What Tomorrow Brings

by Mary Fitzgerald

  ‘I don’t know how you can ever bear to leave here,’ he smiled. ‘It’s a fabulous house.’

  ‘It is,’ I agreed, ‘and I’m not going to leave it ever again. I’ll live here, with the children. I’ve got the businesses to see to, but we’ve got competent managers and Jacob is helping me with overseeing the books. The fact is, Charlie, that I’ve had all the excitement I could ever wish for. Now, I’ll settle for dull.’

  ‘And dull includes me?’

  I laughed. ‘You could never be dull. But what I’m saying is that from now on I’ll be satisfied to get my excitement second hand, through you.’

  ‘That’s all right, then. Glad to oblige.’ He sat up. ‘I have to get going. Monica is being transported to London this morning, along with her stupid friend, Jane Porter. We picked her up in Truro station, where she was trying to get on a train. I think she’d got in too deep and wanted out. Anyway, we’ll question them.’

  ‘What’ll happen to Monica?’

  He shrugged. ‘A lot of interrogation, to get as much from her as possible, and then, who knows. It’s up to the prosecutors. I think she’ll be spared the rope, if she gives us enough info. But it’ll be years in prison.’

  ‘Good,’ I breathed and thought of Max. ‘You must see the children before you go.’

  ‘Of course I must.’ Charlie dropped a kiss on my cheek. ‘And we have to decide about Max. That little boy needs a birth certificate. Are we heading to the register office again?’

  I grinned. ‘Yes, we are. You’re about to become the proud father of another son.’

  ‘I’m delighted,’ he laughed. ‘Now, where’s the bathroom?’

  We had breakfast on the veranda, in coats because the weather had turned colder and dark clouds were gathering on the horizon. Charlie had walked around the house and looked down at the beach and decided this was where he wanted to live too.

  ‘How’s Diana?’ I asked. He hadn’t brought up the subject, but I thought one of us should.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, looking out at the ocean, his face not betraying his feelings. ‘She carries on, more confused now, and doesn’t know me at all. Even Clarissa is a stranger to her, a kind stranger, though, who is greeted every day as though it’s the first time they’ve met. In a way, I feel sorrier for Clarissa. She’s quite broken up about it.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s terrible for everybody.’

  ‘And are you prepared to wait for me?’

  ‘Of course I am,’ I said and gave him a kiss. ‘Never doubt me in that.’

  He went back to London, promising to return for Xanthe’s funeral, which was held the following week.

  It was a quiet business, laying Xanthe to rest, in the little graveyard overlooking the sea. The weather was cloudy and a few spots of rain fell on us as Xanthe’s body was lowered into the freshly dug grave. Those were the war days, when youthful death was a common part of life and so, although I mourned and the villagers expressed their sorrow, it didn’t affect me as much as I suppose it should have. Charlie held my hand during the service, and Alice stood on my other side, a stout, reliable figure. Jacob and Kitty stayed at home to look after the children, and I understood. This was not their religion and it would have been difficult for them no matter how much they had become part of my family.

  A few days afterwards, Jacob announced that he and Kitty were going home. ‘I have loved my time here,’ said Jacob. ‘My new friends I will keep until the end of my life, but Kitty needs her education and I need to reacquaint myself with the synagogue. Not going there every week has left a hole in my life, which I do need to fill.’ He clasped my hand. ‘Do you understand, dearest Seffy?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But, Jacob, I’ll miss you terribly.’

  ‘Ach, I’ll feel the pain too, I know it. For you and the little children. But, if you will permit it, we will come down to Cornwall often. Kitty has made friends too and it is so good for her. She has become a girl again.’

  ‘Of course.’ I could feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. ‘Your rooms in this house will always be ready for you. And your papers will be safe in the study.’ I smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to your book on Cornish seaweeds.’

  After they’d gone I spoke to Alice. ‘I know that being here wasn’t what you signed up for when you took on the job,’ I said. ‘Am I making life difficult for you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Why would I want to go away from this place?’ She laughed. ‘It’s a little bit of heaven.’

  So we were left, Alice and I, with the children, who grew stronger and happier with every day that passed.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  SOON AFTER XANTHE died I went to London and Charlie came with me to the solicitor’s, where we discussed how to register Max as my son.

  ‘You are Xanthe’s next of kin,’ said the old lawyer, now returned to harness after his son had been called up, ‘and there isn’t any documentary proof that Major von Klausen is Maximilian’s father. In the absence of a marriage or birth certificate, or even a will, it would appear that you are his legal guardian. And, if you want, we can start proceedings for a formal adoption.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I smiled. ‘Please go ahead.’

  So Max became my son and Charlie’s name was given as that of his father. We went for a drink and a meal afterwards in one of Charlie’s great little places. It was a tiny Greek restaurant in Soho, where the white tablecloths bore evidence of other diners and the elderly waitresses argued with each other in the back room. But we drank ouzo and ate a dish of pork marinated in vinegar and herbs.

  ‘I’m going away at the end of the week,’ Charlie said. ‘Don’t ask me where.’

  I nodded. It was wartime, men went away. And came back, or didn’t. I held his hand. ‘Try and be safe,’ I said and that was enough. It had to be, so I went home to Cornwall.

  Somewhere, deep inside me, I did have an idea of what he was doing, but we never talked about it. On his infrequent periods of leave, we spent time together at the house and with the children. He loved Cornwall almost as much as I did and soon became a well-known and well-regarded visitor to the village. Mrs Penney kept hinting that we should get married, but all I did was grin and tell her that I wasn’t in the mood to give up my freedom.

  The children adored him. They called him ‘Papa’, much to his and my amusement. I suppose Alice had introduced the word and they kept to it, until they got older and he became Pa. He played games with them on the beach and spent hours on the floor in the nursery and the living room, building towers out of wooden blocks and making dens with the aid of old curtains. When Charlie was with us, we were a proper family but, of course, the war intervened and he had to leave us.

  I started to write, as a hobby really, and then it became an addiction that had to be satisfied every day. I wrote first one and then another long novel set in the Victorian era and populated by strange, high-minded characters, who strived to improve the world by distributing wealth to men with ideas. Reading the pages back one day, I realised how ridiculous and boring it was and put the manuscripts into a chest in the loft and resolved to give up this new-found hobby. But, one day, I began to write an adventure story, set during the reign of Good Queen Bess. It worked and when I showed it to a publisher, he took it on.

  ‘Can you write another,’ he asked, ‘in this vein?’

  ‘I can try,’ I said, still bubbling with excitement.

  ‘Because, you know,’ he said, ‘people need to be taken out of themselves. Five years of war and they’re exhausted by day-to-day reality. Something like this,’ he waved my manuscript in the air, ‘full of dashing courtiers and backstairs intrigue, will be like a tonic.’

  I went home from London on the train, grinning like a fool and surrounded by bags and packages. In my excitement, I’d used my coupons to get new clothes for the children and something smart for myself. I’d bought Alice an astrakhan hat, to go with her Sunday coat. I knew she’d love it.

  I wondered what Charlie woul
d say. He’d laugh, but would be encouraging.

  ‘Go for it, Blake,’ he’d say, and grin. ‘Although why have you made Sir Walsingham look like me?’

  ‘Because he was a spy?’ I’d joke and I laughed out loud in the crowded train, imagining the conversation. I missed him, though. He’d been away now for months and Marisol kept asking, ‘Where’s Papa?’ and Max would say solemnly, ‘Papa gone.’

  They were there, waiting for me, when the taxi dropped me at the house, my two little monsters, sitting on the stairs. It was past their bedtime but they’d persuaded Alice to let them stay up for another few minutes.

  ‘Mama!’ they squealed as I walked in, and threw themselves on me. They were allowed to stay up a little longer, as they opened the packages of new clothes and toys. Marisol had a wooden bagatelle game, which she loved, and I’d bought Max a little Bakelite telephone, which looked exactly like the one we had in the hall. There was such excitement that Alice and I had a job getting them up to bed, but, eventually, after a story and kisses, they were asleep and we came downstairs for a bite of supper.

  ‘Here,’ I said to Alice, opening the cardboard box with which I’d juggled all through the journey. ‘This is for you.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said, exclaiming in delight as she drew out the astrakhan hat. ‘It’s right nice, that. You shouldn’t have spent your money, but it’s lovely.’

  Mrs Penney had left us a fish pie, which we ate in the kitchen, with a glass of cider to wash it down.

  ‘Did you see Mr Charlie when you were in town?’ Alice kept glancing towards the hat, which she’d left on the dresser. She was dying to try it on.

  ‘No,’ I sighed. ‘He’s still away. But I did see Jacob and Kitty. They’re well and send their love. Kitty has started at university and she suddenly looks so grown up. I know we saw them only a month ago, but somehow she seems different. Not so frightened now. New friends, I suppose.’

  ‘She’ll do well, that young lady,’ Alice said. ‘She’s got a clever head on her shoulders.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘And she’s still living at home, so Jacob and Willi aren’t lonely. Jacob’s coming to stay here in a few weeks’ time, he says he misses the sea.’ I smiled. That was exactly how I felt these days, when I was away from Cornwall.

  ‘What about the flat?’ Alice, carrying the dishes, followed me into the scullery, where I was pouring water into the sink. ‘Are you thinking of letting it?’

  ‘No, not the flat, but Father’s house in Eaton Square has been requisitioned. Apparently it’s being occupied by some American Embassy people. The housekeeper has stayed on to look after them.’

  ‘I suppose that’s all right. It was lucky to escape the bombing – and your flat, for that matter. All of us, indeed.’ She bent down and riddled the Aga and then reached for the bucket of anthracite. ‘What’s it like in London? Still a mess?’

  ‘It’s better, I think. Not so much bombing now and the cinemas and theatres are all open.’

  She went to the sink and washed her hands and then put the kettle on to boil. ‘We’re better off here, and no mistake. Now, a nice cup of tea, then off to bed, Miss Seffy. You look all in.’

  A few days later Charlie rang.

  ‘Oh, Charlie,’ I gasped. ‘How wonderful to hear you.’

  ‘And you, Blake,’ he answered. ‘You can’t know how much.’ There was a little catch in his voice, which I put down to excitement, but then he said, ‘Diana’s dead.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, but I wasn’t really.

  ‘Actually,’ he continued, ‘she died in March, six months ago, from measles, of all things, but I didn’t know. I only came home the other day. Look, I’m getting a train tomorrow morning and I’ll be with you in the evening.’ There was a pause and then he said, with that same catch in his voice, ‘If you still want me.’

  I was puzzled. ‘Of course I still want you,’ I said. ‘Nothing’s changed.’

  But the man I picked up from the railway station at Truro was a shadow of his former self. ‘Charlie,’ I called, running forward through the steam to the army officer standing next to the rear carriage, and then my steps faltered. He stood, holdall in his right hand and the sleeve of his left arm neatly pinned up.

  ‘Oh, God, Charlie,’ I breathed, almost to myself. ‘What happened?’ And I walked slowly towards him.

  Charlie looked at me, despair and apprehension mingled on his face. ‘Hello, Blake.’ He sounded exhausted. ‘Here I am.’ He swallowed. ‘Not quite the same as before.’

  I looked into his tired blue eyes and felt a surge of love overwhelm me. ‘You are exactly the same as you were before,’ I said.

  ‘Even with this?’ He jerked his head to the empty left sleeve.

  I nodded. ‘Even with that.’ Then I grinned. ‘I love you, you dolt. Don’t you see? Nothing else matters.’

  ‘Oh, thank Christ,’ he said, tears glistening in his eyes and we clung to each other, while the train shuddered and steamed and the other passengers walked away.

  At home, after greeting Alice and Mrs Penney, who had stayed on to make us a meal, he told us what had happened. ‘It was a grenade,’ he said and did a typical Charlie rueful grin. ‘Got too close.’

  Mrs Penney gave him a suspicious look. ‘You said you worked in an office and the most dangerous thing you ever encountered was a letter-opener.’

  ‘Did I?’ He smiled. ‘Well, they can be very sharp.’

  Alice raised her eyebrows at that and then smiled. She touched Charlie’s shoulder. ‘I’m just glad to see you home, Mr Charlie. And I know the little ones will be too.’

  His face fell a little at that and he flashed a quick glance at me.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ I said.

  When we went to bed I asked him, ‘Was it really a grenade?’

  ‘Something like that. I’ll tell you, one day.’

  I watched him from the corner of my eye, wondering how he would manage to undress. He was slow, struggling a little with his tie and then the buttons on his shirt.

  ‘Can I help?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘I can do most things, now, except tying my shoelaces, but, Seffy, I’m nervous about you seeing my stump. It’s pretty gruesome.’

  ‘I’m nervous too,’ I said, ‘but, come on. Get that shirt off.’

  His arm had been removed just above the elbow and the skin pulled down over the bone and puckered together in a rough fashion. I knew that the operation must have been performed in difficult circumstances and my stomach turned over at the thought of the pain he must have suffered. It wasn’t nice to look at, but I bent and gave the remaining part of his arm a kiss. ‘There,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen it now, so let’s get on with our lives.’

  He nodded, too full of emotion to say anything.

  When the children raced in the following morning, Marisol, the leader, skidded to a halt when she saw Charlie’s head on the pillow beside me. ‘Papa!’ she shouted, joyfully. ‘You’ve come home,’ and she launched herself on to the bed.

  ‘Careful, sweetheart,’ I warned, grabbing her around the waist. ‘Papa’s been hurt, so you mustn’t be rough with him.’

  ‘Where?’ she demanded, furiously, her dark curls tumbling about her face. ‘Which part can’t I touch?’

  Charlie had both arms in the bed, but, after a nod from me, he sat up and showed Marisol and Max the stump.

  ‘Oh!’ wailed Marisol, staring at it with horror, while Max sucked his thumb harder. ‘Poor Papa. Did a naughty German do that to you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlie, ‘but I’m all right now, and despite what Mama says, you can be as rough as you like. Come on, give me a hug, and you too, Max. And take that bloody thumb out of your mouth.’

  I left them tumbling over in the bed and listened to the squeals of delight as I went into the bathroom and then down to make tea.

  Later that morning we all walked on the beach. It was a cool, late September day and the sea was busy and rippling, working its
elf up into an autumn storm. The children had gone on ahead, Marisol, shoeless, dancing in and out of the surf and Max, ever the quiet one, collecting shells in his tin bucket.

  ‘There’s something I need to ask you,’ Charlie said. He looked better today, not so tired and with the wind whipping through his hair and bringing colour to his cheeks, almost boyish.

  ‘Oh, yes. What is it?’ I was watching Marisol, making sure that she didn’t get her dress too wet.

  ‘It’s this,’ he grunted and when I turned to look at him I was astonished to find he had one knee in the sand. ‘Seffy Blake,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me?’

  I paused for the merest second. I knew I was going to say yes, but I wanted to preserve the moment so that in years to come, if someone asked me where Charlie proposed, I would be able to close my eyes and examine my picture of the setting. The beach, the restless waves topped now with white horses, and the sky. The hazy, blue sky, full of lumpy white and grey clouds, which scudded inshore on a strengthening wind.

  I looked down at him, his face stiff with anxiety, as he waited for my answer and I got down on my knees in front of him.

  ‘Of course I’ll marry you, Charlie,’ I whispered, taking his hand. ‘And gladly.’

  We kissed then and laughed. ‘Shall we do it as soon as possible?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Spots of rain were beginning to fall and the children were running back towards us. ‘Charlie,’ I said, pointing to the headland. ‘The little church above the sea, where Xanthe’s buried. Can we have the service there? Then at least one member of my family will be somewhere close.’

  ‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘I’d like that.’

  We told Alice and Mrs Penney when we got back to the house and got kisses from both of them. The children jumped around, joining in with the excitement, although they didn’t really know what it was about. Still, they understood that everyone was happy.