The Secret Years

by Barbara Hannay

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on in a moment when I catch my breath, but take a seat, Lucy.’

  Primrose seated herself with some difficulty, and Lucy felt compelled to ask, ‘Can I make the tea for you?’

  ‘Well, thank you, dear. We’ll see. I have a daily help, but I gave her the morning off so we can have a good chat in private. The cottage is so small, you see. But there’s an electric jug, so the tea can be done in a flash. But first, tell me, how is your mother?’

  ‘Oh.’ Lucy had been so intent on the questions she would ask, she was slightly taken aback. She would have liked to say that Ro sent Primrose her love, but her strict sense of honesty prevailed. ‘She’s very well, thanks. She’s just moved into a lovely inner-city apartment.’

  ‘Oh, how nice for her. Does she live alone?’

  ‘No, she has a partner, a new partner, actually. A very nice man.’

  Primrose smiled. ‘That’s good to hear. I’ve often wondered how she was. I wrote to her a few times after she went back to Australia. Oh, it would be years and years ago now, but I only ever received brief replies. There was never much information.’

  ‘I know what that’s like,’ said Lucy. ‘Every time I’ve asked Mum about the time she spent here, she’s clammed up.’

  ‘That’s probably because she was so unhappy here.’ Primrose gave a sad shake of her head. ‘The poor girl hated being taken away from her father and her home. She did everything she could to be sent back to Australia, or at least that’s how it always appeared to me, looking in from the outside. She was smart enough to get herself into plenty of trouble.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Lucy felt suddenly very sorry for her mum.

  ‘Of course, her Aunt Alice never gave an inch to anyone,’ Primrose added sourly. ‘Alice foolishly tried to change Rosie, to turn her into an upper-class English girl. Hounded her about her table manners and was always inspecting her hair, her teeth, her fingernails; correcting the way Rosie spoke. She even tried to change her accent, for heaven’s sake.’

  Lucy’s sympathy for her mother’s plight deepened.

  ‘Anyway, I have my breath back now and I should be serving you a cup of tea.’

  ‘Please, let me do it.’ Lucy didn’t want the poor woman struggling to her feet again. ‘You should stay there where you’re comfortable.’

  ‘Very well. Thank you, Lucy, dear. Everything’s there on the kitchen table and there’s a tray.’

  Lucy was used to making tea with Harry, who often liked it in the old-fashioned way in a teapot, so she was quite at home, warming the pot and spooning in tea leaves. She set the delicate porcelain cups and saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl on the tray, as well as a plate with slices of bright golden cake laden with fruit that was standing ready under a rectangular glass cover. She brought an extra plate for the shortbread.

  ‘Would you like napkins?’ she called to Primrose.

  ‘Yes, please. They’re in the top right-hand drawer of the dresser.’

  The napkins were beautiful cream linen with delicately crocheted edgings. Mum would love all this now, Lucy thought.

  Primrose was on her feet when Lucy carried the tray back into the sitting room.

  ‘Let’s have the tea at the dining table,’ she said. ‘I don’t manage juggling cups and plates on my lap very well these days.’

  In the adjoining dining room there was a round table set into a deep bay window. A bowl of pink, white and yellow roses sat on the windowsill and another smaller fire burned in the grate.

  ‘How lovely,’ Lucy said as she set the tray down. She saw that Primrose was now carrying, with some difficulty, a thick book that looked like a photo album.

  ‘It will be easier to look at photographs while we’re at the table,’ Primrose said.

  ‘Perfect.’ Lucy grinned at her. She couldn’t wait to see what the album contained.

  They settled to enjoy their tea. Lucy poured, which was just as well, as Primrose’s hands were so shaky she needed both of them just to hold her cup steady.

  ‘Make sure you try some of this cake,’ Primrose said. ‘Your mother used to love it whenever she visited me. It’s traditional Cornish saffron cake.’

  ‘Mmm, yum,’ Lucy murmured as she sampled a bite. It was like a rich fruity bun with a hint of spice. ‘Almost as good as a Cornish pasty,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, we Cornish like our food.’

  But it wasn’t long before the tea things were pushed aside so they could get down to the important business of examining the photo album.

  ‘There are quite a few photos of Georgina,’ Primrose said. ‘All taken before the war, when she was still quite young.’

  Eagerly, Lucy scanned a snap of a group of young people all mounted on horses, grinning and looking carefree. She found her grandmother in the group straight away, as well as a laughing girl with big dark eyes and flyaway curly hair. ‘Is this you?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Primrose smiled.

  ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘Well, thank you, dear. Such a long time ago. Can you pick out Georgina?’

  ‘Here.’ Lucy pointed to George, the slim girl with wavy, jaw-length hair and a more cautious smile. No, cautious wasn’t quite the word. There was definite amusement lurking in her eyes, even though she looked more serious than the others.

  ‘This is her, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Georgina, and this is Alice, her sister.’

  ‘And the young men?’

  ‘This was my brother Michael. The others were neighbours. Arthur and Geoffrey Torrington.’

  Over the page there were more photos of the same group of young people enjoying themselves in the outdoors – playing tennis, hiking on the moor in sturdy boots and with dogs in tow, horse riding, swimming. In each photograph Lucy sought out George and she was relieved to see that she was quite often smiling or laughing – although there was always something in her expression, a hint of gravity, perhaps.

  It was a fanciful thought, but Lucy wondered if George had somehow sensed that these carefree days of youthful fun were numbered and that war was just around the corner.

  ‘Oh, this looks like Kynance Cove,’ she said as they turned the page to a photo of the group gathered on a sandy beach at the base of a tall cliff. They were all dressed in old-fashioned swimsuits.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Primrose. ‘We went down there for a picnic in Geoff Torrington’s new car. It was such a beautiful summer’s day and all so exciting.’ The old lady gazed at the photo with a wistful smile, as if she could remember it clearly, almost as if she was back there in her mind, clambering down the rocky path to the sun-filled beach, carting picnic baskets, hats, bottles of ginger beer and towels. ‘Have you been there, dear?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy said. ‘Nick Myatt took me down there last week.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Primrose’s eyes shone with noticeable interest and Lucy found herself struggling not to blush. She had no idea how the gossip chain worked in this part of the world. ‘It’s a beautiful stretch of coastline,’ she said quickly, hoping she sounded quite calm and collected. ‘So dramatic.’

  Under Primrose’s curious gaze she felt her cheeks grow hotter. Worried that she might give herself away to this rather perceptive old lady, she turned another page of the album. Now, the photos were suddenly indoors and all very formal.

  ‘Oh, this is when we made our debut,’ Primrose said, pointing to a photo of herself and George in long white gowns with tight gloves reaching up to their elbows and lovely corsages pinned to their shoulders.

  ‘You both look so glamorous. Look at your hair, Primrose. You look like film stars.’

  Primrose sighed. ‘That wretched season was quite an ordeal. Such a fuss at the time, being presented to the King and Queen, and then the endless parties and dances.’ She tapped the photo of George with a knobbly finger. ‘I wouldn’t have got through it without your grandmother.’

  ‘Really?’ This was an interesting revelation. ‘But it sounds like so much fun.
Weren’t you supposed to enjoy yourselves?’

  ‘Yes, of course we were, and a lot of girls had a jolly good time but, unfortunately, my mother was a very nervy type and I was her only daughter. I had three brothers, you see. No sisters. And Mummy fussed and worried over every tiny detail of my debut. And then after each party she used to hold a post mortem.’ Primrose shuddered. ‘Oh, I won’t bore you with all that.’ With a sudden smile for Lucy, she added, ‘But I have to say Georgina was a wonderful help throughout the season. She was such a good friend.’

  She turned the page and her expression softened. ‘Everything was all right once I met Stephen, of course.’

  Now there were photos of Primrose with a young man. In one photo that caught Lucy’s eye especially, Primrose was wearing a very smart dark dress, beautifully tailored and fitted at the waist, then falling softly to just below her knees. She was also wearing a matching wide-brimmed hat that dipped rather elegantly at the front.

  Her handsome male companion had thick, light-brown hair combed back and parted in the middle. His eyes were light coloured too, probably blue, his jaw square, his smile warm, and he looked dashing in a stylishly cut double-breasted suit.

  ‘Wow, he looks hot,’ Lucy remarked with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Hot?’ Primrose laughed.

  ‘Handsome,’ Lucy amended.

  ‘Oh yes, Stephen was certainly handsome. I thought he was the most beautiful man alive. I met him at Georgina’s coming out party in Belgravia. I was so in love with him.’

  Seeing the unmistakable glow in Primrose’s eyes, Lucy held her breath, guessing that there must have been a sad end to this story.

  ‘He was killed in the early days of the war,’ Primrose said softly. ‘At Dunkirk.’

  ‘Oh, Primrose, I’m so sorry.’ Lucy felt a lump in her throat as she studied Stephen’s handsome, laughing face. ‘That must have been terrible. I can’t really imagine.’

  The old lady gave a little shrug, but Lucy could see that she was still very sad about her Stephen, after all these years.

  ‘I thought I might die of grief, but somehow I got through it,’ she said. ‘During the war we were all very busy. There was so much to do. I threw myself into running this estate. My father wasn’t well and my mother was a nervous wreck with all of my brothers away fighting, so really, it was up to me. I ran the farm with the help of a couple of girls from the Land Army. In those days we kept dairy cows and pigs and all kinds of vegetables, as well as the orchard.’

  ‘That must have been a huge job to tackle on your own.’

  ‘I enjoyed it,’ Primrose said simply.

  ‘Were you used to doing that kind of work?’

  ‘No, but we all had to adjust and to take on new challenges.’

  After a bit, Lucy ventured to ask, ‘Forgive me for being nosy, but you never met anyone else?’

  ‘Anyone else?’ A wistful faraway look came into Primrose’s eyes and Lucy feared she’d been impertinent, asking this question. But then Primrose flashed a smile that was almost saucy. ‘Oh, I’ve been taken off the shelf and dusted a few times.’ She gave another little shrug. ‘But I never met anyone else I wanted to marry.’

  Unexpectedly, Lucy thought of her mum again. She supposed Ro had been taken off the shelf and dusted a few times, too, but unlike Primrose, her mother had always convinced herself that each new man had to be The One.

  ‘Mum told me she got into trouble while she was over here,’ she said. ‘I think her exact words were “blotted her copybook”. But she’s never given details.’

  ‘That’s fair enough, isn’t it? Parents deserve to keep some secrets.’

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ Lucy admitted, although she still believed her mum had taken this secrecy to an unfair extreme.

  Watching her, Primrose said, ‘You know you are very like Harry.’

  Lucy accepted this not-so-subtle change of subject with a nod. ‘I hadn’t really noticed the resemblance until I saw a photo of Harry recently, taken when he was young, during the war.’

  ‘Which was when George met him, of course.’

  ‘Yes. I don’t suppose you know how they met, do you?’

  ‘Harry hasn’t told you?’

  ‘He’s so touchy about it all, I haven’t liked to ask.’

  After a moment’s consideration, Primrose said, ‘Well, I wasn’t on the scene. But the first time they met was in London, I believe, during the Blitz. I’m not quite sure of the exact circumstances, but George was in the army, in the Royal Army Service Corps, so perhaps they met at work.’

  ‘The army? Really?’ Fine hairs lifted on Lucy’s arms and she felt a prickle in her throat. Why had Harry never told her that her grandmother was in the army? And working in the Service Corps would have been much like her own job, working in logistics. To Lucy it felt so significant, a precious and important link.

  When she got home she would have to pin Harry down, make him tell her more.

  ‘Did you meet him then, as well?’ she asked, desperate for details, for anything really.

  ‘Not then. I didn’t meet Harry until after the war, when he came back to call on George.’ Primrose gave an expressive roll of her eyes. ‘The poor man got a terrible shock when he saw the size and grandeur of Penwall Hall. I think he was expecting a simple farm. And then, of course, George’s parents were at their frostiest with him.’

  ‘Yes, I believe the family could be quite snobbish.’

  ‘My dear, the senior Lentons made snobbery into an art form.’

  ‘But how romantic of Harry to come all this way to find George. What happened then? Was that when he asked her to marry him?’

  Primrose frowned. ‘The blasted man almost broke the poor girl’s heart.’

  23

  Georgina, curled in an armchair in Penwall Hall’s sitting room, was trying, rather futilely, to read Brideshead Revisited. The book had only been published the year before and it had caused quite a buzz in her circles. She knew she would enjoy it immensely if only she could concentrate on the page in front of her but today this was impossible.

  Harry was on his way from Australia. In fact, he was due to arrive at the Hall within the hour. She would have gone to the station to meet him, but her father had needed the car to travel to Truro on a business matter, so Harry was getting a taxi and she had to wait at home. She was almost sick with excitement.

  Such a long, punishing twelve months it had been since peace in the Pacific was finally declared. Georgina had been forced to strive for an almost intolerable level of patience.

  First, there had been her own long journey home. There were no hastily arranged flights for her at the end of the war as there had been when she’d flown from London to Canberra with Major Duffy. She had to board a crowded troop ship, travelling back to England via Malaya and Ceylon.

  She’d hated leaving Australia without having heard from Harry. At least she’d been able to track the movements of his unit while she’d been working in Canberra, and she knew that he’d fought in New Guinea at Kokoda and at Shaggy Ridge. This meant he’d been through some of the very worst and most desperate fighting of the war and she had no idea whether he’d survived.

  Miraculously, by the time she finally arrived home, a letter had been waiting on the hall table, addressed to her in Harry’s spiky script. Against all possible odds, he had not only survived, but was fit and well.

  Georgina had taken herself to the boathouse by the lake, hugging his letter close to her chest, while she wept and wept with relief.

  There was still more anxious waiting for her family, however, wondering fearfully about Cora and Teddy’s fate. But at last a telegram had arrived from the Red Cross in Japan informing them of the sad news that Lord Edward Harlow had died in New Guinea in 1942, but that Lady Cora Harlow was safe and well and being shipped to England from Tokyo.

  They were devastated to hear about Teddy, but at the same time it was an enormous relief to know that Cora had survived. And what a great moment of cele
bration it had been when at last her father had collected his sister from the Liverpool docks and brought her home to recuperate with them at the Hall.

  The first sight of Cora had shocked them dreadfully, though. Georgina’s formerly beautiful, elegant aunt had aged beyond recognition. Poor darling Cora was emaciated, her hair thin and snow white. Georgina and her mother had struggled to hide their emotions when they saw her.

  Over afternoon tea in the very sitting room where George waited for Harry now, Cora had told them about Teddy’s fate. Dry-eyed, straight-backed, she’d spoken quite bluntly.

  ‘When it came to the moment of reckoning, Teddy remained a true hero to the last. He refused to surrender, or even to bow to the Japanese, so they shot him. Right in front of me.’

  Georgina had seen enough in New Britain to be able to imagine her aunt’s ordeal in vivid detail. Poor Uncle Teddy. Poor Cora. She couldn’t bear it.

  ‘You might think Teddy was pigheaded or foolish,’ Cora said. ‘But he wasn’t very well, you see, and I know he was worried about being a burden to me if we were captured, so I think he was incredibly brave.’ Continuing in that same matter-of-fact, detached voice, she added, ‘I was lucky. I was packed off to Japan with a group of missionaries.’

  But what a terrible world it was, Georgina thought, when luck came down to being kept in a prison in Japan for three long years.

  After Cora’s return there had been difficult weeks of silence from Harry, and Georgina had been plagued by agonising uncertainty. She fretted that he’d forgotten her, that he’d never planned to make further contact, and there were times she felt certain she couldn’t last another moment without knowing where he was or how he felt about her now.

  When she’d sunk to her lowest ebb, another letter had arrived. Harry had written to say that he’d received all six of the letters that she’d sent to him, addressed simply to Kalkadoon Station, via Cloncurry, north Queensland.

  He’d written to explain that his brother, Jack, who had joined the Australian air force, had been killed in Borneo near the end of the war and his aging parents had been almost completely flattened by their son’s death. Understandably, there was a great deal for Harry to attend to at home. The cattle property had needed all kinds of attention and he’d been away in the bush, mustering and droving, for weeks on end.