The Lines We Leave Behind

by Graham, Eliza

  Cecilia gave her a kind smile. ‘It’ll be so much easier when you’ve got little ones.’

  ‘That may not be immediately,’ Maud said. ‘I was actually thinking of finding another job for a while.’

  Cecilia’s eyebrows arched into polite surprise. ‘You’re going to be so much busier as a wife than you can possibly imagine.’

  Maud wondered how organising laundry and planning meals could possibly last a whole day. But clearly they were expected to do so.

  ‘And children come along more quickly than you think they will, and then life is just so full. Our two keep me so busy I barely have time to think.’

  ‘All the same,’ Maud continued. ‘I would quite like to do something.’ She picked up her wine glass and took a sip. At times, she wouldn’t even have minded her old receptionist’s job back. Could she do something more demanding? Did she have enough of a mind for science to try for medicine? She hadn’t been bad at Biology and Chemistry at school. Imagine finding Ana some day and telling her she was a doctor, too.

  ‘Thing is,’ Cecilia said, ‘once you’re married, you’ll find getting a decent job pretty hard. To work in the Civil Service or teaching you have to be single, don’t you?’ She paused as the housekeeper came in and removed the soup plates. ‘And really, was work so very fascinating? I don’t think you’d want to be doing your Signals job any more, would you?’ she went on. Maud opened her mouth and closed it again.

  ‘Certainly that kind of work might become tedious,’ Robert said. ‘Important, though.’

  ‘Of course.’ James laid his spoon down. ‘Don’t know how we chaps would have managed without you girls. But, speaking as a doctor, I’m sure it’s a good thing to have a bit of a rest now, Maud. Good for your nerves.’

  ‘You must admit, darling, you can be a bit jumpy,’ Robert said.

  ‘Let yourself go, Maud,’ Cecilia said. ‘Enjoy being released from the grind of work. Have fun.’ Her eyes sparkled.

  ‘She certainly will.’ Robert said the words solemnly. Maud looked at her glass. The claret seemed to have gone down more quickly than she’d thought. James saw the glance and refilled her glass.

  ‘Perhaps I could go to university,’ she said.

  ‘Would you have time?’ Cecilia asked, after a moment.

  ‘Maud’s very bright,’ Robert smiled at her. ‘It’s surprising what she can turn her hand to. But I must admit, I’d rather selfishly like her to lavish her time on me.’

  ‘Look after that bridegroom of yours,’ Cecilia told her. ‘Those of us whose husbands actually came back from danger have so much to be grateful for.’

  The housekeeper brought in the next course: a kind of stew, a daube, Cecilia told them. ‘It’s rabbit tonight, not beef, I’m afraid,’ she added. ‘Sometimes James’s patients drop off a meat joint for us, but there was nothing this week.’

  ‘I love rabbit.’ Robert certainly ate with relish. Would she have to devise meals like this for him when they were married, Maud wondered. She could trap a rabbit and stick it onto a spit to roast over an open fire. Perhaps she could lay a fire in the back garden of their new home and cook meals out there. The thought made her lips twitch.

  ‘You look happy.’ James topped her glass up again. ‘Must be the thought of approaching matrimony.’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled at him. Of course she was happy about the approaching marriage. Happy wasn’t quite the right word. Relieved, surprised, nervous? She struggled to place how she was feeling exactly. Cecilia observed her, her pink, smooth cheeks those of a woman who has never been trained to kill. ‘Where were you during the war?’ Maud asked, trying to be a good guest.

  ‘The middle of Dorset,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t believe the racket just before D-Day, all those tanks moving towards the ports. American soldiers all over the place. Worried I’d be ravished in the lanes.’ She gave a little chortle.

  ‘Of course, you folk in Cairo can’t have an idea of how dangerous it was in London, even after the Blitz ended. Alice— ’ Cecilia broke off, looking at Robert. There were no photographs of Alice in his Kings Road flat because they’d all been in the house where Alice had lost her life to the bomb.

  James was looking down at his plate. He swallowed and turned to Maud. ‘The fear of Cairo falling to the Germans must have passed by the time you were in Egypt, Maud,’ he said. ‘Your parents must have been relieved you were somewhere safe.’

  ‘They didn’t really know much about my war work,’ Maud said.

  Nobody did, apart from Robert. The thought made her feel lonely.

  ‘You let them think that I was just some kind of party girl,’ she told Robert when they had thanked the Holderns and were walking towards the Bayswater Road in search of a taxi that would drop her back at her parents’ flat. ‘A popsy.’

  ‘It’s just simpler, really. Security is still so tight.’

  ‘But not for you. They seemed to know all about your work.’

  ‘James is such an old friend, I trust him entirely.’ A mist, the first of the autumnal ones, had fallen.

  She peered to look at his face. ‘But not as far as my work is concerned?’

  He tucked his arm into hers. ‘I’m so proud of what you did. You must know that?’

  ‘I do.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘But that wasn’t what I meant.’

  ‘What did you mean, Miss Sphinx?’

  ‘I don’t really know. It’s just hard. Adapting. Pretending that everything I did was very routine, rather a bore. Apart from the parties.’

  It would have been good occasionally to hear someone ask her if she was all right. She would have assured them that she was, of course. If only there’d been another former agent she could talk to. Men probably went to bars and met up and reminisced with people they could trust not to blab. But she was lucky to have her future husband as a confidant.

  ‘At least I know I can talk to you.’

  ‘Do you know what, darling? Some people say it’s best not to talk about the war and churn up all those painful memories. You’d be better off distracting yourself. That’s what James says, too. And he is a doctor.’

  She thought about it. Distraction made sense in some ways. If you laid down new memories perhaps the old ones faded.

  ‘And Cecilia will be a good friend for you. Not too far if you don’t mind a walk.’

  It couldn’t be more than a mile or a mile and a half. She thought of her trek across northern Croatia and smiled. ‘How did you come to know the Holderns?’ she asked, feeling shy about putting the question.

  ‘James is – was – Alice’s brother.’

  ‘What?’ She stopped in the street. ‘Alice? Your wife? You didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘What difference does it make?’ He shook his head. ‘Oh Lord, I’m sorry, darling, I thought I’d mentioned it before. Sorry.’

  ‘I hope I didn’t say anything to upset him. Or you either.’ She rewound her mental tape of the night’s conversation. Robert pulled her gently onwards. ‘You never say much about Alice. Did she look like James?’

  She could see him weighing up his answer. ‘Perhaps a little around the eyes.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Yes, the almond shape. And that hazel.’

  ‘It’s good that you keep in touch with Alice’s brother and family.’

  ‘We all grew up together, James, Alice, Cecilia and I. Our families lived close to one another in Sussex.’ It was the most he had told her about his upbringing.

  She was about to ask more questions when he looked back along the road. ‘There’s a taxi.’

  Something else about the dinner puzzled Maud. As she switched off her bedside lamp later that night she realised what it was. Having been so keen to agree that her wartime work had involved transcribing signals in Cairo at a time when the German threat was past, why did James, Dr James Holdern, brother of Alice, believe that Maud’s nerves needed settling? Had James imagined that Cairo was such a dizzyingly oriental city that any Western woman would return in a state of over-stimulati
on? His sister, Alice, had not liked the Orient after all, she remembered Robert telling her on the bridge in Cairo. Perhaps James regarded this as the appropriate reaction to the place.

  ‘A very unsettling night out,’ Dr Rosenstein says. ‘I can see why you felt as though your past was being somehow denied.’

  ‘It felt like that, it made me even more uncertain about who I was. Things felt unreal.’ I say the last word with reluctance – perhaps it will make me sound mad.

  ‘Unreal?’

  ‘As though I couldn’t be sure what was really there.’

  ‘Did you suffer from hallucinations?’ Dr Rosenstein asks.

  ‘No, but . . .’ I tell her how sudden noises bothered me. And how I’d gone through a stage of not liking to look at my own reflection.

  ‘Give me examples,’ she says.

  I close my eyes, remembering my wedding day. October of that same year.

  On her wedding morning Maud worried that she wasn’t actually the woman in the mirror at all. A stranger had appropriated her features. Or was the woman in the mirror the real Maud? Had Amber split from Maud at some point so that there were two versions of herself in existence? If this were the case, which one of them was actually marrying Robert?

  To distract herself she placed her little ivory hat on her head, and set it at a slight angle, which suited her face. No veil because the fabric would have cost too much and, besides, a hat somehow felt more dignified, more adult. She had no intention of casting herself as a blushing bride, and Robert would probably have laughed had she done so. He’d probably already had one of those, anyway. Alice. Maud pictured Alice as a slight, classically beautiful English rose in a long white silk dress and veil. As the wedding photographs didn’t seem to have survived the bomb that had killed Alice there was no way of knowing what her predecessor had looked like.

  The sun was threatening to make an appearance, her father told her over breakfast. It looked as though it were going to be a golden autumn day, the city putting on its brightest aspect. Mama offered to help her dress, but Maud couldn’t imagine what Mama could do that she couldn’t manage for herself. She was about to say this when she caught sight of her mother’s face and suggested she help with her hair. ‘You are a sophisticated young woman now,’ Mama said, hands resting on Maud’s shoulders after she’d placed the last hairpin into her daughter’s chignon. ‘Not the mixture of vamp and tomboy you were before you went away to Egypt.’

  ‘Vamp and tomboy?’

  ‘You pulled it off very well. Too well, your father and I used to think.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Whatever you did while you were away, it matured you, Maud. But I worry sometimes that it has changed you very deeply.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Her mother took a moment before continuing. ‘It’s as though you’re, what’s the saying? Watching your neck?’

  ‘Watching my back. That’s why I’m marrying just the right man, Mama. Robert worked with me. He understands. He’ll help me back into the swing of things again.’

  ‘If you’re marrying someone who understands, you are very fortunate, my dearest.’ She squeezed Maud’s shoulders. ‘But I like your plan of going to university, if you can find one that will take you. You are a clever girl. Being with other clever people and studying will help you.’ Maud blinked, not wishing to show how touched she was by this unexpected support for her plans. Perhaps Mama could have a word with Robert, persuade him that a new bride could combine the role with being a student.

  The taxi drive with her father to Holborn town hall went without her spotting snipers in alleyways. The ceremony ran equally smoothly, Robert and Maud reciting their vows without a slip, smiling at one another as they did so. With practice, acting your assumed role will seem natural. They were the only possible people for one another. They’d been through things together, or at least, had been connected by wireless transmitter. A team. Only Robert could really understand what she felt about Naomi. And Ana.

  ‘Darling?’ Robert smiled at her. ‘Wakey, wakey.’ He held out his regimental sword so that she could clasp the handle as they pretended to cut the wedding cake for the photographer. She glimpsed the side of her face in the reflective surface of the blade. Maud looked away quickly and managed to lose herself in the champagne-fuelled laughter.

  Thank God for Robert’s friend who’d liberated all the bottles of Veuve Clicquot. Robert didn’t have many guests of his own here apart from the Holderns. Maud was glad for her parents’ company and for that of the few school friends she’d invited. And for Peter, whom she’d invited in a fit of bonhomie, along with his fiancée. He gave her a warm smile and kissed her. She remembered how much she’d liked him, before she’d met Robert. How long ago their relationship now seemed, and how simple that life of dodging bombs and dancing in clubs. Peter belonged to the Maud who’d existed before Yugoslavia. How would her life have run if he hadn’t introduced her to his friend Robert? But perhaps Robert would have found her one way or another. He’d needed her, hadn’t he? Not exactly many girls hanging around London who spoke fluent Serbo-Croat and were prepared to go and live rough with the Partisans in occupied territory.

  Robert had needed her then. He still needed her now. The sudden flash of realisation came to her as she sipped her champagne. He’d been so keen to marry her. It had been arranged so hastily – at his suggestion. Just six weeks to organise everything. He came up to her and put his arm around her waist. ‘I want you by my side,’ he whispered. ‘Always. While you were away from me I worried about you. Now I know you’re safe.’

  After the reception bride and groom drove the short distance to the hotel, somewhere behind Jermyn Street. Someone had tied a few balloons to the back of the car and people smiled at them as they drove and a little girl waved. A shot rang out as they steered round Piccadilly Circus. Maud ducked. Robert placed a hand over hers.

  ‘Just a car backfiring, darling.’

  Maud sat up again, feeling foolish. When they pulled up she concentrated on entering the hotel lobby without letting herself down again. Robert went down to the bar to buy cigarettes.

  Maud sat on the edge of the double bed. She couldn’t avoid eye contact with her own reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She picked up one of the pillows. For all its fancy linen pillowcase, it had probably survived a few too many nearby dust-generating air-raids. Maud sneezed as she placed it over the mirror. It flopped obligingly over the glass, blocking her reflection.

  Robert came back in with a packet of Senior Service in his hand. ‘I’ve ordered us nightcaps.’ He noticed the pillow over the mirror, of course he did, it was the kind of thing they had both been trained to notice. He frowned. ‘Darling? Why didn’t you just switch the lamp off by the bed if the reflection’s giving you a headache?’ He did this for her. ‘See? The light doesn’t bounce off the glass any more.’

  Don’t uncover the mirror. She’ll see me. She bit her lip to avoid saying the words aloud.

  Robert removed the pillow and replaced it carefully on the bed. Everything he did was always so measured, whether it was drawing on a map or dancing. It was only cutting that Groppi cake in Cairo that ever flummoxed him, the soft layers of sponge falling apart as he sliced them, the icing becoming messed up by the knife. Amber had wanted to laugh at him but had known, even then, that it would be dangerous.

  Something was trying to push its way out of Maud. It would wriggle out of her mouth or eyes unless she picked up that pillow again and placed it over her face. Perhaps if she could induce ataxia in herself the worm would leave and Maud would die and Amber would be back. But which one was the real her? Robert answered the knock on the door announcing the arrival of the brandies. He passed her a glass. ‘To us, sweetheart. To our survival.’

  With her spare hand Maud touched her eyes: nothing coming out. She had survived. She was here, in London, on her wedding night with her new husband. Nobody was ever going to ask her to live rough on a mountainside, or help kill people. She would probably never
have lice again. That last bit was surely worth celebrating.

  ‘That’s better. What are you smiling at?’

  She couldn’t tell her bridegroom that it was the thought of remaining parasite-free that had finally allowed her to express happiness. ‘Just relieved it’s all over.’

  ‘You look all-in. Bit of a business, this getting married.’

  ‘I might get changed.’ If she took off the impostor’s silk suit she might feel better, might feel like Amber again. She wished she had her Partisan outfit, or at least the flying jacket. Or her beret. Perhaps she could have worn the beret with this wedding outfit instead of the chic little hat. The image should have made her laugh but it didn’t, not even now, on her wedding night, happiest day of a woman’s life, everyone said. Why not? But she knew the answer. It was Ana preying on her mind, even today. Maud had half-hoped there might be some word of her by now. Robert was looking at her enquiringly. She put a hand to her brow. ‘Seeing everyone, it made me think of old times.’

  His eyes met hers, warm.

  ‘I was thinking about Ana. Perhaps I could send her a small piece of wedding cake. If we know which DP camp she’s in.’ Would sending a small sliver of fruitcake be worth all the effort? Maud thought of herself on the mountains of Croatia, how she would have appreciated something sweet. Now was the time for Robert to tell her more about Ana. He’d promised to look into her disappearance. She waited. He said nothing.

  ‘Perhaps she’s moved out of the camp,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry about Ana now.’ He sat next to her on the bed and put an arm around her. ‘You told me how tough and resourceful those Partisans were. Let’s just enjoy this moment. Married at last.’

  He sounded so happy. Two years ago Maud could never have dreamed that a man like Robert would have been interested in a girl like her. She’d seen the way other women peeped at him when they thought he wasn’t looking, the way other men stood taller when he was around. He seemed to crackle with energy and yet at the same time there was a relaxed air about him. Mama’s Women’s Institute friends from the Shires had blushed when they’d been introduced at the reception line.