‘What are you thinking about, Mum? You look so far away,’ Daisy asked.
‘I was thinking about how much we have all changed.’
‘And Miro most of all,’ Daisy retorted. ‘He’s really dishy. Have you seen his girlfriend yet?’
‘Not yet,’ Helen said. ‘I’m longing to meet her. Where’s Mike?’
‘He’s taken Paul to the airport to fetch his friend.’
‘The friend who is going to be godfather?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do I know him?’
‘I think you’ve met him,’ Daisy answered. ‘They’ll be back quite soon. Mum, why don’t you put on something pretty . . . please.’
‘I don’t bother about pretty anymore.’
‘For me, Mum. I want to show you off back home. Mike’s going to take photographs. You look wonderful. You don’t look a day over thirty. Did you know that? I’m sure you’ll marry again.’
‘Don’t be silly. No one looks at someone who’s crippled. Besides, I would never be able to . . .’ She broke off. Now was not the time to remember Simon.
‘But you can walk now.’
‘Only slowly and with a stick.’
‘But it’s a miracle, don’t you think so?’
‘Yes. I do . . . and I hope I will continue to improve.’
‘Do you ever think about Simon?’
‘That’s forbidden territory, Daisy. I try to keep my mind on my studies.’
‘OK. Sorry.’
Daisy got up, rinsed her hands under the tap, and hugged Helen. ‘I think you’re wonderful, Mum. You’re the best mother in the world. I remember you had such a pretty blouse . . . thin Swiss cotton in blue and violet. Do you still have it?’
‘Yes, would you like to have it?’
‘No, Mum. I want you to wear it. And let your hair down. These pictures will be all I have . . . since you won’t give in and come to live with us.’ She sighed dramatically.
‘I’ll come for holidays,’ Helen promised. ‘Are you lonely, Daisy?’
‘No. I have lots of friends, but I miss you, Mum.’
‘I miss you, too, but that’s life, endless growth and change. If you want me at my best for the photograph I’ll have to go and wash my hair. See you later.’
While she was washing and drying her hair, she heard Irwin practicing with the new violin Miro had bought him, the price had put the boy in hock for years. Irwin was to play tonight at the party, together with Miro and the small band they had hired.
He switched to ‘String of Pearls’ and foolishly Helen allowed herself to listen and muse, but too many memories came with the melody. Please stop, she wanted to call down to him, but how could she? Instead she switched on the radio.
All at once a fearful suspicion came to mind, sending her into panic mode. Just who was this friend who would be Paul’s godfather? She wasn’t sure . . . she didn’t know . . . so why was she so fearful? She hadn’t felt like this since the air raids and her fear would not go away. It felt as if doom lurked just around the corner, waiting to demolish her world. She heard Daisy running a bath, so she dressed hastily and crept down to the kitchen.
The catering staff were bringing in boxes of food and Ada was keeping an eye on them. ‘Ada, please . . . I need to get out. I’m going for a walk. Make excuses for me. If anyone asks, tell them I felt like some fresh air.’
‘Where shall I say you’ve gone?’
‘Anywhere . . . any place. Make up something. I want to be alone.’
Seeking out the flat, safe ground, Helen crossed the garden to the woods, hoping that no one saw her from the windows. She had not been here for a very long time. The path was overgrown with brambles and clumps of wild parsley. Blackthorn and hawthorn trees formed impenetrable barriers. She had to make detours and push the branches out of her way, scattering squirrels and birds. A fox stood astride the path ahead of her, as if in shock, before fleeing. She kept going, feeling dazed and confused, so at first she did not recognize the folly, for it was half-covered with ivy.
Negotiating the slippery stone step up to the door, she pushed hard and it opened with creaks and groans to a room that was thick with dust and bird droppings. Several starlings bolted through a hole in the roof. What a mess! The old cane chair was still there. She thumped it on the floor to shake off the dust, and pulled it to the doorway so she could sit in it for a while and pull herself together.
The sea was turquoise and calm and she could hear the waves lapping on the shore. Panic receded as the sun warmed her. Now she could get to grips with the cause of her fear.
Who exactly was the friend that Mike was fetching and why had they waited so long for him to get leave? Who could be that important to them both? Why did Daisy care what she wore, or how she looked? Taking photographs was not an adequate excuse since they had both taken dozens of snaps since they arrived. Could it be Simon? What if he were married? How could she bear the pain?
If I loved him I would want him to be happy, she told herself. Love is not selfish, not real love. Did I expect him to go through life a bachelor just because of a wartime affair? So why was her stomach churning?
She should go back, but she knew that she could not. She tried to recall Mike’s many friends, but why would any of them be coming from Nuremberg? The wind was coming up, gulls were circling and crying below. Helen shivered, but remained gazing out to sea, feeling quite incapable of moving or going home.
She was distracted by the sound of branches cracking, footsteps were approaching. She saw a flash of khaki through the branches, black hair burnished by sunlight, a loping walk, arms swinging – every expression and every mood was deeply loved. Look at him now, brow furrowed, lips pressed together, the way he had always looked when there was something tough he had to face up to. Simon squatted on the step beside her and glared at the sea. He was steeling himself to say something, but he looked so fierce and so very determined.
Whatever it is, I’ll take it on the chin, she promised herself. No more running away. She forced a smile and bravely waited for the verdict.
String of Pearls Page 33