‘I know. But I have to prove myself to myself, and until I’ve done that I can’t ask anyone to marry me, least of all Laura.
And you’ll do me a favour by not mentioning it again.’
‘Very well, I won’t.’ And because there was nothing else on the minds of either of them, they let Alice have the last word.
‘I knew it would end in tears.’
Laura was kept busy the next morning, clearing up the ballroom after the party and supervising the replacement of the carpet and furniture, and she did not hear Oliver arrive. Helen took him to the sitting room and sat him down. Overnight she had had time to think. What she most wanted, had wanted all through the years, had come to pass: Laura had called her ‘mother’ and said she loved her. She could not ask for anything more. Expecting anything else would be greedy. And to be honest, whatever she had felt for Oliver had slipped away. She had nurtured it for so long, she hadn’t noticed its going. But the revelations last night had left her feeling free, free of its burden, free of secrecy and lies, and it was a wonderful feeling. ‘It’s a little early, but would you like a drink?’ she asked, indicating the bottles on the sideboard, which had been brought there from the party. Most of them were nearly empty.
‘No, thank you.’
She sat opposite him. She was, he decided, still a very attractive woman. She was neatly and quietly dressed in a tweed skirt and a twin-set; her hair, which had been so lustrous, was still heavy, though it was grey now. If things had turned out differently she could have been his wife. ‘You know,’ he said suddenly, ‘we might have been celebrating our silver wedding this year.’
‘Whatever is the good of talking about what might have been?’
‘None, I suppose. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. If I had known about Laura, nothing on earth would have kept me from you.’
‘And if I had known you still loved me, I might have tried harder to keep her, though it would be difficult to say how I could have done that. I fought tooth and nail as it was. She was literally dragged out of my arms.’
‘Oh, my dear… I don’t know what to say.’
‘There is nothing you can say. Laura was given a good home and she had a happy childhood, and for that we must both be thankful. I have my daughter and my grandson now. We are a family. And you have your family. Whatever the rights and wrongs of what your wife did, she is still your wife and Wayne is a fine boy. You should be proud of him.’
‘I don’t think I can ever forgive her. She used me.’
‘And as I understand it, you used her too, so go back to her, Oliver, make it up. There’s a war on, we might all be called to account before it’s done.’
He rose. ‘Where is Laura. I’d like to say goodbye to her.’
‘She’s about somewhere. I’ll go and fetch her.’ She paused with her hand on the doorknob. ‘But please don’t go asking for or making promises. Promises have a way of being broken and only lead to heartache.’
He followed as she made her way to the ballroom, where Laura was gathering up paper chains that had come down during the jollity the previous evening. Robby was supposed to be helping her, but he was rolling about in them, laughing. ‘Laura, Oliver has come to say goodbye.’
‘Oh.’ Laura looked at them both. They were both pale and a little tense, but appeared calm. She held out her hand to shake Oliver’s, but he took it in both of his and held onto it. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around to see you growing up, Laura, but your mother tells me you had a happy childhood.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘I’m glad I met you at last. And young Robby here.’ He smiled down at the child and murmured, ‘My grandson.’
‘You will have others. Wayne—’
‘Wayne is not my son.’
‘Oh, but he is. I always thought Anne was my mum, and even when I discovered she hadn’t given me birth, she was still my mum. I am sure that to Wayne you are still his pop. Don’t let anything change that.’
‘You aren’t going to change your mind about him?’
‘No, I won’t change my mind. I have been thinking of him as my brother for over a year now and that’s how it will stay.’
‘Then I wish you all the happiness in the world.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘Goodbye, my child. And when this war is over and we are all back in our proper places, I’ll write to you. Will you write back?’
‘If you like.’ She leant forward and kissed his cheek. ‘Good luck.’
He turned and strode away, leaving Helen and Laura facing each other. ‘All right?’ Laura asked.
‘Yes, and you?’
‘Fine. Let’s get this mess cleared up. And then I must do my rounds.’
It was Ken who told Steve that the Donovans had all left the village. They were enjoying a pint in The Jolly Brewers before Ken returned to the squadron and had been talking about Steve getting back there himself and flying together again. The subject of the Donovans came up when Ken said his mother would feel strange having the house all to herself again; Wayne had gone back to his unit, the Major and Valerie had gone to London, where he had to report for duty, and Stella had gone back to Northampton. He would be the last one to go.
Steve smiled. ‘I’ll be joining you in no time. Then we’ll show old Hitler a thing or two. Have you heard any whispers about the second front?’
‘Lord, no! But I reckon it won’t be long. When do you go for your medical?’
‘Day after tomorrow. I had notification yesterday. I’m going to travel up to London this afternoon and find a hotel for the night.’
‘Good luck, then.’ They shook hands and parted.
Steve walked home, thinking of the squadron and the men he had known. How many were still there? He had been out of it over a year, but he thought going back would be a piece of cake after the events of the last few days. Momentous didn’t cover it. He wondered if Laura and Wayne had seen each other before the Canadian left. Laura had assured him she would not marry Wayne but that was before she knew she could. He thought about going to see her, but decided not to. Everything depended on the verdict of the doctors.
The Central Medical Establishment was situated close to the Middlesex Hospital, and though Steve arrived early, it was already filling up with men waiting their turn and thumbing through the magazines which did nothing to take their minds off the coming interview. Steve joined them and sat in a brown study, wondering if he truly wanted to put himself back in the firing line. He didn’t need to; he could ask for his discharge and work on the farm, and even if he stayed in the service there were desk jobs he could do. But the thought of sitting at a desk or in the ops room while Ken and others like him set off on bombing missions without him was enough to stiffen his resolve. How could he prove to himself or anyone else that he wasn’t an apology for a man doing that? Valerie Donovan’s words had bitten deep, deeper than the scars which he was convinced disfigured his face.
His name was called at last and he was shown into an office where an adjutant looked at his file and asked him if he wanted his discharge. ‘No, sir,’ he said firmly. ‘I want to go back to flying.’
The man looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses but sent him along the line to be assessed. They were very thorough, taking his blood pressure and a urine sample, testing his lung capacity and his reflexes, examining his ears, nose and throat, testing his eyes, making him grip things with his hands and walk up and down. The Air Commodore at the final interview, which didn’t take place until after he had been sent out to find himself some lunch, sat and read his notes and the results of the various tests, then looked up at him cheerfully. ‘Want to get back to flying do you, Squadron Leader?’ Steve assured him that was all he lived for.
‘Then I’ll pass you for non-operational flying. You’ll have to convince your wing commander you’re up to it before you go fully operational.’
It was as much as Steve could hope for, and he knew the big test would come when he climbed into the cockpit and took
off for the first time. If he didn’t do anything stupid, the fact that they would need all the experienced pilots they could find for the invasion meant he would soon be flying with Ken again. He left to catch the train home with mixed emotions, but predominant among them was the feeling he was being given the opportunity to prove his worth and he would not have to apologise to anyone. The Luftwaffe were bombing London again. The Underground stations were once again filled with people kipping down for the night, huddled in blankets and eiderdowns; suitcases, holding their precious possessions, being used as tables for Thermos flasks and cups. If anything were needed to convince him he was doing the right thing, these stoic Londoners provided it.
Laura met him at Attlesham Station. She was in uniform, holding her cape close around her against the bitter cold. The sight of her bright face set his heart racing.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘How did you know which train I’d be on?’
‘I called at the farm.’ She had not seen him since the dreadful night of the party and had wondered if he was deliberately avoiding her. ‘Your mother told me where you’d gone and I guessed which train it would be.’ She led the way to the Humber parked in the station yard. ‘And before you ask, I did have a legitimate journey to make, so I’m not breaking any rules.’
‘Thanks.’ He settled himself in the passenger seat.
‘How did it go?’ she asked, when they were on their way.
‘OK. I’m fit to fly non-operational.’
‘Thank goodness for that.’
‘Oh, you want to get rid of me, do you?’
‘No, don’t be silly. If I had my way you wouldn’t be going at all. I meant thank goodness it’s non-operational.’
‘Oh, that’s only until I’ve had a little practice and convinced the wingco I’m up to going on ops. That won’t take long.’
‘When do you go?’
‘The day after tomorrow.’
They did not speak again until they were out of the town. ‘Steve,’ Laura said slowly. ‘I want to thank you for the other night and to say how sorry I am you got caught up in it.’
‘I did nothing, except lose my temper and precipitate the whole thing. I should be apologising to you.’
‘It was coming anyway. As soon as we knew Major Donovan was in the village, we knew something might happen.’
‘How you managed to keep quiet about it all this time, I don’t know. You could have told me.’
‘I was going to, but then you were shot down and it seemed more important to get you well again. I decided I’d tell you the night of the party, if we had a quiet moment together, and then everything happened at once.’
‘What happened afterwards? Between you and Wayne, I mean. He was pretty cut up.’
‘Nothing. I didn’t see him again.’
‘Oh.’
‘Steve, it makes no difference. I told you I had no intention of marrying him. I meant it when I said it and I mean it now.’ She drew up in a field gateway and stopped the car, so that she could turn towards him and concentrate on what she wanted to say. She could not let him go without saying it. ‘There is only one man in the whole world I would consider marrying and he doesn’t seem inclined to ask me.’ She laughed as his face suddenly cleared and his eyes widened. She put her hand up and cupped it round his cheek. ‘Steve Wainright, do I have to beg?’
He grabbed her hand from his face and held it with both his own. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure of myself, but I’m not so sure about you.’
‘But you know why I’ve been hanging fire. I’m a mess.’
‘Oh, you’re a mess all right,’ she said cheerfully. ‘But the mess is in your head. You don’t seem to understand that it’s the man I love, and if he has a few battle scars, that’s part of the man he has become, part of the man that’s always been there. I don’t even see them, all I see is my rock.’
‘Oh, Laura, bless you for that.’ He still had hold of her hand and he put it to his lips. ‘You know I’m crazy about you, so if I ask you again to marry me, will you say yes?’
‘At last,’ she said, laughing.
He laughed too. ‘Is that yes or no?’
‘It’s yes, silly.’
‘Oh, my darling.’ He leant over to take her in his arms and kiss her but it was awkward with the gear lever and the steering wheel getting in the way. They giggled like a couple of schoolchildren, and then, without a word being said, got out of the car and in again – in the back seat. Here, they snuggled up together and Steve kissed her properly for the first time. His previous kisses had been brotherly pecks or a tentative meeting of lips, without pressure and over in a moment, but now all his misery and frustration was kissed away in their first real loverlike embrace. It was some time later they raised their heads to discover the steam on the car windows had frozen. ‘We’ll freeze to death if we stay here much longer,’ she said. ‘They’ll find two mummified bodies—’
‘And wonder why we got in the back instead of driving home to a warm fire.’
‘I don’t think they’ll wonder at all, but it might be a good idea to get going, don’t you think?’
‘Yes. Let’s go and tell the family the good news.’
They spent several minutes scraping ice off the windscreen. ‘Do you remember,’ he said, his breath coming out in clouds of steam, ‘I said I’d take you boating on the Cam when I asked you that question again.’
‘I remember, but it’s hardly the weather for boating, is it?’
‘No, nor for sitting in freezing cars either. Let’s get going.’
They finished the journey singing ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’ at the tops of their voices. He led her by the hand into the warm kitchen of Bridge Farm where everyone had just finished an evening meal. ‘We’ve got some news for you,’ he announced. ‘We’re going to be married.’
‘That’s not news,’ Daphne said. ‘Tell us something we didn’t know.’
‘You couldn’t possibly have known,’ he said. ‘I’ve only just asked.’
‘Is it our fault you’re slow off the mark? We’ve known which way the wind was blowing for months.’
‘Take no notice of her teasing,’ Kathy said, coming to kiss them both. ‘I’m very happy for you.’
They moved forward to warm themselves at the kitchen range as everyone crowded round with congratulations. ‘Does that mean you won’t be going back?’ Kathy asked when there was a lull in the conversation.
‘No, I’m going back. The day after tomorrow. But don’t worry, I’m not going to be operational, not for a bit anyway.’ He felt a heel saying it, but once she became used to the idea of him being away, she might find it easier to accept he was back in the front line. Besides, there was always the chance that he wouldn’t be passed to go on ops; there was no point in worrying her for nothing. He looked over at Laura and saw her slowly nod her head and knew she understood. They had always understood each other. For a moment he was sad thinking of Bob, but Bob had wanted him to look after Laura and he must have known what the outcome would be. Steve felt, somewhere in the ether, his friend was looking down and smiling in satisfaction.
‘When’s the big day?’ Alice asked.
‘We haven’t decided. We might not—’
‘Oh yes we will,’ Laura said. ‘It’ll be the next leave you have. I’m not letting you off the hook.’
‘My next leave,’ he confirmed. ‘Shall I come with you to tell Helen?’
‘No, you stay here in the warm. Come up to the Hall tomorrow.’ He went with her back to the car, kissed her again and watched the car disappear up the lane before going back indoors. Life was good after all.
In spite of the bitter weather, which seemed as though it would never end, there was a feeling of optimism in the air that spring. You could sense it in the way people went about their business; in the conversation on trains, which seemed to be crowded with troops; in the chatter in pubs, where everyone had something to add to the guessing game. When and
where would the second front come? No one knew for sure; the top brass were playing it close to their chests. ‘Careless talk costs lives’, had been the maxim drummed into them since the outbreak of war. Even Stella, whose factory had switched from making barrage balloons to making rubber inflatable lorries, did not even tell her parents. She and her co-workers had been sworn to secrecy. Not that she could have told anyone what they were intended for; some giant hoax, she supposed.
Oliver, at the Canadian Embassy, pretended he knew nothing; Wayne, down in Hampshire, practised storming beaches – something he had already learnt in Sicily; Ken was bombing the hell out of strategic targets in France and Belgium; the Americans were making daylight bombing missions over German cities. As for Steve, he took to the skies at every opportunity, ferrying aircraft from one airfield to another and delivering top officials to locations for meetings. There was no doubt something was building up and he didn’t intend to be a taxi driver for the rest of the war.
‘I’m ready to go operational,’ he told his wing commander the day he discovered his replacement leading the squadron had finished his tour of duty. ‘I’ll do anything, just give me a chance.’
‘Right. You’ll take over the squadron tonight. Briefing at six o’clock.’
The task they were given, he discovered that evening, was to drop arms and ammunition to the Resistance in France. The dropping zones would be marked briefly and they would need to be accurate, so it would be in low and quick, and then out again.
‘It makes a change from dropping bombs,’ Ken said, as they made their way to their aircraft.
‘Looks like they’re being readied to join in the party. It can’t be long now.’
Two weeks later, after he had been backwards and forwards almost every night, with a different destination each time, he was given forty-eight hours’ leave. ‘Make the most of it,’ he was told. ‘You might not have any more for some time.’
He almost ran to the mess and put a call through to Beckbridge Hall. ‘Get a special licence, sweetheart,’ he told Laura. ‘I’m coming home next weekend.’
Summer House Page 40