Forbidden Places

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘Lovely,’ said Grace, who thought it was awful.

  ‘And thank you again.’

  ‘That’s all right. It was nothing really.’

  ‘It was a lot. I won’t forget.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ said Grace. ‘She’s beautiful.’

  Even then she couldn’t bring herself to kiss Florence.

  In the morning she went to the ward. Florence was giving Imogen a bottle. There were twenty-four beds filled with yelling, raucous cockney women and their yelling, raucous babies, an unthinkable environment for Florence. Grace half expected her to say something tactless, but she said, ‘It’s wonderful here, awfully jolly. I’ve made lots of friends already. Much nicer than those awful single wards. Here, Maisie, this is Grace, my sister-in-law. I told you about her, she practically delivered my baby last night.’

  Maisie had blonde peroxide curls and a missing front tooth. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said to Grace.

  ‘Maisie’s going to show me how to do a nappy later,’ said Florence. ‘After all, I’ve got to learn – we certainly won’t be able to get a nanny now, not even a maternity nurse I imagine.’

  Grace flinched, fearing this was not overtactful conversation, but Maisie merely winked at her over Florence’s head. ‘She’s a right one isn’t she?’ was all she said.

  Chapter 14

  Spring–Summer 1941

  Grace took Clifford to see Florence and the baby later next morning; Florence looked radiant.

  ‘This is such fun,’ she said, ‘you can’t imagine. I never want to leave. And Imogen is so good, so terribly good, really the best baby in the ward. Isn’t she, Maisie?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Maisie.

  ‘Maisie’s husband is in the Engineers,’ said Florence, ‘same as Robert. He’s on the buses in peacetime.’

  She brought this phrase out with some pride, as if she was mastering a strange new language.

  ‘Maisie’s going home tomorrow, I’m going to miss her so much. Her and Clark. That’s her baby, she’s named him after Clark Gable, he looks a bit like him actually, I think, Maisie—’

  ‘Oh honestly,’ said Maisie, ‘the things you say.’

  ‘Did you speak to Mummy? What did she say? Was she pleased, can she come up? I can’t wait to show her Imogen. Maisie’s mother is such a character, she gave me a pair of bootees for Imogen. Maisie’s auntie’s knitted ten pairs for Clark, and she thought she could spare—’

  Grace wondered when the bright bubble Florence was sitting within would burst, how she was going to face telling Robert, whether she would tell Imogen’s father. She suddenly wanted to get away from it all; it seemed rather sickening. Not to mention unfair.

  She left Florence in London; it was agreed that she and Imogen should go and stay with Clifford when they came out of hospital and travel home when they were both strong enough. It felt slightly like leaving them in the care of a small, not very reliable child, but there didn’t seem much option. She had to get back to her boys, and she really didn’t think she could stand very much more of Florence in her role of Perfect Mother. It was a relief that Imogen had arrived safely and was clearly giving so much pleasure, but Grace’s loyalties were still with Robert. She hoped fervently that she would never have to communicate with him on the subject. Delivering, or helping to deliver, Florence’s lover’s baby was one thing; lying to Florence’s husband – who she was so fond of – was quite another.

  It took her seven hours to get home; it was freezing cold, the lights were much too dim to read by and the train was so crowded it was impossible to get out of the compartment and along the corridor to the lavatory; hell, she decided, was not after all an ambulance in a London air raid, but the Great Western Railway.

  My darling Giles,

  I only pray this will reach you soon. I have the most wonderful news. We have a daughter. Quite the most beautiful baby ever; with blonde hair and blue eyes, exactly like her father! She arrived early, caught me quite unawares, in the corridor of a hospital in London. In fact she was almost born in an ambulance in the middle of an air raid. One day it will make a good story to tell her. She weighed almost six pounds, which the sister said was a very good weight for an early baby. It was all absolutely fine, a bit painful of course, but so exciting and marvellous at the end, who cares? My sister-in-law Grace, who I never actually liked very much, was simply wonderful, never left me (I spent most of my labour in the Casualty Department!) and did a lot to comfort and help me. I feel I owe her a great deal.

  Imogen eats a great deal and has already put on three ounces. That may not sound very much to you, but I can assure you it is very good indeed. I feel absolutely marvellous and have been told I can get out of bed tomorrow. When I am discharged, I am going to stay with my father until I can get home. I shall have to tell my mother I’m with friends. She still behaves as if Daddy didn’t exist, and would I’m sure come up and remove me and the baby by force if she thought we were with him. Dear old thing, he may be very naughty, but he is so sweet, and adores the baby. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him. It’s lovely to be with him again.

  I don’t know quite what is to become of him, he’s all alone in the world now. Grace seems to feel very responsible for him, and it was because of her we were up in London when the baby was born. She says he was very kind to her when she first knew Charles. That made me feel bad too, I’m afraid I was horrid to her.

  Oh darling, I wish you could see Imogen. She is so beautiful. I spend hours just gazing at her, and thinking of you, and how much I love you. I long so much to hear from you. Goodness knows when you will get this, I suppose the letters wait for you at some port or other. Anyway, now I have Imogen I can be strong and brave for however long it takes. Thank you for her.

  All my love, no, all our love,

  Florence and Imogen

  Cable to Major Robert Grieg, Gibraltar

  Imogen Grace born finally 14 January, weight five pounds, both well.

  Love Florence

  Let’s just hope, thought Florence, entrusting Clifford with both these missives, that Robert’s memories of last spring are nice and hazy.

  Grace had done some careful sums after the conversation with Mr Jacobs, decided she could manage on far less than she was getting, especially with the fifteen shillings from Daniel and David, her ever-more productive hens and, now that summer was coming, produce from her garden. She had at last acquired a goat; so far it had proved a severe burden rather than a help, eating everything in sight, including all Grace’s sweet peas and a whole line of washing, and had refused to give any milk, despite having been sold to them with the promise of at least a pint a day. She was called Flossie because Daniel had said she looked like Florence; Grace had frowned at him and told him not to be cheeky, but there was something about the goat’s cross expression, silky black coat and long, spindly legs that – well, she just hoped Florence wouldn’t put two and two together, that was all. Probably not, she was so obsessed with Imogen it seemed unlikely; she never talked or thought about anything else. Anyway, Grace said to Mr Jacobs that what with one thing and another she had the house, and the car, she got her petrol allowance, she could manage on half her allowance if she really tried; she asked him carefully what, if anything, Muriel had done.

  ‘Nothing as yet, Mrs Bennett. I am at my wits’ end.’

  ‘What about my father-in-law’s pension?’

  ‘I have not heard from him.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Grace. ‘I’m afraid he’s not himself at all. He promised to write to you about it. I’ll jog his memory.’

  She got Clifford on a bad day; he sounded actually drunk, which was very unusual. ‘Don’t worry, my darling, will do. Will do everything. Just don’t worry,’ he said and put the phone down.

  He clearly wasn’t going to do anything; Grace phoned Florence, who was now home, and said she must impress on Muriel the need to economize.

  ‘She won’t,’ said Florence, ‘she thinks economizing is giving Cook a
n extra afternoon off.’

  ‘Well, you must try and make her. Otherwise she’ll have to sell the Priory.’

  ‘Good Lord,’ said Florence, ‘then what would Imogen and I do?’

  ‘She’s driving me mad,’ said Florence, having pushed Imogen the two and a half miles down the lane to see Grace one morning and stayed for the day, alternately calling on Grace to admire Imogen and asking for endless drinks, boiled water for the bottles and even at one stage to rinse out a dirty nappy. ‘I have tried, Grace, honestly I have, but she never stops railing against my father, and saying he must make economies, it’s not up to her. I suppose she has a point. I don’t know that I can stand it much longer, I might come and stay with you for a bit.’

  It didn’t seem to occur to her that Grace might not want her.

  ‘Oh my Lord!’ said Linda. ‘Ben’s been posted.’

  ‘Where to?’ said Nan.

  ‘North Africa.’

  ‘When’s he going?’

  ‘Just a minute, hang on, hang on. Very soon, Nan, in about a fortnight or so. He’s a sergeant now. What do you think about that?’

  ‘Only what his father was,’ said Nan sternly. ‘Is ’e getting home first?’

  ‘No. He says he’s asked, but all the boys are asking, and they’re only letting special cases come.’

  ‘What’s a special case then?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. Maybe a new baby, something like that. Oh, Nan, it sounds a long way. Christ, I’d like to see him. Just once more—’

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ said Nan severely. ‘Anyway, there’s a war on, I keep telling you, last time they didn’t get ’ardly any leave at all.’

  ‘Yeah, all right, all right.’

  But later she saw Nan staring out of the window, tears rolling slowly down her white face; she went over and gave her a hug. Nan smiled absently, turned and patted her hand.

  ‘You’ve been a good girl to me, Linda, while he’s been away, all through the Blitz and that. Couldn’t have been no better, not if you’d been me own daughter.’

  ‘Oh give over,’ said Linda.

  Janice said she should go up to Liverpool and try to see Ben. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Linda doubtfully. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. What about my job?’

  ‘You could go one weekend. Be a laugh. See what he says.’

  ‘I can’t get in touch with him that easily, Jan. But I might. I’ll think about it.’

  ‘You do that. You coming up West this weekend?’

  ‘Might as well, I suppose,’ said Linda. ‘If I don’t go up to Liverpool, that is.’

  Clarissa had a few days’ leave; she had come down to see Florence and the baby. Florence had talked to her about the problem with Muriel’s finances, and she arrived at the Mill House one afternoon to see Grace. Jack was up in Scotland: ‘A rest period they call it, he hates it, but at least he’s safe.’ She had only seen him once in five months, she said, ‘and then only for twenty-four rather dodgy hours.’

  Grace looked at her; she had changed, become steadier, slightly more sober with her life in the Wrens. She had had her hair cut shorter, looked older, more sophisticated, but was still dazzling, still lit up wherever she was with her charm. She was also the first woman Grace had seen for a long time who looked remotely fashionable; she was dressed in a scarlet silk dress and, although it had the obligatory short skirt and unflattering square shoulders, on Clarissa’s neat, slender body it looked strangely chic. She had what looked like new white shoes, and a matching white bag tucked under her arm; a small red and white straw hat perched on the front of her head. She was beautifully made up; the only clue that there was any kind of a restriction on clothes was the fact that her legs were bare. Grace thought, studying her almost greedily, that nice clothes had become exactly like delicious food, a hazy, dreamlike memory.

  ‘Are you enjoying the Wrens?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh so much, you can’t imagine. It is so marvellous, Grace, to have a sense of shared purpose. To be working with people all to the same end. Doesn’t sound too much like me, does it? Jack keeps complaining I’ve changed. But I can’t help it. Anyway, I’m not the only one. Grumpy old thing he’s turned into.’ She laughed, just slightly less easily than usual, carefully changed the subject. ‘Anyway, how are you, darling?’

  ‘Oh I’m fine,’ said Grace. ‘A bit lonely of course – missing Charles.’

  ‘Of course you are. I’ve been so lucky, Jack being in England all this time. But at least you have your little boys. Goodness they’re sweet.’

  ‘Do you really like them?’ said Grace, surprised.

  ‘Well of course I do. They’re enchanting. And the older one is going to be so handsome. Why ever shouldn’t I like them?’

  ‘Muriel deeply disapproves,’ said Grace, ‘and I don’t think Florence feels much differently and Charles has written ordering me to get rid of them—’

  ‘He hasn’t! Dear God, He is – Well, I hope you’re not going to, darling.’

  ‘No I’m not,’ said Grace.

  ‘Good. I never heard anything so pompous – well he always was that way inclined. It’s absurd. When you’re here, coping all on your own, managing so wonderfully.’

  ‘Well, it’s very nice of you to say so,’ said Grace, realizing she had never heard Charles criticized by anyone before and rather to her shame liking it; and then quite suddenly, taking herself completely by surprise, she said, ‘Clarissa, why did you break off your engagement? You and Charles.’

  She was amazed at herself for asking the question at all, but she had wanted to for so long and Clarissa seemed so approachable suddenly, almost a proper friend. Grace sat back and looked at her now; she was studying the grass rather intently, her lovely face thoughtful. She took her hat off and a breeze lifted her blonde hair, blew it across her large brown eyes. She was so beautiful, Grace thought, so truly and absolutely beautiful: how could Charles have ever, ever let her go?

  ‘Well,’ said Clarissa, carefully now, ‘well, you see, it just wasn’t working. I told you. Surely Charles told you.’

  ‘Yes, but why? Why? Please don’t give me all that stuff about him being quiet and you liking parties and everything, I don’t believe it, and anyway, it’s not true, he does. And why didn’t he tell me about – about you? It seems so odd.’

  ‘Oh darling, hurt pride, I expect. You know what men are like.’

  ‘Not really, no,’ said Grace, and she knew she was sounding silly, and she longed not to, but she didn’t seem able to help it. ‘I don’t. I’ve led a very sheltered life, Clarissa. I’m not very – very up on men and what they’re like.’

  ‘Darling Grace, you really shouldn’t put yourself down so much. It’s so silly, when you’re so clever and so lovely.’

  ‘Don’t try to change the subject!’ said Grace, and her voice was louder now in her exasperation. ‘I want to know what happened. What went wrong.’

  Clarissa stood up suddenly and walked down the garden a little way, stood gazing over the fence at the field where Flossie lived so parasitically. Then she turned and looked at Grace, very steadily.

  ‘I can only tell you,’ she said finally, carefully, ‘that we seemed to be making each other miserable. It just wasn’t working any more. It was wonderful at first, of course, absolutely rapturous, and then it all went rather badly wrong. We started to have a lot of rows, and I could see it was only going to get worse. And he’s not a person it’s easy to – well, sort things out with. He doesn’t take criticism exactly kindly. You must know all his faults as well as I do. Love him as we both do. I wish I could give you a better explanation, darling, but I can’t. I’m sorry.’

  Grace looked at her and knew with absolute certainty that Clarissa might be telling the truth as far as it went, but that there was more to it than that, and knew moreover that she was not going to hear it. Not now at any rate. Pressing Clarissa would do her no good whatsoever; she quite clearly, from the careless, confiden
t way she spoke about him, knew more about Charles, had been closer to him than Grace ever had, even within their marriage, and it hurt and humiliated her more than she would have believed. She had tried never to think about it before, but it suddenly became very clear to her that Clarissa had been to bed with Charles while they were engaged, and no doubt had had a most wonderful time there together; and that thought more than any other made her feel helplessly wretched. She felt suddenly even shabbier than usual, aware of her droopy, unevenly hemmed dress, her sensible walking shoes, her uncut hair. She hated Clarissa with a hot, fierce jealousy, wanted her out of her garden, with her glamour and her beauty, her intimate knowledge of Charles.

  ‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘I think there’s obviously a bit more to it than that. But you obviously don’t intend to tell me. Yours and Charles’s little secret, no doubt. Now if you’ll excuse me, Clarissa, I have a lot to do.’ And then, to her horror, she felt tears filling her eyes, and turned away, furious at them, that Clarissa might see, know why they were there, detect her weakness, her vulnerability.

  And Clarissa of course did see them; she came over to Grace, put her arms round her, and much as Grace wanted to push her away, say something clever and self-assured, she couldn’t.

  ‘Listen,’ said Clarissa gently, ‘please listen, Grace. All that matters is that Charles married you, he wanted to marry you, and he’s terribly happy with you.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ said Grace dully.

  ‘Of course I know it. I can see for myself, and anyway he’s told me so – lots of times.’

  ‘He has?’ said Grace.

  ‘Yes, of course he has.’

  Grace wasn’t sure if she liked that, the thought of Charles and Clarissa talking about her, albeit kindly, indulgently, rather as if she was a child. And then thought she was being ungrateful, ungracious even, and ‘Well,’ she said, smiling a bit bleakly at Clarissa, ‘I’m glad he’s happy with me. I do wonder sometimes. I suppose everybody does. You probably don’t,’ she added.