by Erica James
On Christmas Eve afternoon, after enjoying the carol concert in the village church, Clarissa pushed a sleeping Nicholas home in his pram with Mrs Cook at her side, leaving Artie and the boys to fetch the Christmas tree from the grocer’s.
Letting themselves in at the back door of Skylark Cottage, Clarissa’s mouth watered at the delicious smell of a rabbit casserole slowly cooking in the oven. The rabbit had been given to them by Jimmy, who might or might not have come across it legitimately. Nobody had asked him for details. Leaving Nicholas in the warmth of the kitchen while Mrs Cook pulled on her apron and started work on making a suet pudding for supper that evening, Clarissa went through to the sitting room to get a fire going. By the time she had it done, Nicholas had stirred and with his eyes open and his little fists waving in the air as if reaching out for her, she settled in the chair to the side of the range to feed him.
‘I’ve got just enough treacle left over to make a hot sauce for the pudding,’ Mrs Cook said. ‘Lord knows when we’ll see any more.’
‘I’ll help,’ Clarissa said, staring at the contented child at her breast.
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Mrs Cook replied, ‘you’ll sit tight and take it easy.’
‘But I don’t feel like taking it easy,’ Clarissa said, ‘I’m not ill.’
‘And that’s the way I’d prefer it to stay, thank you very much. Now do as you’re told. I’m not having you overdoing things. Especially not at Christmas.’
‘I had no idea you could be such a tyrant,’ Clarissa said with an affectionate smile.
‘If you’d known my Norman, God bless his soul, he’d have put you right soon enough.’ She cocked her ear. ‘Now who’s that ringing at the front doorbell? If it’s them boys back with the Christmas tree and up to no good when there’s a perfectly good back door to use, I’ll tan their behinds, so I will!’
But it wasn’t Thomas and Walter; it was Henry Willet. ‘I told ’im you was busy and to wait in the sitting room until you was free,’ Mrs Cook informed Clarissa when she bustled back into the kitchen, looking thoroughly put out.
‘Why the high dudgeon?’ asked Clarissa.
‘You know my thoughts on Mr Willet. For such a small man he has a lot to say for ’imself. Much too much. And none of it worth hearing.’
‘Did he say what he wanted?’
‘No. I enquired, but he as good as told me to mind my own flippin’ business, as though I were nothing but a common busybody poking and prying. As if I had time for such goings-on. He’s got some nerve, let me tell you. If I wasn’t so good-natured, I’d give him what for.’
‘Perhaps you’d tan the behind off him?’ suggested Clarissa, greatly amused at the woman’s outrage, and glad the door had swung shut so there was no danger of them being overheard.
Mrs Cook stopped what she was doing – weighing suet – and roared with laughter. ‘Now there’s an idea!’
It was another ten minutes before Nicholas was finished, and after Clarissa rubbed and patted his back as the midwife had shown her, she laid him in his bassinet and made a pot of tea to take through to Henry. What had brought him here on Christmas Eve? she wondered.
She found him bending down to the fire where he was dropping a large log into the grate, then pushing it into place with the poker. If she had found Leon or Artie doing the same thing she would have thanked them, but seeing Henry making himself so at home irked her.
‘Hello, Henry,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry for keeping you.’
He put the poker back in its place and came over to take the tray from her. ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘Here, let me do that for you. You should have asked Mrs Cook to bring it in.’
‘No need, I’m quite capable of carrying a tray.’ And to prove it she sidestepped him and put the tray down on the table in front of the window, which overlooked the front garden. ‘I took the liberty of making you tea, but if you’d prefer something stronger, I can find you some ginger wine, or some sherry or whisky.’
‘Tea would be most welcome, thank you,’ he said. ‘You’ve really done wonders with this cottage, Clarissa; you’ve quite transformed it. I must confess I doubted the wisdom of you taking it on when it was in such a poor state of repair, but once again you’ve shown me just how very capable you are. Nothing stops you in your tracks, does it? I’m always telling Mother how confident and talented you are.’
‘I find a positive attitude goes a long way,’ she said lightly, pondering why on earth Henry should be discussing her with his mother. There was, she reflected as she poured their tea, something different about him today. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but he seemed more animated than usual, as if he had something he couldn’t wait to impart.
She passed him his cup and saucer and indicated the sofa for him, while she sat in the armchair nearest the fire, not for its warmth, but for making it impossible for Henry to place himself next to her. ‘So what brings you here, Henry?’ she enquired.
He smiled. ‘There you go again, straight to the point. You have many fine attributes which I admire, one of which is your marvellous ability always to be so refreshingly candid.’ He stirred his tea, placed the spoon in the saucer and looked around him, as if inspecting the worth of the furniture she had brought with her from The Grange, although she had been forced to leave behind the bulk of the furniture as it was mostly too large. ‘As comfortable as you might feel here,’ he said, ‘it is only until the war is over, isn’t it? Once life returns to normal, you’ll want to live somewhere – somewhere more in keeping with a woman of your standing.’
‘Goodness,’ she said, ‘I had no idea I had any kind of standing worth keeping.’
He crossed his legs and flicked at a speck of something on his suit trouser leg. ‘Come now, Clarissa, your family connections are impeccable, so let’s have no false modesty.’
‘I assure you my modesty is far from false and as for where I choose to live, this cottage may be a snug fit, but it’s relatively draught-free and economical to run and suits my needs perfectly, as well as those of everyone else who sees it as their home and for whom I feel responsible.’
‘That’s truly admirable of you, but—’
‘And when I consider all those poor people in London and around the country who have lost their homes and all their possessions,’ she continued, determined to make her point clear, and not caring that she was sounding as pompous as Henry, ‘I’m only too glad to be able to count my blessings that I have a roof over my head.’
‘And I, too, count my blessings,’ he said, nodding his head, ‘and chiefly amongst those blessings is what I want to discuss with you. You see, my situation has changed since I last saw you. Much to my surprise I’ve been left a substantial bequest from a great-aunt who died recently.’ He swallowed. ‘And, well, the thing is, with the unexpected change in my fortunes I feel able to say what has been on my mind for some months. I say it in the hope that you might now regard me more favourably in this new light.’
Rigid with dismay, Clarissa said, ‘Henry really, please don’t say any more, there’s no—’
His cheeks glowing pink, he held his hand up to stop her. ‘Clarissa, you have a child now, which means that more than ever you need a man you can trust to be by your side. Wouldn’t William want you to be well cared for by a man who would want nothing but the best for you? Wouldn’t William want a man for you in whom you have complete faith and can rely upon, a man who is now not without his own means? Clarissa, I believe with all my being that William would approve of me, and I would deem it a very great honour, the greatest honour of my life, if you would allow me to be the one to walk by your side for the rest of your life.’
With every word he uttered, Clarissa had grown more distressed, willing him to stop. Now that he had, she opened her mouth to speak but was distracted by the sound of voices heading their way. The door then swung wide on its hinges and Thomas and Walt
er burst in with Artie following behind, carrying a Christmas tree almost as tall as he was.
‘Look, Clarissa!’ cried Thomas happily. ‘Look at the tree we’ve got!’
‘It was the most expensive, but Artie said it didn’t matter, that we had to have the best for you because you deserved the best Christmas ever, and we bought you a present, and—’ Walter’s voice halted abruptly when he realised she wasn’t alone.
‘Henry came to wish us a happy Christmas,’ Clarissa said brightly, filling in the crashing silence, ‘wasn’t that nice of him?’
The excitement the boys had bounded in with evaporated in an instant and, nodding politely at Henry, they slipped quietly out of the room, leaving Clarissa to introduce Artie.
‘Henry, this is Artie, a very dear friend who’s staying with us.’
Putting his cup and saucer down on a side table, Henry rose slowly to his feet and gave Artie a long cool look of scrutiny. ‘I didn’t realise you had company, Clarissa,’ he said stiffly. ‘Had I known, I wouldn’t have called unannounced and disturbed you.’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s not a disturbance seeing you,’ she said gaily – a little too gaily, such was her relief that Henry couldn’t now expect her to respond to his proposal.
With his free hand, and appearing to tower over Henry, Artie formalised the introduction. ‘Looks like I’m the one who should be apologising for barging in,’ he said. ‘I’ll put the tree in the hall and leave you to carry on talking. We need some more logs chopping, Clarissa, so I’ll go and do that before the light goes entirely.’
‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ Henry said, ‘I’ve stayed too long as it is. Mother will be expecting me. Clarissa, I’m sorry if once again I’ve misjudged things and spoken out of turn.’ His gaze slid back towards Artie. ‘I have clearly misjudged the situation.’
In no hurry to disabuse him of the conclusion he’d reached, Clarissa walked him to the front door, where he hurriedly put on his hat and coat, making it clear he couldn’t wait to be gone. ‘I wish you had not allowed me to make such a fool of myself,’ he said tersely. ‘You might at least have paid me that courtesy.’
‘Henry, I tried to say something, but you wouldn’t let me speak.’ Again she made no attempt to correct him on the assumption he had made. If it meant he would no longer pester her with his affections, then so be it.
‘From now on I propose we keep our dealings on a strictly business footing,’ he said.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she replied meekly, prepared to make whatever concessions he required so he could walk away with his head held high.
‘Would I be right in thinking I didn’t exactly ingratiate myself with your visitor?’ asked Artie, when later he was alone with Clarissa. They were in the kitchen clearing up after supper. Nicholas was sleeping soundly upstairs and Leon and Mrs Cook were tempering Thomas and Walter’s zeal to decorate the Christmas tree in the sitting room.
‘I think that would be a fair assessment,’ Clarissa said.
‘And presumably that’s because he saw me as a threat in some way?’
‘He did. I’m embarrassed to say, in his endlessly roundabout fashion, Henry had just proposed to me when you and the boys walked in.’
‘Embarrassed?’
‘Mortified would be a fairer description. I thought I’d managed to convince him some months ago that I wasn’t interested, but he had other ideas.’
‘Is he a serious problem?’ asked Artie, putting away the plates he’d dried.
‘Not now. I think he’ll leave me alone from here on, having branded me a woman of questionable reputation who has wilfully deceived him, even though I gave him no encouragement. As if I would, when William’s been dead hardly any time at all!’ She banged down the pan she was scrubbing on the wooden draining board. ‘How could he even think I would welcome a proposal from him? How could he even think he compared to William, or that I was now over him?’ Her heart thudded against her ribcage with the familiar ache of grief. Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away, but fresh ones coursed down her cheeks and suddenly she was overwhelmed with a deep sorrow for the man who had so briefly come into her life, but who had left her with a son who would forever be a joyful and poignant reminder of him. The sadness fuelled yet more tears, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not hold back the flood.
From behind her she heard Artie saying something, and then she felt his arms around her. She sank against his chest and sobbed. He held her close, but didn’t speak, for which she was grateful. There were simply no words for what she felt.
Chapter Forty-Five
December 1943, Skylark Cottage, Shillingbury
On Christmas Day they all went to church in the morning, but Mrs Cook didn’t return to Skylark Cottage with them. Clarissa was adamant that she should spend the day with her family in the village, especially as Lily was home for a short break.
Still feeling raw following her breakdown in the kitchen with Artie, Clarissa was determined not to give in to any mawkish feelings today. Today her priority was to give everyone the best Christmas she could. Watching Artie at the other end of the table carve the brace of pheasants Colonel Brook had personally delivered, and which Clarissa had cooked, she listened to Leon promising to help Thomas and Walter make the model airplanes she had surprised them with that morning. Not for the first time she thought how like a family they were. Except they weren’t a normal family; they were a family of refugees brought together through an act of prodigious wickedness on the part of Nazi Germany. But out of that evil had come a great blessing, because without these dear loved ones sitting around the table with her, Clarissa knew her life would be immeasurably poorer.
With everyone’s plate now filled, Leon cleared his throat and slowly stood up. He raised his glass of gooseberry wine. ‘I would like to say something,’ he said. ‘I would like to thank you, Clarissa, not just for giving me a home, but for making me feel an important part of it. I owe you so very much. Maybe there will come a time when I will be able to repay you for your kindness.’ His cheeks pink, he sat down quickly and took a gulp of his wine.
Touched by the formality of his speech, Clarissa smiled lovingly at him. ‘Leon, you owe me nothing, please don’t ever think you do.’ She raised her glass. ‘Happy Christmas to you all. And I don’t want anyone saying my cooking isn’t as good as Mrs Cook’s!’
The boys laughed and grabbed their knives and forks.
The pheasants, roast potatoes and parsnips swiftly despatched, Clarissa brought in the plum pudding, which was met with a rousing cheer. ‘This is the happiest day of my life,’ declared Walter after he’d taken a mouthful. ‘I wish we could have plum pudding every day!’
‘But then it wouldn’t be so special,’ Artie said.
‘It would,’ sighed Walter, scooping up another spoonful. ‘When the war is over I shall eat plum pudding every day for the rest of my life.’
Thomas looked at him scornfully. ‘Then you will be the fattest person in the world.’
‘But the happiest,’ retaliated Walter.
‘Well, I for one can’t remember a better Christmas lunch,’ said Artie.
Clarissa smiled. ‘Just don’t say that in front of Mrs Cook, or she’ll abandon us.’
‘I don’t want anyone to leave,’ said Walter. ‘I wish we could all live together like this forever and ever. And I wish Mutti und Vati were here too,’ he added quietly, his gaze lowered.
Nobody spoke for the longest moment.
It was Leon who broke the silence around the table. ‘You are making a lot of wishes today,’ he said to Walter.
‘I do every day,’ Walter replied seriously, casting a glance at his brother, ‘I just don’t usually say them aloud.’
‘Perhaps we should all make a wish,’ Artie said. ‘What about you, Thomas, what would you wish for?’
‘To be a famous ar
tist,’ he said without hesitation.
‘And I have no doubt you will,’ said Clarissa with an encouraging smile. ‘What about you, Leon?’
Unlike Thomas, he did hesitate. After a short pause, he said, ‘I think I would like very much to have a second helping of plum pudding.’
Clarissa smiled at him, grateful that he had lightened the mood. ‘I think that could easily be arranged,’ she said.
‘For me too?’ asked Walter.
‘Of course.’
‘Uncle Artie, what would you wish for?’ This was from Thomas.
‘Right now I wish I could stay here with you for another few weeks, but sadly I have to return to Italy.’
‘Why do you have to go back?’ asked Walter.
‘To report what’s going on there. That’s my job.’
‘But you might be killed.’
Artie exchanged a look with Clarissa. ‘Walter,’ he said, ‘I’ll be fine; you’re not to worry, nobody’s going to kill me, I’m really not worth the trouble.’
Walter looked glum. ‘I’ve changed my mind now about my wish; I wish you didn’t have to go. I like you being here.’
Artie reached over to him and patted his arm. ‘I promise I’ll be back before you’ve even had time to miss me.’
‘You promise?’
‘Yes. And I never break my promises.’
Being the consummately good baby that he was, Nicholas woke from his nap with perfect timing just a few minutes after they’d finished eating and had made a start on clearing up. Artie and Leon immediately shooed Clarissa out of the kitchen, banishing her to the sitting room beside the fire to feed her son. It still amazed her that she had a son, that she was a mother. But at the same time it was as if she had known no other existence, that Nicholas had always been a part of her.