by Rosie James
Eve sat back down on the piano stool, amazed at her parents’ reaction. She would have been absolutely certain that they would not have approved of her playing popular stuff in their house. She cleared her throat.
‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘there was this concert in the village to welcome home boys who were on leave, and everyone wanted me to play the things you just heard me do…mind you, the piano wasn’t like ours! It was ancient! And they all joined in! Everyone sang and they loved it! They kept on and on – calling out more and more songs – a few of which I didn’t know, but I could vamp along easily enough once I got the rhythm going…’ By this time, Eve’s eyes were shining with enthusiasm and renewed excitement at the memory of that night. ‘You see – we were all so happy…singing this easy stuff together. We were like one, big happy family – and I was thrilled…thrilled…that I could do it for them!’ She looked at her parents earnestly. ‘But I could never have done any of it if you hadn’t taught me to play. If you hadn’t spent all those hours explaining everything, helping me when it got really hard. Getting me through all my grades.’ Eve swallowed hard, and paused. ‘I can never thank you enough for that,’ she said quietly.
By this time, Eve’s parents were visibly moved by what she had said. Then – ‘All music is meant for pleasure, Eve,’ Mr. Miles said, ‘and that is obviously what you gave those country folk.’ He hesitated. ‘You know, we’ve only ever wanted what you wanted in life, my dear, what might give you happiness,’ and Mrs. Miles said quietly –
‘Yes, and father and I have often felt guilty about your life here with us…’ and Eve cut in quickly –
‘Guilty? What do you mean?’
‘Well, when we saw you with your friends – when we met Alice and Fay and Roger – and saw how happy you were together –what fun you were having – we realize that you must have been lonely sometimes, here with just us. And…when you were younger, you might have felt…well…embarrassed at having old-looking parents…children are sensitive about such things.’ Eve’s mother looked away. ‘I’m afraid we left it rather late to have more children – you see, we very selfishly put our careers first – but it would have been so good for you to have had a brother or sister…someone young to share things with.’
Eve hardly knew what to say, because her mother’s comments could hardly be denied, and for a few moments there was complete silence. Then Eve, conscious that this could be the moment…the most important moment in her life…said, very quietly –
‘Mother, Father – I have something to say to you.’ She swallowed. They were both looking at her in the steady, parental way she knew so well.
‘I would like you to meet Max,’ she said.
‘Max?’
‘Yes, Max. We have worked together in the shop for several years – ever since I started there. We have always got on well – he plays the piano, too – and the saxophone…’ Eve gathered every bit of any courage she possessed to go on.
‘He is divorcing his wife because she has been unfaithful to him,’ Eve said – ‘and it will be formalized any day now. While he was away overseas for two years with the RAF, she had an affair with a man who she intends marrying as soon as she’s free. None of this was Max’s fault,’ Eve hurried on, the words tumbling out now. ‘It has all been a complete bombshell to him…while he was away defending his country, he wasn’t here to defend his marriage. And he has felt so let down, so betrayed. But…thanks to the war, that is the way his life has turned out.’
Eve hadn’t looked at her parents while she’d spilled all that out. But she’d managed it, and there it was. There in the open. Now the blast.
Mrs. Miles went to leave the room, then turned and looked back at Eve.
‘Well, why not invite Max to tea on Sunday?’ she said. ‘Father will make the scones – he’s far better at that than me these days.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The early months of 1947 experienced the worst weather ever recorded, freezing temperatures, driving rain and snow causing massive problems on all fronts. In February, blizzards caused drifting snow to cover railway lines, preventing coal trains from reaching power stations, resulting in energy cuts. Many small towns and villages were cut off, and stormy seas brought chaos to the shipping industry so that fish became scarce. In early March, the worst blizzard of the 20th century arrived, followed, later, by the inevitable thaw which meant that there was severe flooding everywhere. All in all, the country was brought to its economic knees, and some people thought that we were at war for a second time this decade – an even more insidious war than the last. Nature is the unstoppable force, always the victor.
As she picked up the threads of her life again after returning permanently to Dorchester and work, Alice knew that she had never felt more miserable, more out of sorts, and yes, more depressed than she had ever felt in her life before. When the war had ended two years earlier, she – and everyone – thought that they had been spared to enjoy a wonderful, free, deliriously bright future. That from here on, it was all going to be good, straightforward. Problem-free.
But life was never going to be like that, war or no war. And for Alice, it was not just the unbelievably dreadful weather, the trying to keep warm at home and in the office, trying to avoid slipping and sliding on her walk to and from the office each day where business, for obvious reasons, was slow and disappointing. Nor about the fact that there was still food rationing and other shortages, people still having to make do and be tolerant. To bear up and show some grit. For Alice, it was about much more than that.
It was about her heart. Bruised beyond repair.
Alice had known bereavement twice before in her life. Her father dying first, then her mother. Ada, her irreplaceable mother. Then, Alice had survived her grief with far more equanimity than might be expected of a young child. Because there had always been Helena, the other figurehead in her life.
Now Helena, too, had gone. And this time, Alice knew that the bruise in her heart was never going to fade. Was never going to stop hurting.
It wasn’t that, in recent years, she and Helena had seen that much of each other – thanks to the war – but Helena Carmichael’s presence was something more than the need for its proximity. Her character, her personality, her very self, was always there in Alice’s mind and memory and thoughts. Helena had always known what was best to be done in any circumstance, her opinions valued by those lucky enough to benefit from them.
Quite simply, Helena had been an unequivocal lover. Not only of her husband and family, but of life and all that it means to people, rich or poor. And for Alice, there would never be anyone like her again.
And the other thing? That other thing that was bringing Alice’s heart to rock bottom where it would stay for ever?
That other thing was knowing that Sam would be marrying Millicent. Soon. It was hardly the subject to be mentioned while Helena’s illness and funeral were at the top of everyone’s mind, but there was no doubt about it. To see the two together, so close, so bonded at Helena’s bedside, had been proof enough. In the foreseeable future, another Mrs. Carmichael would be living in the Clifton house, and before that, Alice would have the unbearable pain of watching her beloved Samuel giving his heart, soul and body to another woman.
Because she knew she would not be able to refuse the wedding invitation.
And on that day, Alice was going to need her golden anchor more than ever.
It was almost the end of March, and Alice trudged her way home through the puddles – puddles which were more like lakes, thanks to all the flooding after the thaw – wondering what she was going to cook for her supper tonight. Her appetite hadn’t been good at all recently, and she was finding it difficult to think of things which might appeal to her.
When she got home, there was one letter on the mat. The post – which had been so regular all through the war – was often late these days because traffic couldn’t get through all the slush and flooded roads. But, her heart sinking, Alice reco
gnized the writing on the envelope.
Sam. Samuel. Sam…and the wedding invitation.
Alice couldn’t bring herself to open it for a moment. Instead, dropping it on the kitchen table, she took her time slipping off her coat and hat and gloves. Then she put the kettle on, and glanced briefly at herself in the little mirror above the sink. She groaned. She was looking pretty awful, she admitted that. Her face seemed to have no light in it, and she knew she’d lost some weight.
Presently, her hands quite steady, she sat down on the kitchen stool and slowly opened the letter.
My dear Alice
I have a very special favour to ask of you. Well, that was straight to the point…
I need some advice, and you are the only person I can trust to give me a straightforward answer to my problem. Even if you knew it was not the answer I would necessarily want to receive.
I am sorry to bother you because I know you have a very exacting position with your Company, and are always busy. But this is a matter of great importance to me, and I need it settled as soon as possible.
We are all slowly recovering from my darling mother’s passing, and I hope you, too, are managing to hold your head high. Well, I know you will be. But you were very close to my mother, and will be missing her, as we all are.
Could we possibly meet soon – preferably at Clifton? I am here at the house at the moment, because I am undertaking some work at the Infirmary for two weeks.
So would you please ring me here, letting me know if you can spare the time?
With my love and best wishes, Alice,
Sam
Thoughtfully, Alice folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. So – that wasn’t a wedding invitation, after all – and she should have guessed as much, anyway. Wedding invitations came in large, square, glamorous envelopes.
But it wasn’t anything else to get worked up about, either. Sam wanted her advice to some problem he had, that was all. Though she couldn’t imagine what it might be…what it could possibly be that Millicent couldn’t help him with, or why she, Alice, was the only person he could trust to give him a truthful answer. She supposed she should be flattered – grateful, even – that he had thought to look to her before anyone else, but that fact didn’t do a thing for Alice’s downcast feelings. Quite the reverse.
Because she was having to go back to the house she thought she’d left for the last time, and help Sam to solve his mysterious problem. Surely he could have asked his father, or any of his siblings? They were all grown up now, sensible adults….why not ask any of them?
But no. Sam had decided that Alice was the only one whose opinion he wanted. And she would have to give it to him.
She reached up and took an egg from the rack on the shelf. She’d have an omelette tonight, she decided. Perhaps with a bit of grated cheese and some toast. About the only thing she thought she could swallow, if she was honest.
She would ring Sam tomorrow evening, after, presumably, he had got back from the Infirmary.
And tell him that she would arrive in Clifton at midday on Saturday.
‘I was delighted when Sam told me you were coming to lunch, Alice,’ Betty said. ‘’S’always nice when there’s a few more to cook for.’ She smiled down at Alice, who had sat herself down at the kitchen table, her small overnight bag at her feet.
‘And it’s very nice indeed to have someone do it for you!’ Alice said. ‘As I was coming up in the train – which wasn’t very well heated, and I was cold – I was trying to imagine what was going to be on the menu!’
‘Shepherd’s pie today, dear,’ Betty said, turning back to the stove to check on the vegetables. She sighed. ‘It all seems so different…with Helena – Madam – no longer here,’ she added. ‘I never quite know who wants feeding and when…the professor – and, lately, Sam – are usually here for the evening meal, and the twins are coming home a bit more regularly now. I s’pose to – well…be company for their dad. But everything seems up in the air, if you know what I mean.’
Alice nodded. ‘I know exactly what you mean, Betty,’ she said slowly. ‘Mrs. Carmichael’s passing has had a terribly upsetting effect on all of us…and even though I haven’t lived here, in the house, for ages, I was always thinking of all of you in it…thinking of how things used to be. Anyway,’ she added quickly, ‘I’m here now, because Sam wrote to say there was a business matter he needed to discuss with me…’
Betty nodded wisely. ‘There’s always stuff to discuss after a funeral,’ she said. ‘Legal things seem to go on for ever, don’t they?’ She moved across and started setting the table for three. ‘Sam had to work this morning, but he’s going to be here by 1 o’clock and said we were to have our lunch together in here. The professor will be home for dinner tonight – a roast – so that’ll be in the dining room, then, of course.’
Alice had wondered whether Sam might have been at the station to meet her, but as he wasn’t she’d taken a taxi. It had been much too cold to wait in a bus queue. But it was lovely and warm here in the kitchen, with the appetizing smell of lunch wafting about…and for the first time in many weeks Alice felt sure she was going to be able to enjoy eating again.
Betty filled a jug with water and placed it alongside everything else on the table. She glanced down at Alice, her shrewd eyes thoughtful. ‘You’re looking pale, Alice,’ she said, ‘and have you lost some weight?’
‘A bit,’ Alice admitted, ‘because I haven’t had much appetite lately. But it’s the winter, Betty, that’s all. As soon as the spring sunshine returns and everything starts warming up – then I’m sure I will, as well! Warming up and fattening up!’
‘Hmph,’ Betty retorted. ‘You’ve never been fat in your life…but you could certainly do with an extra pound or two at the moment.’
Just then the door opened, and Sam came in.
He was wearing a British Warm camel overcoat, a black scarf wound around his neck. And his rich, bronze hair was flecked with rain. He came straight over to Alice – who didn’t get up – and squeezed her shoulder.
‘Hello, Alice,’ he said. ‘Sorry I couldn’t be there to meet you…I’d hoped to have had this morning off, but no such luck.’ He smiled over at Betty. ‘Whatever you’re cooking, Betty, it smells good enough to eat – and I’m ready for it!’
Alice murmured some sort of response to his greeting – she couldn’t remember afterwards what she had said – but she managed to mumble something – before they eventually sat down to eat their lunch, with the conversation light and chatty.
And Alice, sitting next to Sam – who insisted on passing her more vegetables – had never been more conscious of his effect on her. Of how the strength of his personality seemed to invade every part of her. His good looks, his bearing, were only part of what made Sam Carmichael so captivating…well, he captivated Alice. Always had done.
So make the most of it, she told herself flatly. Make the most of him sitting here with his thigh so close to hers. Make the most of him…Fay would have called it the finale to this production…
Presently, with the meal finished and taking their coffee with them, Alice and Sam left the kitchen and went into the morning room, Alice conscious that her hands were trembling. The moment of truth was fast approaching…the moment she guessed would concern Sam and his Millicent. Their lives, their futures.
And Sam did not prevaricate.
‘I wouldn’t have asked you to make this journey if it wasn’t vital to have your opinion on the matter that’s been troubling me, Alice,’ he said slowly. ‘So – thank you for finding the time.’ He was being so formal now…not like that morning in December when he’d hugged and hugged her to him…
Alice nodded dumbly and sat down on the edge of the settee, gripping her cup and saucer. Get on with it, Sam, she thought. There’s only so much I can bear.
Sam had put down his coffee and was standing by the window looking across at her, his expression serious. ‘The thing is, Alice – I would like…I expect to be
married before Christmas,’ he began, and Alice felt her senses swim, and crash. Of course, she’d been right. This is what it was all about. And now she was going to have to live through what was coming…but why had he picked her out to be tormented! It was cruel. He was cruel! Had he never guessed that she’d always loved him…loved him with all the love any human being can have for another? Had he been that blind, that insensitive! Or – put the more honest way – had she been that ridiculous, that stupid, to think for a second that there was any chance for her in his life?
Alice gritted her teeth as he went on…
‘But the huge question I have to ask is…is it right to ask any woman to virtually give up her life to suit me and mine? Because by marrying me, that is what it amounts to. You know that better than anyone, Alice, because you’ve seen the marriage my parents had. Wonderful though it was, obviously, there were not only the two of them in it – there was my father’s profession as well. A demanding, unremitting mistress that he could never neglect. Put simply, his patients sometimes had to come before his wife – who, as you also know, spent many, many hours here without him. I’m sure she was often very lonely, may even have felt rather neglected at times.’
Alice forced herself to breathe deeply, not to lose control, not to start weeping with jealousy, and Sam, turning to stare out of the window, went on –
‘You see, my problem is that I can never see an end to it. I am thirty years old – nearly thirty-one – and in the next two years I shall be studying for my MRCS. After which I have to undergo a three-year speciality training…followed by a further six years for surgery. Six years, Alice. Because…’ Now he came over to look down at her, ‘I intend to qualify in paediatric brain surgery. I’ve known it’s what I want to do for a long time, ever since I watched that operation on the little girl who reminded me so much of Rose or Margaret…I’ve gone over and over it. I’ve had endless discussions with my tutors – and with my father, and he agrees that it would be right for me to aim that high, if that is my true ambition. That if you have ambition, then you must go for it. And it is, Alice. It is my ambition and my passion. And I know I can do it, and that it’s the right thing for me.’ He paused, then – ‘But any ruthless ambition such as this has to be selfish…self-centred – and the question I wanted to put to you was – wouldn’t it be better for me to stay single? Not to ask a woman to come second in a relationship?’