A Christmas Gift

by Ruby Jackson

She was about to close the door behind her on her way out when Lalita pulled it open again. ‘Sorry, Sally, but we found this letter under a pile of these damned applications; only came in the last few days, though, otherwise we’d have seen it.’

  Sally almost grabbed the slight envelope. Only one person in the world would write to her at the theatre. ‘Thanks, Lal, no problem, thanks,’ and, clutching the letter to her, she sought refuge and privacy in the ladies’ lavatory.

  She locked herself in the cubicle and opened the envelope.

  Dear Sally,

  How lovely to receive a letter from you. Most of the letters I receive these days are from lawyers. Lawyers don’t make jokes in letters. I thought once about becoming a lawyer, more than once really, but I inherited property when I was very young and had I been a lawyer, I would have been writing letters about roofs, and drainage, and yields et cetera to myself.

  I love sailing and I love the navy. Would be perfect if we weren’t at war but I joined the navy straight from university and have had some glorious times, so can’t complain.

  I take it you always wanted to be an actress, or is your career an accident of war? Too many of the young men sailing with me are only here by accident. It was the same before the war – perhaps they joined the navy instead of going down the mines or working on a farm – but there were compensations. Once, when I was a very junior officer, we sailed through a school of whales, and what a joy it was to watch the sailors’ faces as those enormous creatures seemed to play games for our enjoyment. Now we watch for mines instead of whales.

  Enough of that. Tell me which plays you like, what parts you’ve played and what parts you would like to play. We have quite a collection of books on board and perhaps I’ll be able to read the plays and talk about them with you.

  PLEASE write again,

  Jon

  I will, I will, oh, dear Jon, I will. She reread the letter several times. It saddened her that Jon had talked of ‘young men’ as if he himself were old, but she remembered his face, his smile, his thick dark hair. He was older than she was, she knew that, but he seemed more of a contemporary than an older man. Sebastian was older and yet seemed younger at times. Was it responsibilities and duties that made one old? Jon was married, too. Was his wife writing to him? Oh, she did not like to think of that, and she certainly couldn’t ask him.

  Still sitting, she heard the main door open and a voice call, ‘Sally, are you in there? We have work to do.’

  It was Sebastian.

  ‘This is the ladies’ room, Sebastian. Go away. I’ll be there in a moment.’

  And since she only had to unlock the door and walk out, she was.

  NINE

  Jon’s ship was torpedoed as it approached Gibraltar. It sank in minutes with what at first was termed a complete loss of life; crew and soldiers on their way to a battlefield that none of them would ever reach. The cruel sea around the sinking ship was full of dead and dying men. Soon telegrams were being sent to every corner of the British Isles and mourning families read the chilling words ‘Missing, presumed dead’. Sally, of course, did not receive a telegram and so she continued to write her short letters and waited, trying hard to be patient, for another letter.

  It was Sebastian who eventually told her of the disaster. He had read of the tragedy in The Times but, seeing Sally’s lovely face smiling happily across a room, for a few days he had been unable to say anything and, of course, no one else knew of her relationship with a British sailor.

  Watching her writing her letters, her paper propped up by a book on her knees, her face relaxed always into a gentle smile, Sebastian fought for courage. The bad news had to come from him and it had to be before she saw or heard something. A friend or a member of her family might make a passing remark in a letter – ‘Shame about the sinking of the George Francis. Some fellow from Dartford was on it, a Lord Hedges.’ Oh, no, he could not allow that to happen.

  First he told Millie, who had suffered as Sally would suffer. A woman, he had decided, would be better able to comfort her.

  ‘You tell her, Seb. Dear God, I had no idea, too wrapped up in my own misery, I suppose. You tell her and I’ll be there to help you hold her.’

  But Sally did not fall apart. She listened quietly to Sebastian as he told her one Sunday at the flat, and then she stood up and said with great dignity, ‘Thank you. I need to be alone now.’

  They expected her to go to her bedroom but she walked to the front door, lifted down what she always called ‘Lal’s coat’, slipped it on and went out.

  ‘Go to the window, Seb, quickly, and see which way she goes,’ Millie urged. ‘We need to follow her.’

  ‘She won’t do anything silly,’ he said as he came back into the hall. ‘She won’t.’

  ‘Come on,’ she handed him his coat – she was already dressed for outdoors – ‘the shock she’s just had, she wouldn’t notice if a plane landed in front of her.’

  For almost three hours they followed Sally as she walked and walked and walked, staying just that much behind so that they could keep her in sight, hoping that she would not turn her head to look behind her.

  She did not and eventually she stopped. She stood on the edge of the pavement and stayed there. Sebastian, aware of the constant flow of London traffic, was terrified that she intended to throw herself in front of something but Millie thought differently.

  ‘I think she’s just realised that she has no idea where she is; she’s little girl lost, Seb. I think maybe we can coax her to come home. You go, just take her hand and see what she does.’

  He was full of doubt, but he did as Millie suggested.

  ‘Sally, Sally, my dearest girl.’

  She did not try to pull her hand away. Instead she said, very quietly, ‘He’s dead, Sebastian. Just Jon is dead.’ He dared to pull her into his arms away from the traffic and she put her head against him. ‘I love your cashmere coat,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s go home, Sally. Millie’s here and we could have tea together.’

  Sally walked between them like an automaton, saying nothing and neither did they speak. Seb knew a quicker way to return to his flat and so they did not take nearly so long to get back.

  ‘What now?’ Sebastian was at a loss as Sally stood still in the hall, not even moving to take off the heavy coat.

  ‘Sally, I think you should have a little nap,’ suggested Millie, although it was already almost nine thirty. Since Sally said nothing, Millie took control and propelled her to the room Sebastian indicated.

  Less than half an hour later, Millie returned. ‘She’s out like a light, Seb, or perhaps she’s pretending so as to get rid of me. I got her undressed and into a nightie but, speaking from experience, she’ll probably be awake all night, maybe till she cries herself to sleep.’

  ‘Should I do something – get her a drink, make her some tea?’

  ‘Leave her alone, Seb. She’ll let you know if she needs you.’ Millie picked up her coat. ‘No, you need to stay here,’ she said as Sebastian protested that he could not allow her to walk through London so late in the evening. ‘I’ll be fine, Seb; my legs are lethal weapons.’ She tried to smile. ‘Get some sleep, if you can, and I’ll see you both in the morning.’

  Whether or not Sally had slept or stayed awake was never found out. Next morning, Sebastian found her, fully dressed, in the kitchen, attempting to grill three slices of bacon. It was the enticing smell that had woken him.

  ‘Sally …’ he began, but she held up her left hand, the right being busy with the grill, and said, ‘Slice the bread, Sebastian; one slice is enough for me.’

  He understood the unexpressed order and never mentioned Jon unless Sally mentioned him first. It was some time before she did.

  Over the next few months Sally often smiled at mem-ories of her young self – what a great tragedienne she had been, all wasted on her family and friends probably because there had been, she was glad to admit, no tra-gedies to grieve over. After all, a broken fingernail or a
snagged stocking was less than nothing when compared with death and destruction.

  Now loss was real and Sally’s mind and heart refused to believe it. She was, she told herself, a member of ENSA – and therefore she had work to do. She did it. But when night fell and she was able to escape from Sebastian’s concerned cosseting she lay on her bed, too tired to wash, too lethargic even to undress and put on a nightgown, and the tears came. Eventually she would fall into an exhausted sleep.

  Sebastian, Millie, and others who cared about her, saw that she did not eat but seemed to survive on cups of tea. Sebastian bought champagne and she looked at him as if she believed that he had lost his mind.

  ‘A celebration, Sebastian?’

  ‘Good God, no, dear girl. Champagne is known to be a restorative. You’re losing weight, Sally. Sybil and Lal are concerned. Max has been asking them if they think you’re coping.’

  ‘Of course I’m coping. That’s what women do. We cope.’

  ‘Please, eat something, a little soup. I have a fresh egg. I’ll scramble it for you or how about a soft-boiled egg with toast soldiers?’

  ‘I am eating; I’m perfectly well.’

  He kneeled down on the carpet beside her chair in what he called the drawing room, and looked up into her pale, drawn face. ‘Sally, your uniform is hanging on you. Your lovely face has no colour, not even your lips, and your beautiful eyes are …’ He had been about to say ‘dead’ but quickly managed to change that to, ‘… have lost their sparkle. ENSA performers need to sparkle, Sally.’

  ‘I have some eye drops.’

  ‘The real, natural, beautiful Sally is the girl the servicemen queue to see. Perhaps you should take a few days off, and I’m sure I have enough petrol to drive you down to stay with your parents.’

  The reference to her parents distressed her. ‘No, I’m perfectly well. I don’t want my parents to see me like—’

  He stood up, walked across to the telephone table and picked up the receiver. ‘I’m going to ring your vicar, Mr Tiverton.’

  He got no further. A trembling Sally was at his side. ‘No, please, Sebastian. I’ll do it, damn it; I’ll eat your stupid egg but I’m perfectly well, perfectly well,’ and she burst into tears and fell into his arms.

  He held her, patting her back as if she were a child. ‘There, there, it’ll be all right, Sally. Soft-boiled egg, then?’ He held her away from him and heard a slight giggle.

  ‘Anything’s better than your scrambled eggs.’

  ‘That’s my girl.’

  She ate slowly, stopping occasionally as if to swallow was difficult. Sebastian watched her and when she had finished the egg and a little of the toast he said, ‘And now a hot bath, a clean nightie and sleep. Can you do that on your own?’

  Sally slipped into the almost hot bath and in doing so, saw her body properly for the first time since the news of the sinking. ‘You’re scrawny, Sally,’ she told herself, ‘just skin and bone.’ She closed her eyes and stayed quietly, letting the scented water lap around her. Did you slip under, Jon? Was it gentle? No, you fought, didn’t you? I could slip under, I would, but there’s Sebastian. Hardly a decent way to say thank you. Oh, please God, Jon has to be alive. I will not give up. I will not.

  She got out, dried herself and put on pyjamas and her pink dressing gown. She cleaned the bath and hung up the towels to dry and then she went to find Sebastian. He was in the kitchen, listening to the wireless.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sebastian,’ she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

  *

  Over the next days, weeks, months, some good news was broadcast. It appeared that an unknown number of survivors – many of them badly injured – had been picked up by other ships in the area: an American aircraft carrier, a British destroyer, a German U-boat and two supposedly uninvolved fishing boats about which no details were given.

  ‘Who cares which flag they’re flying?’ Sally cried – her words probably repeated by grieving women all over England, ‘just so long as they ferry the men to safety.’ But no news reached her that Jon was among the rescued, and she continued to grieve, knowing it was unrealistic to raise her hopes and unbearable that they should be dashed.

  A Dartford paper had printed a small piece on the tragedy. That was when Sally found out what Sebastian had successfully hidden from her: Jon’s full name and title.

  The paper reported that Lieutenant-Commander Jonathon Erskine Galbraith, Lord Hedges, was missing after the sinking of the George Francis.

  Sally, tears streaming down her cheeks, read the the cutting, which her mother had sent her. A casual picture of Jon at a cricket match was published to illustrate it. Sally looked at it for some time and decided that it was probably a few years old. Jon was smiling and looked so young and so happy that she felt the photograph might well have been taken before the outbreak of war. She read the small piece again and, no, there was no mention of a Mrs Galbraith or a Lady Hedges. Would she, wherever she was, have received a telegram telling her that she was probably a widow? Sally’s heart went out to her. She and Jon must have loved each other at one time, and maybe they might have been reconciled.

  All Sally had to prove that she and Jon knew each other was a short letter, and somehow she knew that the Royal Navy would need a great deal more than that before they told her anything at all.

  She sent a picture postcard to her father. He would enjoy the photograph of rose beds in a London park.

  Dear Dad,

  Thank Mum for the newspaper cuttings. I met Jonathon Galbraith at an ENSA performance. He’s the man whose wife lost the ruby ring. Please send me any more news of him if you can. Maybe Daisy’s dad would know, or Alf Humble.

  Love you,

  Sally

  She was sticking a stamp on the card when she realised that, since her mum had suggested that she send postcards to her dad, she had written nothing to her mother.

  ‘She’ll know they’re meant for her too, won’t she?’ she asked Sebastian.

  ‘Wouldn’t put a bet on it, Sal. Touchy creatures, women.’

  ‘You would know,’ she teased, and her voice sounded almost as light and easy as in the time before Sebastian had told her of the sinking. ‘I’ll write her a girly letter telling her all about my clothes.’

  He wanted to hold her, to tell her not to try so hard, that she didn’t need to pretend with him. He set his mind to thinking of ways to help her recover.

  *

  ‘Do you mind if Millie comes for tea this evening, Sally?’ Sebastian, looking decidedly guilty, was hovering at the door of the dressing room.

  ‘Of course not – and it’s your flat, Sebastian. Entertain whoever you want to entertain.’

  ‘It’s not exactly like that, Sal. I wanted both of us to invite her and to have a nice chat, well away from the company, the theatre, noise and crowds and speeches to learn.’

  ‘Sounds good. What do we have for tea?’

  ‘Bread and cheese.’

  ‘The chef at the RAF station gave me a tomato. We could have toasted cheese with thinly sliced tomato on top. Definitely up to the Savoy’s standards.’

  ‘Absolutely. They’d be proud of us.’ He waved, which was unusual, and went off, closing the door behind him.

  What is he up to? thought Sally as she continued to remove her stage make-up.

  An idea occurred to her and, startled, she stopped, one side of her face a completely different colour from the other.

  Millie and Sebastian? No, surely not. They’re friends. He’s just a kind, caring person and she needs someone kind and caring. Are they? Do they? Or does he want her to live with him? If so, they won’t want me there. Perhaps they’ll go to her flat … Oh, shut up, Sally. Millie is still mourning her husband and all that Sebastian has done is issue an official invitation to tea.

  She could not forget, however, that already Millie had spent time with them over the past months and, several times, had stayed for tea. What was different about today?


  I’ll find out soon enough.

  *

  Millie brought her bacon ration with her and both Sally and Sebastian remonstrated with her. ‘We can’t take your rations, Millie. Goodness, we get so little bacon these days. You have to keep yours.’

  ‘Actually, I’m not generous. I don’t eat bacon; my grampa had a smallholding when I was a little girl and he had a pig. Pigs have piglets and I loved them; baby pigs are so sweet. They followed me all over the place. Mind you, it wasn’t a very big place, a medium-sized field, I suppose you’d say. Imagine my horror when I found out the piglets were Sunday breakfast and their mummy was Christmas dinner. I don’t eat bacon and I don’t eat pork.’

  ‘Don’t think I’ll be able to eat it again either,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘Don’t worry about him, Millie. He’ll feel like that until he smells your rations being grilled for his breakfast or his supper and he’ll forget all about the poor little piggies.’

  ‘How well she knows me,’ Sebastian said to no one in particular as he accepted the packet from Millie and popped it into the kitchen’s small refrigerator.

  The three of them feasted on toasted cheese and grilled tomato, prepared by Sally and Sebastian, but mainly Sebastian who was quite accomplished in the kitchen, and they listened to the wireless for a while before Sebastian insisted on escorting Millie home.

  Sally cleaned up, ironed a blouse for the morning and went into her room to try to learn a speech before bed. She heard Sebastian return and was surprised when, instead of passing her door on his way to the bathroom, he knocked.

  ‘Hello,’ she called out.

  ‘I’ve got something to talk over with you. If you’re not already in bed, do you think you could spare me five minutes?’

  ‘Be right there,’ she called.

  She got off the bed where she had been trying to write from memory the speech she was supposed to be able to recite perfectly next day. As a schoolgirl she had found that writing down anything she wanted or needed to know by rote was the surest way of committing it to memory.

  Pulling her old dressing gown over her rather school-girly pink pyjamas, Sally left her room and went into the living room where she curled up on Sebastian’s elegant sofa and waited for him. He came in a few minutes later and she smiled quietly. To an outsider they would look like an old married couple, she in her comfy dressing gown and Sebastian in his tailored tweed dressing gown with the legs of his blue and white striped pyjamas showing underneath.