The church was full when Daphne and Felix walked in just before the service began. Dressed in a smart green costume with a fur collar and a matching hat with a curled green feather, Daphne walked up the aisle on Felix’s arm, well aware of the interest she was stirring among the women of the congregation.
It was almost worth coming to see the envy on their faces as she, Mrs Felix Bellinger of The Manor, Wynsdown, joined her mother-in-law in the manor pew.
She paid little attention to the service, but she found she enjoyed singing the carols she’d learned as a child, so that when it was over and they led the congregation out of the church, she decided that perhaps Felix was right. She should show her face, and her clothes, to the village. Let them see who was squire now that the major had passed away, and who the squire’s lady. Not old Mrs Marjorie Bellinger, wearing a drab blue overcoat and tired felt hat, now residing at Eden Lodge, but young Mrs Daphne Bellinger, dressed in the latest fashions, living at the manor and taking her rightful place in the local community.
As always, after the service, the congregation gathered outside the church to chat and wish each other Merry Christmas. As the grown-ups greeted each other, the children rushed round the green, pleased to be released from the restraint of church, boasting of what Father Christmas had brought and what they hoped was still to come. Marjorie led Daphne and Felix over to a young couple, who were talking to the vicar’s wife. The woman was rocking a baby in a pram, and Daphne realised she looked vaguely familiar. Then she remembered the christening during the service that she and Felix had attended on their first visit. This was the mother of the baby. Not exactly plain, Daphne thought as they approached. Nice enough face, and thick dark hair, but straight, no style to it. If my hair was like that I’d be putting in curling papers every night. Surely, she could make much more of herself if she tried.
‘Daphne,’ Marjorie said as the couple turned towards them, ‘I want you to meet Charlotte and Billy. Billy’s family have Charing Farm, just across the hill, but Charlotte and he live in the village, so you’ll probably be seeing quite a lot of her. Charlotte, my dear, I don’t think you’ve met my daughter-in-law, Daphne.’
‘No, I haven’t.’ Charlotte extended her hand. ‘How nice to meet you. I did meet your husband last time he was here and now Mrs Bellinger tells me you’re coming to live in the manor.’
‘Already moved in,’ said Daphne. ‘Still getting straight.’
‘Well, I hope you’ll be very happy in your new home,’ Charlotte said and then turned to greet Felix with a smile. ‘Merry Christmas, Felix,’ she said as she shook his hand. ‘Welcome home!’
‘Thank you.’ Felix returned her smile. ‘Merry Christmas to you, too. And it does feel like coming home.’
Billy stepped forward to meet Daphne and for him she turned on her brightest smile.
His face creased into a grin, his eyes warmly appraising. ‘How d’you do,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Wynsdown.’
Marjorie, watching, wondered how it was that some women, women like Daphne, had that effect on every man they met. Had Felix noticed, and if so did he mind?
At that moment Henry and Caroline Masters walked up and the conversation became general. Felix turned to Billy and asked, ‘You riding out with the hunt tomorrow, Mr Shepherd?’
‘Certainly am,’ said Billy, and for the first time looked at Felix with some warmth, before adding, ‘And it’s Billy. You called me Billy when I was a kid, no reason to change that now.’
‘Felix, then, since we’re going to be even closer neighbours than before. Hear you live in Blackdown House now; old Miss Edie’s place.’
‘It’s Charlotte’s house,’ replied Billy, ‘and we’re lucky to have it. So, you hunting tomorrow? Dad said you’d taken Archie back and that you might.’
‘Yes,’ replied Felix. ‘Looking forward to it. Will it be the first time you’ve taken your new horse out?’
‘Hunted him last year,’ replied Billy, ‘but it’ll be the first time this year.’
‘Beautiful horse,’ said Felix and was rewarded with a wide smile.
‘Isn’t he just?’
Over the table at lunch Marjorie said, ‘I’m glad you got the chance to meet Charlotte, Daphne. She’s such a nice woman. You know it was Charlotte who raised the alarm when Peter collapsed.’
‘No,’ answered Daphne, ‘I didn’t.’
‘She went for Dr Masters, but when she found he wasn’t there, she went to the vicarage and got them to ring for an ambulance.’
‘But why hadn’t you rung for an ambulance?’ asked Daphne.
‘I tried, of course, but our phone was out of order, I couldn’t even get through to the exchange. Peter was lying there on the floor; I was panicking and ran out to fetch the doctor. I saw Charlotte in the lane and she went instead. Anyway, living where we do, it’s nearly always better to call the doctor first. It takes some time for an ambulance to get here, you know, and at least he can do his best until the ambulance arrives.’
She took a sip of her wine. ‘I remember Dr Masters being called out to a wounded airman during the war. Legs shattered, in an awful mess. It was Billy and his father who rescued him from the tree where his parachute had caught. He was taken to Charing Farm as it was nearest, then Henry Masters was called. He did his best, but he reckoned the boy would lose one leg, maybe even both.’
‘How dreadful!’ cried Daphne. ‘Was he all right?’
‘We don’t really know,’ replied Marjorie, ‘he was shipped off under guard.’
‘Under guard?’
‘It was a German pilot, shot down after a raid on Weston.’
‘German!’ exclaimed Daphne. ‘Why didn’t they just shoot him?’
‘Because he was a wounded boy, hanging in a tree. He wasn’t a danger to anyone,’ replied Marjorie drily. ‘I’d like to think that if Felix had been shot down over enemy territory and wounded, someone would have done the same for him. Peter was the commanding officer of the local Home Guard. He had to deal with the remains of the plane. There were no other survivors. The lad was only very young and in great pain. They got Charlotte to come and interpret for them.’
‘Charlotte? Does she speak German, then?’
‘Charlotte is German,’ replied Marjorie. ‘By birth, anyway. She came to London as a refugee at the age of thirteen, but she’s naturalised British now, of course.’
Felix had listened to the whole story in silence, his face pale. He knew only too well that the German pilot’s fate could so easily have been his; so many of his friends had returned wounded and maimed, or not returned at all.
‘She promised the boy that she’d try and contact his parents through the Red Cross,’ Marjorie went on. ‘He told her his name and address before they took him away and Peter did his best to get Charlotte’s letter sent. There was no reply, of course, no way of even knowing if it got through. The last we heard of him he was being taken to hospital in Exeter.’
‘Where did the plane actually come down?’ Felix spoke at last.
‘In that worked-out quarry, near Newland,’ replied his mother. ‘Dad went over there, but it was burnt out. Three men, didn’t stand a chance. The lad on the end of the parachute was the lucky one.’
‘She didn’t sound German this morning.’ Daphne’s thoughts had been proceeding along entirely different tracks from those of Felix and his mother. ‘When I talked to her, she didn’t have an accent. Strange to find a German living here, in the village, so soon after the war.’
‘She’s been living in England for the last ten years, Daphne,’ Marjorie reminded her. ‘She’s married to an Englishman and her children were born here in the village. Charlotte doesn’t think of herself as German, and neither should you. The Nazis killed her entire family.’
‘Still—’ began Daphne.
‘Still nothing,’ snapped Felix. ‘Let’s change the subject.’
‘Good idea,’ agree his mother. ‘It’s not a subject for Christmas lunch. Will you pour us some more w
ine, Felix? I brought a couple of bottles over from the cellar at the manor, I didn’t think you’d mind.’
Felix picked up the bottle and topped up their glasses. He, too, had brought some wine from the cellar his father had laid down over the years and with the turn of the conversation he felt in need of another glass.
‘But, is she...’ Daphne seemed about to ignore the change of subject, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she received such a glare from Felix that she closed her mouth again and said nothing, simply picked up her wine glass, took a large mouthful and glowered back at him over the rim.
Ignoring her, and maintaining the change of subject, Felix said, ‘I think your Christmas tree looks really lovely, Mother.’
‘It does, doesn’t it,’ smiled Marjorie. ‘I got it from Cheddar. There’s a man there who’s been planting them... you know... as a crop. It gave me an idea. Is that something you might do? Grow Christmas trees?’
Felix shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Dad had planted some trees for timber, but that’s very long-term. Be worth looking into it, I suppose.’
The meal finished, Marjorie made coffee and they all moved into her drawing room. Still a drawing room, Daphne noted, despite it being half the size of the one at the manor.
‘We’re to leave all the clearing up till tomorrow,’ Marjorie had explained. ‘Mrs Darby says she’ll come in again first thing to wash up.’
They listened to the King on the radio, but as soon as they’d had tea and some of Mrs Darby’s special Christmas cake, Daphne suggested that it was time for them to be going. It was clear that Marjorie had hoped they’d stay a little longer, but she made no demur when Felix finally allowed himself to be dislodged from the armchair by the fire, and after the business of hats and coats, they set out to walk home. As they passed the vicarage, Avril Swanson waved from the window, and irrationally, Felix felt as if he’d let his mother down by returning home before the end of the day. He might well have felt so even more if he’d known that Avril had immediately phoned Eden Lodge to invite Marjorie to join her and David and the Masters for a supper of cold ham and potatoes in their jackets. Marjorie declined, but it warmed her heart that she’d been invited. She was disappointed that Felix and Daphne hadn’t stayed a little longer, but she could understand that they wanted to get back to their own fireside and have a little piece of Christmas, just the two of them. It’s what she’d have wanted with Peter in similar circumstances.
The manor was cold when they got in and Felix spent the first twenty minutes lighting fires in the drawing room and their bedroom. He drew the curtains against the night, so that when they finally went upstairs, the room would be warm and welcoming. They were still sleeping in what had been the guest room. He’d promised Daphne that they’d move into the main bedroom as soon as they’d sorted out some more furniture, and in the meantime, she had to admit, to herself if not to him, that the green guest room was a good deal warmer.
‘I wish you wouldn’t side with your mother against me,’ she grumbled, when, with another glass of wine, they were indeed sitting at their own fireside.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Felix.
‘I mean, if your mother and I disagree, you shouldn’t take her side against me.’
‘Did I?’ Felix was surprised. ‘What about?’
‘About the German girl.’
‘What about her?’
‘That it’s strange to find an enemy alien in our little village community. Your mother didn’t seem to think it odd at all, and when I was asking about her, you glared at me and said to change the subject.’
‘Oh, that. Well, to be quite honest, I was fed up with that conversation altogether. It was Christmas lunch. I didn’t want to be hearing about finding my father dead on the floor, or about German pilots being burned alive in their crashed plane, or about the fact that Charlotte Shepherd is German. Yes, I tried to shut you up, but I was shutting my mother up as well. Let’s face it, Daph. You saw our boys coming home with absolutely dreadful injuries; you saw them with wrecked bodies and wrecked lives. All that could have happened to me. I wouldn’t wish those injuries on anybody, enemy or not, and I certainly didn’t want to discuss it over Christmas lunch.’
It wasn’t often Felix spoke to her like that and Daphne said no more. She made them cheese sandwiches for supper and then Felix said, ‘I’m just going out to the stable to see that Archie’s all right. It’s a big day for him tomorrow.’
‘What is?’ For a moment Daphne looked at him blankly and then light dawned. ‘Oh, you mean the hunt. Well, I just hope you don’t kill yourself, that’s all. I’m going to go on up.’
‘I won’t be long,’ Felix said.
By the time he came back into the house, Daphne was undressed and in bed. She knew he would want to make love and couldn’t think of a reason to deny him. It wasn’t too bad these days and she’d developed a strategy for dealing with it. She’d always had an eye for an attractive man even though she’d kept them at arm’s length and now, when Felix began to touch her in the bedroom, she would imagine it was someone else, someone attractive but non-threatening; someone who she knew and could imagine stroking her breasts and caressing her thighs. Anyone but Felix. Why she could cope with the idea of someone other than he, she didn’t know, but provided she visualised another face poised above her, other eyes looking down into hers, she managed not to pull away, and even, on occasion, derived some satisfaction from the encounter. On one occasion in London she’d thought of Toby Squires, she’d always found him attractive. Tonight she found herself thinking of Billy Shepherd, whom she’d only met today. He was tall and his face with its generous mouth and wide blue eyes made him so entirely different from Felix. Fair curly hair springing in disorder, rather than straight dark hair cut close and smoothed against the head; so not Felix that it gave her quite a frisson. With her eyes shut she pictured Billy Shepherd, and reached a shuddering climax. Felix, satisfied at last that he’d reached her, his Daphne, came a moment later, and they both fell asleep, their bodies close, but their dreams a mile apart.
21
Charlotte and her family were up and about early on Boxing Day morning. Johnny, still filled with Christmas Day excitement, was longing to set out the farm animals his grandparents had given him.
‘Breakfast first,’ Charlotte said firmly. ‘Daddy’s got to go and fetch Rustler from the farm.’
‘Can I go, too?’ Johnny tugged at his father’s hand. ‘Can I come and fetch Rustler with you, Daddy?’
Billy looked down at his expectant face. ‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘Come on, eat your breakfast.’
After they’d finished Charlotte said, ‘I’ll bring Edie down here, Johnny, and then you can set up your farm on the kitchen table while I feed her.’
‘But I want to go with Daddy,’ wailed Johnny. ‘Daddy, I want to come with you.’
‘I’ll take him,’ Billy said. ‘You’ll be busy with Edie. He can come with me.’
Johnny gave a squeal of excitement, but his mother looked at Billy doubtfully. ‘Oh, Billy, are you sure? How will you get him home again?’
‘We’ll ride, won’t we, old chap?’
‘On Rustler, Daddy?’ Johnny gasped in delight. ‘Will we ride Rustler?’
‘If you’re good and do what I tell you. Now, go and put your coat on.’
Johnny rushed off to find his coat but Charlotte said, ‘Are you sure, Billy? I don’t like him up on that big horse.’ Her eyes were full of fear and Billy leant over to kiss her.
‘He’ll be fine. He’ll just sit up in front of me and I promise I’ll walk Rustler all the way home. We’ll be back within the hour and then it’ll be time to go.’ Billy touched her cheek. ‘Honestly, love, we’ll be fine. Are you going to come down to the green to see us off?’
‘Yes, of course, Johnny’d never forgive me if we didn’t. Anyway, we’re going back to the farm with your mother afterwards.’
‘Then we’ll see you there. Johnny’ll be all yours after that.’
Billy and Johnny walked over to Charing Farm, Johnny running ahead one moment, swinging on his father’s hand the next. The sun was breaking through Boxing Day’s early mist, bathing the countryside in pale winter sunshine.
Billy felt his spirts lift. He loved the seasons, each in its turn, but sunlight on the muted colours of a winter landscape always gave him a sense of peace; the earth asleep under a blanket of sun, resting before the energy of spring burst forth.
It’s going to be a perfect day, he thought as they neared the farm. Just a perfect day.
When they arrived in the farmyard they found John already in the stables preparing Hamble for the hunt. Billy went in to join him and Johnny ran into the kitchen to see his grandmother.
‘Daddy’s going to let me ride home on Rustler,’ he told her importantly.
‘Is he indeed? Aren’t you the lucky one?’
‘Will you be coming in to see us set off, Mum?’ Billy asked when he came indoors to fetch his son.
‘Oh yes, I’ll be there. Boxing Day’s a special one. And afterwards Charlotte and the children are coming back here for their dinner.’ She gave her grandson a hug and said, ‘I’ll see you on the village green in a little while. Have a nice ride with Daddy.’
Billy led Rustler out of the stable and mounted him in the yard. John picked up the excited Johnny and set him in front of Billy.
‘Now, you sit quite still for your dad,’ he said, ‘and I’ll see you at the Magpie. I won’t be far behind you.’ And he stood back and waved as they rode out of the yard.
Billy held Johnny close against him, his arm tightly round the little boy’s body. As he felt Johnny lean back trustingly against him, Billy felt an overwhelming wave of love for him. His son. His Johnny. His to protect, and he felt humbled with the enormity of the responsibility, his arm tightening instinctively.
‘Daddy!’ Johnny squeaked. ‘You’re squashing me.’
The Married Girls Page 24