by Angela Arney
Then to Megan’s worry Gerald started nurturing a friendship with Henry. What was he planning? She tackled Gerald about it one day.
‘Don’t think you can bamboozle Henry into signing his inheritance away,’ she said.
But Gerald merely laughed. ‘You can’t stop me being friends with my own brother. I’m taking him to a mess dinner at the Salisbury Plain camp. He’s still a captain in the RAMC, he’ll enjoy it.’
Lavinia had also noticed and tried to reassure Megan. ‘While Henry has amnesia he cannot sign any legal document,’ she told Megan.
So Megan watched and worried, and Gerald regularly took Henry out to official army dinners. Gerald as a captain in the Home Guard was basking in the reflected glory of his brother’s position. Henry was a passive passenger in life; he just did as he was told making no comment on anything.
One night they were very late back, and staggered in through the big front door of the house. They were both drunk, and collapsed on the leather chesterfield which stood against the wall.
‘How dare you bring him back drunk,’ hissed Megan furiously, dragging Henry up and pointing him in the direction of the stairs. ‘Shut the door on your way out,’ she said over her shoulder to Gerald.
Upstairs in their bedroom Henry hung on to her as she struggled to get him out of his uniform and into bed. ‘Shall we make love?’ he mumbled as she tugged his trousers from his legs and over his ankles.
Megan stopped and froze with horror. She could think of nothing to say.
‘Gerald says we should be making love every night to make up for lost time. He says …’ Henry stopped. ‘Oh shit. I’ve forgotten what he bloody well said.’ He collapsed back on the bed, his trousers still around his ankles.
Megan bent down and slipped them off. Then she said quietly, ‘Is that what you want?’
‘No. No!’ the answer came back immediately. He sat up and began to weep. ‘I don’t even know how to start to make love to a woman. The bloody bomb must have blown to pieces all my feelings and senses. I don’t want anything. I don’t know anything. I’m a meaningless void. I wish I were dead.’ Tears streamed unheeded down his cheeks.
‘Oh Henry.’ Megan put her arms around him and held him as one would a small child. ‘I wish I could help. Truly I do.’ Compassion overwhelmed her as she held him. She stayed, comforting him like a mother until at last he finally fell asleep. Then she laid him down and covered him with the bedspread. Later, she lay down beside the wreck of the man who was her husband.
Winter crept into spring. The first snowdrops drifted across the lawn sloping down to the water, then the daffodils appeared, great yellow banks of colour hugging the edges of the tamarisk bushes around the garden. Usually Megan felt joyful at the first sign of spring, but not this year. Jim came less and less frequently as his work at Leckford House increased; he even passed over his piano tutorial duties for Rosie to Arthur. The whole area around Folly House, along the coast and up along the River Stib became a no go area for anyone who did not live there. All the residents now needed permits that allowed them to travel in and out of the area.
More and more soldiers appeared every week and soon every field was commandeered as a temporary army camp. The heathland areas that had been cleared now hummed each day with the sound of aircraft, large and small.
Bertha grumbled about the permits as George was always forgetting to carry his and having to return to the house to collect it. ‘Everything takes him twice as long now,’ she said.
But Jim, on one of his now rare visits to Folly House, said, ‘Soon the war will be over, Bertha, and you will all be free to resume your lives as they were before.’
Bertha had looked at him and then at Megan, standing by his side. ‘Some people’s lives will never be the same again,’ she said quietly.
The words hung in the air alongside other unspoken thoughts. Megan could hardly bear it. Nothing would ever be the same again.
To stop herself from thinking too much Megan immersed herself even more in work. Then, on top of everything else, the farm shop started losing money. Sales were drastically down as their usual customers were unable to get permits to visit the forest. Megan decided the only solution was for the farm shop to go to their customers, so she started up a weekly greengrocery round. Petrol was in even shorter supply, so a surprised Horace, the pony, was taken out of retirement to pull the trap again on a regular basis.
‘It will give you your figure back,’ said Megan, slapping the fat pony’s flanks, when he objected a little to being put between the shafts of the trap.
Rosie polished some horse brasses and hung them on his bridle. ‘You look very beautiful,’ she said, kissing his velvety nose.
On a warm Saturday in March she and Megan set off on their first expedition to sell vegetables. They came back with an empty cart, and the round became a permanent fixture every Friday and Saturday. Rosie loved it because she was allowed to hold the reins, and to her surprise Megan found a measure of peace sitting behind Horace’s fat rump as he plodded along the lanes. She looked forward to every weekend.
But her trips at the weekend with Rosie came to an abrupt halt one day when an official from the town hall in Stibbington arrived at Folly House with the news that Rosie’s mother had decided that it was now time for her to return to London.
It was the day Megan had been dreading. ‘But couldn’t she stay here until the end of the war?’ she asked, trying to keep back her tears.
The official, a Mrs Lee, shook her head. ‘No, it has been decided by the authorities that it is safe for Rosie to return. Furthermore, a place has been reserved for her at Hackney Wick School, near her home. If she goes now she will have the whole term to settle in before she moves on to secondary school.’
Rosie wept bitterly. ‘I don’t want to go back,’ she cried.
Mrs Lee looked at her sternly. ‘Your mother needs you,’ she said.
‘Apparently your father is no longer part of the family, and your mother needs your help.’
‘She doesn’t want me. She just wants to put me to work,’ said Rosie angrily.
But officialdom had its way and Rosie was packed up and taken to the railway station, where Mrs Lee put her on a train for London. ‘A Mrs Portman will be waiting for her at Waterloo,’ she informed a worried Megan.
Rosie clung to Megan until the very last minute when Mrs Lee brusquely separated them and thrust Rosie into the railway compartment. Megan stood on the platform holding on to the top of the carriage window.
‘I shall always be here for you,’ she said. ‘Remember that. Whatever happens there is a home for you at Folly House. You can come back in your holidays, and I’ll come up to London to see you.’
‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ Mrs Lee snapped. ‘Rosie belongs with her own family; Folly House was just a temporary measure.’
Megan didn’t reply but stood in silence, enveloped in steam as the train drew slowly out of the station, remembering the first time she had seen the tiny little girl all those years ago, never knowing that love could be such pain and pleasure. When the last vestige of the train and steam had disappeared round the bend in the track she turned and walked slowly back to the trap. Horace whinnied softly, and scraped his hoof impatiently in the dust of the road, his brasses, so lovingly polished by Rosie that morning, shone in the afternoon sunlight.
Megan wept all the way back to Folly House. Little by little all the things she loved most were being taken away. Rosie first, then Jim soon and, once gone, who knew if she would ever see either of them again. There was Henry, too. Taken by the war and thrown back an empty husk of a man. How stupid she’d been to think that war was something that happened in a faraway land. She knew now that the girl who’d married Henry that Easter Saturday in 1939 had been shallow and ignorant. All she had wanted was to become mistress of Folly House and in that she’d succeeded. But folly was the name and nature of what she had desired. Now there was no going back. Her path was forward to whatever th
e future might hold.
CHAPTER TEN
Spring/Summer 1944
After the drunken episode Henry began to get his memory back. Not all at once, but in little bits and pieces. Megan felt closer to him now, not like a wife but like a good friend, and when snippets of memory came back she tried to help him as much as possible.
The rumours and gossip along the south coast had subtly changed now. People no longer said if, but when Europe was invaded. The invasion force was building up in the countryside and couldn’t be missed from the ground. But from the air the local inhabitants knew it must look different, as everything was hung with camouflage tarpaulins and green netting. Troops, tanks and jeeps were everywhere. The river Stib was crammed with flat-bottomed barges and naval vessels small and large. Talk about this was discouraged: CARELESS TALK COSTS LIVES, the posters said, but people talked nevertheless.
Jim never spoke of it and Megan never asked. Their time together was too valuable to talk about things beyond their control. Now the weather was warmer they’d started their forest rides together; it was not often, but their snatched moments were precious, although their love was tinged with sadness as well as guilt now.
Henry began to change, revelling in the warmth of the spring sun on his face and hearing the sound of the sea. Slowly he found his way around Folly House and the gardens, and as he did so he felt the mist in his brain slowly but surely shifting a little. He liked Megan and felt comfortable with her; although she was like a sister, not a wife. As he got to know her better he realized how hard she worked, and knew too that she was grieving over Rosie’s absence. He missed the little girl himself. He missed her lively chatter and never-ending questions.
One morning he started getting flashes of a scene in church. Was it of his own wedding? Megan was the obvious person to ask, so he made his way to her office and sat beside her. ‘Did Lavinia wear lavender and purple at our wedding?’
‘Yes.’ Realizing it was another small piece of his memory returning she tried to help him. ‘Can you tell me about her hat?’
‘Big, with feathers,’ said Henry with a smile as the vision appeared in his mind’s eye. ‘Adam was there too,’ he added softly. ‘Yes, I can see Adam clearly. He was wearing his Air Force uniform and looked very handsome.’ He paused and frowned. What was it about Adam that bothered him? Why did he have such an uneasy feeling? ‘Where is Adam now?’ he asked. ‘He’s never been to see me.’
‘The last time I heard he was in a hospital at East Grinstead because he’d been shot down and injured,’ said Megan. ‘I’ll get his address,’ she promised.
‘Yes, do that if you can. Maybe seeing him will trip the blockage in my brain. See, I already remember something. I know he was in the Air Force, that he was a pilot. Maybe he’s recovered and is still flying.’ But the uneasy feeling persisted although Henry didn’t mention it. What could he say? He couldn’t remember why he should feel this way. Perhaps Adam could tell him.
He stood up and made his way across the room to the open door, then surprised Megan by turning suddenly and saying. ‘Was our marriage a happy one?’
How could she answer? The truth, thought Megan, was that she didn’t really know what constituted a happy marriage. Had she been happy before she met Jim?
Not really, but then she hadn’t been unhappy either. ‘I think we were as happy as most people,’ she said carefully.
Henry didn’t answer, merely nodded and left the room.
Megan wrote the letter to East Grinstead enquiring the whereabouts of Squadron Leader Adam Myers. It had been a difficult letter to write as half of her didn’t want Henry to get in touch with Adam again. Not because she was still jealous of Adam, but because meeting Adam might give Henry all his memory back, and if that happened would he want her for his proper wife again? What would she do if he did? Now, after Jim, she was not sure that she could ever make love with another man. He was her one and would be her only love, of that she was certain. She didn’t post the letter but kept it in her jacket pocket. Why did life have to be such a muddle? She prayed that night for an answer, but none came.
The following Saturday morning, while harnessing Horace ready for his vegetable round, she was startled by Jim arriving on his bicycle. He gave her a letter. There was no stamp on it, and the address on the back was The Priory Hospital, Larchwood, New Forest. Megan knew of it. Previously it had been a small private hospital but had been requisitioned by the WD and now treated wounded servicemen who needed further surgery and long-term convalescence.
‘How did you get this? she asked curiously, turning the envelope over in her hand.
‘A nurse driving a car through East End stopped and asked me the way to Folly House. When I told that was where I was going, she gave me this letter and asked me to deliver it. She said it was important.’
Megan looked at the envelope in her hand. The writing was spidery and she didn’t recognize it. ‘I wonder who it’s from?’
‘Open it,’ suggested Jim with a smile, ‘and then you will know.’
Megan opened it. Inside was a letter and a smaller envelope addressed to Captain Henry Lockwood. ‘It’s from Adam,’ she told Jim, and passed the letter across for him to read. It was short and to the point.
Dear Megan,
I was told that Henry was missing, but I’m writing this hoping that perhaps by now you know where he is. The enclosed letter is very personal and I’d like you to make sure it is delivered to Henry if possible. If Henry is dead, please tell me and send the letter back to me at the Priory Hospital where I am a patient now.
Yours sincerely,
Adam Myers
‘Well,’ said Jim. ‘What are you going to do? Read the letter to Henry?’
‘He says it’s very personal,’ said Megan, stuffing the letter and envelope into her pocket. ‘I’ll think abut it, but now,’ she put her arms around Jim’s neck, ‘don’t let’s think about that. There’s no one here except Horace, and he won’t talk. Am I allowed a kiss?’
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ said Jim, bending his head to hers.
Horace blew out noisily through his nostrils and stamped a hoof, shaking his horse brasses. ‘He wants to get going,’ said Megan, breaking away from their embrace, ‘and I must go if I’m to do all my rounds. I haven’t even loaded the vegetables on to the cart yet.’
‘I’ll help today,’ said Jim. ‘I thought you’d like some company as I’ve got the day off.’
The letter burnt a hole in Megan’s pocket all day, but by tacit agreement neither of them mentioned either the letter or Henry.
Not until that night, when she was alone in her office after supper, did Megan open the letter addressed to Henry. She had her doubts, as it was marked personal, but reasoned that as Henry was blind she’d have to read it to him anyway, so she might as well read it first. But she was totally unprepared for its contents. As she read on she found it hard to breathe and eventually her nerveless fingers dropped the letter to the floor.
She felt shocked, horrified and guilty, each emotion struggling for supremacy in her dazed mind. She wished she had never read the letter. But she had, and now there was no going back. Still trembling, she reached down and picked it up, read it again, hoping vainly that she’d been mistaken the first time. But the words were still the same, and the shock was also still the same. The spidery handwriting leapt off the page, the words searing themselves into her brain.
My dear, darling boy
I must admit that at first I was furious with you when you rejected me that night when I needed you so much. But I can’t say I was furious with you for long because I love you. You must know that. I’ve always loved you since that first day at school when we both hid in the showers in order to escape rugger practice. I can still see your blond hair flecked with sparkling drops of water, and the shape of your beautiful body; as I’ve said before your long white thighs drove me mad with desire that very first day. But I was unsure of myself in those days so did not reveal my tru
e feelings. However, now, as you know, I can. There is nothing to be ashamed of; one man loving another is as natural a form of love as that between a man and a woman. I don’t believe you love Megan more than me. I know you love me more. But now you are married I have to get used to sharing you. Stay married to Megan, have your family if you must, but please, please stay steadfast to me, I beg you.
Your one true love,
Always waiting for you,
Adam
There it was in black and white. A love letter. Adam loved her husband. But did Henry love Adam? The letter spoke about rejection. Had Henry rejected Adam in favour of her? But had they been lovers before? She’d heard about such love, but everything in her upbringing made her recoil from it. She didn’t know what to do, whom to speak to. There was no one. The subject was taboo in the society she moved in; not only taboo, but criminal. Imprisonment was the fate of men who declared their love openly.
Folding the letter carefully she slipped it back into the envelope, then made her decision. She would seal it carefully, then return the letter to Adam and swear it had not been opened. She thought of lying and saying she did not know of Henry’s whereabouts, but the Priory Hospital was near, someone might talk, and then she’d have some difficult explaining to do. She decided that she would take Henry to visit Adam, and watch what happened between them. What she would do after that she had no idea.
The visit to Priory Hospital was arranged. Henry showed no emotion when told he’d be seeing Adam, as he hadn’t remembered who Adam was. Megan said nothing about the letter and had resealed it, intending to give back to Adam as if it had not been opened. She’d stopped feeling muddled and guilty and now felt angry instead. What right had Adam to write a love letter to her husband? The anger gave her added confidence. She would confront Adam when they met and not be afraid of the coldness in his eyes. Now she knew why: he’d always been jealous of her just as she had always jealous of him. As for Henry, if he eventually decided he preferred Adam to her then she’d be free to marry Jim. But even that thought didn’t help much. She felt she was living in a nightmare; life was a mess. She’d not seen Jim for more than a week, and the last time they’d been together he’d been in a world of his own, absorbed by thoughts of the coming conflict. He was nervous, she sensed it, and she was haunted by the fear that something dreadful would happen to him.