Stracandra Island
Page 30
“I’ve told Mr Raines you are here and he won’t be long.”
“Thanks! Before you go...” Griselda prompted with her hand for the girl’s name.
“Oh! Laura,” the girl replied.
“Is there a Mrs Raines, Laura?”
“No! His wife was killed in the war in an air raid,” she replied solemnly, closing the door.
Sitting there alone Griselda had time to reflect over the last six years; the loss of life on all sides had been tremendous, her own country now lying in ruins, destroyed by the allied bombing, and also paying the price for its failure by being divided up between the victors. What had it all been for? Her eyes became tearful as she thought of her homeland and family.
The last thing on Matthew Raines’ mind as he locked the cellar door and hung the key on the hook behind the reception desk was for a former lover to be waiting for him, but opening the lounge door and going in and seeing just that literally stopped him in his tracks and rendered him speechless, but for one word – “Valerie.”
Griselda didn’t respond to the name but only smiled. “Hello Matthew! I believe you are looking for a waitress?”
He looked at her bemused. “Yes, I am! But you haven’t come about that, have you?” he said, sitting down opposite her. “So what have you come back for?”
Griselda frowned. “Because I think I owe you an explanation.”
“What kind of explanation – I don’t understand?” he said, sitting forward and clasping his hands together.
“Why I turned down your offer to stay, and why I had to leave when I did.”
Matt sighed. “You must have had your reasons, it was wartime.”
Griselda forced a weak smile for him being understanding of the circumstances and times they had been living in. “But my war was different.”
“Different! What do you mean by that remark?”
“All I can tell you is that I was intelligence gathering, I can’t say any more than that.”
He studied her for a moment to take in what she had said. “You mean MI5, and all that stuff, are you telling me you were working for them Valerie?”
Griselda thought deeply, to choose her words carefully, before answering. “Not to start with,” she paused before continuing. “I was operating for the other side Matthew, my name isn’t Valerie Turner, it’s Griselda Zweig – I’m German.”
Sitting back in his chair he looked at her in astonishment – “German!”
“Yes! I came to England before the war started as a ‘Sleeper’ and when the war began I was gathering information and sending it back to Germany.”
“So you were spying on us?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“So what happened?” he asked quietly.
“I was caught here in Manchester by the railway police who handed me over to Military Intelligence; after interrogating me they gave me the choice, either work for them, or face the alternative, and the rest is history, as they say.”
“So have you been back to Germany since the war finished?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t. I think I’m too ashamed too,” she answered looking down at the floor.
“What about your family?”
“I’ve written to my mother and tried to explain; my father’s dead, he was killed in the First World War.”
There followed a period of silence between them and Griselda decided maybe it was time to leave but the untimely appearance of Laura entering the room ended the deadlock.
“Not now Laura! And knock next time before you come in please,” Matthew told her in a raised voice.
Griselda felt sorry for the girl who she saw cringe, apologise, and quickly leave the room.
“So what had you intended doing after you leave here?” he asked, his eyes holding hers.
Not able to hold his stare she looked towards the window. “I don’t honestly know.”
Getting up he went and sat next to her and took hold of her hand. “I think there has been enough hatred and killing on both sides, don’t you?”
Turning to look at him. “Yes. I think there has,” she answered.
“There will always be a home and a future here for you if you want it.”
Smiling but tearful. “Oh! Matthew, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” she said softly, laying her head on his shoulder.
~ 1946 ~
NOW! Have you had enough to eat?”
“Yes, thank you Doris,” they both replied.
“Well, it is a beautiful morning, so what are you going to do today?”
“I’m not sure,” Isobel replied, looking at her husband for any sign of an inkling, but he remained quiet on the subject.
“Well, whatever you do, enjoy yourselves. There is another young couple arriving this afternoon. I believe they also are from Scotland, so you will have someone to chat to over dinner,” she told them while placing the breakfast dishes on a tray.
“Where are they from?” Isobel asked.
“Melruish! That's the name Mr Hamilton said.”
Will looked at Isobel. “Looks like he was able to get some leave after all.”
“You don’t by any chance know Mr Hamilton, do you?” the proprietress asked, surprised at his remark.
“As a matter-of-fact we do. Mr Hamilton is my brother David and like Will is still in the RAF, but before we left he said he wasn't sure if he could get some leave at such short notice to get away for a few days, but it sounds like he has been able to achieve it.”
“Well, I'll be blessed. So what is your brother's wife called?”
“Catriona,” Isobel answered.
“What a lovely name.
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, I must get on, things to do before we open up at lunchtime,” she smiled heading off in the direction of the kitchen.
After collecting what they needed from their room they made their way down the stairway, both laughing after commenting on how narrow and quaint it was and in keeping with the rest of the inn. Outside on the pavement Isobel stood in awe as the intoxicating aroma of spring swept over her as she looked at the lake with its heavy wooded shoreline on the opposite side, while the leaves seemed to shimmer in the morning sun.
“So, what do you think of the Lake District Mrs Madden?”
“It’s everything you said it was, it’s lovely Will.”
“So, what would you like to do first?”
“I wouldn’t mind having a look around the town,” she suggested, pleased at his thoughtfulness towards her.
They spent the morning leisurely walking the streets and browsing the shops, some of which were still showing the signs of the continual wartime rationing by their sparse window displays. After a light lunch in the café Will had used on his earlier visit Isobel began to realise that she was being steered towards the outskirts of the town, and as the houses gave way to leafy lanes she began to wonder just where she was being taken.
“Where are we going Will, we seem to have been walking for quite a while, I hope you know the way back?” she said in a forthright tone.
Letting go of her hand he slipped his arm around her waist and give her a little hug of reassurance. “It’s not far now, just round the next bend and we should be there.”
The finger signpost was still there, if not a little bit more dilapidated since the last time he saw it. Climbing over the style first, he helped Isobel over, then taking the lead along the single overgrown path, he led her to the place by the lakeside where he had found peace and solitude from the ravages of war.
Standing next to each other, holding hands, neither spoke as they drank in the tranquillity. All that disturbed the peace of the afternoon was the sound of birds singing in the trees above them.
The wreck it lays fathoms down,
undisturbed by man and tide, a
relic of a distant war. And within
its dark and gloomy hull, fish now
swim where men once stood.
Tw
enty years now have passed, and
divers came to explore the craft,
remains of one they only find in
flying clothing decayed with time.
But far away in another land, a man sits
by a lake with rod in hand, the float it dips,
he plays the line as his mind travels
back to a more turbulent time.