Although they no longer lived as man and wife, he was still a dear friend for whom she nurtured a tenderness of sorts, and a deep and abiding pity. They were united at least in their loss. Livia grieved for a much-loved sister, suffering from the nostalgia of what might have been, while Jack had lost the future he’d hoped to have with Mercy.
And Livia had heard not a single word about Matthew in all this time. She had no idea whether he was dead or alive, had received no news either way. Yet if he had been alive, surely she would have heard from him? It seemed somehow intrusive to call at his home in Windermere and ask. She rather thought his mother would consider it none of Livia’s concern.
Now the war was over at last. Yesterday, an armistice had been declared and the streets of every town had echoed with celebration. A new future beckoned and Livia hadn’t the first idea what that might be, but some decision about this sham of a marriage must be made sooner or later.
The sound of creaking bed springs came from the back room. Jack was waking, and Livia went into the kitchen to brew tea and prepare a dish of warming porridge, which she had simmering on the stove.
Later, as she sat watching Jack eat it, thankful that he’d made such a good recovery and was coping well now, despite the loss of an arm, he turned his head to find her looking at him, and grinned.
‘You don’t have to nursemaid me, you know. I can manage perfectly well to eat breakfast on my own. I’m not a baby needing feeding. I can even dress myself now.’
Livia smiled. ‘I know you can, and I’m very proud of your progress, but I like to feel useful and fuss over you a bit.’
Jack frowned. ‘There’s really no need. I’m sure there are better things you could do with your time than wait on me, hand, foot and finger. I don’t need your help or your fussing, don’t even want it, Livvy. How many times have I told you this?’
Livia smiled. ‘I know. You’re strong now, and fully recovered.’
‘I am. What I can’t get used to is having you hanging around the house all day. It doesn’t seem quite right somehow.’
‘I always thought that was what you wanted.’
He gave a rueful smile. ‘So did I, but it doesn’t suit you, Livvy. I can’t bear to see you sitting twiddling your thumbs, doing nothing. Bored and unhappy. It isn’t you.’
Livia stood up and at once started to stack plates, for all there were very few. Washing them would take exactly five minutes, the tiny cottage less than an hour to clean, and what she would do with the rest of her day she hadn’t the first idea. The same as every other, she supposed, nothing much beyond reading her library books and darning socks. But these conversations, which took place more and more often, tended to make her feel uncomfortable. She was doing her best by him, what more could she do? Why couldn’t Jack see that she was only trying to make reparation?
As if reading her thoughts, Jack took her hand and pulled her back into her chair. ‘I don’t blame you for what happened, Livvy, not for losing our child, for the failure of our marriage, nothing. We’ve both made mistakes. I never should have forced you down the aisle in the first place, when really we should have gone our separate ways and called it a day. And to be honest, I wasn’t quite as faithful a husband as I should have been.’
Livia gave him a quizzical look. ‘Not Dolly?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘I didn’t, it just came to me now. She did behave rather oddly for a while, and I thought there might be some fellow in her life. I didn’t realise it was you.’
‘It was just a fling.’
‘And not the only one?’
‘Afraid not. And I do understand now that joining the fight for women’s franchise was something you had to do. And you’ve been successful, at least in part. I read in the Westmorland Gazette that all women aged thirty and over will be given the vote.’
‘Yes, it’s excellent news but not enough,’ Livia quickly put in. ‘It should be the same as men, from the age of twenty-one.’
Jack laughed. ‘There you go again, never satisfied, but I’m sure you’ll win that too, in time. Meanwhile, celebrate your victory, you deserve it. But you need to think about our own future. We both should. We can’t go on like this, Livvy.’
‘I realise that.’
He gave her hand a little squeeze. ‘Why don’t you ask if you can go back to the store? If Grayson isn’t there to look after it properly, somebody needs to. I’m sure they’d be glad of your help.’
She looked at him, a small dawning of hope starting up deep inside. The prospect of life without Matthew was something she couldn’t bring herself to contemplate. Each and every night she prayed for him, hoping to wake and learn that he was well and back home. Livia knew it was little more than a dream. He would have been in touch by now if he’d survived. But if she somehow had to learn to live without him, perhaps working at the store would help her to deal with her grief. ‘You wouldn’t mind?’
‘I’d welcome not having you hovering over me every minute of the day.’
‘I gave up all rights to Angel’s when I sold it to Matthew. But I promise to at least think about it.’ She pressed a kiss on his brow. ‘Thank you, Jack. You’re a good friend.’
He chortled with delight. ‘Lousy husband though.’
‘I can’t claim to have been a good wife either.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. You haven’t done too badly. But whatever the future holds, we can stay friends at least, can’t we?’
She kissed him again. ‘We certainly can.’
* * *
As always, the first thing Livia noticed about the store was the window. It looked wonderful. Christmas was again just around the corner, and someone had brought out the old fireplace and the tree with golden baubles, Santa’s sledge and a sack of toys. Livia smiled to herself as she recalled how she’d fought with Matthew to make these changes from the jumbled display it had once been. At one time she’d been passionate to save this store from bankruptcy and the staff from penury. Perhaps she’d succeeded, with Matthew’s help.
But was there a role for her there now?
Still Livia hesitated, wondering how she would feel about working at the store without Matthew. Could she cope, or would the memory of losing him be too painful? Her life seemed to be full of loss, and unbearably painful. Yet she owed it to him to go on, to put all her energy back into keeping this place going, if only because of all it had meant to them both, and how it had brought them together.
With new resolve, she pushed open the door and walked inside.
This time there was no Mr Tolson, the severe-looking chief floorwalker, to meet her and steer her to a counter. Instead, the entire establishment seemed to be buzzing with people: county ladies and factory girls, men, women and children, old and young. Customers of every class and age were happily drifting from counter to counter of their own choice and free will, choosing goods, asking advice of the assistants, who were smartly dressed in grey and burgundy, and money seemed to be changing hands with pleasing regularity.
It all felt very strange, and Livia was filled with a sudden attack of nerves. Who should she speak to? Miss Caraway? Mrs Dee? Oh dear, perhaps this had been a dreadful mistake. She took a step back and then the strangest thing happened.
One assistant at a counter sited by the door must have noticed her, and word quickly spread that she was here, for suddenly shop girls in their smart new uniforms were appearing everywhere, at the top of the stairs, coming from behind every counter, filling the aisles, and amazingly, they began to clap. Smiling with delight, they were applauding her.
Then suddenly there was Miss Caraway, looking almost benign in soft grey, and Mrs Dee, in a neat tailored costume, the scarlet petticoats quite gone, but her face as warm and friendly as ever.
‘Welcome home, Madam. Welcome home! We are so very pleased to see you.’
Warm hands were grasping hers, arms coming about her to hold her close in a tight hug, and with tears rolling down her cheeks, Livia submitted
to their embrace.
* * *
Returning to the store proved to be a good thing. Livia began to slowly feel almost human again, and better able to cope with that hollow sense of loss and pain that lay in the pit of her stomach. She knew she would never get over losing either Matthew or Mercy, any more than she’d recovered from Maggie’s tragic death. These people she’d loved would always be a part of her, but at least she’d found a way of moving forward, of coping.
Jack, too, was pleased for her, told Livia how much better she was looking. They continued to muddle on as best they could, and then one day he came to her and told her that he was leaving.
‘I met this nice little nurse when I was in hospital, and she called to see me the other day. We’d kept in touch, writing regularly. She lives in Broadstairs, as a matter of fact, and she wants me to go with her and help her set up a nursing home for injured soldiers and sailors, so I thought I would. You don’t mind, do you, Livvy? There’s nothing for me here, and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to give you a divorce.’
And so Jack had gone, with her blessing, and Livia was quite alone. She still had Ella, of course, whom she visited regularly. But her sister was busy with her own life, her happy family and the farm. Being able to immerse herself again in the business of stock-taking and ordering had been Livia’s salvation.
There was a peremptory rap upon the door. As always late in the day, Livia was totting up the day’s takings, making entries into the accounts book and checking the petty cash. Particularly now, with Christmas just two weeks away.
‘Come in,’ she called, without looking up.
‘I’d heard that you’d wheedled your way back into your old job.’
Livia looked up in startled surprise. ‘Mrs Grayson, I’m so sorry, no one informed me you were on the premises.’
‘I asked them not to. May I sit?’
‘Please do, I beg your pardon, I seem to have quite forgotten my manners. May I pour you a small sherry?’ Without waiting for a reply, Livia did so. As she handed it to the older woman she attempted to put matters right. ‘I am aware that I have been somewhat dilatory about informing you that I’d taken up this post again. Miss Caraway and Mrs Dee, who, as you know, Matthew left in charge, were both in favour of my returning to my old duties.’
‘I am aware of the arrangements my son made. It was, in fact, Mrs Dee who informed me that you had returned. The staff seem delighted.’
Livia was suddenly filled with uncertainty. She’d never got on particularly well with this formidable woman, and perhaps Imelda Grayson would see her presence here as interference. ‘I hope it doesn’t create a problem for you?’
Mrs Grayson took a sip of her sherry. ‘Ah, nice and dry. Excellent! I do so hate sweet sherry. Well, in all honesty I have to say that my own opinion on the subject is quite by the way.’
‘Then you have no objection?’ Livia let out a sigh of relief. She was in no position to buy back the store, the money she’d got from the sale having gone to settle the last of her late father’s debts, so had Mrs Grayson, presumably now Angel’s new owner, taken a dislike to her presence, she would have felt compelled to leave forthwith. Perhaps that’s why she’d prevaricated about telling her.
‘No objection whatsoever. But perhaps you should have got permission first.’
Livia actually felt herself blushing. This woman always seemed to catch her at a bad moment. ‘I’m sure you’re right. I overstepped the mark by not speaking to you on the subject, and I apologise.’
‘Oh, it’s not my permission you need, it’s my son’s. You may not be aware of this, but Matthew was bombed while in a dugout, following which he’s been held as a prisoner of war for the last two years. The experience has taken its toll, naturally, but he is making remarkably good progress. I’m quite certain that your presence back in his life will ensure that he makes a full recovery.’ And for the first time the woman actually smiled.
Livia was utterly astounded, unable to believe her own ears. ‘You’re saying he’s alive?’
‘Very much so, and longing to see you. I hear that ne’er-do-well husband of yours has finally taken his leave?’
‘Jack – yes. He lost an arm, but yes, he’s fine now, and is to move to Broadstairs.’
‘Excellent! Far enough away to be no trouble at all.’ The woman spoke as if she’d engineered the whole thing herself. ‘All it needs, then, is for you to go to Matthew. Why don’t you do that now? He’s waiting for you outside in the motor car. I should warn you that you’ll find him changed. No lost limbs and he can walk and talk, but his hearing and sight are not what they were. Some burns, too. I told him that such handicaps would be unlikely to trouble you.’
‘Oh, not in the least. I love him so much.’
The older woman chuckled. ‘I do realise that, although it has taken me a while to admit it. But hadn’t you better say all of this to him?’
Livia ran to do just that, then hastily skipped back to place a kiss on the older woman’s paper-dry cheek. ‘Thank you, thank you so much.’
Five seconds later she was running through the store, burst out of the front door and fell into Matthew’s waiting arms.
‘Just one thing,’ he said, when they finally took a breath from the kissing.
‘What is that, my darling?’ She could hardly take her eyes from his beloved face, had to keep touching him to convince herself that he really was here, alive and well and in her arms.
‘You will marry me this time, won’t you?’
‘Oh, gladly. No more running away, I swear.’
By Freda Lightfoot
House of Angels
Angels at War
The Promise.
About the Author
FREDA LIGHTFOOT gave up her thermals and keeping sheep and hens in the Lake District to build a house in an olive grove in Spain, where she produces her own olive oil. She is the author of over thirty novels, many of them bestsellers.
To find out more about Freda’s books, visit her website www.fredalightfoot.co.uk and sign up to receive her regular e-newsletter.
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
13 Charlotte Mews
London W1T 4EJ
www.allisonandbusby.com
Hardcover published in Great Britain in 2010.
Paperback edition published 2011.
This ebook edition first published in 2011.
Copyright © 2010 by FREDA LIGHTFOOT
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–1069–0
Angels at War Page 29