Two Women Went to War

by L E Pembroke

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I have found it necessary to speak to her on another matter. She has formed the habit of cooking extras and taking them to Andrew. No doubt she wants him to be impressed with her culinary skills; possibly believes the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’

  ‘You’re being too hard, Madeleine. She is just being friendly. Anyway, it’s not as though we are short of food.’

  ‘If you believe she is merely being friendly then you’ll believe anything. She is a pretty woman – a lonely and pretty woman – and that is a dangerous combination. What if he is encouraging her?’

  ‘Rose is not Andrew’s type.’

  I thought that was a puerile comment and said so. In my opinion, any woman is the type for any man who lives alone. Men can be particularly vulnerable, especially these days when they’re in such short supply with every second woman hurling herself at them. ‘Anyway, if you’re convinced Andrew is not interested in Rose, I intend writing to Genevieve tonight to tell her to come home as soon as possible. I’d have written before but I’ve been too busy getting your home into some sort of suitable order. Genevieve would be perfect for Andrew; I’m certain of it.’

  ‘You are overdramatising, Madeleine. I am utterly convinced that nothing is going on between Andrew and Rose. I will never understood why it is that women can never rest until they see a happy, carefree bachelor encumbered with a wife.’

  ‘Encumbered is not a word I would use. Women are well aware that men are never really happy when they are single.’

  I could see that Tom was tempted to pursue that discussion; however, he simply did his usual thing and picked up the newspaper again.

  *

  That night I wrote the following letter to Genevieve.

  My dear Genevieve,

  This may come as a great shock to you. Someone you know who was reported missing presumed killed has turned up alive and well months after the Armistice. He was in a civilian gaol in Germany. So you see, Genevieve, I wasn’t so stupid when I waited until well after the war before accepting Charlie’s death – miracles do happen. Although they didn’t happen to me. Anyway, that’s water under the bridge.

  Andrew Osborne wrote to Tom a few weeks ago and is at present living at Bellara in the McCann cottage. He is no longer in the Army and is giving Tom a hand. Tom hopes he will stay and become manager. I’m certain that won’t happen and expect him to go looking for his own place when he believes he has gained enough experience.

  Coincidentally, I first met Andrew on the voyage to Australia, although neither of us was aware of the connection with Tom.

  Now, I think it would be a good idea if you come back here. We probably need a nursing sister at our own hospital in town. More importantly, though, I suspect Andrew is the sort of man who would appeal to you – the right age, highly presentable and charming.

  Genevieve, as Tom is always saying, ‘Seize the day.’ I believe someone like Andrew will soon catch the attention of the young women around here. In fact I have noticed that already Rose is showing considerable interest.

  Remember, Genevieve, our house is your house; besides I’ve been hoping you’d be available to help me out because we are having a baby. Can you imagine me with a baby? I can’t. Already I am the size of a house and not yet four months. The doctor says it is possible I could be having twins, although he doubts it, having only heard one foetal heart beat. Anyway, it’s probably too early to tell. Tom doesn’t believe I am having twins. He says there is no history of twins in the Howard family and the reason I am so large is that I never stop eating. It’s possible that I am slightly over-eating – nothing much else to do.

  The thing is; I have to tell you, I am terrified of the whole business. I’ve never been good with babies and suspect that, like my mother, I might be rather short on maternal instinct. Please come home. I need you.

  Love as always, Madeleine.

  CHAPTER 27

  GENEVIEVE

  I was dead-tired, had just had a very heavy day. My employers were members of a wealthy family whose eighty-year-old widowed mother had fallen and broken her hip. I was looking after her in the family home. We were good friends and I enjoyed my job, but that day my patient had a stroke and was rushed to hospital. I, of course, accompanied her. She died on my shift just a few hours after admission.

  So, I was late getting back to the Chelsea, didn’t look at the letter rack, didn’t talk to anybody – just went to bed. The following morning, with no job to go to, I stayed in bed until late, and spent the time thinking seriously about the future. Alistair and I had been horse-riding together the previous weekend. He, having been a country boy, was an adept rider, as of course I was.

  Everything we did together worked. His family owned a place at Palm Beach, and one weekend we stayed there and fished. We caught at least a dozen flathead that we cooked on the barbecue. Being with Alistair was always a delight. Why was I hesitating? I did want to marry him, and that’s what I would tell him the next time we met.

  Then I came downstairs and saw Madeleine’s letter, took it with me on my walk through the park, sat on the park bench and read it. My heartbeat accelerated. I was actually shaking all over and hardly able to believe the words I read. The thought of Andrew alive and at Bellara was almost impossible to comprehend. I had to see him.

  With a tinge of guilt, I thought about Alistair, and that’s when my self-deception began. How opportune that Madeleine’s letter came while I was between patients. I decided to take a short break, leaving tomorrow. I wouldn’t be letting Alistair down, just going away for a week or so. I told myself that Alistair would understand how obliged I was to meet an old friend who had miraculously survived the war. And, after my return to Sydney, I decided I would not keep Alistair waiting any longer.

  I raced to the post office to send a telegram to Madeleine: ‘Coming home short break [Stop] Arriving tomorrow dinner.’

  I then rang Alistair in his surgery to explain my patient had died and that I would be going home for a short break. I couldn’t keep the other news to myself, and my voice probably sounded animated. ‘It’s absolutely amazing, Alistair. A friend whom we thought was dead has survived the war and is actually at Bellara at this very moment.’

  ‘How interesting,’ Alistair said. ‘Is he well?’

  ‘I believe so. I’ll ring you as soon as I return.’

  I recall he said, ‘Very well, Genevieve.’ He sounded quite serious. Presumably he was with a patient.

  *

  In those days, ladies didn’t often travel alone long distances in a car, but I was so excited and anxious to go that it never occurred to me to invite one of my elderly friends at the Chelsea to journey with me to Orange. Anyway I wanted just to be alone with my anticipation. Had he changed? I guessed so; we had all changed. Did he ever think of me?

  I left the following morning. It was an eight-hour journey, and the weather did not look promising. While driving, I tried to remember every small detail of Andrew’s appearance. Grey eyes, and dark brown hair. And there was that warm smile, responsive, attentive, interested in everything I had to say – not that there’d been any opportunity to say very much. We’d only had two or three hours in Egypt almost five years ago and a further few hours in Calais two years later; no, not a lot to remember. What on earth could have happened to Andrew after we met in France?

  The rain began about seventy miles short of my destination, midway between Lithgow and Bathurst. Soon it was sheeting down. I decided to stop for a break before starting on the final half of my journey.

  It wasn’t possible to think about Andrew or anybody else during those last hours on the road. The visibility was appalling, and it was necessary to concentrate hard on driving. The weather worsened the further west I drove. It was past six o’clock when I reached journey’s end and as dark as midnight. Drenched from frequently stopping to clear the windscreen and from poking my head through the window aperture to look for pot holes, I was shivering with co
ld. My shoes and skirt wet and spattered with mud; wet hair clung to my face. My appearance was the last thing on my mind. With teeth chattering, my only thought was to get inside the house and to dry off standing near to our big, open fire. Orange is always cold in winter, and that day it was freezing. I pulled up, jumped out of the car, raced up the steps on to the veranda and dashed through the unlocked front door.

  ‘Here, at last, drenched to the skin and starving to death.’

  I burst into the sitting room where the three of them were having a drink before the meal. Andrew was the first person I saw. He looked a little older, but the smile was the same. He stood up. I rushed over to him; took his hands in mine. ‘I am so delighted to see you again, Andrew.’ Then I stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Tom said you were dead.’

  Tom defended himself. ‘Everyone said he was dead.’

  ‘Well, thank God everyone was wrong. I’m very happy to see you, too, Genevieve. You’re looking well.’

  ‘No, she’s not; she looks like a drowned rat.’ Madeleine heaved herself out of her chair. ‘Come with me at once, darling, you need a bath and a change of clothing before you catch your death.’

  Madeleine took my hand and led the way to her bedroom. ‘I just hope the dinner doesn’t spoil. Give Andrew another drink, Tom,’ she said. ‘I saw the doctor yesterday. He says he will be surprised if it’s twins. And it might be a good idea if I cut down on morning and afternoon tea.’

  ‘I expect Tom is delighted at the thought of becoming a father.’

  ‘Tom isn’t delighted about anything these days.’

  I didn’t want to hear that the marriage wasn’t going well. ‘I have heard the first year of marriage can be difficult – people getting used to each other, learning to think of the needs of their spouse, lots of personal adjustments are required.’

  ‘Yes, it is hard. I hope it gets better. Anyway, I don’t want to think about that just now. Why don’t you wear one of my dresses? Most of them are nice, and I won’t be wearing them for months.’

  I appreciated the offer and wanted her to choose. I had a quick bath; Madeleine chose a cream soft jersey cut simply and elegantly. It was very flattering and probably cost a small fortune. The label said Coco Chanel Paris.

  ‘That’s better,’ Madeleine said. ‘I think Andrew will like that.’

  I protested that I hadn’t changed just to please Andrew.

  ‘Didn’t you? I thought you did.’

  When we walked back into the sitting room, Madeleine said, ‘She’s scrubbed up rather well, don’t you think, Andrew?’

  He looked uncomfortable. ‘I think Genevieve always looks pretty good.’

  ‘Get Genevieve a drink, Tom. She likes a little gin occasionally, don’t you, darling? And then, Tom, come with me and see how burnt the dinner is.’ Tom poured me a gin and orange, then followed Madeleine into the dining room.

  Despite my initial pleasure and spontaneous greeting at first seeing Andrew, when Madeleine and Tom left the room I felt constrained by being left alone with him. What does one say to a very special man who has reappeared just when I had made up my mind to marry another?

  ‘Madeleine says you are thinking of marrying. Is that so, Genevieve?’ asked Andrew.

  That was the last thing I wanted to talk about. I wished Madeleine hadn’t mentioned Alistair. ‘Not quite sure yet; it’s possible. I remember, Andrew, you once said you have two young sisters and that your father died when he was quite young, I think while you were at Gallipoli?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, but my mother is irrepressible. She bounced back from her grief and has thrown herself into voluntary work. Mostly she visits war widows trying to give them a hand. There’s some talk of us chaps forming an organisation to assist the wives of our dead mates.’

  ‘Sounds like an excellent idea.’ Then I imagined myself widowed and young. ‘Of course, nothing would make up for the loss of a young husband. I’ve thought of those widows often. I wonder what we can do apart from making sure that they don’t go without the necessities for life?’

  ‘I imagine the best thing would be to look around your own friends and make an effort to improve the quality of life of any widow you are acquainted with.’

  ‘Well, there’s Rose for a start.’

  ‘I was just going to mention Rose and her young son. She’s a very nice woman and obviously lonely. She often visits me, and I enjoy talking to her.’

  I knew it was petty and I had no right, but as he spoke I felt a small stab of jealousy. I remembered Madeleine’s letter in which she mentioned Rose’s interest in Andrew. And I recalled Rose’s own words, her desire to marry again. It was difficult to put the small sense of disquiet out of my mind and concentrate on the here and now.

  ‘What about you, Andrew, anyone special in your life?’ I had to know.

  ‘Not really. I met up with someone I’d known before the war. We had corresponded but as time passed our letters grew fewer and fewer. And when I returned I found we had little in common.’

  I’d spoken about that sort of situation to Alistair, and said to Andrew that I guessed that happens a lot as a result of being parted for so long.

  ‘Probably more the experience of war changing a person. I know I changed, although she didn’t.’

  ‘There must be some empathic women who are able to sense the needs of a person who is trying to deal with what they had to confront and do in the trenches.’

  He disagreed. ‘How could they? How could a girl, sheltered by her family and never having travelled, have the faintest idea about the rigours of war? Let’s change the subject, Genevieve. I am trying to put those years completely out of my mind.’

  Not that easy, I thought to myself. I asked him the reason for his sudden interest in farming.

  ‘Handling animals instead of people appeals to me and seeing things grow instead of being destroyed.’ A rather curt response; time to speak of other things. This, so far, wasn’t the way I’d imagined my reunion with Andrew.

  ‘I used to think I would like to come back to the country, but now I’m not so sure. There’s so much to interest one in the city, especially a city like Sydney. Beaches, harbour and not only that, theatres with local and international performers. Last week we went to see Nellie Melba – what a voice!’

  ‘Yes, I always enjoy going back to Sydney. I lived there for nearly twenty years, and that’s where my family live. Now, I am fairly certain I’d prefer to live in the country.’

  Our conversation was stilted. We were behaving like strangers; my thoughts were confused. I wanted to say things such as, ‘I often think about our meeting at Calais and the few hours we had together’ and ‘I remember our meeting in Egypt’, but I couldn’t because dancing around in my brain were images of Alistair. Alistair masked and gowned in theatres on the hospital ships; Alistair revealing the depth of his sorrow after his wife died; Alistair laughing at my startled reaction when I caught my first fish. How could I even think of betraying him?

  Madeleine called us into dinner. The dining room was dimly lit. The only light emanated from the candelabra at the table centre. Tom complained as we sat down. ‘I like to see what I am eating.’

  ‘I am creating a romantic atmosphere, although you probably can’t remember what that is.’ Madeleine was being unnecessarily edgy – perhaps she was simply tired. Maybe she realised she sounded rather like a scold. She began speaking of other matters. ‘All I can say is thank heavens I didn’t put Rose’s steak and kidney pie into the oven early. It would have been burnt to a cinder.’

  ‘Delicious pie, Madeleine. Please tell Rose how much we enjoyed it,’ Andrew murmured.

  ‘Yes, excellent pastry; Rose has always been a good cook – unlike me.’ But then, not wanting to pursue the subject of Rose’s attributes, I changed the topic of conversation and asked Tom how were things going at Bellara. He said that all was going well, largely thanks to Andrew. Tom said he needed a manager and he’d found the best and that he was trying
to persuade Andrew to stay at least for a year or two.

  ‘What do you think about that, Andrew?’

  ‘Mightn’t be a bad idea. Tom’s a good instructor.’

  ‘What Andrew needs is a wife. Then he might consider staying longer. Men shouldn’t live alone.’ Madeleine was adamant.

  There was a prolonged silence until Andrew began talking about cricket. The English team was due in Australia at the end of the year and would be here for a long summer, then Australia was going to England. Apparently Andrew loved cricket; already the Australian team had been to England in 1919 only a few months after the Armistice. Madeleine was clearly bored; she yawned, made her apologies and went to bed. Tom being Tom stayed around for another hour or so. I thought he would never go. So far, it had been an unsatisfactory reunion with Andrew. I hoped to have a few moments alone with him during which I could discover whether we still had any special feelings for one another, although I did understand that Andrew might be reluctant to talk of more personal matters because of my relationship with Alistair.

  Andrew said he would go as it was getting late and I’d be tired after my long drive. Not wanting him to leave just yet, I told him I liked a cup of tea before going to bed and asked whether he would stay and have one with me. He said, ‘Of course.’

  Already, I must have known deep down that I was far more interested in Andrew than I’d ever been in Alistair. We talked about inconsequential things, but I wasn’t going to leave matters like that. I said I would like to see the McCann house and how it had been done up.

  ‘You’re most welcome.’ He was talking to me as if I was a stranger, and I had an awful empty feeling inside because from the moment I saw him five hours before he had, without knowing it, stirred in me such feelings of longing; the sort of feelings that I thought I would never have again and that I hadn’t had since 1917. I remembered saying to Alistair that I no longer felt passion and wondered if I lost the ability to feel deeply because of various things that happened during the war. I now realised that wasn’t true at all.