‘She has him now. Be sensible about it.’
The girl picked up the letter and read it through again, silently. ‘He says he still loves me,’ she said pathetically as she put it down once more.
Anne patted her hand. ‘Yes, but he also says he can’t go on with the marriage. Face facts, Renee. Give him up. You can’t cling to Glynn just because you’ve lost Jack. You’ll get over this, and start to make a new life for yourself. You’ll find somebody else, you’re not twenty-two yet.’
Her daughter was still stubborn. ‘I don’t want anybody else.’
‘You might, someday.’
Renee’s thoughts turned sadly to Jack. If she could only get in touch with him . . . no, that wasn’t possible. He must have been killed, it was over a year since she had seen or heard of him, and she was completely alone. She came slowly to the conclusion that what her mother said was true. It was pointless trying to hold on to Glynn, when she knew she would never see him again, either.
She sat down that night and wrote a long letter to him, expressing her feelings for him and regretting what she had done to him by telling him of her sordid past life, letting the words flow on to the page as they came into her head.
After the fourth page, she laid down her pen to read over what she had written, before she would let him know that she agreed to the divorce. Suddenly, with a snort of derision, she picked up the sheets of paper and ripped them into tiny fragments. Then she started to write again. ‘Glynn, I’m sorry about everything. I will give you your divorce, and I wish you and Eiddwen every happiness. Renee.’
She folded the single page, slipped it into an envelope and wrote the address boldly. This was the end for her, the end of all her hopes and dreams. She would have to forget Glynn – and Jack – and make a fresh start, on her own.
‘I’ve agreed,’ she told Anne, and held the envelope up before she went out to post it.
‘I’m glad.’
Next morning, Renee made an appointment on the telephone to see a solicitor during her lunch hour, to set the wheels in motion to end her marriage.
Mr Miller, a small, dapper man with a sympathetic face, and brown hair balding at the temples, asked her some very personal questions, which she negotiated skilfully without mentioning her association with Fergus Cooper, but indicating that Glynn had been obsessively jealous and, in consequence, had shown some peculiar sexual behaviour. She said, also, that he had now left her for another woman. It wasn’t the whole truth, but she couldn’t file for divorce unless she seemed to be the innocent party.
The solicitor made copious notes while she talked, and then, as he wrote for quite a long spell without saying a word, she looked round his small office, full of leather-bound law tomes. The musty smell in the tiny space became overpowering, and she was very relieved when Mr Miller laid down his pen amongst the clutter of documents and forms on his desk.
He leaned back in his chair. ‘It will be a few months before you’ll be called to the Divorce Court in Edinburgh, I’m afraid, Mrs Williams. The war broke up so many marriages, there’s a large backlog of cases to be heard.’
She stood up to go, and he smiled. ‘It will be a traumatic time for you, my dear, but when it’s over, you’ll be free to find new happiness.’
When she went out into the street, she stood for a moment, thankfully breathing in the fresh air and reflecting, sadly, that there would be no new happiness for her. A tide of anger swept over her suddenly, when it occurred to her that Fergus Cooper had wreaked his ultimate revenge.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Spirits in Cattofield were brightened up one miserable Saturday afternoon in November 1946 by a welcome visit from Mike Donaldson, now home for good, accompanied by his wife and their four-year-old son, Michael.
After the delighted greetings were over, Mike apologised to Anne Gordon for having stopped writing to her. ‘We came up through Italy, after the North African campaign was settled, and we didn’t get much time to ourselves. I managed to scribble a line or two to Babs now and then, but that was all.’
Anne’s smile was understanding and forgiving. ‘Don’t worry, Mike. I knew Babs would have let me know if you’d been wounded, or taken prisoner, or anything like that.’
‘He nearly was taken prisoner once,’ Babs put in.
‘Och, they’re not wanting to hear about that.’ Mike brushed the experience lightly aside.
Anne respected his obvious reluctance to speak about it.
‘When did you come home?’
‘Last Tuesday, but I’ve been getting to know my son, here.’ His eyes rested adoringly on the small boy who was standing between his mother and father, and the chubby face looked up and grinned.
Babs laughed. ‘They’ve been together every minute. I can hardly get Michael to leave his daddy, even at bedtime.’
Renee had been just as effusive over Mike’s return as Anne when he came in first but now she sat silently, pleased that he was reunited with his wife and son, but reflecting on her own plight. She would never be reunited with either of the men she loved, and the thought intensified the dull ache which was always present in the pit of her stomach, and which she had almost learned to live with.
She glanced at the man and woman on the settee. Babs was the picture of happiness, and, even holding her child’s hand, still looked like a young girl. Mike’s face was older, much older than when he went away, and his hair was pure white now, not blond. His striped demob suit was rather ill-fitting, but he, too, seemed deliriously happy, hardly taking his eyes off his wife except to look lovingly at his son.
Swallowing, Renee tried to concentrate on the conversation. Babs had been telling Anne about their plans to look for a place of their own, and was saying, ‘You see, it’s not fair to Mike for us to be living with my mother after all he’s come through.’
‘No, it’s not very satisfactory being in somebody else’s house,’ Anne said, sympathetically, ‘not with a little boy.’ Mike shrugged his shoulders. ‘It wouldn’t worry me, Mrs Gordon, as long as we were all together. I’m just thankful to be home again, all in one piece.’
Babs turned to Renee. ‘Have you had any better news of Glynn? Tim was telling us he’d been wounded. Is he recovering all right now?’
Renee hadn’t been prepared for this. She had taken it for granted that her mother would have forewarned them at the door, but presumably she had been too pleased to see Mike.
‘Yes, he’s recovering gradually,’ she replied in a steady voice. ‘Enough to ask for a divorce, anyway.’ Their shocked silence made her wish that she hadn’t been so flippant.
Babs visibly gathered her wits together. ‘Oh, Renee, I’m very sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It was a bit of a bombshell at first, but I’ll get over it. I’ve arranged it with a solicitor, so all I have to do now is wait.’
‘Well,’ Mike said quietly, ‘it’s maybe all for the best.’ He changed the subject quickly, embarrassed for her sake.
‘Tim’s getting on quite well now. The doctors say he should be able to go back to his old job in a week or two.’
‘That’s great!’ Renee didn’t have to force herself to sound happy about this. ‘And you, Mike? Will you be going back to your old job as well?’
‘I haven’t been to the yard yet. I’ve been enjoying my family too much, but I’ll go next week. I think it’ll be OK though, because I heard they’re taking all the returning warriors back. Not that they all returned, of course,’ he added, sadly.
No, Renee thought, they didn’t all return, and Jack Thomson was only one of many. She was rather surprised that Mike hadn’t mentioned him, but he probably knew about it.
Anne stood up and moved towards the scullery. ‘You’ll have a cup of tea?’
‘No thanks, Mrs Gordon. We had one before we came out. We’ve a few friends to go round yet, and we’re going to Turriff tomorrow
to see my mother and father.’
‘They’re potty about young Michael, too,’ Babs laughed.
‘It’s a wonder he’s not spoiled, with Mum and Moira and Tim all running after him.’
When they stood up to leave, they kept talking for another five minutes before they actually went out, promising to let Anne and Renee know when they found a house, and when Mike and Tim started work. At the door, Mike turned to Renee. ‘I was sorry to hear that there’s never been any word about Jack.’
She kept a firm grip of herself. ‘Yes, it’s very sad.’
She sank on to the settee when she went inside, but Anne said, ‘I think we’ll have that fly-cup ourselves.’
Renee was thankful that another day’s work was over, as she ran down the stairs and opened the door on to Union Street. The pavements were still covered in slush which was hardening into ridges with the keen frost, and she was glad she had put her boots on in the morning. Still standing in the doorway, she opened her handbag to take out her purse and extracted some coppers for her bus fare.
Turning up the collar of her tweed coat, and holding her head down against the piercing January wind – she stepped out on to the pavement. A pair of legs seemed to be blocking her way, but when she moved to one side to avoid them, they moved along with her.
‘Renee.’
The all-too-familiar, unwelcome voice made her head jerk up and a great sickness welled up in her as she found herself looking into the near-black eyes of the last person on earth she wished to see. ‘Go away,’ she said, coldly.
‘We’ve nothing to say to each other now. You should realise that.’
‘Please, Renee?’ His old charm was turned on as he laid his hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged it off, angrily. ‘I don’t know how you’ve the nerve to come back, Fergus Cooper.’
‘You know why, I love you.’ If she hadn’t known him for what he was, his earnest words, and humble pleading look, would have made her capitulate blindly, but she’d suffered too much because of this man. She glared at him, her icy, clinical eyes taking in every detail of his appearance. His dark hair curled in exactly the same way over the collar of his cheap raincoat, his sensuous mouth was open just far enough to reveal his pearly-white teeth, his hypnotic eyes were caressing her, but they’d lost their spell and she felt nothing but contempt for him.
Brushing past him, she moved towards the bus stop, praying that she wouldn’t have long to wait.
‘Don’t go, Renee.’ He hurried to walk alongside. ‘I’ve had time to think about what I did to you, and I’m really sorry. It was always you I dreamt about in the desert, and six years is a long time. You can’t turn your back on me now.’
‘Can’t I?’ She kept on walking. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? Her stamina was at a low enough ebb without having to cope with this.
‘I swear I’ve changed. It was always you I loved, but I wanted other excitement as well. I know I was a rotter, but I’ll be faithful to you now, if you say you still love me.’
She stopped abruptly, and he stood, uncertainly, a step ahead. ‘Why was it you that came back?’ she asked, bitterly.
‘The world could do without scum like you, Glynn’s been seriously wounded and Jack’s been killed. Both of them good men, not like . . .’
‘Jack Thomson killed? I’m sorry to hear that, he was a decent bloke.’ Fergus seemed to be genuinely affected. ‘But who’s Glynn?’
‘He’s my husband.’ It was safer not to tell him about the impending divorce. There was no need to let Fergus know that his curse had worked. Let him think she was happily married; that might get rid of him, if he had any decency in him whatsoever.
He was studying her sadly. ‘I never really imagined you marrying another man, Renee, except Jack, maybe, for you were always chummy with him, and he fancied you, but nobody else.’
‘Well, you were wrong, weren’t you? Just go away and leave me alone.’ She had taken a few steps before she remembered something she hadn’t thought about for years, and halted again. ‘What about Jeanette Morrison and your daughter? Or had you conveniently forgotten about them?’
‘Jeanette? She got a girl, did she?’
‘Didn’t you even know that?’ Renee’s voice dripped with cold sarcasm.
‘I knew she had the baby – I’ve been paying for it for years but I didn’t know it was a girl.’ His wary expression changed, and he grasped her hand. ‘Can’t you divorce your husband, Renee, so we can . . . ?’
She took a deep breath and wrenched her hand from his grip. He had touched on her most vulnerable spot. ‘No, I can’t! It’s no use! If you’re a reformed character, like you say, go to Jeanette. That’s the only decent thing for you to do.’ He let out a protracted sigh. ‘How am I going to bear it, loving you and knowing you’re married to somebody else?’
‘You’ll live!’ Her tone was cutting.
‘So it’s goodbye for ever?’
‘For ever . . . and I really mean it.’
‘Goodbye for ever, then . . . Monday girl.’ His voice was softly seductive.
Her stomach lurched, and she struggled to avoid showing her shocked reaction to his blatant effrontery. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it affected her.
Filled with chagrin because even his last two calculated words had failed to break her down, Fergus sketched a mocking salute, then walked away. Renee was still trembling when she reached home, and Anne was hotly indignant when she learned about the encounter.
‘I don’t know how that man had the nerve to . . .’
‘He’s the nerve for anything, Mum,’ the girl interrupted.
‘I told him he should go to Jeanette Morrison and his daughter, but I doubt if he’ll take my advice.’ Nine days later, however, Anne received a letter which astonished and touched her, but she handed it to Renee without saying anything.
Dear Mrs Gordon,
I thought you would like to know that Fergus came back, after all this time without a word. He asked me to marry him, and I said yes because I still love him. He says he can’t settle in Aberdeen now, so we’re going to the south of England somewhere after the wedding – maybe Southampton or Portsmouth. I’m very happy, for I’m sure he does love me, and he thinks the world of Sheena. I won’t write to you again, but I’m looking forward to my new life.
Yours,
Jeanette Morrison (soon to be Cooper)
‘Well!’ Renee raised her eyebrows. ‘So he did do it, after all. And maybe having a wife and a daughter’ll be enough to keep him on the straight and narrow. I’m pleased for her, anyway.’
Anne nodded her head. ‘All’s well that ends well. And it’ll maybe all end well for you, too, one of these fine days.’
Her daughter made a moue. ‘I can’t see how.’
When Renee went to bed that night, she looked round her attic bedroom, remembering how her mother had suggested that they redecorate it. There was no wallpaper to be had, so they’d painted the walls in pale grey then used bits of sponge to dab on a pattern in lilac, and it still looked fresh and professional. What a pity that Glynn had never seen it. It had been done while he was still missing, she recalled sadly – at the time when she was still trying to convince herself that he hadn’t been killed. Well, he hadn’t been, but he was lost to her as irrevocably as if he had. His conscience wouldn’t be pricking him, of course, because he probably believed that she would have turned to Jack Thomson for comfort, but Jack was really dead.
The irony of it all suddenly hit her. Of the three men she’d ever loved, why had Fergus Cooper been the one who came back to her after the war – the one who had caused her so much heartache and trouble, the one she’d prayed would never enter her life again? And now, he was to be starting a new life, in a new city, with a wife and daughter. Jeanette Morrison’s dream had been realised, although she might live to regret it;
Glynn had found true love at last, but Renee Williams, née Gordon, was left with only memories, good and bad. Then the tears came – hot, burning tears, which didn’t even begin to cleanse the bitterness from her soul.
Fortunately, she soon became caught up in the excitement of Sheila Daun’s preparations for her wedding. The groom-to-be, Chris Darborne, was the sailor she’d met the same night as Renee had started talking to Fred Schaper. They had done most of their courting by mail, with only occasional meetings over the years, for a few days at a time, but Chris, like Tim Donaldson originally, had been unwilling to tie his girlfriend down until peace was restored to the world. Sheila was ecstatically happy, and could concentrate on nothing but the forthcoming nuptials in March. She had asked Renee to be matron-of-honour, and stressed the fact that Chris had two brothers, hinting that the girl might find solace with one of them. Her colleague, however, felt that her capacity for love had been exhausted, and refused to rise to the bait.
A week before Sheila’s great day, on a Saturday morning, Renee and her mother were debating on whether or not it was too wet to go out shopping, when the doorbell rang. Anne went to answer it, and the girl could hear her talking animatedly to someone before heavy footsteps sounded along the hall. Renee looked round idly when the living-room door opened, then jumped up and ran to throw herself at the tall figure who came in with his arms held out, his adorable
‘cow’s lick’ standing out from his sandy-coloured head.
‘Jack! Oh, Jack!’ She was laughing and crying, and the force of her hurtling body made him rock on his feet.
‘Steady!’ he grinned. ‘I’ve brought somebody with me that I’m sure you’d like to meet.’
Her face fell, and her heart, racing from seeing his beloved face again when she had thought him dead, almost stopped beating. He must be married, and was about to introduce her to his wife! That was why he’d stopped writing. She stepped away from him when she realised that a stranger was standing in the doorway with her mother – a small woman with bright eyes and a beaming face. My God, the girl thought, she’s old enough to be his . . .
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