by Lorna Cook
‘I’d love to see inside.’ Melissa looked up at the house. ‘I can just imagine that front door leads on to a large and ornate entrance hall complete with fireplace and sweeping staircase,’ she said. ‘I used to dream of living in a grand old country house in the unlikely event I ever became a millionaire.’ Melissa blushed.
‘It’s a pity it’s not for sale,’ Guy mused. ‘It’s run-down of course, but with a hell of a lot of money and TLC, it could be a home once again. It’s a shame it can’t be.’
‘Why can’t it be?’
‘The house and village are still owned by the Ministry of Defence,’ he said. ‘The army uses the land around it for artillery and tank training. The village and this house were in the way then and still are now. Not during summer though. They stop their training exercises over summer.’
Melissa’s face fell. ‘Oh, right. So it’s just going to stay like this then? Until it falls away to rubble?’
‘I suppose all we can do is appreciate it as a piece of social history now and endeavour to understand the huge sacrifice the residents made,’ he said. ‘That’s just the way it is with all those villages requisitioned during the war. Some of them were given back, but they were often unliveable by the time the army had finished with them. They’re mostly tourist attractions now.’
Melissa sighed and then busied herself getting the picnic food out of the paper bag. She’d bought some breadsticks and various dips, a crusty loaf, two kinds of cheese, some delicious-looking sliced ham, and paper plates and empty takeaway coffee cups for the water. She looked quite pleased with the little array until, ‘Oh damn. I forgot to ask for plastic cutlery to slice the cheese and ham with. We’ll just have to use fingers, I’m afraid.’
Guy sat down next to her on the grass and drew his eyes away from the building and down to the feast in front of him. ‘Impressive.’
‘Tuck in,’ Melissa encouraged.
Guy ripped off a bit of Brie. He held it between his fingers and narrowed his eyes at the building.
Melissa glanced at where he was looking and then back to him. ‘What?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said and put the cheese into his mouth and chewed. When he finished, he asked, ‘Did you know the owner of the house, Sir Albert Standish, was an MP?’
Melissa shook her head and rolled up a piece of ham. ‘Gosh, that was unfortunate. Being an MP and still having your home whipped out from underneath you, same as your constituents. No special treatment for him. Bet he wasn’t too chuffed. Was that who your grandmother worked for?’
‘He and his wife, Lady Veronica. My gran doesn’t speak very highly of him though. Bit of a bastard from what I can gather. Gran was one of their maids. I think she was the last one to leave.’ Guy frowned, trying to remember what his gran had said. ‘She loved Lady Veronica though. The family owned the entire village and all the surrounding farmland. Everyone rented their properties from the Standishes.’
‘Where did they all go? The villagers, I mean. How do you rehouse a whole village in the middle of a war?’
‘Temporary accommodation in the nearby towns. Some went to stay with family,’ Guy said. ‘My great-grandparents went to stay with relatives, I think, and then my gran joined the war effort and was posted away for a while.’
Melissa looked at the house again and then dipped a breadstick into some hummus. ‘Where did the Standishes go?’
‘Good question. They probably had a London home.’ He rolled up a piece of ham and looked back at the house.
They shared small talk and when they had finished their picnic, tidied up and walked slowly down towards the church.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing these pictures now,’ Melissa said. ‘You’ve really built this up, so it had better be good.’
‘You won’t be disappointed.’
He opened the heavy wooden door and showed her into the church, removing his sunglasses and hooking them into his shirt pocket. The church was beautiful on the inside and out. Built of the same pale brick as the Great House, it had huge stained-glass windows that dripped an array of sunlit colour onto the flagstone floor. Tourists milled about and an elderly guide whose name badge read ‘Reg’ acknowledged Guy immediately and started fussing. Guy shook the man’s hand and then raised his finger to his lips, indicating the tourists. The guide smiled knowingly, pleased to be in on the secrecy, and left Guy and Melissa to it.
Melissa pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and looked up at one of the stained-glass windows. The light was streaming through and casting glorious colour onto her, her face raised up intently, studying the glass. She was beautiful, Guy thought as he leaned against one of the pews. Almost ethereal in this light.
She turned to look at him and walked slowly towards him. He felt like his heart had lurched into his mouth.
‘Come on then, Mr Historian,’ she said quietly. ‘Show me these photos.’
He led her over to a series of boards that had been staggered around the nave of the church. Each one showed a group of properties, their owners, and had a bit of information about their family histories and what had happened to them after they had left Tyneham.
‘That’s Gran.’ He looked proud as he leaned over her shoulder to point to a photo of a teenage girl in a pinafore, her hair up in a loose bun with a few front sections falling down by her face.
‘She was very pretty,’ Melissa said and turned to smile up at Guy. He was only a few inches from her, and he smiled, a lovely smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.
Melissa read each of the boards with interest and scanned the pictures of the various houses, the vicarage and the post office. At the final board, Melissa saw the same bit of blurb about the Great House that she’d read in the leaflet and looked at pictures of the house in its heyday taken from various angles. A few black and white images of the staff and owners throughout the years were on display. And then there was the portrait shot of Sir Albert Standish and his wife Veronica taken outside their house. It was larger, much more clear than the miniature version on the board at the Great House. She could actually see their faces. The caption said it had been taken by the local Historical Society. Melissa was taken aback by Veronica and Albert. They were much younger than she imagined they would be; they looked no older than their early thirties. She wasn’t sure why, but Melissa had imagined they’d be at least middle aged.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Lady Veronica was beautiful,’ she said to Guy, who turned to look. Veronica had dark hair, possibly red, but it was hard to tell in the black and white of the photo, swept over on one side so a thick waterfall of fashionable rolled curls fells down to her shoulders. She had thick eyelashes, fairly high cheekbones and was wearing a dark lipstick that Melissa guessed might be red. Melissa turned her gaze to the man standing by Lady Veronica’s side, Sir Albert. ‘Her husband was a looker too.’
‘Yes, I suppose. If you like that sort of thing,’ Guy said jokingly.
Sir Albert had a chiselled jaw and dark hair that looked like it should have fallen to his eyes but was instead firmly Brylcreemed, giving it a bit of height.
‘Imagine what their children must have looked like. Supermodels,’ Melissa marvelled.
‘I don’t think they ever had children actually. My gran never mentioned children when she worked there.’
‘That’s a shame. So there was no one to inherit the house?’
‘No. But like the rest of the village, the house was subject to a compulsory purchase order after the war. It didn’t matter that he was an MP.’ Guy nodded towards the picture of Sir Albert. ‘He never got it back.’
Melissa looked at Albert and Veronica Standish. The photograph was dated December 1943 – the same month the village had been rendered a ghost town. Had they already known when the picture was taken that they were being kicked out?
There was something about Albert Standish that Melissa couldn’t put her finger on. He looked stern, but not only that, he looked … Melissa couldn’t
work it out. The body language was normal enough for a formal photo, but the hand that was holding Veronica’s was clenched; as if he were holding on to her far too tightly. Melissa tried to see past his ridiculous good looks and wondered if he didn’t have a bit of a domineering edge to him.
Melissa peered at Lady Veronica again and tried to work out Veronica’s expression. Her mouth was set in a straight line and her eyes were slightly wider than was normal, but there was something else …
‘Look at Lady Veronica,’ she said. ‘Look at her face. Does she seem a bit odd to you?’
Guy looked. ‘Maybe. Perhaps she’s not happy having her picture taken?’
Melissa wasn’t sure. She read the words that accompanied the picture to see what had happened to the couple after they had left Tyneham. It didn’t say. All the other boards had little stories about each family, but the Standishes had no information at all.
‘What happened to them after the requisition?’ she asked Guy. ‘It doesn’t say.’
‘Yes, I wondered that,’ he replied. ‘I’ll ask my gran, she might know.’
Melissa turned back to the photograph of the couple. After a few seconds she’d worked out what the expression was on the woman’s face: fear.
Lady Veronica Standish looked scared to death.
CHAPTER 4
Tyneham, December 1943
‘Hurry. Put that in there.’ Veronica threw her leather jewellery box through the air to her maid, Anna. Anna pushed it into one of the trunks that was open in the middle of the bedroom and looked up at her employer, ready to catch the next item. Veronica rifled in drawers and grabbed whatever she could that she thought she could either use or sell.
With nothing else flying through the air, Anna dashed past Veronica and yanked open the wardrobe doors, helping to pull clothes from rails and piling them into the middle of the room. Both women knew there was no time to sort, simply to stuff suitcases and trunks and get Veronica out.
‘I’m sorry I can’t take you with me.’ Veronica was breathless, quickly throwing fur stoles that she knew she’d get good money for into the trunks.
‘I understand. Don’t worry about me. I’ll go back to my parents after you’ve left. And then, in a few days, we’re all leaving the village anyway …’ Anna trailed off as she picked up a beige booklet from the floor. Her eyes were wide. ‘Why have you collected your ration book from Cook?’
‘I’ll need it,’ Veronica said.
Anna frowned and put it inside the trunk.
‘What’s wrong?’ Veronica asked.
‘I don’t think that was a good idea. What if she tells Sir Albert you’ve got it?’
‘I told her I had to take a quick shopping trip to London. She can’t possibly know what I’m doing.’
Anna looked worried. ‘Let’s hope not. Will you be going to London in the end? I mean, really?’
‘I don’t know where I’m going yet,’ Veronica said. ‘Anywhere will be better than here. I’ll get a hotel first near a station and then I’ll make plans to move on.’
‘Don’t write to me,’ Anna said. ‘He’ll know.’
Veronica nodded and wondered how a seventeen-year-old was so wise beyond her years. Living with Veronica and Sir Albert had obviously opened Anna’s eyes to the harsh realities of human behaviour.
‘All right, that’s everything I think I’ll need.’ Veronica stuffed the last of her clothing into the trunk, snapping the clasp shut. ‘Your brother’s still coming with the trap, isn’t he?’
‘He’ll be here any minute.’ Anna took down the eighteenth-century marble and gold clock from above the mantelpiece and held it out. ‘You might get a few pounds for this.’
Veronica shook her head. ‘It belongs to Bertie. It’s a family heirloom. Best to put it back.’ She didn’t want to give her husband any more reason to hate her. She knew he’d be enraged and would begin hunting her down the moment he realised she was gone. Any further excuse would add to whatever sentence Bertie had in store when he found her.
If he found her.
The sound of a horse and cart crunched rhythmically over the sweep of the gravel drive.
‘Is it your brother? Is it William?’ Veronica asked.
Anna dashed to the window and her hands flew to her face.
Veronica’s head shot up and she pushed her long auburn hair out of her eyes. ‘What? What is it?’
‘It’s not William.’
Veronica dashed to the window. The house had been so quiet for ever so long. Visitors were few and far between since the war had started. ‘Who on earth is it? No one is expected. Not today. Why is someone visiting today?’
Veronica peered down as the cart approached the front door. A well-dressed man in a suit was sitting next to the driver, but from the bedroom window, the angle made it impossible to see his face.
‘I’ll go down and tell them no one’s at home. William will be here any minute and …’ Anna trailed off. William’s horse and cart had come into view at the end of the driveway and was on its way towards the house.
‘Oh, dear God, it’s too late. Anna …’ Veronica closed her eyes and tried not to let panic get the better of her.
‘No, it’ll be all right. We can still get you away. Just wait here for a minute.’ Anna turned and left the room.
Veronica clutched the thick curtain so hard that the whites of her knuckles showed. She stared at the first cart, hoping for it to turn and leave with its passenger still on board.
Veronica saw Anna rush round from the side of the house and spin her fingers in the air, indicating to William to turn around and go. Halfway down the drive, William threw his hands in the air to his sister, indicating the task was an impossible one. He continued towards the house in order to sweep past and exit through the other entrance and, as he did so, acknowledged the passenger of the first cart with a tip of his hat. Veronica strained her eyes downward to try to identify the suited man but was unable to get a glimpse of his face.
William’s cart continued away from the house and out of the space where the large iron gates had once stood. Veronica had loved those gates. But having been taken in the metal drives in 1940 to help build weapons and Spitfires, they had not yet been replaced. It didn’t matter now. She would not be here to see them remade.
From the latticed window of her bedroom Veronica watched as Anna stopped momentarily in front of the visitor. Anna started to speak and then narrowed her eyes as if in confusion.
Anna opened the front door, indicated for the man to come inside and then disappeared inside herself.
What on earth was Anna doing? Why was William leaving? And why was she showing that man inside?
Veronica left her bedroom and descended the main staircase, almost tripping as she moved. Her mind was a whir. She was supposed to be in William’s cart, making her way towards the train station with her belongings. She was supposed to be leaving Bertie. There might still be time. If she could get rid of the visitor quickly, they might have time to summon William back before Bertie returned from his appointment in Dorchester. Veronica tried to take control of her nerves.
Anna stopped and looked up at Veronica, a frightened expression on her face. Veronica looked past Anna and into the eyes of a man she recognised but had not seen for years. She stopped on the final stair, let out a large breath and gripped the bannisters for fear of collapsing.
‘No,’ she whispered and then collected herself. ‘Anna,’ Veronica said, forcing the words out with as much calm as possible. ‘I think … perhaps today … I think that some of the trunks may need …’
Anna searched her employer’s eyes. Veronica knew she looked lost. She didn’t have the answer.
Not now. How would she ever leave now?
Anna shot Veronica a desperate look as the maid walked past. But there was nothing either of them could do.
The man smiled up at Veronica, a wide smile that reached his eyes as she eventually descended the stairs towards him.
‘Veronica
Hanbury, as I live and breathe,’ he said.
‘Freddie?’ she whispered. She was looking into the eyes of Bertie’s brother.
CHAPTER 5
‘In the flesh,’ he said with a grin. ‘Although I should have called you Veronica Standish, but I’m afraid old habits die hard.’
Veronica stepped off the final stair slowly and stood in front of Freddie, looking at his features before throwing her arms around him. Freddie staggered back a pace and slowly lifted his arms to embrace her.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ she whispered into his neck. He was warm, despite the cold of the day and memories flooded back to her of the last time he’d held her like this; so long ago when things were simple. Before everything had changed and she’d married his brother. Before it had all gone so horribly wrong.
He pushed her back gently, holding her at arm’s length, and studied her. ‘You’re still as beautiful as the last time I saw you. Feels like years ago.’
‘It was,’ she nodded. ‘Nearly five.’
‘Well, there we are then,’ he replied and let go of her.
She searched his face. He looked the same, but now his eyes creased at the sides when he smiled and the beginnings of frown lines had appeared on his forehead.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Veronica said.
‘Really? I wrote and told Bertie I was coming. Or rather, I replied to his strongly worded demand.’
‘I had no idea. He didn’t tell me.’
‘Strange. Maybe he didn’t think I’d come.’
‘But you are here,’ Veronica said, smiling.
He nodded. ‘Is there anyone about to lend a hand with suitcases and trunks and whatnot?’
‘No. I’m sorry. We’ve packed up all the things that are going to the London house and sent them on already. We’ve only got Cook, and the maids Rebecca and Anna, who you just saw, until we go. We’ve got a removal company coming to help load the last remaining things when we all leave in a few days. Can I help you with your cases?’
Freddie laughed. ‘Of course not. I’ll manage. Bertie ordered me to clear my things out on the off chance the army sneak off with my possessions while they’ve got free run of the place. I’ve only brought a few suitcases to fill. I can’t imagine there’s much left of me here really.’