Daughters Of Eden: The Eden Series Book 1

by Bingham, Charlotte

Kate had slipped out on to the front steps of the house. It was a bitterly cold night with a frost already forming and she hadn’t been out there longer than a minute when she began to regret her excursion. But rather than lose face by returning straightway through the very doors she had just come out of, she took herself round the front of the house and let herself in through the Orangery.

  As soon as she was safely inside the superb glasshouse she stood rubbing the tops of her bare arms to get warm. She stopped as she smelt a familiar aroma, turning to see a curl of blue smoke rising from behind a magnificent tropical-looking plant with huge shining leaves.

  ‘Eugene?’

  ‘The very same. Is that you, Kate?’

  ‘Are you drunk? You sound drunk.’

  ‘I don’t think I remember ever being quite sober. Thank the Lord.’

  Kate stopped, wondering whether to go and confront him, or simply sneak away and hope that he was drunk enough not to remember having seen her. But that would look as if she was afraid of him, which she most definitely was not. Which was probably why she found herself standing in front of Eugene, who was sitting slouched in an old cane armchair, cheroot clamped between his teeth and a glass of whisky in one hand.

  ‘Where have you been, Eugene?’

  He stopped her, raising his hand.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about your brother?’ he demanded, looking up at her with a slow sad shake of his head.

  Kate stared at him.

  ‘Why should I?’ she finally replied, shaking her own head back at him. ‘Why should I have told you?’

  ‘Because you should have, that’s why.’

  ‘You never met Robert. You didn’t know him.’

  ‘I have met you, Kate. I know you.’

  ‘You didn’t know how I felt about my brother.’

  ‘I should have treated you differently, had I known.’

  Realising what he meant, Kate sat down opposite him and put one hand on his knee.

  ‘Are you trying to say—’

  ‘I’m not trying to say anything, Katie,’ he interrupted. ‘I am saying. I feel, I feel – I have taken advantage of your plight.’

  ‘You can’t take advantage of someone if you don’t know the state they are in.’

  ‘Which is why I should have known.’

  ‘Actually, if you really want to know, if anyone took advantage of anyone, then it would have been me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. Now, come on, let’s join the party. No more getting lachrymose – this little lady wants to dance.’

  Eugene stood up slowly, put his glass down on the table by his chair, looked at Kate carefully and tenderly put his arms about her.

  ‘Can’t I have a go?’ Billy asked the drummer yet again.

  ‘No, kid,’ the soldier replied firmly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘But why not?’

  ‘Because you can’t play.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Billy protested. ‘You haven’t given me a go.’

  ‘Afterwards perhaps,’ the soldier said with a grin. ‘OK. At the end. Afterwards. Maybe.’

  ‘After what?’ Billy demanded. ‘The set? The party?’

  ‘The war,’ the soldier laughed, crashing his cymbal. ‘And then only maybe.’

  Marjorie came to the rescue. The soldier gave her the eye.

  ‘I’m almost tempted to let him have a go, so that I can dance with you.’

  ‘Oh please?’ Billy cried, hopping on the spot. ‘Please dance with him, Marge! Then he’ll let me play.’

  ‘Trouble is the other guys will kill me!’ the soldier called, as the music grew louder. ‘Maybe later? One of the slower numbers? That don’t need me.’

  ‘Maybe!’ Marjorie called back. ‘And then maybe not!’

  Scott and Poppy stopped by Marjorie, no longer dancing.

  ‘Look after Poppy?’ Scott asked, on the move. ‘I have to fetch something!’

  ‘Billy wants to learn how to dance,’ Marjorie told Poppy with a hidden wink.

  ‘I don’t,’ Billy grumbled. ‘I want to have a go on the drums.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Poppy suggested. ‘To see if you have rhythm or not, why don’t you dance with me? Then if you have got rhythm, perhaps Marjorie and I will be able to persuade this nice man here to let you have a go.’

  Poppy bestowed her best smile on the soldier, who was busy signing triplets on his side cymbal. He was so overcome he missed the next beat. By now Poppy had hold of Billy and was showing him the basic dancing position before carefully and skilfully dancing him off round the floor.

  Someone tapped Marjorie on the shoulder. Still with half an eye on Poppy and Billy, who had his head down to watch where he was putting his feet, she looked round and saw it was Lily.

  ‘Have you got a moment?’ she wondered. ‘I’d like a word.’

  Marjorie eyed her. They had hardly exchanged a word since Robert’s funeral, preserving only the niceties when their paths crossed, but avoiding contact of any deeper significance.

  ‘I had promised the next dance to Major Folkestone,’ Marjorie replied, after what she hoped was a telling pause.

  ‘Please?’ Lily said. ‘It won’t take a moment.’

  Overhead, thousands of feet up, the stricken Dornier DO17, nick-named the Flying Pencil because of its long slender fuselage, was limping its way back to base after yet another night raid. The crew were flying their seventh mission, the lucky mission their captain had called it – number 7 would bring them all home safely. They were a crack bomber crew, singled out by Goering himself for their accuracy and for their unblemished record.

  But number 7 wasn’t so lucky for them after all – not that night. Their run of luck ran out on the approach to their target. As their squadron entered the mouth of the Thames to home in on London they were attacked by a flight of high-flying Hurricanes, under the command of the famous daredevil Jimmy Richardson, who, although severely wounded by cannon shells that had ripped into his cockpit, stayed at his controls long enough to hit and take out one of the Dornier’s twin engines before finally bailing out, landing in the seas far below which at once and mercifully put out the fire that had all but burned up his flying suit.

  Aware of the seriousness of the damage to his craft, the Dornier’s captain at once ordered a return to base, knowing that to continue would be to sign his crew’s death sentence. Stabilising the aircraft as best he could once he had turned tail, he realised that if the benign flying conditions prevailed, then they should just about be able to make it home … just about.

  And before the worst came to the worst they always had the option of lightening their aircraft up by dumping their bomb load.

  The only problem was that the shortest but not the safest way home was over land, not sea. In this instance the shortest distance between two points was very definitely a straight line – a straight line that was going to head the Dornier DO17 right over Eden Park.

  The two young women sat at a table at the back of the hall, as far away as possible from the band so they could speak to each other more easily.

  ‘I don’t expect us to be friends,’ Lily was saying. ‘That is, I don’t expect you to like me, Marjorie. So that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘It’s not impossible,’ Marjorie replied. ‘We could still be friends.’

  ‘That would be rather up to you,’ Lily replied, lighting up a cigarette. ‘But I know you’ve got a thing about me, because of – because of Robert. And because I’ve always been a bit of a pain anyway. That’s just me. Sorry. I don’t mean any harm by it. Honestly.’

  Marjorie looked at her, but said nothing.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for Robert,’ Lily continued, ‘I think we might have been friends. But because – well. Because he asked me out, and because he wanted to marry me—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Marjorie said quickly. ‘I’d really rather not talk about this if you don’t mind. Especially not at a Christmas party.’
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  She went to stand up.

  ‘I have to talk about it,’ Lily insisted, putting a hand on her arm. ‘We have to talk about it. To clear the air. You’re choked with me because Robert asked me out – because he chose me, if you like.’

  ‘No I don’t like actually. Not much.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Marjorie, but these things happen. At least that was how this thing happened. It wasn’t as if I pinched him from you.’

  Lily looked at Marjorie expecting some sort of answer, but Marjorie didn’t reply. She just looked past Lily as if something totally riveting was happening behind her on the dance floor.

  ‘Well, was it?’ Lily demanded. ‘It wasn’t as if you’d been out with him.’

  ‘I spent a whole Sunday with him, if you must know,’ Marjorie said defensively. ‘The Sunday you eyed him up.’

  ‘I didn’t eye him up, Marjorie. And as far as I understood it from Robert, you’d gone to his home with Kate. It wasn’t as if he’d asked you.’

  Again Marjorie refused to reply, for the very good reason that she knew that Lily was right.

  ‘Look,’ Lily continued, keeping hold of Marjorie’s hand. ‘I don’t want to sound sorry for myself, and I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me. But I can’t tell you what this has been like. These last few weeks – ever since Robert was killed. I’m not saying it’s been worse for me than for Kate say – I can’t say that. All I can say is that I have been to hell and back every single damned day. I know now it was all my fault Robert was killed. But for me and the wretched ring he would be alive tonight. We’d be dancing here, tonight.’

  ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘Robert wouldn’t have been anywhere near that shop let alone that town if it hadn’t been for me, Marjorie. He’d asked me to marry him – and I’d seen this ring in Bendon …’ Her voice tailed off, and she quickly lit a cigarette.

  Marjorie stared at her. ‘Once,’ she began, in a different voice, ‘once I was moaning to my Aunt Hester about how something I’d done was all my fault, and she said no – no, it was an accident, Marjorie. That’s why we have the word – that’s why things like that are called accidents. Because they happen by accident – accidentally – not on purpose. They’re awfully hard to come to terms with, she said, because we’re always trying to come to terms with things. To tidy everything up and give a reason for everything, particularly when it comes to pinning the blame. But it isn’t always someone’s fault. Often it’s exactly what the word says it is – an accident. You and Robert being in Bendon that day – that was a perfect example. You wanted to get an engagement ring, you went to a town, it got bombed. There was an accident – and Robert – Robert got killed. But you might have gone to another town and there might have been a different accident and he might still have got killed. Or he might not. But whatever happened, it was not your fault. You didn’t kill him. It was an accident.’

  ‘If you knew how I felt—’

  ‘Feelings won’t bring Robert back. What we have to do is harness all that – all those feelings – into making everything whole again. That’s what.’

  Lily nodded, silent, still smoking. Kate had said the same thing to her, in different words, but it still made no difference, for the truth that she was facing was that she loved Robert now more than she had loved him when he was alive. She had wanted to be married to get away. He had wanted to marry her because he loved her. Now she realised how much she had loved him – and he was gone.

  High above, although not as high as they had been when they had turned for home, the Dornier continued its slow but still steady flight.

  ‘We have sufficient fuel?’ the captain asked. He had hoped it was a rhetorical question since one of the many strengths of the Dornier was its long-range ability.

  ‘We had enough fuel, sir,’ his second in command replied. ‘We seemed to be containing the leak we sustained as a result of the hit to the starboard engine – but now we’re losing it from somewhere else.’

  ‘Have we enough to get home?’

  ‘Not with what we’re carrying, sir. We’re going to have to jettison our bomb load.’

  ‘Reichsmarschall Goering won’t like it! We waste not and we want not!’

  ‘Reichsmarschall Goering won’t need to know about it!’ his subordinate grinned back.

  ‘With him on board?’ the captain nodded back at their bomb-aimer, their unfriendly Fascist as they called him, the only card-bearing Party member in the crew. ‘Fat chance. ‘

  ‘We’re going to have to jettison, sir, come what may.’

  ‘Then we’d better find a safe place to do so.’

  They were fast approaching the place that was going to be selected by their bombardier as safe – or certainly as far as he was privately concerned suitable.

  That target lay only twenty miles south of them, half hidden in a fold of frost-covered hills.

  Jack Ward arrived late for the Eden Park party, detained on business concerning the arrest of the other leading players in Basil Tetherington’s dangerous drama, which happily for everyone had failed to unfold. Once inside the great hall of the house, he was delighted to see the extent of the Christmas decoration, including a huge tree that had been felled on the estate and beautifully decorated by the most artistic members of the Nosy Parkers.

  He had with him a small box that he carried most carefully, leaving it with his coat and hat in the nearest cloakroom while he went to look for the person to whom he wished to present it. On his way across the crowded room he was greeted by Major Folkestone who was sitting at a table on the edge of the dance floor talking to Lily.

  ‘Happy Christmas, everyone,’ Jack called as he walked by.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Lily replied.

  Major Folkestone excused himself for a moment.

  ‘A thoroughly satisfactory result all round I’d say, wouldn’t you, sir?’ the major said, as they walked along the side of the dance floor.

  ‘Not bad at all, Major,’ Jack replied. ‘The Old Man’s certainly pleased. As he should be, by God.’

  ‘I’ve got something I need to discuss with you when you have a moment.’

  ‘Will it keep till tomorrow, Major? This looks like a good party.’

  ‘Certainly, sir. I wasn’t going to discuss it tonight. No fear. It can most certainly wait. It only concerns young Lily back there.’

  ‘She was engaged to Kate’s brother if I’m not mistaken,’ Jack said with a discreet backward glance. ‘The poor chap who was killed rescuing that child.’

  ‘That’s the girl. She wants to volunteer for SOE. She can speak French, and German, to a degree.’

  Jack stopped and frowned at Major Folkestone, then looked back at Lily who was sitting smoking a cigarette and swinging one long elegant leg in time to the band.

  ‘Interesting. I wouldn’t have said she was the type.’

  ‘My thoughts precisely, sir. Funny thing is, they were also hers.’

  Jack frowned at the major again, awaiting an explanation.

  ‘I said the same to her, said, “I didn’t think you were the type.” And she said, “No sir, no neither did I. Until now.”’

  Jack thought about what the major had just told him, looked back at Lily once more, who was still smoking her cigarette and watching the dancers, and then nodded.

  ‘Knows what she could be letting herself in for, does she?’

  ‘Should do by now.’

  Jack thought a moment more then nodded again, this time finally.

  ‘Very well. We’d better go into it in a bit more detail with her, wouldn’t you say? Bring her in to my office tomorrow afternoon around tea time. We should have all recovered from the party by then.’

  Jack wandered on, scouring the room for his target. Finally he saw her, being returned to her table by Scott who had just finished dancing with her yet again. Poppy seemed to sense his presence because although she was looking in the opposite direction entirely, she suddenly turned round and met his eye. Jack smiled,
nodded and crooked his little finger for her to come over. Poppy promptly excused herself.

  Jack signalled to her to go round the dance floor on the opposite side to him and meet him over by the Christmas tree.

  ‘I have something for you,’ he said. ‘I was going to hang it on the tree, but then when I saw you, I thought I might as well give it to you in person.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Poppy replied. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t had time to do my Christmas shopping yet.’

  ‘Perfectly understandable – I didn’t have to shop for this. Come along.’

  Poppy followed Jack out of the great hall and into one of the side passages that led to the cloakrooms, thinking of that night not so long ago when she had been in a similar position in a large house, but that time she had been in grave danger and Jack had been her rescuer. She was able to smile at the memory as she followed Jack once more to the gentlemen’s cloaks into which he now disappeared, thinking of the strange and odd and completely unpredictable way her life had been turned quite upside down by that chance meeting.

  Jack now re-emerged and handed her the carrier box with which he had arrived.

  ‘I haven’t even wrapped it,’ he grunted. ‘But I don’t think you’ll mind.’

  Poppy knew before she opened the top of the box that she had now placed carefully on the floor. She looked up at Jack, who was frowning back down at her.

  ‘Open it, for goodness’ sake,’ he muttered. ‘Get a move on.’

  Poppy folded back the two flaps of the strong cardboard box and saw the nose at the end of the beautiful long doleful face she had missed so dreadfully.

  ‘George!’

  His long tail wagged furiously now as he recognised his mistress.

  ‘He’s put on a bit of weight, I’m afraid. He’s a bit of a doer, your George.’

  ‘We’ll soon walk that off.’ Poppy laughed. ‘We’ll walk that off in no time at all.’

  ‘He’s put something else on, too. You won’t be able to see if you’re holding him.’

  Putting the dog at her feet, Poppy stood back to take a good look. George yawned in excitement then shook himself, and as he did so Poppy could see that Jack had taken off his old collar and replaced it with a brand new thick leather one resplendently coloured in vibrant red, white and blue, with a decorative bulldog’s head hanging from its identity ring.