by Tania Crosse
‘Oh, yes, we did,’ he answered acidly, and I saw his mouth bunch into a contemptuous knot. ‘The Chinese didn’t have much in the way of big weapons, so they employed guerrilla tactics, set up ambushes. You lived on your nerves, never knowing when they might appear out of thin air. But there was fierce fighting as well, bigger battles like Happy Valley.’ His shoulders sagged and he caught my gaze, his eyes dark and intense. ‘And I killed right, left and centre. And, do you know what, I didn’t care. None of us did, we were so numbed. It was kill or be killed. What was worse was that I’d been made second lieutenant, so I had to give orders. Make decisions over men’s lives.’
He stopped, his face savage. I had no recollection of when I had so nearly been killed in the Blitz, but I remembered the air-raids later on. It had been terrifying, hearing, feeling the bombs exploding all around, knowing that any second could be our last. But we were innocent, our consciences clear, whereas thousands, millions of men had been forced into becoming murderers. Just like Daniel, out in a far-flung country that seemed to have nothing to do with life in good old Blighty.
I reached out and touched his hand. I could feel his fingers were tense. His eyes moved down, contemplating my small hand on his much larger one, and a faint smile flickered across his features. I’m sure my heart tore.
‘You’ve heard of the Glorious Glosters?’ he almost whispered.
My eyes stretched in amazement. Surely everyone knew about the Glosters as they had become known and the heroic stand they had made at the legendary Battle of Imjin in April 1951? ‘You weren’t one of them, were you?’ I gasped.
‘No. But I was at the Imjin. With the Northumberland Fusiliers.’
‘Northumberland?’
‘Yes. All that local pals stuff went out with the First World War, although how I ended up with the Northumberlands, I don’t quite know. But we were at Imjin, too. It’s where I was captured.’
My heart was drumming nervously. There had been a slight tremor in Daniel’s voice and he was staring out blindly across the moor. I held my tongue, not wanting to disturb his thoughts. I wasn’t sure if he would go on, but after a short silence, he wet his lips and began again, his eyes still fixed on some point in the distance.
‘We were stationed on four hills south of the Imjin, a couple of miles further east from where the Glosters were. We did a recce deep into no man’s land and hardly met any resistance. And then just a few days later, another recce discovered that hoards of Chinese had crept up to the river. Twenty-seven sodding thousand of them apparently. Against seven hundred and fifty Glosters, a similar number of us, a Belgian battalion who held a tenuous position on the other side of the river, and some Royal Ulsters. That night, the Belgians were attacked and the Ulsters were sent to rescue them. It was a ferocious scramble with so many casualties… We could hear it and had been ordered to stand to, lying in silence in our slit trenches and gazing out into the dusk wondering what the hell was going on. And then we heard grenades and gunfire to the west, towards the Glosters’ positions. And were ordered just to wait. And then they started on us as well.’
He sucked in his cheeks, closing his eyes in despair. I didn’t say anything. It was as if he was in his own world, relating each detail as he recalled it, and I thought it best not to interrupt.
‘It was crazy. There was no way we could hold out against them. They just kept coming and coming, no matter how many of them we mowed down. All through the night. We were ordered to fall back, and even then, I lost half my men. By then, they were my men. Our lieutenant had been blown to pieces, bits of him scattered about… So as second lieutenant, I was in charge from then on. We fought every bit as bloody hard as the Glosters. Retreat was just as bad as fighting. It was utter carnage. We fought all through the next day and the second night. The Chinks were like ants, crawling up under heavy long-range fire and then jumping up, screaming and shouting at us as they attacked at close quarters. On the third day, we managed to hole up in new positions just listening to the Glosters’ battle to the west. And there was nothing we could do to help. We kept being told that reinforcements were on their way. They weren’t, of course. And we were almost out of ammo. Reduced to throwing rocks and bloody ration tins.’
He stopped again, breathing hard in his frustration, his jaw clenched. I couldn’t think of anything to say, no comforting words, as I knew there weren’t any. The horrors he had described had left me dumbstruck. It was unimaginable.
‘It was the next day it happened.’ His sharp tone after the short silence made me jump. ‘Overnight the entire brigade had at long last received the order to withdraw. Too damned late, especially for the Glosters. A handful of them escaped but most of the survivors were taken prisoner. As for us, it was like one long bloody ambush, and after seventy-two hours of fighting, we could hardly walk let alone defend ourselves. Most of the Northumberlands got away, though. We reached the pass the Ulsters were holding, but Tommy and I stayed to help with the wounded. And then the Chinks were on us again. Tommy was hit in both legs. He lay there, screaming, while a Chink stood over him, pointing a pistol at his head. I shouted at the bastard and launched myself at him.’
He paused, and I glanced across at him, feeling sickened. There were tears running down his cheeks. I pretended not to see.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Daniel,’ I choked. ‘I knew you’d been captured but I didn’t realise you’d been through all that beforehand.’
‘It was all one great bloody shambles,’ he grated as if he hadn’t heard me. ‘But that was all I remembered. Tommy…I guess they shot him. When I came to, I had a shrapnel splinter in my leg and a thumping head from where I’d been knocked out. My hands were tied behind my back and there was a sharp pain when I tried to move them. Barbed wire, mate, a chap beside me said. The next thing, we were being herded forward. My leg was agony but I made myself walk. They didn’t take non-walking wounded.’
He turned to me with such tortured ferocity in his eyes, the final tears trembling on his lashes. The meaning of his last words sank into my brain. I was stunned. I had lived through the terror of the Blitz, but I had never known anyone who had actually fought through the war. Except…Sidney. No wonder he had never wanted to talk about it. I felt churned up inside at what Daniel had told me, as if I shared his anger and resentment.
I was staring at him, mesmerised by his words, so that it scarcely registered with me when he suddenly reached for his crutches with desperate urgency.
‘I can’t do this, Lily,’ he croaked as he stumbled to his feet. ‘It’s one thing writing it down, but quite another… I’ve never told anyone before. Not even Edwin. You’re the only person I could… But if you want to know any more, you’ll have to read the book. It doesn’t get any better, mind. But…thank you for listening. And I’m sorry it was all… all…’
He didn’t finish, but instead struggled to get his balance, adjusting his hold, clearly so upset he was unsteady. I rose up as if in a dream, planting myself in front of him, and lifting myself on tiptoe, brushed a gentle kiss on his wet cheek. I could taste the salt on my lips. He stared at me, his eyes the deepest purple I had ever seen, like glistening blackberries, and I watched as he angrily plonk, thudded away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The sombre mood didn’t last for long. I think we were both making an effort to be cheerful, and it was such a beautiful day with that clear golden light that can come over Dartmoor on occasion. That night I cooked a special meal that we ate by candlelight in the dining room. It was as if we were celebrating something, although neither of us knew what.
Daniel cracked open a bottle of wine that glowed ruby-red in the glasses. He seemed more relaxed than I had ever known him, as if talking to me about his experiences, however painful it had been, really had been a release for him. He almost seemed a different person, and certainly not a bit like the sullen ogre who had rescued me out on the moors. The handsome looks I had once scorned I realised with a start I was now finding deeply attractive
. I could feel a tiny flame flickering inside me. I could scarcely believe it was there, and I wondered quite when it had begun. But it was definitely there, growing quietly and steadily like coals beginning to catch light in the grate.
But did Daniel feel anything similar? I doubted it. To him, I was just Carrots, and he had that way of drawing a defensive shield about himself so suddenly, I could never be sure of him. And I wasn’t going to allow myself to be hurt again.
The week of my holiday passed so quickly, and I was enjoying it in a way I couldn’t really explain. I spent a few hours each day typing up Daniel’s book and finding myself increasingly drawn into it. He was writing it as a novel, reaching deep into the minds of the characters, and I had to steel myself against the brutal details he had left out when he had told me the bare facts that morning out on the terrace. I was fascinated by the way he described the anguished emotions of the hero, knowing it was really himself. It was as if he was secretly revealing his innermost self to me, craving my understanding, and I… Oh, yes, I was more than willing to listen. Sometimes I had to grit my teeth as I typed some of the horrific incidents, and often his appalling handwriting, which I was sometimes at a loss to decipher, was a welcome distraction.
Daniel’s parents and his grandmother were coming down from London again on the Saturday, so on the Friday, our last evening alone, Daniel opened another bottle of wine and I cooked lamb chops in a tasty tomato and herb sauce from a recipe in an ancient handwritten book I found on the kitchen shelf. Daniel’s Great Uncle Joshua from the farm at Peter Tavy had driven over one day bearing vegetables from his kitchen garden, and I cooked a selection with some Dauphinoise potatoes.
‘This is delicious, Lily,’ Daniel nodded appreciatively as he washed down a mouthful with some wine. ‘I wouldn’t have had anything like this in the hospital. I really am grateful to you, you know.’
He raised his glass to me, his mouth stretched in a broad smile. He looked so handsome in the candlelight, his hair falling waywardly over his forehead, and my heart turned over. It was all so romantic that if he had wanted to say anything more, surely now was the time? But he didn’t, and I inwardly rebuked myself. Just as with Edwin, I was reading things that weren’t there, and I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. And anyway, how could I find myself falling for Daniel when I had resented him for so long? We had grown closer since his accident and would remain friends, but from now on I would concentrate on my independence, perhaps apply for the post of medical secretary I had seen advertised at Greenbank, Plymouth’s big hospital, and then look for my flat.
‘Oh, my darling boy, what a relief!’ Sheila Pencarrow declared when the party arrived late on Saturday afternoon. ‘You look so much better!’
‘Son,’ Adam nodded sombrely when Daniel was released from his mother’s tight embrace.
‘There you are, I told you he’d be fine.’ Daniel’s grandmother bustled through the front door, taking over the situation in her whirlwind manner. She kissed Daniel fleetingly on the cheek and then stopped to gaze about the spacious hall with a contented sigh. ‘Oh, it’s good to be back in the old place,’ she muttered delightedly, and then suddenly catching sight of me, strode forward with her hand outstretched. ‘And here’s dear little Lily! Been looking after my grandson very well, I believe.’
One of her bright, lavender-blue eyes winked mischievously at me, and I felt myself colour. I had instantly warmed to her when I had met her before, but I prayed she wasn’t going to make intimations at something that didn’t exist between Daniel and me.
‘I’ve done my best,’ I smiled back. ‘Did you have a good journey?’
‘We certainly did, but it’s a long one!’ she replied, patting my hand which she linked through her arm as if I was a long-lost friend. ‘We stopped at a lovely little pub for lunch—’
‘You must be tired, Dad,’ I heard Daniel say quietly as I was walked through to the kitchen. And for some reason, I was suddenly overwhelmed with envy, for I wanted to be able to say that to someone again. Dad.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I said to cover up. ‘Tea or coffee, anyone?’
‘Oh, coffee, dear, for me if you have the real thing. That instant stuff isn’t bad, though, if it’s all there is but I can’t bear Camp.’
I had to smile to myself. Coffee in its various forms had once represented a bone of contention between Daniel and me. We had come a long way since then.
We sat around the kitchen table for a while sipping at our drinks, and then while Daniel’s family went upstairs to unpack, I prepared the meal, a whole poached salmon I had driven into Tavistock to buy the previous day, followed by a lemon mousse. I noticed that Daniel’s grandmother had changed into a somewhat old-fashioned evening dress when she came down, and I was reminded that she had been a child in this house in Victoria’s reign when people in wealthy households changed for dinner. And her mother had been that glorious woman in the portrait.
‘Let me help you wash up, Lily,’ she said at the end of the meal, ‘so that Daniel can have a nice long chat with his mum and dad.’
‘No, it’s all right, honestly. You might spoil your lovely dress.’
‘This old thing? Oh, I can wear a pinny. Now you three go into the drawing room!’ she ordered, ushering them through, and I saw Daniel cock a resigned eyebrow at me from the doorway.
‘I see you use Quix,’ Katherine Pencarrow observed five minutes later as I transported hot water in a jug from the range boiler to the sink. I had learnt that the hot water in the taps was supplied by lighting the separate stove in the boot room and that was only done when someone wanted a bath. ‘Have you tried that new Squezy? I find it even better, and when you’ve cooked such a lovely meal, washing-up should be made as easy as possible. Where did you learn to cook so well?’
‘Oh,’ I shrugged as I lowered a pile of plates into the water, ‘my mother taught me.’
‘Ah.’ She nodded, I guessed remembering that I had ended up living with William and Deborah because I had been orphaned. ‘She taught you well, then.’
‘Oh, I got those recipes out of an old notebook up on the shelf there.’
‘Really?’ Those amazing eyes opened wide and she put down the tea-towel. ‘You don’t mean…?’ She went across and picked up the book, handling it with loving reverence. ‘Oh, my. Florrie Bennett’s recipe book. I never imagined this would still be around! Florrie was my mother’s nanny. She brought her up as my grandmother had died in childbirth. She was housekeeper, too, and eventually nanny to me and my brother and sister. Grand lady. Served our family till her dying day. Well I never,’ she concluded, shaking her head over the yellowing pages.
I felt that little pang of jealousy again. ‘It must be wonderful to have such a strong family history,’ I said wistfully, feeling relaxed in the company of this bubbly elderly lady. ‘I know so little about mine.’
‘It can be a mixed blessing,’ Katherine answered. ‘Knowledge can bring sadness, too. My parents, well, neither of them lived to a ripe old age. It broke them both when my brother was killed in the Great War.’ She bit her lip sadly, but a moment later, her eyes were dancing again. ‘But they were marvellous people. When Philip and I had to get married because I was expecting Adam—’
I think I jerked with surprise. Shock almost and certainly amazement. The nearest I had come to physical contact with the opposite sex was dancing with Edwin – and when I had cried in Daniel’s arms out in the darkness and the rain at my birthday party. Making love was something I had only ever dreamt about, something mysterious and wondrous you did for the first time on your wedding night. To learn that Katherine Pencarrow, or Warrington as her maiden name had been, had sinned back in Edwardian times, I calculated, was a stunning revelation. But my mother, too, had sinned with a man other than her husband and I had been the result. As I stood there with my hands plunged into the washing-up water, it seemed to bring it home to me. And I couldn’t help remembering those minutes when Daniel had held me, his lean,
hard body against mine. I really didn’t hear what his granny said next.
‘Well, that was another superb meal!’ she pronounced after Sunday lunch the next day. I had procured a leg of lamb but instead of roasting it, I had braised it in red wine with fresh rosemary, a couple of Oxo cubes and some shallots. ‘A very fitting feast to celebrate my announcement.’
She smiled around the table, her head held high with regal satisfaction as she drew everyone’s surprised attention. Daniel’s parents looked suitably baffled, but Daniel himself merely paused for a second with his hand in midair as he lifted his glass to his lips, met my eye across the table and then proceeded to sip at his wine. He knew his grandmother of old, his look said. He loved her dearly but he was used to her making dramatic gestures out of something trivial.
‘I’m not getting any younger,’ she began, and held her hand up at the chorus of protest. This was obviously going to have nothing to do with me, of course, but there was a gravity in her tone that intrigued me. ‘I’m nearly seventy,’ she insisted, ‘and dear Marianne died at only sixty-two and my dear Philip at sixty-five. So we must think ahead. When I die, I don’t want the tax man to get his hands on the family estate. Look at what happened when the Duke of Bedford died the other year. The family had to sell land and property to pay the death duties, and they’d had to do the self-same thing and sell off half of Tavistock back in 1911. I remember it quite clearly. I know we’re hardly in the same league, but I don’t want that to happen to you. Above all,’ and here she paused to glance fondly about the room, ‘I want this mausoleum to stay in the family. It’s been the Warrington family home since 1876, and although the name has died out, the family lives on in you, Daniel, and I know you love the place, too. So although I can’t promise to survive long enough to avoid death duties, I went to see my solicitor last week and now the London house belongs to you, Adam, and Daniel, Fencott Place is now yours.’