by Pamela Pope
‘Hope there are no Boche U-boats in the Channel,’ said the 1st Lieutenant next to William. ‘I can cope with being shot at but I’d hate to drown.’
‘It would be last-minute desperation if we were attacked,’ William said.
‘Yeah, the Boche are running scared of us Yanks,’ said a very young 2nd Lieutenant. ‘They’ve heard about our mighty men and machines.’
‘They’ve been defeated by our Allies.’ William hated the smugness and boasting of some of his comrades. ‘We came in too late to take that much credit.’
‘What’ll you do when it’s over, Captain?’ the first man asked.
‘Get back to the States as soon as I can.’
‘You’re an Engineer. I hear they’re drafting them on to Russia to fight the Bolsheviks.’
‘I won’t be with them. I face a few operations.’
He’d heard some Americans were being sent to help cool the Bolshevik revolution, but the state of his arm ensured his exemption, and he was glad. He didn’t want to go to Russia. In one of his more sensible conversations with Galina in Paris she had said that perhaps the Bolsheviks had a just cause. He had learnt for the first time that his name was in fact Bermanovitch, and she had told him gruesome tales of the persecution of their Russian grandparents by the henchmen of Tsarist nobility because they had been Jews. Who knew which side was right, if either of them were.
He had only known Galina such a short time, had only met her twice, yet his feelings for her had been stronger than for any other girl he’d previously encountered. Even making allowances for the emotional circumstances of their meeting he was left in no doubt that they could have married and been happy. Successful marriages didn’t always follow a long courtship, and he had loved her from the moment his arms had gone round her to give comfort. He wondered what would happen to her share of Court Carriages. She’d been a very rich young woman and doubtless they would have feuded over the company. He didn’t want to see it, but he would have to.
He was bound for the American hospital at Richmond, and couldn’t wait to get there. The most recent letter to reach him from his mother had been to tell him she herself was at Richmond. It was wonderful news and he longed to see her. His father might have already been informed about Galina. He would visit him just as soon as he was allowed a pass to travel.
The ferry had only just docked when word of the sabotage to Court Carriages got around. A bomb, they said. Very little left, but few casualties as the place had just been evacuated.
‘My God!’ William was on his feet, suddenly galvanised into action which puzzled his companions. He began tussling with his jacket, trying to get his right arm in the sleeve but failing in his haste.
‘Why so bothered, man?’ asked the 2nd Lieutenant. ‘Where do you think you’re going, for God’s sake?’
‘Court Carriages belongs to my father.’
He left the men in the officers’ mess frustrated not to learn more, and sought someone in charge who would give him permission to leave the train. A short time later he was standing in the Western Esplanade, staring at the ruins of Galina’s inheritance and his father’s hard-earned business.
He couldn’t believe the devastation. The air was still filled with dust and the smell of crumbling bricks and mortar. In France he had seen the same scene hundreds of times and accepted it as the inevitable result of war, but here in England it was somehow obscene. He felt so angry and revolted by what he saw it screwed his stomach up. The traitor who had perpetrated it should be hounded mercilessly until he was caught and hanged. The damn awful waste, the wickedness!
‘My poor darling Galina,’ he said to himself. ‘There’s nothing left for us to fight over.’
Soldiers and civilians were working together on the rubble, cranes lifting metal girders, men shifting debris with their bare hands. Others watched as if unable to believe it had happened. A column of masonry fell as he watched, crumbling slowly and sending up a fresh cloud of brickdust.
‘Bloody awful affair,’ said an old man leaning on a stick near to William. ‘Not safe in our own country these days.’
‘No one was killed, though,’ William said.
‘Two was. One was the owner, name of Berman. They say he went in at the last minute to rescue his wife, but she was already out. He were a hero if ever there was one. The tale goes the wife was suspected of treason, but that were daft and now she’s been took to Mr Cromer’s home. I remembers her. She was here when I worked for the company back in —’
William didn’t wait to hear more. The anger inside him was nothing to the agony which had now overtaken it.
*
The telephone call came less than an hour after William’s arrival. Ellie had just been hearing about his extraordinary meeting with Galina Devlin and had hardly had time to absorb the fact that she’d been killed in France, when Millicent was told there was an urgent call. She came back into the room a few minutes later, her expression inscrutable.
‘What is it, Millicent?’ It seemed to be further trouble and Ellie’s question was fearful.
Her aunt came and took her hand. ‘There’s someone alive in the ruins of Court Carriages,’ she said. ‘That was Mr Wilkinson. He said he owes his life to Max, and he wanted us to know straight away.’
Ellie could hardly breathe. She clasped William’s hand so hard her knuckles were white. ‘Who? Who’s alive?’
‘They don’t know yet.’ Millicent was trembling so much her teeth began to chatter. ‘I ought to hope it’s Julian, but I can’t, for his sake. What good would it do for him to survive this, only to be hanged for treason.’
‘Come and sit down, Aunt Millicent,’ said William, extricating himself from his mother and helping the older woman to a chair.
A prickling sensation coursed down Ellie’s spine, and there was a singing in her head.
‘We’ve got to get down there,’ she said, her spirits beginning to soar. ‘Straight away. We mustn’t waste time.’
‘Take care, Mother,’ William warned. ‘Don’t build your hopes up too high. It might not be Father.’
‘I know. But oh, William, you don’t know how hard I’m praying it’s him. I’m sorry, Millicent.’
‘It’s all right, I understand. And I can’t come with you.’ Tears filled Millicent’s eyes. ‘If Julian is alive he’ll find out I betrayed him and he’ll never forgive me.’ She got up again and went to the window. ‘There are sightseers outside, would you believe? Take Julian’s car, William. It’s in the garage at the side of the house.’
‘I can’t drive with only one arm. We’ll have to get a cab.’
‘There’s no time. I can drive,’ said Ellie.
But William was inexplicably upset at the idea. ‘No, Mother. I won’t let you.’
‘Don’t be absurd. You can tell me what to do if the car’s very different to ones I’ve handled before.’
‘I said no. Women shouldn’t drive cars — it’s too dangerous.’
Then she understood. ‘You’re thinking of Galina,’ she said gently. ‘She was killed driving a lorry — but it’s not going to happen to me. This is England.’
‘I couldn’t bear to lose anyone else I love.’
‘You loved Galina?’ Ellie’s surprise showed in her tone and her raised eyebrows.
‘We would have married as soon as the war’s over.’
‘Oh, William. Oh, my darling … I’m so sorry.’ She hugged her son fiercely, sympathy for him bringing fresh anguish to darken the day. Then she took a deep breath and stood tall. ‘We’ll talk about it later. Right now, whether you like it or not, we’re taking Julian’s car to town.’
She had never driven a vehicle in England but that didn’t deter her. Of course William wouldn’t let her go alone. He got in beside her, no doubt thinking she was being manipulative again, but she couldn’t help it. She would tackle anything to get to Court Carriages in time to be there when that survivor was brought out alive. The c
ar was a ‘Prince Henry’ Vauxhall which Julian had bought just before the war. It had been his pride and joy, and he had always made sure the silver fluted bonnet and red bodywork shone like mirror glass. For the last three years there had been no chauffeur, but he had taken pleasure in driving it himself.
The hood was up, and Ellie sounded the horn to clear people away from the gate as she drove out into Lance’s Hill.
‘The left-hand side of the road, Mother,’ shouted William, when she would have set off on the right.
She soon got used to the controls, and it wasn’t too bad having the steering wheel at the wrong side, once she adjusted to driving on the left. A few more shouts from her son saved them from any mishap, and she was quite proud of the way she handled the large car. It felt as if she were flying towards Max.
Her hopes went on growing. It had to be him. If there was any fairness in the world, surely it couldn’t be Julian who was spared after what he had done.
The busy roads into town meant they were held up at several places and her impatience was voiced aloud. ‘Why didn’t they let us through before they closed the gates?’ she exclaimed, when they had to wait at a level crossing. ‘The train’s miles away yet.’
‘Calm down, Mama,’ said William. ‘A few minutes is neither here nor there. You’re doing very well — I’m amazed at your driving ability.’
‘Your Uncle Drew taught me.’ Her foot touched the accelerator pedal and they were on their way again before the gates were fully opened. ‘He said I was not too old to be fully emancipated.’
When they reached Western Esplanade, crowds of morbid sightseers were being held back by the police, but enough débris had been cleared for traffic to use the road if involved in the rescue work.
An Army sergeant flagged them down and came over to the large Vauxhall.
‘I must ask what your business is,’ he said, after first saluting William. ‘No vehicles are allowed past this point unless authorised.’
‘I’m Mrs Berman,’ said Ellie. ‘I understand there’s someone being brought out alive and I must be here in case it’s my husband.’
‘You can’t drive any further, madam.’
‘Then I’ll walk.’
‘I’m Mrs Berman’s son,’ William told the soldier. ‘I’ll go with her.’
They were permitted to leave the car by the military lorries, and set off on foot, picking their way over glass and rubble to get to a place opposite to where the main work was going on. Ellie could see it had once been the body shop, but they were ordered to stay by the road and not go anywhere near the operations.
Nothing seemed to be going on. A team of men was standing by an excavated area where twisted metal and wood suggested the remains of the ambulance train had been reached, but they were standing with their arms folded.
‘Why aren’t they doing anything?’ Ellie asked William, her tone edgy and fretful.
‘I guess they’re afraid to move anything else in case the whole lot falls in.’
‘Oh no, it can’t. It mustn’t.’ She pressed her hand to her mouth.
‘He might be very badly injured.’
‘I’ll devote the rest of my life to nursing him if I have to,’ Ellie said. ‘I’ve been so selfish, William. I can never make it up to him.’
They had been waiting fifteen minutes when a cheer went up, and William had to grasp his mother’s arm to prevent her from rushing forward into the danger zone to see what was happening.
A man came off the site. ‘They’re bringing a stretcher out,’ he told them. ‘I think it’s Mr Cromer they’ve rescued.’
Ellie’s heart plummeted. She was shaken and afraid, but her courage didn’t desert her. After a moment in which she almost crushed William’s good hand she prepared to go and look at the man on the stretcher. There was no life. A sheet was covering the body completely, and silence fell on the crowd as a policeman lifted the covering off for a second to disclose that it was indeed Julian Cromer.
Heartbroken, Ellie buried her face against William’s chest while people continued to mill round. She didn’t see men at the excavation site helping someone else to the surface.
‘It was a miracle if ever I saw one,’ one of the stretcher-bearers was saying, before they moved off with Julian’s body. ‘Packing cases had fallen in such a way there was space like a tomb in the rubble with metal shelves holding it up. Fallen crossways, like. Another few minutes and it would’ve caved in.’
Ellie couldn’t look any more. ‘Take me back to Millicent’s, William,’ she whispered. Her shattered hopes added to her previous grief and it seemed as if her own life was draining away.
Suddenly she felt William’s body tense. ‘Mother, look!’
The urgency in his voice revived her and she lifted her head. She rubbed her eyes and stared, then began to shake uncontrollably, for there across the rubble, covered in dust but walking unaided, was Max.
She left William’s side and stumbled across the debris, tearing her skirt when she tripped, but picking herself up again and staggering forward to meet her husband. Tears of joy rained down her cheeks and she was murmuring his name with every breath. When she reached him he held out his arms.
‘It’s all right, Ellie,’ he said. ‘It’s all right, I’m here.’
His clothes were torn and he was bruised, but he was all in one piece. She touched him tenderly, her fingers caressing his face.
‘I knew you wouldn’t leave me again,’ she sobbed. ‘You know how much I need you.’
‘I know how much I love you.’
‘I love you too. I’ve never stopped loving you. I never will.’
One of the medical team took hold of Max’s arm. ‘Come along, sir, we must get you to hospital.’
‘I’m going with him,’ Ellie cried. She took his other arm. ‘William’s here too, Max.’
So many people came rushing forward to greet him the police had to clear a path. At the end of it William stood waiting, his hat tucked under his arm in respect, and he began walking towards his parents with a smile so warm it seemed to brighten the leaden sky.
Epilogue
Early in the spring of 1919, Ellie Berman stood on the deck of the liner Mauretania as it made its way down Southampton Water en route for New York, and she watched the town of Southampton fading into the distance with mixed feelings, knowing that she would probably never see it again. Many major events in her life had taken place there, most she would prefer not to remember, but the last months had been so happy.
When they passed Netley Hospital on the port side where for a long time yet the war wounded would continue to be cared for, she gave thanks that William’s injury had been no worse. While at Richmond, he’d had two operations on his arm which had almost straightened it, and there was hope that he would be able to use it normally in time. The wound taking longer to heal was the loss of Galina. It was a good thing he had been sent back to the States in February. Ellie in no way minimised her son’s feelings for his cousin, but she took heart from the brevity of their relationship and hoped it wouldn’t be too long before there was another girl to fill his thoughts.
Of course Max had shared William’s grief. As Ellie hadn’t seen Galina since she was a small child, she’d felt shut out when her menfolk talked about her, but she gave comfort whenever it was needed, and she understood.
Max himself had suffered no lasting physical effect from his entombment beneath the rubble of Court Carriages. He had been discharged from hospital after a few days, and Ellie had had to return to Richmond, leaving him to start sorting out enormous problems to do with the company. He had decided not to rebuild. The business had gone, and with Eastleigh likely to become the most important post-war carriage-building works in the south of England it seemed pointless to once more set up in opposition. He had lost all enthusiasm for it. Instead he made plans for the future with the compensation he seemed set to get.
‘We’ll design furniture together, El
lie,’ he said. ‘I was starting to make a success of it before. With you to help me we’ll take the interior design world by storm.’
It was an exciting thought, but she didn’t mind what they did as long as they were together.
Max came along the deck and leaned against the rail with her. The eastern end of the Isle of Wight was in view, and once clear of that there was open sea before them as far as the Atlantic coast of America. He put his arm round her waist and drew her close.
‘I’ve arranged for breakfast to be brought to the cabin each morning, Mrs Berman,’ he said. They were travelling first-class. ‘Every minute alone with you is precious.’
She planted a kiss on his cheek, and the gesture prompted a meeting of their lips which lingered on as they were the only couple outside braving a cold north-easterly wind.
‘Max, do you remember the train crash at Quincy when we first met?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘You saved my life then.’
‘So you always tell me.’
‘You did. And then you tried to do it again in Southampton. When they said you were dead I thought things had come full circle and it was the end of every thing.’
Max held her so tightly she felt as if they were part of each other. ‘No, my darling. It was a second beginning.’
The crossing was uneventful. There were no rough passages, and in the cabin booked by Max and Elena Berman there was love. They wished the voyage could last forever, but in no time at all, it seemed, they were seeing Brooklyn Bridge to the starboard, the Statue of Liberty, and the awe-inspiring buildings of Manhattan. They were home at last.
The war had changed things in New York. There were not the men available to see to arrangements at the dockside when a liner berthed, and after the baggage had been unloaded it was left to every passenger to look after his or her own luggage, transfer-agents being in short supply. In all the noise and bustle it was difficult to get anyone to handle anything, but Max was determined to get assistance.