The fact that Ingrid was German didn’t seem to occur to Mrs Canty at all. She considered her a member of Dunderrig and so someone who must be at all costs protected, from the Nazis or Mrs Kelly or any other adversaries.
James and Ingrid exchanged smiles.
After breakfast, they went for a walk in the chilly October air.
‘I have to get this commission finished. You know that, don’t you? It could mean big things for me. I might even have an exhibition next year. You do understand, don’t you?’
Ingrid sighed. ‘We both know the real reason, James. You could finish that painting in Dublin just as easily. You just don’t want to be up there anymore. You hate lying to your father, so you avoid the situation.’
James shook his head. ‘Of course, I hate lying to Dad and Solange, but it’s more than that. I know we don’t talk about it, but it’s eating me up inside. Every day, we hear more of what Hitler is doing, and it’s horrific, literally unthinkable, that he could be treating people that way. You read the news too, you must see it – and that’s just what we do know. Can you imagine what’s going on behind the scenes? I’m not comfortable sitting around with a bunch of awful Germans, many of whom openly support the Nazis, singing Lili Marleen and drinking schnapps and pretending everything is just fine.’
‘And me? Am I just one of those awful Germans, too? Why are you bothering with me at all if I’m so dreadful? You knew who I was when you met me. If now my nationality and my patriotism are unpalatable to you, then there is nothing I can do. You are the one who is changing, James, not me. You must do what you want.’
James had never seen Ingrid so upset. She was normally so cool and collected. Yet he longed for her to rage against Hitler, to distance herself from the Nazis and the German social scene in Dublin. Surely, she couldn’t condone the exploitation and mistreatment of people like that?
‘I love you, you know that, but why don’t you condemn what they’re doing?’ he said with angry sadness. ‘You just skim over it and make out like there’s fault on both sides.’
‘Listen to yourself! Shocked by people who tell the truth and aren’t afraid to speak out! And there you are running around behind your father’s back like a little boy! You look like a man, James, but when are you going to start acting like one and tell him the truth about you and Edith? You’re pathetic.’ Ingrid spat the words venomously.
‘It’s a totally different thing…’
‘So tell your father the truth.’
‘You don’t understand how it would hurt him and Solange.’
‘Why would he care? And what does Solange matter, anyway? She’s not part of your family.’
‘Solange is a mother to me, you can’t say she’s isn’t part of our family.’ He was getting angry himself now.
Ingrid’s eyes were flashing in temper.
‘So, you tell lots of lies, and it is suddenly my fault? I am not the one who lives lies, that is you. You are happy to accept everything both your father and mother give you, and you get angry at me for telling you to be a man and tell the truth. You’re not a man; you are a stupid little boy, afraid of his papa. At least your sister had the guts to do something with her life! You are in your twenties and yet you behave like a little child! For God’s sake, James, we can’t even have sex without you living in terror of being caught like a naughty schoolboy. I need an adult not a little boy. So yes, to answer your question, I do understand. Perfectly.’
Ingrid stormed off, and James sat on the stump of a tree, seething. Ingrid was so infuriating sometimes. She had no understanding of how complicated things were; she just saw what she wanted and took it. He also hated the way she spoke about Solange, like she was a servant or something. She was perfectly nice to her when they were together, but she never understood that Solange was so much more to him than just a nanny gone past her usefulness. The entire household of Dunderrig relied so much on Solange and despite all those years without their birth mother, he and Juliet had never wanted for love. Solange was always there. He missed Juliet so much; she would understand. She was braver than him, there was no doubt about that, but she wasn’t like Ingrid, who saw no reason to consider others. The fact that she wouldn’t condemn what Hitler was doing was taking its toll on their relationship. He had thought, in his innocence, that they could just ignore the war, but he realised now how foolish that notion had been.
Solange had watched the exchange between James and Ingrid from the landing window, her attention drawn by their raised voices after she had opened the casement to admire the garden’s autumnal colours. She wondered what they were quarrelling about. Downstairs, the front door opened, and she heard someone run upstairs. A furious Ingrid almost collided with her.
‘Ingrid, ma chère, are you all right?’ Solange asked in concern.
‘Yes, thank you. I would like to go to Skibbereen, please Solange, I’m returning to Dublin on the next train. Can you ask Eddie to take me in?’ Ingrid spoke calmly though Solange could see the girl was upset and angry.
‘Of course, if that is what you want. But perhaps if you had a cup of tea, maybe you would feel better?’ Solange followed Ingrid into her room. She knew if the girl left like this, James would be heartbroken. She must try to get her to stay, at least until the young lovers both calmed down.
‘No, thank you. I just want to go, now.’ Ingrid’s voice was cold as she threw her clothes and cosmetics into her suitcase.
‘Ingrid, it’s not my business, I know, but if you and James have had a row, then maybe you should talk about it. Once you are back in Dublin, you’ll probably realise it was about a silly thing and then you are two hundred miles away.’ Solange smiled kindly.
Ingrid stopped packing and looked squarely at Solange. ‘You are absolutely right,’ she said. ‘It is not your business.’
She snapped her case closed and walked past Solange out of the bedroom.
IN THE WEEKS THAT followed, James painted furiously, throwing himself into his work. Solange knew he was hurting and longed to comfort him, but she also knew he didn’t want her company – he wanted Ingrid. Occasionally, he wrote to Juliet – at least he had his sister to confide in.
Juliet had written several times since that letter telling them she had joined up but gave no real details about her life except to say she was fine and the work was hard yet she was coping. The censor removed sentences and words, which made the rest hard to figure out; yet every letter was read and reread by everyone in the house. Eddie wondered what things he’d taught her that might be useful to her now. Mrs Canty was trying to figure out a way of posting her some food, and Richard often just sat by the range at night when the house was asleep, holding the letters to his chest, as if by doing so, he could be closer to his daughter.
SOLANGE SAT AT HER desk by the window of her bedroom that overlooked the lawns of Dunderrig. The frost glistened on the bare branches, and the wind from the north was biting. She had called this bedroom home for over twenty years now, and she pondered the life she lived. It was a million miles from what she had envisaged as a young girl in Picardy, but it was a good life. She still missed Jeremy, even after all these years. Her man friend, as Juliet called him, was still around but while she liked him very much, she had no desire to make the arrangement more permanent. Solange often wondered if Richard knew of her relationship of sorts. She doubted it; and if he did guess, he probably didn’t approve. She was not like him, though, happy to live a celibate life; she needed the comfort of a physical connection with someone, even if it was for only once every month or six weeks.
Her lover was a witty, handsome man who liked Solange enormously, who told her how beautiful and desirable she was, and who was no more in love with her than she was with him. He arrived in Cork on business every month or so and stayed in a hotel, where she joined him. They chatted about abstract issues, nothing personal; ate nice food, in so much as was possible these days with rationing, and they made love. Then she returned to Dunderr
ig and her life. She knew if people knew that side of her, they would be horrified – especially given her suspicions that he was a married man.
She’d never asked him if he had a wife, and he had never volunteered the information. If he was risking his marriage, she thought, that was his business. This last time, however, he had seemed edgy – possibly worried about being seen. Thinking about it now, she decided then and there to write to him and end the relationship. It had run its course. It was time for him to commit to his other life, whatever that was.
What life should she commit to?
She wondered if Richard ever thought about love, or romance or sex. Even with Edith all those years ago, they had slept separately; she was sure there had been no one since, but she would never ask him something so personal. They were such good friends, they advised and supported each other, and they were both grateful to the other for what they provided, but there was no intimacy in their relationship. Although warm and friendly, Richard kept his deeper emotions so tightly in check. She sometimes wanted to probe his inner thoughts, but she could never bring herself to do it; they discussed the twins, the patients, the house, the news, but rarely, if ever, conversed about feelings. She sometimes wished that they could, but it just wasn’t in him.
Many women in the area tried flirting with him, but he seemed to be oblivious to it. He remarked only the other day that he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Marie Gallagher, a local widow in her forties. She came to see him every week with various complaints and insisted he examine her thoroughly each time. He’d run every test he could think of but could find nothing wrong.
Solange had laughed when he told her. ‘Perhaps it is not the doctor’s touch she wants but the man’s touch?’
He threw his eyes to heaven. ‘Would you go away out of that? You French, it’s all ye ever think about.’ Chuckling, he went back to the surgery.
He was in his surgery now, and Mrs Canty had gone to Cork on an ‘emergency expedition’ as she called it. She was having a difficult time gathering enough ingredients for the Christmas baking, and Solange had felt a tear come to her eye earlier when Mrs Canty claimed she wouldn’t rest until she found glacé cherries because Juliet loved them in the plum pudding. Though there was no hope of it, everyone in Dunderrig had only one Christmas wish this year – to have Juliet home.
Pulling her writing pad from the drawer, Solange decided to write to her. They’d sent a parcel weeks ago with some little gifts for her in the hope that she would get them for Christmas. The infrequent letters were so welcome, but she wrote to the whole family together, probably due to restrictions, so Solange longed to talk to her alone. Eddie was bringing the tree in tonight if they were back from Cork on time. Solange thought sadly of the excitement of decorating the tree all those Christmases when the twins were small. She had all the decorations they had made over the years lovingly stored in tissue paper. If only they could turn the clock back to that time. Life was simple then.
Everything was different now. James was miserable without Ingrid, and Richard was very busy at this time of year as people battled winter coughs and colds. Medicine was increasingly difficult to come by and poor nutrition was taking its toll on the general population. The war seemed never ending. They had promised it would all be over by now, yet here they were facing 1942 and nowhere closer to victory. The shock of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour two weeks ago was still there, combined with a guilty sense of relief that now, at last, America would send troops. The might of the United States might just tip the balance and end this horrific war. Then they might get Juliet home.
My dearest darling Juliet,
How lovely to get your last letter. Papa says it’s like a jigsaw puzzle by the time the censor is finished with it, though how your news could be a threat to allied security, I’ll never understand. (I just realised this will probably be censored too!) Well, life in Dunderrig is uneventful, your papa is busy as always but now he is finding it very difficult to source medicines, everything is rationed so I am trying to come up with natural cures. I found a really old book in the drawing room shelf about herbal cures. Though he was a little reluctant at first, your papa is becoming more open to the idea. Now I walk purposefully around the countryside picking herbs, so it has now been confirmed to the people of Dunderrig what they always suspected, I am completely mad!
Ingrid and James are still arguing. It’s been four months now, and they still don’t speak. He is so sad, I know he misses you. We all do so much. Mrs Canty is trying, without much hope I suspect, to find cherries to put in the plum pudding for you (no currants though!).
I was in Cork about a month ago. I think that will be the last time; he is a nice man, but it is getting a bit complicated. Perhaps he is married, I’m not sure. Are you shocked, my darling? Anyway, I think I won’t go again. He will be a little disappointed (I hope!) but not heartbroken, not like poor James. (I have just realised that because I am writing in English, I will have to post this in Skibbereen in case our local postmistress reads it – she is driving everyone mad asking even more questions. She says it is because of the war, but we all know she is just a nosey old frog! I know frog is wrong – I can’t remember what animal you say a nosey person is.)
I don’t know what is the best thing for James. Ingrid is a strange girl, I think. She seems so friendly, and she is really beautiful, but there is a coldness to her, I can’t explain it. Perhaps, it is best if he finds someone else, someone warmer. Maybe that is just my opinion though, everyone else loves her. Perhaps, I am jealous that he loves a woman more than me!
You said in your last letter you’d heard from Ewan at last and he was well and fine and missing you and loving you. I am so pleased, and I can’t wait to meet him when all of this is over. Is there a chance you can meet up when he gets leave? I hope so.
Another Christmas in Dunderrig will be lonely without you. I can’t believe it’s been over two years since you have been home. We also know you would come if you could. We love you and miss you more than words can say.
Write soon, my darling girl,
Solange.
JAMES TRIED HIS BEST to cheer up, but he had a pain in his chest over Ingrid. He now understood the term heartbroken. His heart felt broken in half. Solange and Mrs Canty tried cheering him up; Eddie even offered to take him fishing to his secret location, but nothing lifted the black cloud of misery that hung over him. His father surprised him though, taking him out for a pint one night to the Dunderrig Arms.
Richard took a long drink of his pint and sat back in the corner of the snug, looking at his son. ‘Look James, I’m not great at this emotional stuff and God knows I’m not an expert on women, but I did want to say something to you. The thing is, well I know you’re very upset over Ingrid, and we’re worried about you. As you know, the workings of the female body are no bother to me but the workings of the female mind, now that’s another story entirely.’
James smiled, for what felt like the first time in months.
‘What I wanted to say was this. I loved your mother, I really did, but I thought I knew what was best for her. She never wanted to come down here, she certainly never wanted me to join up, but I just went ahead and did what I thought was the right thing. Look, maybe things would have gone wrong anyway, who knows? But I do know this – you won’t keep someone by holding on too tight or insisting they do what you want. They’ll go, anyway. Solange taught me that, too late for Edith, but with Juliet it was the same. I wanted to make her stay here where she’d be safe, but Solange put me straight. If I held on too tight, she’d go anyway and maybe I’d lose her forever. I see you and Ingrid, and you remind me of when I was young, thinking I know best.’
James was moved to see his father being so honest; he knew how much it cost him to discuss his private life.
‘The thing is, you should let her do what she wants. I know you love this place. We are the same, you and I, but Edith, Juliet, and even Ingrid are different to us
– they need a bit of freedom to explore their own things. My advice is to let her off. If she loves you, and I’m sure she does, then she’ll come back to you. And if she doesn’t, then she was never yours to begin with, so you’re as well off discovering that now.’
James looked at his father. ‘Did you never want anyone else after Mammy left?’ he asked.
Richard Buckley shook his head ruefully. ‘Ah James – I’m a doctor, and a married man, and this is Dunderrig.’
Sensing that was the end of the conversation, James asked no further questions. But that night, he lay awake wishing things were different, for himself and for his father.
Chapter 32
The freezing French rain beat on Juliet’s back as she cycled up the winding hill, and the skin on her face tingled painfully. Her blond hair stuck to her neck, and her thin coat and skirt were soaking. Hercule would not be pleased with being kept waiting. She was expected at the farmhouse at three at the latest. No matter how much she would love to stop and rest, she had to keep going.
The safe house was deep in the countryside outside Poitiers. Making this journey twice a week didn’t make it any easier. As the winter wore on, the weather got colder and wetter. As she climbed up the steepest section of the hill, she heard a car behind her. Cycling on, she prayed it was a local, though she knew it was not likely to be, given the petrol rationing.
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 28