The Love of a Lifetime

by Mary Fitzgerald

  “Yes, love,” Elizabeth said, “aren’t they smart.”

  He nodded and then turned to me. “Can you march like that, Uncle Richard?”

  “Yes,” I said and turning to Elizabeth for permission, bent and picked him up. I then marched smartly with him on my shoulders, around the desk and backwards and forwards across the office until he squealed with laughter. His little body was alive and wiry and his legs in their small boots bashed in time against my chest. It was almost the best thing that had happened to me in all my life.

  “He’s wonderful,” I said to Elizabeth when I’d put him down, “a grand boy.”

  “I think so,” she said. “Just like his father.”

  I was nearly overcome again then, and had to take a deep breath before carrying on. “Can you stay another hour?” I said, “I’ll be off duty then and we can go into the city and get a meal. We have a lot to talk about.”

  It was only then that she put out her cool hand and gently touched my cheek. John was back at the window staring at the parade ground and didn’t see the kiss that I placed tenderly and in gratitude upon her lips. Whatever had happened in the last five years, we were still the same. Our relationship had changed, but not for the worse. All that was different was that we had grown up.

  Elizabeth pulled on her gloves and beckoned to her son to take her hand. “We, that is John and I, are staying at the Northern Hotel. Why don’t you come and join us there, when you get off duty? I’ve so much to tell you.”

  The young captain had the good manners to get to his feet when I led Elizabeth and John from the Colonel’s office.

  “May I introduce my sister-in-law, Mrs William Wilde and my nephew, John Wilde, sir.”

  He held out his hand and Elizabeth took it graciously like the lady she instinctively was. “How d’you do, Captain Bellis,” she said, after I’d introduced him. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

  “And you too, ma’am.” He was a decent sort, as I said. Just too casual for my liking. “I don’t know what we’d do, without Sergeant Wilde,” he said, making conversation. “This company would be lost without him.”

  “I think we feel much the same at home,” said Elizabeth and her face broke into a lovely smile, which made Captain Bellis rock slightly on his feet. He was still gaping when she nodded her goodbye.

  Outside, a well polished black Rover waited. I’d seen it on my way from the parade ground but never dreamed that it could belong to anyone from my family.

  “Is this Billy’s?” I whispered as I helped her into the driving seat and then took John round to the other side.

  “This is my car,” she said with a grin of pure delight, which suddenly revealed my girl from our young ages, “Billy’s got his own.”

  That evening when I got to the hotel I was shown up to a suite of rooms on the first floor. Elizabeth was sitting by the window of the larger bedroom, reading a story to John and the porter who let me in after Elizabeth’s call of ‘Come in,’ looked at the scene with pleasure.

  “A lucky young man, that, sir,” he said and I agreed.

  “Shall we get our supper first,” said Elizabeth after I’d said hello to them both. “Then I can put John to bed and we can catch up on all the news.”

  John had a good appetite and made short work of a small piece of steak and fried potatoes while Elizabeth and I ate Dover sole and boiled potatoes. Neither of us wanted a pudding but John did. The waitress brought him a dish of jelly and blancmange and he wolfed that down too.

  “That boy’s got hollow legs,” I grinned.

  “That’s what we all say, don’t we John?”

  He nodded, too busy licking the last of the pink blancmange off his spoon to answer. “That was nice, Mummy,” he said, “just like Granny makes it.”

  That reminded me of home again. “How is Mother?” I asked.

  “Very well, indeed.” said Elizabeth. “She dotes on this child. Spoils him to death.”

  “And Billy?”

  “He’s fine. The farm is making money, particularly from the milk. Those Friesians that your Father invested in have really paid off. We have the best milking herd in the county. And now we’ve put up some greenhouses. I read an article about fresh vegetables in the Farming News and we’re giving it a go. It’s our third season. We do lettuce and tomatoes and I’m bringing on early potatoes down on the Major’s land. I’m enjoying it.”

  When John had said goodnight, kissing me as well as his mother, and going to bed without demur, Elizabeth and I finally sat down to talk.

  “I have to know,” I said urgently, “Does Billy think…”

  She didn’t let me finish. “Billy prefers to think that John is his. He no reason to, and in his heart of hearts he knows it, but it makes no difference. As far as he’s concerned, John is his son and he loves him.”

  At first, I couldn’t take it in. Our Billy knew the facts of life; he’d been a stockman since a child and witnessed every aspect of animal reproduction. He must have known that Elizabeth had been sleeping with someone else.

  “Do you think he knows it was me?” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as nervous as I felt. I was over thirty years of age and a six-foot-three hardened veteran of several violent skirmishes, but I still dreaded the prospect of a fight with my brother. Mind you, I would have, if it had become necessary.

  “I think he does and in a way, that makes it better. All in the family, you see.”

  I didn’t see. If things had been different, I couldn’t have accepted the situation. Did that make me or Billy the odd one? It had to be Billy. Mother had almost hinted to me that something wasn’t quite right about him. But I’d thought that it was his moods and violent behaviour she was referring to. That brought a new consideration.

  “And Mother? I bet she hasn’t got a clue.” I’d forgotten the look she’d given me the night she came home from her holiday with Marian.

  Elizabeth shrugged. “She’s guessed, of course, but never says a word. Only once did she let me know. After John was born and the doctor went downstairs to tell Billy, she held him up and stared into his little face. Then she turned and smiled at me. “He’s the image of Richard,” she said. “He’ll be a lovely child.” I think that’s why she loves him so. You were always her favourite.”

  I could feel my face flushing and suddenly noticed how warm and stuffy the hotel room was. But my thoughts still dwelt on home. What must Mother have thought of me and how could I face her again? I was glad then that I hadn’t gone home to be shamed by her fierce condemnation. I’d let everyone down. But then amidst these thoughts of embarrassment and remorse, I remembered that she had probably fallen from grace also. If my suspicions were true, it meant that she had slept with a man who wasn’t her husband. Could it be that she was pleased that the Cleeton line had been continued?

  “Who chose the lad’s name?” I wondered.

  “Oh, I did,” said Elizabeth, “John was my grandfather’s name and also your mother’s brother. Billy liked it too. It’s a manly name, he said.”

  “But why Edward?”

  She thought for a while and then grinned, “Why, that was Mother, now I come to think of it. She said that she’d always liked Edward. There was something of history about it.”

  Was there, I thought. My history, no doubt and I sat back in the chair with a myriad of thoughts racing through my over-worked brain. After a while I gave up thinking and went to sit beside Elizabeth on the settee. She was wearing a delphinium blue dress of the exact same colour as the one she used to wear, all those years ago, and around her neck was the blue and silver necklace. I put my finger on one of the silver links. It was warm and smooth and I followed the chain around, allowing my fingers to trail onto her neck. She offered no resistance, merely a little sigh as I bent my head down to kiss the place where my fingers had been. Immediately I was drowning in the scent of lavender and wild flowers and that evoked such memories that closing my eyes, I felt almost as though we were back in the Major’s little bare bed
room.

  “Oh, Richard,” she breathed and her mouth was on mine and we were lost again in such all-consuming passion that nothing else in the world mattered. Our union was as feverish as it had been the first night we made love. I tore at our clothes, groaning in pleasure as her slim fingers helped, pulling at my rough army trousers and raking my naked back. When I finally stretched across her slim body, I felt as though I was coming home.

  We lay in each other’s arms for many minutes afterwards, she was sobbing quietly and I felt dizzy with the release of pent-up emotion. “I love you, Elizabeth,” I said. “I always have.”

  “I know,” her voice was small, girlish and sad. “And I love you.”

  The truth was, that what I felt for her, was more than love. It came from a darker place where the sweet open affection of a man for a woman was unknown. I craved for her, hungered for her body and mind like an addict yearns for opium. I knew I would never be free of her and that made me desperate and content at the same time.

  Did she feel the same? I don’t honestly know. She desired me, I’m sure of that much. Her physical passion matched mine so closely that our lovemaking soared to heights that I never knew with other women. She could make me lose my mind with a touch of her hands or the feel of her lips on my flesh and even the women that I’d paid for in bazaars and markets across India couldn’t bring me to such an explosion of fervour as she did. But she was prepared to leave me and eventually did, even when we could have been together. That showed that my love was stronger than hers. Didn’t it?

  I had no thoughts like that, then. In that stuffy hotel room, in the centre of a dirty industrial city, my mind was occupied only with what mattered at that time. Elizabeth lying in the curve of my arm and the child sleeping in the little room beyond. Even the complexities of our situation were forgotten for the while, pushed into the background while we gloried in passion rediscovered.

  We slept for a while after, drained by elation and rapture, so that by the time I got out of the tumbled bed, the sounds of traffic in the busy street outside had died away. Elizabeth lay with a smile of pure contentment on her face and a pink flush on her naked breasts.

  “I have to go,” I said, bending down to kiss the soft flesh. “I must get back to the barracks.”

  Her face fell. “Oh,” she said, “I thought we’d have the whole night.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve only got a pass until midnight but I can see you tomorrow evening.”

  “I’m going home tomorrow. This is a just shopping trip. They don’t know I was coming to see you.”

  I groaned. Wasn’t it always the way? As soon as I regained her, she was taken from me. “I’ll come home then, in a few weeks. I’ve got leave owing. I’ll come home for Christmas.”

  “Yes,” she said, her smile slightly less than before, “we’d all like that.”

  Oh, Elizabeth, you could turn the passion on and off like a tap. How did you do it? She was back in family mode now and worried that my presence might upset the careful pretence that they all lived.

  “Don’t worry,” I said as I pulled on my clothes and smoothed my hair. “I won’t give us away. I’ll be just the brother coming home on leave.”

  I looked into John’s room before I left. He was asleep on his side with a white teddy bear tucked in beside him. I longed to creep over and kiss his hot little cheek, but I didn’t. Perhaps I hadn’t the right, not being able to acknowledge him and besides Elizabeth had got out of bed and put a warning hand on my arm. “Don’t wake him,” she said. “He may get a fright.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “You know,” she said, “seeing a stranger.”

  Well, it was a fact, wasn’t it? I was a stranger and as long as things stayed the same I would never be anything other than an uncle, and one who was only rarely on the scene. How I envied our Billy. In the years to come, he would have this little chap at his elbow when he went to market or to church and would be able to introduce him as ‘my son.’ And later on, when John was grown up, he would be the master of Manor Hill Farm and tell everyone that his father had been the best farmer in the district. “What about your Uncle Richard?” they might say.

  “Oh, he’s just a soldier, you know. We don’t see him often.”

  My leave started the day before my birthday but I didn’t go home straight away. I needed to go into the city and do some shopping. It had been a long time since I’d spent any money and my balance was healthy so I took myself off to the best men’s outfitters and collected the bespoke suit I’d been measured for the day after Elizabeth’s visit and a new overcoat and shoes. I still had the clothes that Billy had bought me on my last leave, but I hated to think that the family would recognise them and see me as some sort of skinflint who was too mean to buy himself a decent suit of clothes.

  After that I walked round the shops looking for Christmas presents for the family. I remembered my Uncle John coming home from India and bringing us all Christmas gifts, I still had my dagger, and I wanted to get special presents that everyone would love. Especially John.

  Billy met me at the station, I had telephoned the night before and told them my time of arrival and could hear the excited chatter at the other end of the line as the news was relayed from Billy who had answered my call to Mother and Elizabeth.

  “This will be the best Christmas ever!” said Billy with such conviction and generosity that I forgot that I was both jealous and nervous of him.

  I saw him waiting on the platform before I stepped from the train. His likeness to my father was uncanny and I felt like a little boy again when I walked up to him and put out my hand.

  “Never mind your hand, our Dick,” he said excitedly and wrapped his brawny arms around me in a great hug. There was no doubt that he didn’t bear me a grudge and that our relationship was as before.

  I relaxed a bit then. “I’m looking forward to seeing the family,” I said.

  “No more than them, you. And,” Billy started his car, a Morris, smaller than Elizabeth’s smart motor, “you have yet to meet our young John.”

  The words were said with such pride that you would have been the hardest-hearted person in the world if you didn’t feel some joy for his happiness.

  “I can’t wait!” I said and I meant it.

  It was a cold, wet day with a low blue mist made worse by the smoke from the forest of chimneys in the village. Since the pit had been sunk, cheap coal had come into the district. It was a perk that went with the job and a welcome one. Nobody went cold at home in our village.

  I saw that new houses were being built along the lane towards our farm, solid looking semi-detached villas, some already occupied. As we drove past at Billy’s regular snail’s pace, I noticed a young man screwing a name plate to a gate at one of the houses. I could even read it. ‘The Limes,’ it announced proudly and not a lime tree in sight. I suppose he just liked the sound of it.

  “We’ve made a few changes,” said Billy as he drove into the yard and I could already see some of them. Where a tumble-down barn had been rotting away since Father’s time, a smart brick garage now stood and through the open door, I could see Elizabeth’s black car.

  A fifty-yard run of greenhouses stood out bleakly in the home field, the glass misted from the installed heaters. “My God,” I whistled, “that must have cost a bob or two.”

  “It did,” Billy grabbed my cases and swung them out of the car, “but our Elizabeth is making it pay, so I won’t grumble.”

  Mother met me at the kitchen door. “Well, Richard,” she said, raising her arms to give me a hug, “home again, is it? So soon after your last visit.”

  I laughed and so did she and I was relieved to find that the old easy relationship had returned. She wasn’t going to make life difficult for me.

  “I’ve got someone for you to meet.” Her giggle was almost girlish as she said that and Billy, coming in through the door behind me, gave me a huge slap on the back and chuckled too.

  Elizabeth was waitin
g inside and John stood beside her with a great big grin on his face.

  “Say hello to your Uncle Richard,” Billy boomed from behind me.

  For a moment the little boy didn’t speak but looked from face to face, still grinning. I was nervous again now. Supposing he gave the game away and said that he had already met me? That would make my homecoming a disaster. But I needn’t have worried. The child had been well coached and as we all stood waiting, he suddenly broke into a run and dashed across the kitchen towards me. I was already swinging him into the air before he managed to shout out, “Hello, Uncle Richard!”

  “Hello, son,” I replied and hugged him.

  Chapter 21

  Christmas has come and gone and it has been the best one for years. That and my birthday party, which Sharon organised on Christmas Eve, have proved to me that I still have people around who care for me and make my life, such as it is, worth living.

  For my birthday celebration, held a week late because of my sudden incapacity, she invited several old friends of mine, whom I hadn’t seen for some time. We opened up the drawing room and lit a fire in the big stone grate. It’s a pleasant room, still furnished with Mother’s best settee and matching chair. The old Welsh dresser and an oak corner cupboard, which I brought from The Gate House, take their place nicely in that large room, particularly the dresser which is loaded with Mother’s Spode and Ironware china. The Major’s leather armchair and stool are by the fire and although not as comfortable as the one I have in the parlour, the chair is attractive to look at. I felt quite the grandee in that chair, with a tartan rug over my knees and my feet up on the stool. The same stool that I sat on as a boy when I went to see the Major.

  The first to arrive was Jennifer Williams, Darlington as was, Fred’s youngest daughter. I’ve known her nearly all her life and would have been her godfather, if the war hadn’t intervened. She is so like her mother, gypsy-like, but with a gentle heart. She still lives in the village with her husband, a retired vet. Fred’s older girls moved away, but I had a card from each of them. That was kind.