

  ‘Joseph deserves a treat,’ she said to herself.

  Outside the leaded windows, wisteria clung to the window frame and butterflies spread their lace wings on the stems of the buddleia bushes.

  A perfect summer morning, thought Vera. Then she looked at the distant clouds over the Hambleton hills and frowned. But I fear a storm is coming our way.

  She finished her preparations and set off for school. As she walked across the village green Tom Feather appeared from the Easington road driving his police car. He seemed preoccupied and gave Vera a brief wave as he drove past. She stopped to watch his car travel down the High Street and turn on to the York road. She had seen little of Tom recently and she wondered why.

  Tom was excited as he drove down the A59 and past the Rowntree’s chocolate factory on his way into York city centre. Today was a special day in his life. After saving for several years, finally he had enough to purchase the car of his dreams, an Austin A30. Soon he would be the proud owner of a four-door family car and, although his relationship with Lily had appeared to be on hold in recent weeks, he was keen to surprise her. He hoped there could be days out with her, perhaps to the coast or the Yorkshire Dales.

  A new world was about to open up for the Ragley policeman and he wanted to share the experience with the woman he loved. But on the rare occasions they had spoken since Coronation Day, Lily had been cool, reticent and distant, and Tom did not understand why. Gradually the realization was dawning on him that perhaps she did not want him in the way he wanted her.

  As she cycled along the back road to Ragley, Lily reflected on the past few weeks since the incident with Stan Coe and the surprise appearance of Rudi. The events of that day had made it clear to her that a relationship with Tom was now out of the question – sadly, a life that could never be. Tom deserved better. She knew it was a love that was lost and it saddened her.

  In the meantime, for both of them, a day of decisions lay ahead – decisions that would determine the rest of their lives.

  Little had been seen of Stan Coe since the day of the Coronation. Deirdre had said that in the days that followed he had been sleeping off a hangover. However, Herbert Grinchley in the village Pharmacy had let it be known that Stan had been seen later that night propped up against the school’s boiler-house doors before staggering back to Coe Farm. It was a mystery that remained unsolved for the gossipmongers of Ragley, and the talk soon turned to the hot summer days and the American teenage tennis player, Maureen ‘Little Mo’ Connelly, who had won Wimbledon and looked set to take all four of the Grand Slam titles.

  At the school gate Lily leaped from her bicycle and walked up the drive, where Vera was talking with Miss Valerie Flint. Valerie was teaching John Pruett’s class during the morning while John attended a headteachers’ meeting in York. Her tall, imposing figure often sent shivers down the spines of the children in her care. Lily had met her on several occasions but had never warmed to this severe woman. She was a firm disciplinarian and, from John Pruett’s point of view, a ‘safe pair of hands’. As always, Valerie’s conversations with Vera tended to involve the deterioration of standards in modern life.

  ‘Good morning, Vera. Hello, Valerie,’ said Lily. Her hair was dishevelled and her summer skirt had blown high in the summer breeze when she dismounted her bicycle. She wondered why Valerie was frowning.

  ‘Good morning, Lily, and what a beautiful day,’ replied Vera.

  ‘I’ve always thought that posture is so important for young girls who want to go anywhere in life,’ said Valerie rather pointedly. ‘Don’t you think so, Vera?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Vera, wondering where this conversation might be heading.

  ‘Correct deportment is vital when you ride a bicycle, don’t you think, Lily?’

  Lily looked bemused.

  ‘You mean as we were taught, Valerie?’ said Vera. ‘Perhaps that’s a little old-fashioned now.’

  ‘Standards, Vera,’ said Valerie. ‘They are important in our professional life.’

  Vera caught Lily’s eye and winked. ‘You mean a straight back and ankles tucked in?’

  ‘Exactly, Vera,’ said Valerie.

  Lily was irritated by Valerie’s chilly manner, but did not let it show. She pushed her bicycle into the cycle shed and wondered why a woman only a few years older talked to her as if she were a teenager.

  George Postlethwaite, the one-armed postman, parked his bicycle outside the General Stores and took Miss Golightly’s mail out of his leather satchel. He sorted the l
etters and, as he always did, read her postcard. It was important to keep up to date with village affairs.

  He was so preoccupied that he failed to spot his arch-enemy – namely, the rough-haired and very lively Yorkshire terrier belonging to Billy Two-Sheds. Monty had always enjoyed barking at the curmudgeonly postman and took the opportunity to bite him on the ankle.

  ‘Gerrof y’little bugger!’ shouted George. He saw Miss Golightly looking up in alarm from behind the counter. ‘Beggin’ y’pardon,’ he added as he hopped into the shop. ‘Here’s y’mail, Miss Golightly. Y’Aunty Maud says she’s ’avin’ a nice time in Morecambe but ’er leg is playin’ up again.’ He looked down ruefully at his torn sock. ‘A bit like mine.’

  ‘Thank you, George,’ said Prudence, ‘and here’s your paper.’

  Prudence always gave George a free newspaper each day as it was important to keep the purveyor of local information on one’s side.

  He glanced at a front-page article. ‘Ah see the papers are still full of those Christie murders.’

  John Christie had been sentenced to death for the murder of his wife, Ethel, and was believed to have been responsible for seven other killings. In total, six bodies had been found at his home, 10 Rillington Place in London’s Notting Hill.

  ‘Yes, a terrible case,’ said Prudence.

  ‘They’ll ’ang ’im,’ said George. As he left the shop Monty was baring his teeth at him again. ‘An’ ah wish they’d ’ang that bloody dog as well,’ he muttered.

  It was morning break, Valerie was on playground duty and Vera was drinking tea in the staff-room when Lily walked in looking preoccupied.

  ‘How are you, Lily? You seem quiet.’

  ‘Fine, thanks, Vera, just a few things on my mind.’

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Vera picked up the tea strainer and glanced up at Lily. ‘How is Tom these days? I’ve not seen him for a while.’

  ‘He’s fine … I think,’ said Lily. ‘To be honest, Vera, we’re both busy and we haven’t seen much of each other lately.’

  Evasion, thought Vera and fell silent as she poured the tea. ‘A little like Joseph and myself,’ she said eventually. ‘We only meet at mealtimes. I sometimes wonder what he gets up to all day. It must be difficult. His flock share their secrets with him and he has to keep them hidden. It reminds me of stolen waters.’

  Lily frowned. ‘Stolen waters?’

  ‘Yes, one of the earliest Bible quotations that Joseph and I had to learn many years ago.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  Vera stared out of the window, ‘Proverbs, chapter nine, verse seventeen: “Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.”’

  ‘I understand,’ said Lily quietly.

  Vera stood up. ‘I’m always here, Lily, if you need a good listener.’ She poured another cup. ‘I’ll take this to Valerie. She’s a dear friend but tends to keep to herself. One day I’m sure she will share whatever it is that troubles her.’

  Lily was left alone in the staff-room.

  Stolen waters, she thought … but there are some secrets that can never be shared.

  Ruby was in the General Stores while Agnes looked after Andy and Racquel.

  ‘Ah thought ah would mek some scones – m’mother loves ’em.’

  ‘That’s thoughtful, Ruby,’ said Prudence. She put two tins of Bird’s Baking Powder on the counter. ‘They’re on offer.’

  ‘Ah’ll tek ’em, please.’

  She looked at a pile of multicoloured kitchen cloths. ‘What’s these, Prudence?’

  ‘They’re new,’ said Prudence. She showed her the label. It read: ‘Old Bleach kitchen cloths. The perfect cloth to encourage a husband to dry the pots.’

  ‘I think they thought the stripes would appeal to men.’

  Ruby laughed. ‘They could mek ’em all t’colours of t’rainbow an’ my Ronnie wouldn’t stand near my sink.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Prudence. ‘Mrs Buttershaw has just bought some.’

  ‘Ah know the one,’ said Ruby. ‘Sez she’s a modern woman but allus gets crumbs down ’er cleavage.’

  Prudence smiled. I know just what you mean, she thought, but kept a respectful silence.

  Meanwhile, in the Tea Rooms the radio was playing and Doris was humming along to Frankie Laine’s number-one record ‘I Believe’ while she served Joyce Davenport and Wilhelmena Hardcastle with tea and Yorkshire curd tarts.

  A disgruntled Deirdre Coe was at the next table and not happy at being made to wait.

  Wilhelmena gave Deirdre a caustic look and spoke in her usual foghorn voice. ‘We were just reflecting on the war, Doris.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Doris, replacing the ash tray with a clean one, as the president of the Ragley Women’s Institute was a chain smoker.

  ‘I was just saying to Joyce that our husbands did their bit for the country, Joyce’s husband as an army doctor and my George as a captain in the West Yorkshire regiment.’

  Deirdre looked up from her custard cream and glowered in their direction. ‘Well, my Stanley couldn’t go off t’fight. ’E ’as a ’eart condition an’ t’country needed farmers, so Mr Churchill said.’

  ‘It didn’t stop him getting drunk like he did on Coronation Day,’ said Wilhelmena pointedly. ‘It was all round the village the state he was in.’

  Deirdre stayed quiet. Stan had kept the events of that day to himself.

  Meanwhile, in the staff-room Lily was beginning to think there was more to Valerie Flint than met the eye. Her views of education were particularly perceptive and Lily was warming to this outspoken lady.

  ‘Before the war only ten per cent of children at state schools left with any qualifications and most left at fourteen, so the situation today is clearly better,’ said Valerie.

  ‘I agree,’ said Lily, ‘but we have a long way to go to encourage them to have a love of learning, particularly with the stock of reading books we have available.’

  ‘That’s why I insist upon the children in John’s class writing their own stories and we read them out at the end of the day.’

  ‘I do exactly the same,’ said Lily, greatly encouraged.

  ‘Also, I tend to avoid the books he suggests for class story time.’

  ‘What are those?’ asked Lily.

  ‘Richmal Crompton’s William stories, where the mother doesn’t cook or do housework or prepare meals. Then there are the Jennings stories – he and his friend, Derbyshire, live in a parents-free world at a boarding school.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard those on the radio,’ said Lily.

  ‘Also there’s Billy Bunter in his public school and, of course, there’s Enid Blyton’s Famous Five.’

  Lily was surprised. ‘Enid Blyton is very popular.’

  ‘Yes, but her characters live in a middle-class world. During a time of food rationing the children enjoy ham sandwiches, strawberries and cream, and drink copious amounts of ginger beer.’

  ‘You have a point,’ conceded Lily.

  ‘Also, the police are often portrayed as bumbling simpletons and it is left to the children to solve problems and catch the crooks.’

  Valerie sat back and gave Lily a penetrating stare. ‘Your Sergeant Feather wouldn’t approve.’

  ‘He’s just a friend, Valerie.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’

  That afternoon, after John had returned, Lily used her box of drawing pins to mount a series of pictures of various birds for the children in her class. She was impressed that these country children recognized every one. They identified a house sparrow, starling, greenfinch, chaffinch, blue tit, great tit, blackbird and a robin in quick succession, before choosing one to draw.

  It was a successful lesson, but Lily’s mind kept wandering to the after-school event that was fast approaching – a meeting with Rudolph Krüger.

  Rudi’s car pulled up outside Laurel Cottage and he stepped out and looked at the garden gate and the neat flowerbeds beyond. He pau
sed as if he wished to capture the memory. Lily was waiting at the window and he waved. She opened the front door and looked left and right before beckoning Rudi inside.

  ‘You came,’ she said. She stepped back and suddenly they were face to face in the hallway.

  ‘I wanted to come,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I think I knew that one day I would see you again.’ Her voice was quiet and her eyes were filled with sadness. She looked up into the handsome face of the tall, blond German. ‘You look well, Rudi.’

  He nodded briefly. ‘How are you, Lily?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You look beautiful. You always did,’ and he gave that smile she remembered so well.

  There were memories that were tender to the touch and Rudi was caressing them fingertip softly. It was easy to see why her younger self had fallen in love with this quiet and soulful man. There had been gravitas in his words and she had listened to them eagerly.

  Rudi looked towards the kitchen. ‘Florence is away?’

  ‘Yes, she left yesterday.’

  ‘So we can talk.’

  ‘For a short while.’ Her voice was neutral and calm. Once he had consumed her life, but now he was a stranger. It had been a love of fire and ice. Finally, in the cool light of her new life, she knew it was over between them and had been for many years.

  ‘May I see Freddie?’

  ‘He’s playing in the back garden. Come and see.’

  Freddie was hitting a tennis ball against the wall with his cricket bat. He was engrossed and showed great skill. Tall for his age and athletic, he had the makings of a fine sportsman.

  He stopped when Lily walked out with the tall stranger.

  ‘Freddie, this is the friend I told you about. He’s come to say hello.’

  Freddie stared up, full of curiosity. ‘Can you play cricket?’ he asked.

  ‘Cricket? I have never played.’

  Freddie was puzzled. ‘I thought everyone played cricket.’

  ‘Not in my village,’ said Rudi. ‘But perhaps you can teach me.’

  Freddie passed him the ball and stepped back to the chalked set of cricket stumps on the wall. ‘You bowl, I’ll bat.’