‘You idiot, how could you think that?’ Then Alex took Rose in his arms and kissed her with such fervour she forgot she was on public view, that other men were walking on the terrace.
She came back to reality only when she heard the nurse suggesting they ought to drink their coffee before it was stone cold.
‘The great attack, I missed it,’ muttered Alex. ‘I wasn’t there, I let them down.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ Rose took his cup and put it on the tray. ‘If you’d been there, you would have died with them.’
‘I might have thought of something. I might have kept a few of us alive. I’m being sent home, you know.’
‘For good?’ asked Rose, delighted.
‘I hope not!’ Alex grimaced. ‘They say I need to see a specialist. I’ve been hit on the head so many times they want to do some tests. They’re going to send me to a hospital in London, to let some psychiatrist look at me.’
‘It might be for the best.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Rose, I might have lost my memory, but I’m not insane.’
‘Of course you’re not. But you’ve been badly hurt. You need a rest.’
‘I won’t get one in Dorset.’ Alex looked earnestly at Rose. ‘I’m going to ask Henry if he’ll talk to Chloe. She might be persuaded to divorce me. She can have any terms she wants. Of course, I might take far too much granted. Maybe you wouldn’t want to marry me?’
‘I don’t care about being married. So do as you think fit, as long as you’re in this world, not the next.’
It was late September when they finally let him go and he left Forges les Eaux for the last time. He paced the deck of a big troop ship full of wounded soldiers who had copped their Blighty ones, watching for the first sight of England rising from the sea.
Henry was there to meet him as arranged, but his heart sank like a stone in water when he saw Chloe was also in the car.
‘Hello,’ she said, as he got in beside her and noticed she was looking extraordinarily well. Rose had been so thin and drawn and haggard, he’d felt shoulder blades as sharp as bayonets when he’d hugged her, but Chloe looked prosperous, plump, relaxed. In a new black musquash coat and tiny matching hat, complete with a flirtatious little veil, it was clear the widow had gone to lots of trouble to choose attractive weeds.
‘You’ve come back from the dead,’ she murmured, as she offered him her well-rouged cheek.
‘I’m not good enough to die.’ Alex kissed the air beside her head.
‘Off we go, Macnaughten.’ As the chauffeur drove out of the station, Henry Denham turned to beam at Alex. ‘It’s splendid to have you back again,’ he said, and Alex saw the old man’s eyes were bright. ‘But we’re going to have to feed you up – don’t you think so, Chloe?’
‘Yes, he needs a few square meals,’ said Chloe, distantly.
Henry’s house was still the ruinous pile Alex remembered from his wandering childhood. Since the war began, it had been very hard to find good servants, and the house was far too large for Henry’s two elderly, arthritic maids. So although the army had been thrilled when Sir Gerard offered it the splendour of the Minster, the requisition board turned Henry Denham’s offer down.
Chloe had occupied the best, south-facing bedroom. When she retired for the night, she told Alex pointedly that she’d had a maid make up the bed in his old room.
The following morning, Henry bumbled off to see his bailiff, leaving Chloe and Alex sitting at the breakfast table.
‘How have you been managing for money?’ he enquired.
‘I haven’t been extravagant, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’ Chloe looked defensive. ‘I bought a house in Weymouth in the spring. Of course, it isn’t paid for yet. But there are tenants, and they pay off the loan with some to spare. I don’t waste my allowance.’
‘No.’ He looked at her and saw she wasn’t clinging, weak and helpless, as he had arrogantly supposed. She didn’t need his pity. If he hadn’t married her, she wouldn’t have had the baby in the workhouse. Of course her parents would have ranted, said she was a fool, but they would not have thrown her out.
‘How are your parents?’ he enquired politely.
‘They’re both well.’ Chloe shrugged. ‘Of course, my father didn’t go to France. They kept the older sergeants at the depot. My mother is hoping it will all be over before my brother Jack is seventeen.’
‘I hope so, too.’ Alex met her pale, blue-glazed gaze. ‘Chloe, will you divorce me?’
‘I was wondering when we’d come to that.’ Chloe’s blank expression didn’t change. ‘I know about you and that woman. Henry and Mrs Sefton were discussing it, they must have thought I was out in the garden or stone deaf. She had a baby, did you know? Everybody talks about her, they all think it’s scandalous, the way she has the nerve to walk round Charton as if she owns the place. But I suppose these spoiled, rich women think–’
‘Chloe, that’s enough.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I don’t wish to hear the local slander.’
‘You’re telling me the baby’s not her child?’
‘I’m telling you that none of it is any of your business.’
‘There’s no need to shout at me!’ Chloe’s blue eyes brimmed. ‘I tried to be a proper wife,’ she sniffed. ‘I know you never loved me.’
‘I don’t think you loved me. You panicked, and I made the wrong decision. Chloe, I know we made our bed, but we don’t have to lie on it. You’ll always be provided for, I promise.’
‘Your promises are worthless,’ Chloe wept. ‘You made a promise before the registrar, you said you’d spend your life with me. No, I won’t divorce you. It’s a disgrace to be divorced. My friends would sneer and point at me.’
‘You shouldn’t care for people as mean-spirited as that.’
‘It’s all right for you to talk.’ Chloe stared around the breakfast room. ‘You were brought up in a different world. I know about your mother. I know what she did. You live in a world where such behaviour is allowed.’
‘You know nothing at all about my mother.’
‘How long has it been going on?’ asked Chloe. ‘I mean between you and that Courtenay woman, when did it all start?’
‘I’ve loved Rose since I was twelve years old.’ Alex got up and walked out of the room.
The hospital which specialised in head wounds was near Charing Cross, but instead of getting a cab Alex thought he’d walk from Paddington and savour the delights of being home.
He loved London, dirty, stinking, fog-stained London, where his mother and he had lived in basement flats and tenements with a wide variety of men. But he’d always known he was cherished. A lover might be occupying her bed, but he was always in her heart, and she had loved him best.
He had to see two specialists today – a psychiatrist first, who asked him lots of questions about his family, most of which he parried or evaded.
Then things got more personal.
‘Did you love your mother, Captain Denham?’ asked the doctor.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘But maybe you were jealous of your father?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t answer that.’
‘We’ll leave it for the moment.’ The doctor looked at him. ‘Do you find it hard to form relationships with women?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Captain Denham, please don’t be obstructive.’
‘I thought I’d come here to be medically examined, not be grilled about my private life?’
‘We’re trying to help you in the best way we know how.’ The psychiatrist smiled professionally. ‘Your recent loss of memory suggests you are repressing something that could be important. But you should be aware it’s no disgrace to feel afraid. If you’ve been in actions in which you didn’t acquit yourself with honour, there’s no need to be ashamed.’
‘I lost my memory when something heavy hit me on the head.’ Alex scowled at him. ‘When I’m in a fr
ont line trench, I’m constantly afraid. So is everyone else with any sense. I’m not ashamed of it.’
‘You missed the great attack this summer.’ The doctor wrote down something on his pad. ‘You must have lost some friends?’
‘I don’t wish to talk about it.’ Alex put his hat on and stood up. ‘Good morning, Dr Searle.’
The other doctor merely poked and prodded him, shone lights into his eyes and made him walk along a line. As he buttoned up his shirt, the doctor frowned at him. ‘You need to put some weight on,’ he said, tartly, ‘but otherwise, you’re in good shape for someone who’s been in it from the start.’
‘So I’ll soon be going back to France?’
‘Of course you won’t, your hands aren’t better yet. They’ll need another month at least, and lots of exercising to increase their flexibility. I’ll give you a chart.’ The doctor leaned back in his chair. ‘In any case, I think you’ve done your bit.’
‘You mean I’m going to be downgraded?’
‘I mean you could be useful here in England, on the Staff.’
‘I want to go to France.’
‘Well, you must spend the winter here in England. In my frank opinion, you won’t be fit again until the spring.’ The doctor scribbled something on his notes. ‘By then, this ghastly business might be over. Let’s hope so, anyway.’
Alex left the hospital planning his escape from Dorset, wondering if he could get a job instructing new recruits at one of the big training camps in France, or in a riding school, or even at a desk. There must be a doctor somewhere who would pass him fit.
He couldn’t last the winter without Rose. He had to see her, or he’d die.
Rose read the letter from Michael, asking if they could meet again in Rouen. She supposed they should. She ought to tell him, anyway.
‘Let’s go and have some coffee,’ he began, as he led her past the shops and down the wide main street. There were evidently to be no mutterings in alleys, not today.
He was smiling, and looked extremely fit and well. She saw his hand had healed, and all that remained was a tiny, white-rimmed scar, but it had saved his life. He was in much better shape than Alex, who’d looked older, thinner, much more careworn and permanently tired.
‘I don’t want to go into a café.’ Leaving the pavement, Rose sat down upon a bench beneath some chestnut trees, giving Michael no real option but to sit down too. She took a slow, deep breath. ‘Michael, I can’t marry you.’
‘You can’t or won’t?’
‘I cannot, will not – it’s impossible. I don’t want to hurt your feelings. We’ve always been good friends, and I hope we can continue friends. But I–’
‘It’s Denham, isn’t it?’ Michael stared into the middle distance. ‘I heard you went rushing off to see him when he turned up in that hospital.’
‘Whoever told you that?’
‘The girl you brought along the time we went out with poor Lomax.’
‘You’ve been seeing Judith?’
‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t.’ Michael’s cold, blue eyes were hard as flints. ‘Mrs Sefton told my mother you and Denham have been writing volumes to each other. Letters every day or twice a day. She reckons it’s been going on for years.’
‘She’s wrong, as always.’
‘You’re carrying a torch for Denham.’ Michael turned to Rose. ‘All right, don’t marry me. But don’t get involved with sodding Denham!’
‘I’ve heard enough,’ said Rose, and got up to go.
‘Well, that’s too bad.’ Michael caught her arm and pulled her down. ‘He’s married, but look how he treats his wife. If you throw in your lot with Denham, what makes you think he might be kind to you?’
‘I don’t wish to discuss it.’
‘He might be breathing hearts and flowers at present, but one day he’ll lose interest. You’ll start to bore him, then he’ll abandon you.’
Michael scowled at Rose. ‘If you’d agreed to marry me, it would have been for ever. If I’d strayed, it would be with a woman who understood I couldn’t leave my wife. Rose, you’re a lady, or you used to be. There are ladies, there are women, and I know the difference. But Denham never did, and his sort–’
‘I don’t want to hear this.’ Leaving Michael sitting on the bench, Rose walked back to the station.
Chapter Sixteen
By the time she got back to the station, Rose was feeling sick. At first, she thought it must be guilt. After all, she had been harsh with Michael, but as she stood in the sluice, making up the gallons of antiseptic they’d probably need that night, she found she had a hammering headache, her mouth was dry as sandpaper, and she was shivering.
‘I think you must be going down with something,’ said Maria. ‘I dare say it’s that wretched bug poor Judith had last week. Listen, Rose, if we’re called out this evening, you don’t have to come. Stay at Madame Gaultier’s in town. I’ll tell Sister Glossop you’re not well.’
‘She’ll think I’m shirking,’ muttered Rose.
‘Of course she won’t.’ Maria turned to a couple of orderlies who had just walked in. ‘Harry, Leonard, doesn’t Rose look out of sorts tonight?’
‘She looks washed out,’ said Leonard. ‘Come on, Sister Courtenay. Let’s get you round to Madame Gaultier’s. You need a good night’s sleep.’
Rose had been in bed only an hour when she heard someone banging on the door of Madame Gaultier’s guest house. Then Madame Gaultier herself came running up the stairs. ‘Sister Courtenay?’ she cried. ‘You’re wanted straight away!’
‘I’m coming down.’ Rose got out of bed. She steadied herself against the washstand, then began to dress. She pulled her boots on, grabbed her bag and hurried down the stairs, where she found an RAMC orderly was pacing up and down.
‘I’m sorry, Sister Courtenay,’ he began. ‘They said you weren’t too grand, but a sister from my train has had to go to England, where her mother’s dying. Now we’ve been called out to a CCS. We need another nurse to help us out.’
Rose pulled on her coat, and left the house.
The engine was coupled to the train and ready to depart. ‘Miss Courtenay?’ smiled a QA nurse. ‘I’m so glad Peter found you! We’re already one nurse short, and from the sound of it there’ll be an awful lot to do. But are you all right? You look quite pale.’
‘I’ve just woken up.’ Rose rubbed her eyes. ‘Where shall I put my bag?’
‘I’ll show you,’ said nurse, and led Rose down the train. ‘You can have Sister Allingham’s couchette. Come along, we need to make up lots of antiseptic, then set out the trays.’
Rose didn’t know how she managed to work that night. She ached all over and wanted to be sick. When they reached the railhead, there were several hundred men on stretchers waiting for the train.
She helped load up, then set to work. Although today had probably been as horrible as any on the Somme, she was relieved to see most of the men had already had some treatment, or at least first aid. Their wounds were dressed, their broken bones were splinted. All the nursing staff would need to do was keep an eye on them, making sure no drainage tubes got blocked, checking vital signs, and giving them whatever drugs the doctor might prescribe.
They got the patients settled in the bunks. The train drew out of Vecquement and chugged into the darkness.
They heard the planes before they saw them, buzzing like giant mosquitoes in the smoky autumn night. They felt the sudden shudder as the driver pulled the brakes.
The lights were always dimmed throughout the night, but now they were extinguished altogether. The train ground to a halt. It lay like an enormous metal snake along the line.
‘What’s happening, Sister?’ A soldier with both legs in splints looked fearfully at Rose, his face a pale mask in the moonlit night.
‘I think there must be German planes about.’ Rose crouched down beside him. ‘I don’t think we need worry. They’re probably after troop trains. I’m sure they can’t be interested in us.’
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‘They might be.’ The boy’s thin face was ashen. ‘Sister, if they bomb us–’
‘They won’t,’ soothed Rose, although she knew they might. The great, long silver snake must be a tempting target, and she knew the ambulance trains were frequently attacked, though so far she’d been lucky.
But people’s luck ran out.
The planes came closer. Rose could see an orderly at the far end of the carriage, holding the hand of an absurdly young redheaded boy. The orderly smiled and gave her the thumbs up. Suddenly she felt better, sure it would be all right.
There was silence now, apart from the sound of laboured breathing and occasional groans. Rose cursed the moon, a beautiful harvest orb in the black sky, which lit the night as clear as day. She prayed the German planes would just fly over them. The men on this train had already suffered, they had done their bit.
There were a couple of red flashes, and the carriage rocked. Rose lost her balance and fell heavily to the floor, then rolled against a bunk because the carriage was on its side. She could hear the thin, reluctant screams of men who couldn’t help it, and knew she had to get to them.
Then there was another flash. The stricken carriage shuddered, there was a sudden roaring in her ears, and she found herself in total darkness. The carriage filled with smoke. She couldn’t breathe, and there was something wet and heavy pressing clammily against her side.
‘No one here has any consideration for my feelings,’ Chloe grumbled, as she ate her breakfast one bright morning. ‘I hate living in the country. It’s so quiet, and it’s so dark at night.’ She pulled her musquash coat around her shoulders. ‘God, it’s freezing in this horrid place.’
Alex didn’t comment, for Henry’s house had always been a cold, damp mausoleum and he was used to it. ‘Why don’t you go and see your mother?’ he suggested, as he scanned Henry’s copy of The Times. ‘She and your father are still living at the depot. You could stay in Dorchester all winter, if you wish.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Chloe speared some bacon. She began to chew it angrily. ‘If I wasn’t here, you could moon around the place and dream about your trollop. I wouldn’t be in your way.’
The Silver Locket (Choc Lit) Page 19