Leaves Before the Storm

by Angela Arney

  Leave Folly House. Megan hadn’t thought of that before. It was an unwelcome thought. Of course, leaving Henry would mean leaving Folly House. But she didn’t need to make that decision yet. For the moment she could love Jim and stay at Folly House.

  After that their evening rides inevitably led to the same sheltered glade, and the horses hardly needed guiding to the sloe-laden bushes, where they stood silently, not even needing tethering. If anyone at Folly House suspected, they kept their own counsel, and let the lovers disappear into the forest while the weather stayed warm.

  Lavinia did remonstrate with Megan one evening. ‘You are neglecting Rosie a little. The child is missing you. Cannot you stay in a little longer in the evenings and read to her once she is in bed?’

  Megan felt guilty and did as she suggested. But she worried that Lavinia might suspect something. Part of her wanted to tell Lavinia about Jim as she’d persuaded herself that Henry must be dead, because they’d heard nothing. She knew most people, including Gerald, thought he was dead; that then brought up the problem of Folly House. She dreamed that she could keep Folly House and live with Jim there when the war was over. A pipe dream; Gerald would never let that happen, and anyway common sense told her that Jim would probably want to go back to teaching in Boston. There was never going to be an easy answer. Such dreams were unlikely to come true.

  CHAPTER NINE

  December 1943

  Just before Christmas 1943 the news gave everyone hope that the war might soon be over as Italy surrendered to the allies, then declared war on Germany.

  ‘Never could trust those Eyeties,’ muttered George as he and Silas plucked the Christmas turkeys.

  ‘They’re good workers though,’ Silas pointed out.

  They now had six extra farm labourers, all Italian prisoners of war, teenagers all of them but willing workers. Pat said it was because they were glad to be away from the war and had never wanted to fight anyone.

  ‘Huh! And the pity of it is that we’re losing them now. Don’t know where they’re sending them, no one ever tells us anything.’ George lit a match and started singeing the bird he’d just plucked.

  Rosie was especially happy to receive a Christmas five-shilling postal order from her mother, although she was not quite so happy when she read the accompanying letter, which said she’d soon be able to go back home.

  ‘I’ve been here four years now,’ she told Dottie. ‘I like it here, it’s better than London.’

  ‘What’s your London house like?’ asked Dottie. She’d seen pictures of London on a newsreel at the cinema and knew it was big, and that lots of houses had been bombed.

  ‘Our house is very small and we share a lavatory with five other houses. We’ve got a scullery downstairs, and two little rooms upstairs. I share a bedroom with my baby brother.’ Dottie was silent, and thought Rosie sounded very unhappy.

  Megan too was unhappy when she read the letter, although she pretended to be pleased for Rosie’s sake. ‘It will be lovely to see your real mother again,’ she said. She didn’t mention that Rosie’s mother had never once visited her, not even when they offered to pay her rail fare.

  Rosie didn’t answer. She went to her room and put the postal order in the little bag she’d won at the fête, and didn’t mention the letter or her mother again.

  ‘I mustn’t be possessive,’ Megan said to Lavinia. ‘But that letter made me realize just how much Rosie has become part of our lives. She is the daughter I’ve never had.’

  To her surprise Lavinia was near to tears at the news. She hugged Megan and said, ‘I know. I feel the same. But it’s only natural her mother wants her back, and when the time comes we will have to let her go, but I shall insist she continues with her piano lessons. I’ll pay for her tuition in London.’

  The thought that this might be Rosie’s last Christmas at Folly House took away all the pleasurable anticipation for Megan. Added to that was the fact that Jim was preoccupied with his work, and the only times he came was to teach Rosie the piece she was learning for the Christmas concert that Arthur was arranging at the church. Megan could hear the piano as she sat in her office and knew Jim was near. Rosie was trying to master a simplified version of Debussy’s Girl with the Flaxen Hair, it sounded melancholy and sadness overwhelmed her. Soon Rosie would be gone, and so would Jim; he’d told her that the time was near when he’d have to leave, although he couldn’t say more. Life without them loomed ahead, empty and meaningless. The war had picked them up and thrown them into her life, filling it with an unexpected joy, but when they went she’d be alone again. Not a mother, not a wife, not a widow. Nothing. Usually she fought off negative thoughts but that evening she let despair swamp her and the tears came, only to be interrupted by Gerald barging in without knocking. He was wearing his captain’s uniform, complete with revolver in a leather holster at the belt. He’d taken to wearing it ever since he’d been promoted to the rank of captain in the local Home Guard. Everyone thought he was very pretentious. ‘After all, he ain’t a proper solder,’ as Albert Noakes remarked. This time nobody corrected him; they all thought the same.

  ‘Leave the door open,’ said Megan quickly, trying to keep her voice firm and not to show she’d been weeping. ‘I feel safer with the door open.’

  ‘How’s the merry widow?’ he asked sarcastically.

  ‘What do you want?’ She made a show of blowing her nose while surreptitiously wiping away her tears.

  ‘You know what I want. I want you and I want this house.’

  ‘Neither is available.’ Megan sat still. Trying to escape was useless; he was bigger and stronger than she was, and was in front of the door.

  ‘I’m not good enough for you, eh? But lover-boy in there on the piano is.’

  Megan felt her cheeks burn. Did he know, or was it just an educated guess? ‘I’m a married woman, and—’

  ‘You’re a bloody widow,’ Gerald interrupted. ‘Why can’t you admit that? Everyone knows Henry won’t be coming back. His remains are lying festering somewhere in a muddy ditch in France, and the sooner you accept that fact the sooner we can come to a proper arrangement about where you will live when I move into this place.’

  ‘Megan is not leaving Folly House because Henry is coming back. I know it.’ Lavinia appeared in the doorway, ashen-faced and shaking with anger. ‘How dare you come here, Gerald, and threaten Megan.’

  But even as she was uttering the words about Henry returning Megan knew she didn’t want them to be true. She wanted Jim, but she couldn’t tell Lavinia that.

  Gerald turned to Lavinia. ‘Have it your way. But you know the terms of your own husband’s will as well as I do, and if no heir is produced for Folly House then all this comes to me. Henry is dead. There is no heir. You are both only putting off the day of reckoning.’

  ‘Get out,’ said Lavinia. ‘And with regard to Folly House, I’ll have you know that I’ve already got some London lawyers working on Richard’s will. As Henry’s widow they think Megan will stand a good chance of inheriting Folly House, heir or no heir, because you also have no heir, and you have Brinkley Hall through marriage. You don’t need Folly House.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I need, it’s what I want that’s important.’ Gerald spat the words out menacingly and pushed past Lavinia just as Jim appeared in the doorway. ‘Hello, lover-boy,’ he said and disappeared.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Jim looked serious.

  ‘Nothing, Jim,’ replied Lavinia. ‘Just Gerald being objectionable again.’ She turned to Megan. ‘Shall I put Rosie to bed now that she’s finished the piano lesson?’

  Megan nodded, hoping that Lavinia wouldn’t notice her burning cheeks. ‘I’ll be up in a moment to read to her before she goes to sleep.’

  When they were alone Jim pushed the door shut. He reached out and drew Megan to him. He kissed her briefly.

  ‘I think Gerald knows about us,’ Megan whispered.

  ‘Probably.’ He kissed her again. ‘But don’t worry, ever
yone will know about us eventually. I’m pretty sure Lavinia does.’

  Megan threaded her arms around his neck and laid her head against his chest. His rough woollen sweater had a comforting smell of aftershave and cigarette smoke. It reminded her of their secret trysts in the forest back in the summer. ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘I know what I’m going to do,’ he said, disentangling her arms and getting down on one knee. Then, holding her two hands in his, he looked up at her very seriously. ‘I love you, Megan. Will you marry me?’

  Megan looked at him in silence, knowing that this moment would be imprinted on her memory for ever. His dark hair, always a little untidy, the tender expression in his brown eyes, the gentle curve of his mouth; yes, this moment would always be with her.

  ‘Well,’ he said softly. ‘Do you want to marry me?’

  ‘The answer is, yes, yes, yes, of course I want to. But I don’t know how we can, because I’m not free.’

  He got to his feet and drew her back into his arms. ‘You will be,’ he said softly. ‘I shall be going away soon, probably in the spring, and when I come back we will sort it all out. I promise.’

  They stood still, just holding each other close, and Megan relaxed. Yes, Henry must be dead, everyone thought so, and when it was officially announced she would be free to marry Jim. Afterwards, with Lavinia’s help, then perhaps she would even get to keep Folly House. Suddenly the future seemed bright. There was nothing to be afraid of.

  The concert at the church on the Sunday before Christmas was a great success. Jim played the organ and Arthur played the piano. And the highlight, for the audience from Folly House, was Rosie’s rendition of the Debussy piece.

  Afterwards Megan saw Jim talking to a tall silver-haired man in army uniform. He beckoned Megan to join them. ‘This is Colonel Young,’ said Jim. ‘He is in charge of the Royal Victoria Military Hospital at Netley, the other side of Southampton. He would like us to play for the patients one evening this week.’

  ‘On Wednesday the twenty-third of December, if that’s possible,’ said the Colonel. ‘I understand from Jim here that the delightful little girl who played so beautifully is in your charge. Do you think you could let her come and play that evening? I know it will be late for her, but school must be finished now for the Christmas holidays.’

  And so it was arranged. Both Arthur and Rosie were very excited at the thought of performing in front of several hundred soldiers. The concert was to be in the big chapel at Netley, which was right in the middle of the hospital facing Southampton Water.

  Jim organized a jeep to take them there. ‘Official army business,’ he said with a grin.

  Rosie went to bed the night before with her hair tied in rag rollers, and the following day Lavinia brushed it into glossy ringlets. They set off with Arthur’s wheelchair stowed in the back of the jeep, Megan and Jim in the front and Arthur and Rosie securely strapped into the back. It was a cold and draughty ride in the windowless jeep across the River Test and into the ruins of Southampton, and then across the River Itchen on the floating bridge. That was the part Rosie liked best.

  ‘It’s like being on a boat,’ she cried in delight, ‘and look, there is another boat.’

  To their right lay a big grey ship.

  ‘That’s a minesweeper put in for repairs,’ said Jim, ‘and those over there are landing craft.’ He pointed to a group of small flat-bottomed boats tied together. ‘They’ll be in use soon.’ He sounded serious and Megan guessed he was thinking of what lay ahead. It was only rumours but the whispers were getting louder every day, that one day soon the Allies would invade Europe. He had never mentioned it but Megan was certain that Jim was involved in the invasion, and she was worried.

  Once off the floating bridge it was not long before they arrived at the big gates guarding the entrance to Netley Hospital. Waved through by uniformed guards they then drove past a long building with many windows, all in darkness. ‘The hospital is a quarter of a mile in length,’ Jim told them. Then they came to a large building with a cupola-shaped dome situated bang in the middle of the building. ‘The chapel,’ said Jim

  Megan waited with Rosie and Arthur in a small anteroom at the side of the stage while Jim went to inspect the piano and organ. The plan was that when the performers were on stage Megan would have a seat in the front row. The hum of the assembling audience penetrated their small room, and against Megan’s instructions Rosie opened the door a crack so that she could see into the auditorium.

  ‘They’ve all got blue trousers on,’ she squeaked.

  ‘Wounded soldiers in hospital always wear that uniform. Regulation dress on top and blue trousers,’ Arthur told her.

  Megan went to close the door and stood behind Rosie. She caught a glimpse of the audience. Most were already sitting down, but some were being escorted to their seats. Suddenly she saw him. Her heart lurched violently and she gasped. It couldn’t be. But it was. A nurse was holding his left elbow, helping him along, and in his right hand he held a white stick.

  Arthur heard her gasp. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked anxiously.

  Megan shut the door and leaned against it. She couldn’t get her breath, and gasped for air. Panic-stricken thoughts ricocheted around in her head. It couldn’t be him. If it was, why hadn’t he told them? Did the white stick mean he was blind? Hot tears scalded down her cheeks, and from far away she could hear great hiccuping sobs. For a moment she wondered what it was, then realized it was herself making the noise.

  ‘Megan, what is it?’ She could hear Arthur shouting as if from a great distance, then suddenly Jim pushed open the door and was there.

  Concerned and puzzled he put his arms around her and Megan clung to him as a drowning man clings to a spar at sea. ‘What is it? What’s the matter,’ he asked urgently.

  At last she managed to speak. ‘It’s Henry,’ she sobbed. ‘Henry is there in the front row. He’s a patient.’

  Christmas passed in a blur for Megan. Henry went back to Folly House for Christmas day, but it was a strained and difficult occasion for everyone, including Henry. The doctors thought familiar surroundings might jolt his memory, but he remembered nothing and no one. Eventually he said very quietly that he’d like to go back to his room at the hospital.

  Megan went with him in Jim’s jeep. She held his hand. ‘You don’t have to hold my hand,’ he said politely.

  ‘I want to,’ she said, and hated herself for not being truthful: she didn’t want to. She wanted him to disappear. She could just make out Jim’s profile in the dark. It looked stern. Turning back to Henry, she said, ‘I was hoping that you might remember something now that you know who you are, and where you lived.’

  ‘No,’ he replied in a toneless voice. ‘I only know what you told me, but it’s not real. I feel like a stranger. I don’t belong there. I don’t belong anywhere.’ He slid his hand from Megan’s and put it in his lap.

  It was a long silent journey to the hospital in the darkness and Megan was glad when they’d delivered Henry back into the care of his nurse, Jenny.

  ‘How did it go?’ Jenny asked brightly. ‘Did you have a lovely Christmas Day? Did it jog your memory?’

  ‘No,’ replied Henry tersely. ‘I didn’t remember a bloody thing.’

  ‘Well, early days,’ she said in the same bright tone, while making a face at Megan and Jim. ‘A few more visits home and it will all come back to you.’

  Megan watched Henry’s retreating back as he was assisted down the long corridor towards his room. The lighting was dim as most of the patients were already asleep. The whole place smelled of disinfectant mixed with a faint odour of cooking. Megan hated it and felt depressed.

  ‘Do you think he will ever remember?’ she asked Jim as they walked back together to where the jeep was parked beneath bare trees by the water’s edge.

  Jim pulled her to him and held her close. ‘God alone knows,’ was his answer. He didn’t kiss her, and Megan knew why. It seemed wrong to kiss, but he
went on holding her.

  At last Megan pulled away. ‘We must get back,’ she said, and climbed into the jeep. On the way back she sat with her head on his shoulder. As they turned to drive through the forest towards East End, they passed another convoy of armoured vehicles making their way to some secret destination along the shore near Leckford House. More men for the war, thought Megan miserably. More lives to be ruined. She took a deep breath. ‘You know I can’t possibly divorce Henry now,’ she said. ‘And even if he gets his memory back, I don’t think I’ll be able to. It would be too cruel.’

  Jim didn’t answer. Megan sat up to look at his face but couldn’t see it in the darkness. She put up her hand to caress his cheek. It was wet with tears.

  After Christmas in the New Year of 1944 Henry was discharged from hospital. The doctors said that from the physical point of view he was now as fully recovered as he was likely to be. His blindness was permanent, but they thought his amnesia was more likely to be cured if he was among familiar people and things.

  Megan found his presence a terrible strain. He was Henry, and yet he was not. The man inhabiting his body was a total stranger, and also his physical presence in the house was a barrier between herself and Jim because they both felt guilty. It hadn’t been that way when he was missing. They hadn’t made love for weeks now and the subject of marriage was never mentioned again.

  Sharing a bed with Henry was another difficulty. She felt that she was sharing with a total stranger and suspected Henry felt the same. But there was no option as far as the sleeping arrangements were concerned, as the rest of the family occupied all the bedrooms now, and as Lavinia said, ‘Someone has to keep an eye on Henry, and who better than his wife?’