Summer House

by Nichols, Mary

  It wasn’t that he cared a fig about his father having an affair; it was the thought of Laura being his half-sister. Surely he would not feel like he did about her if it were true; some instinct, something in the way they related to each other would have told him that it was wrong. He still thought so. And yet Laura seemed to have accepted the situation. He tried to imagine Helen Barstairs as a young woman, ready and willing for an extra-marital affair, but he just couldn’t see it. He supposed she must have looked like Laura did now, and that was beautiful, but were they alike in other ways? Lady Barstairs had always struck him as cool and dignified, quietly spoken and conscious of her position as lady of the manor, while Laura was warm and loving, someone who could fly off the handle when occasion demanded. He had wanted to speak to her at the wedding reception, but never got the chance. She was chatting and laughing with everyone, just as if nothing had happened, and then left early saying she had to put Robby to bed. He hadn’t seen her again.

  He had returned to his unit, gone to Scotland and then embarked for active service, joining a huge flotilla of ships making for Sicily. The sea off the island had been rough and many of the men had been sick, and it hadn’t helped when they scrambled down into the landing craft, which were being tossed about like corks. They were all glad when, apart from a few pot shots, they met little opposition on landing and had soon established a bridgehead from where they had set off inland, prompting his company sergeant to ask, ‘D’you reckon we’ll march across the whole island without a battle, sir?’

  He had hardly uttered the words when the road in front of them erupted in rubble and dust. Wayne had scrambled from his truck and joined the men as they threw themselves into a wayside ditch. ‘Seems you’ve got your answer, Sergeant.’

  From then on, they had to fight every inch of the way over heavily mined mountain roads while the Germans fought delaying actions from every hillside village. Grammichele, Piazza Arerina, and Valguarnera had fallen one by one, leaving them facing the steep slopes in front of Assoro. He was reminded of General Wolfe’s army scaling the cliffs of Quebec when the generals decided the only way to take the town was to climb the mountain. By the light of a fitful moon, carrying nothing but their rifles and Bren guns, they had clambered in single file along barely discernible goat tracks to reach the top. Resisting determined counter-attacks they had taken the town. Next came Leonforte and Agira, which was only overcome when reinforcements arrived after five days of fighting. With the British on the left and the Americans on the right, they had pushed on to contain the Germans into a small area around Mount Etna, where two more small places with long names fell to Canadian troops. At Agira they had suffered their heaviest losses before the town fell. Andrano was next on the list but by then Mussolini had been deposed and the Italians were welcoming the invaders with open arms, and he received the news that his troops were being withdrawn to rest.

  Only then did Wayne sit down to write to his parents, telling them simply that he had been in a few skirmishes but had come through unscathed and was sitting on a beach sunbathing. He asked them how the business was doing and if the harvest was a good one. He spoke of friends he had left behind, and others he had made since crossing the Atlantic. He told them about Ian and Joyce, about Daphne and Alec. He did not mention Laura at all, which they might think strange, considering his last letter had been full of her, but whenever his pen hovered over the page, he could find nothing to say which would not reveal the tumult he felt; better to say nothing at all.

  Writing to Laura was more difficult and after several attempts at trying to tell her how he felt, he gave up. With a bit of luck, they’d be sent back to the UK on leave and he could see her.

  Laura sat beside Steve’s bed at East Grinstead. She had promised Kathy she wouldn’t give up on him, and nor would she, but he was trying her patience. Oh, she knew he was in pain, but he had been given something for it and there was no need to be so bad-tempered. Everyone was doing their best for him; his operations had so far been successful; his eyelids looked almost normal; his face, though still a bit pink and shiny, was not repulsive; he could flex the fingers of his right hand and in time he would be able to use it perfectly well. And in a few days they would know whether the operation on his left hand had been equally successful.

  ‘You’ll be coming back to Beckbridge Hall in a week to two,’ she said. ‘The rest is up to you.’

  ‘I’m going back to my squadron. There’s a war on, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I do know.’ If that was the only one way he could face the future, then she would not deter him, but she was afraid for her rock. She loved him and needed him, but he had gone cold on her. Had someone told him she was really Helen’s daughter? It made him some sort of relation, second cousin once removed or something like that. Did he also know that her father was Oliver Donovan? If he did, he hadn’t said anything, but the knowledge would be enough to drive a wedge between them. She remembered how shocked he had been on seeing she was pregnant. He seemed to have got over that, accepted what had happened and really taken to Robby. But supposing he hadn’t, supposing he was so stiff with prejudice he could not accept any of it? It wasn’t as if she was the only one; according to the news, illegitimate births had shot up since the beginning of the war, and who could blame couples for snatching at a little happiness when they could? Not for a minute did she regret having Robby, no matter how many people condemned her. ‘Let’s see how you get on, shall we?’

  He couldn’t explain that it wasn’t the pain that was bugging him, he could endure that. He had been pleased as punch when he discovered he could use the fingers of his right hand, and with physiotherapy his dexterity was improving day by day. It meant he was not quite so helpless, and if the left hand turned out to be as good as the right, he would be back with his squadron in no time. Or so he told everyone. Inside, he was more than a little nervous, not of flying again, but of being shot at, of being confined in a burning aircraft. But he couldn’t face the alternative: going home to Laura, the healer, the cool professional, whose smile had become a little forced; his mother fussing round him; other people, like Daphne, Meg and Jenny, leading their busy lives, trying to pretend he was normal, while he sat on the sidelines, smiling his gruesome smile and wishing…wishing…

  He returned to Beckbridge Hall on the day the Allies invaded the toe of Italy. He was convalescing impatiently when the Italians surrendered, leaving the Germans to fight on alone. At the end of October, he returned to East Grinstead for what were called ‘tidying up’ operations, and then it was back to Beckbridge Hall for recuperation. He was free to do anything he liked within reason and would wander about the grounds and the village, sometimes with other airmen, sometimes alone. Sometimes on his ramblings, he met the twins.

  They had become sturdy young lads, but the differences between them were more marked now; each had his own characteristics and most people who knew them could tell them apart. Donny still tried to dominate his brother, but Lenny was more independent than he used to be. Steve found them good company; they were not forever asking him how he felt. He didn’t know how he felt and he wished people would not keep asking him. Not that Laura did. She was the complete professional and would treat him exactly as she did the others in her care. He didn’t blame her; he had been a complete cad. He had tried apologising, but all she said was, ‘Don’t think about it. I don’t.’

  So to the boys he turned, answering their good-natured grilling of what it was like to fly aeroplanes and drop bombs and be shot at. ‘How many enemy planes have you brought down?’ Lenny asked him one day. It was the first Saturday in November and they were walking across the common with Boy at their heels. The object of the exercise was to gather wood for a Guy Fawkes bonfire. Donny was dragging a huge dead branch and Lenny had a wheelbarrow loaded with small pieces of wood and bark.

  ‘I told you before,’ Steve said, helping to steady the wheelbarrow with a gloved hand. ‘They are aeroplanes. Planes are tools you use in woodwork.’
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  ‘Aeroplanes then. How many?’

  ‘I don’t know. Unless you actually see one go down, you can’t always be sure you were the one to bring it down, and if there are several of you after one, it’s impossible to say who was really responsible, so you share the honours. And since I’ve been in bombers, I don’t think we’ve downed a single one.’

  ‘You going back to it?’ This from Donny.

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘You don’t have to, do you? I mean you’ve done your bit, that’s what Aunt Kathy says.’

  He smiled, imagining his mother saying it. ‘I’ve got unfinished business.’

  ‘You want to get your own back on Jerry.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Are you all better now?’ Lenny asked.

  ‘Do I look all better?’

  ‘You look all right to me.’

  He laughed. ‘Thank you for those kind words, Lenny, but I’m not exactly Clark Gable, am I?’

  ‘You never were,’ Donny put in with blunt honesty. ‘But why d’you want to be like him? I like you as you are. At least everyone can see you’ve done your bit. Not like Mr Moreton.’

  ‘You’re not still bothered by him, are you?’

  ‘No, ’course not. He came home on a leave but I kept outa his way. He knows I shopped ’im.’

  ‘You did what was right, Donny. Anyway, no one would let him hurt you. You’ve got Aunt Kathy and Uncle William and Daphne to look out for you.’

  ‘And Dad,’ Lenny said. ‘He said he might get leave for Christmas.’

  ‘I hope he does,’ Steve said.

  ‘He always stays in your room when he comes. Aunt Kathy said you might need it.’

  He laughed. ‘Is that why you’ve been grilling me about whether I’m going back?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Honest, it isn’t.’

  ‘Well, you needn’t worry. If I’m still around, I’ll probably be at the Hall.’

  They made their way to the corner of the common nearest the road, where others had gathered to build the bonfire. It was going to be enormous, Steve noted, as the twins’ contribution was added to the pile. It reminded him of the bonfires and fireworks on Guy Fawkes nights before the war. The only fireworks he had seen since then had been from an aeroplane over Germany and occupied Europe, fires on the ground, flares and flak all round him. And he was fool enough to want to go back to it! The bonfire complete and the inevitable effigy of Hitler put on top, he accompanied the twins home to have lunch at the farm.

  After the meal had been washed up, they all donned warm sweaters and Wellington boots and trooped onto the common to watch the bonfire, which was well alight when they arrived. The twins had brought potatoes and pushed them in at the bottom with sticks. Steve saw how close they were to the flames, which lit up their faces in an orange glow, saw the sparks flying as the green wood spat them out, saw them land on the boys’ caps and shoulders, and was once again in the cockpit engulfed in fire. He dashed forward and pulled them both away. ‘You silly young fools,’ he shouted. ‘D’you want to end up looking like me?’

  They looked at him as if he had gone mad. Everyone turned to stare at him. He let the boys go. His mother moved forward but he brushed her off and walked away, passing Helen and Laura as he went, not even seeing them. They were standing on the fringe of the circle and Laura had Robby sitting on her shoulders, his plump arms round her neck. She went forward and spoke quietly to Kathy, who was all for setting off after him. ‘Let him go, Kathy. He feels foolish and is best left to get over it. It’s understandable, you know, being afraid of fire.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that? I shouldn’t have encouraged him to come.’

  ‘Yes, you should. He has to learn to get along with everyone. You can’t protect him all the time. He’s tougher than you think.’

  ‘How do you know how tough he is? You didn’t watch him growing up, you didn’t put ointment on his scratches, you didn’t comfort him when his first dog died, you didn’t sit by his bed when he had the measles—’

  ‘Not when he was growing up, I agree I didn’t, but he is an adult now and I’ve spent hours by his bedside, more than with any other patient. I’ve seen the torment he has had to endure over those operations and the courage he has shown. I’ve seen his eyes when he’s looked in the mirror and hated what he saw. I’ve endured his tantrums as well as his good moments. I think I know him very well indeed.’ It was spoken quietly, so that no one else heard.

  ‘Is that all he is to you, another patient?’

  ‘You know it isn’t.’

  ‘Then what’s happened to you both? I thought… Oh, I don’t know what I thought. Have you quarrelled?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘What sort of an answer is that?’

  ‘Ask Steve. He might tell you, and if he does, perhaps you’ll tell me. Now, I think I’d better go after him. Kathy, don’t worry, it’ll all come out in the wash.’

  A silly phrase, she told herself, as she handed Robby over to Helen and set off after Steve. She caught up with him in the lane leading to the Hall and fell into step beside him. Neither spoke. The last of the leaves had fallen from the trees and heaped themselves up beside the road in drifts. Mist-laden cobwebs decorated the dead cow parsley; rosehips grew fat and orange – the children would be out gathering those soon. A horse chestnut tree had shed its fruit and the nuts lay rich and shining among the fallen leaves.

  ‘There’s a sweet chestnut tree in the park,’ she said. ‘Do you like roast chestnuts?’

  ‘Yes, we always used to roast some on the fire at Christmas.’

  ‘And will again. Why don’t we go and pick some of them up?’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Why not?’

  She took his hand and led him past the gatehouse towards the lake and the summer house. The tree was a large one and had somehow survived the bomb that had ruined the summer house, but they didn’t immediately begin picking up the glossy nuts which lay scattered on the ground, some still in their green casing. Instead, they went into the restored building and sat on the bench, looking through the open door at the lake. ‘It’s beautiful here,’ she said. ‘I can’t blame Helen for wanting the place rebuilt. Do you remember it from when you were a child?’

  ‘No, not really. We knew it was here, of course, but Aunt Helen lived the life of a recluse and she always shooed us off if we ventured into the grounds. Some of the village children were convinced she was a witch. She used to dress in a black cape, you see, and an old felt hat. They were terrified of her.’

  ‘But you knew her better than that, didn’t you? After all, she is your mother’s cousin.’

  ‘I saw very little of her. She and Mum didn’t get on.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘No idea. Mum never talked about it. It’s taken a war to make them speak to each other again. Of course, Gran knows, but she won’t tell.’

  ‘Was it something Helen did that upset your mother?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Mum doesn’t bear grudges, never has, so I don’t think it was that.’

  ‘Aren’t you curious?’

  ‘Not particularly. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason. I just wondered if it had anything to do with Oliver Donovan.’

  ‘Who’s Oliver Donovan?’

  She was tempted to say, ‘my father’ but instead she made herself laugh. ‘Wayne’s father.’

  ‘Oh. Whatever gave you that idea? Is that what Aunt Helen said?’

  ‘No, like your mother she never speaks of it.’

  He had to ask, since she had brought the man’s name up. ‘Where is Wayne now?’

  ‘Goodness, do we ever know where anyone is these days? Fighting the war somewhere, I expect.’

  ‘Have you heard from him?’

  ‘Not recently but that’s not so strange, is it?’

  ‘I suppose not. Are you going to marry him?’

  ‘Is that any business of yours, since you withdrew y
our proposal?’

  ‘No. I apologise. I only want you to be happy.’

  ‘I shall be happy when I see you back to your old self and content with life.’

  ‘Then you’ll have a long wait. I shan’t be content until this bloody war is over and the sooner McIndoe passes me fit, I intend to do my best to bring that about. I’m not going to sit on my backside and let others, like Wayne Donovan, do my work for me.’

  ‘You’re spoiling for a fight.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Then save it for Jerry and not your family and me.’ She stood up and went outside, and began bending down to pick up chestnuts. He followed. ‘Laura, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. You don’t need to apologise to me. Here put these in your pocket.’

  He took the chestnuts from her, put them in his pocket and then clasped her hands in both his own. ‘You said once, nearly a year ago now, that you needed your rock. Do you still need him?’

  ‘As much as ever.’

  ‘For anything specific?’

  ‘No, nothing specific. Shall we go back to the bonfire?’

  He gave up and together they went back to the crowd round the fire. ‘I made a fool of myself, didn’t I?’ he murmured, watching the twins and their friends fishing baked potatoes out of the embers. ‘Pulling the twins away like I did.’