An Independent Woman

by Anna Jacobs

  “My turn to kiss the bride!” Den leaned forward and smacked a quick kiss on her lips, then his mother kissed her cheek.

  “Come along, Mrs Graye,” Marcus said. “Let’s go and have our photo taken.”

  “Mrs Graye,” Serena whispered and the name echoed several times in her head as they walked out. Oh, the relief of not being Miss Fleming any longer! Suddenly the day seemed brighter, the wind less chill and she didn’t care if it rained or snowed.

  She was married! She didn’t have to pretend to be Ernest Fleming’s daughter any longer, nor did she have to use his name. And if that was a strange thing to think on her wedding day, then too bad, because it was very important to her to cut all ties with him.

  When they came out of the photographer’s, Mrs Rawlins stopped in the doorway. “Where is . .

  . Oh, yes, there it is.” She turned to Marcus. “We’ve booked you two in at the pub in the next village. They’re quite famous for their honeymoon suite and by great good fortune, it’s vacant tonight. It’s our present to you. I do feel newly-weds deserve a treat and though you’d have been welcome to stay with us, it’s better for you to have some time to yourselves, don’t you think? I packed your things secretly and here they are.” She pulled Marcus’s head down and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek, then she again kissed Serena, who was the same height as her.

  Den shook hands with Marcus. “You’re a lucky devil. Let me know if she has any cousins.”

  He turned to Serena. “Look after him. You’ve got a good ’un there.”

  Then the Rawlins were gone and the cabbie was coughing to remind them to get in.

  “How kind they are,” she said wonderingly.

  “They’re a wonderful family. I spent a few of my leaves with them. Cheered me up no end.

  They lost another son on the Somme and I know they all miss him dreadfully, but they haven’t let it blight their lives. As Den says, you have to keep on enjoying life while you can.”

  She nodded and when Marcus didn’t say anything else, she pretended to look out of the window, but in reality she was starting to worry about sharing a bedroom with him tonight. She was so ignorant about what really happened between a man and woman, even though she understood the anatomy of it from her First Aid course. Anatomy didn’t tell you how it felt, how much it hurt the first time—which everyone said it did—how your new husband felt about touching you so intimately.

  He’d think she was such a fool, for all her fine new clothes.

  The Travellers’ Inn was an old-fashioned building just outside the town. It was very rambling and the landlady showed them up two flights of stairs and along a twisting corridor to get to the

  “bridal suite”. This was really only a large bedroom with a four-poster bed, which the landlady was obviously very proud of from the way she smoothed down the silky green counterpane.

  “Shall I—unpack our things?” Serena asked when they were alone, but her voice came out scratchy and higher-pitched than usual and he noticed, she could see he did.

  “You do yours and I’ll do mine. It’s only worth getting out our nightclothes, really, because we’ll be off again tomorrow morning.”

  “All right.” It didn’t take long to get her things out and put them under the pillow, then she fidgeted with the bedcovers, straightening them, wondering what to do next.

  Marcus got his pyjamas out, then looked at her across the bed. “I’ve asked Den to phone Justin and let him know we’re safely married. Justin will phone Constable Yedhill. There are only two phones in the village. The other is at the Hall, but I’m not keen to leave a message with Gladys or Ada.” He smiled. “Come and sit down. These chairs are very comfortable.”

  She took the other big armchair and held out her hands to the cheerfully blazing fire, leaning her head back against the chair. She surprised both herself and him by laughing.

  “What’s so amusing?”

  She rolled her head from side to side. “I was thinking how much more comfortable bobbed hair is, especially after that bun, and shorter skirts are good too. But most wonderful of all is being with normal people.”

  He leaned back, smiling. “I hope to keep you happy.”

  She was suddenly serious. “No one is happy all the time, I’m sure, but if I can stop being afraid

  . . . ”

  They sat quietly for a while, then there was a knock on the door and the landlady brought in a big tray.

  “I usually serve the bridal couple up here,” she said as she set the contents of the tray out on a small table near the window.

  The food was good but Serena wasn’t hungry.

  “You don’t eat enough,” Marcus said.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Try a little more, to please me.”

  So she forced down a few more mouthfuls of meat and potatoes, then pushed her plate aside. “I can’t eat any more. I’m—feeling a bit nervous. About tonight.”

  Marcus set down his knife and fork. “I said we could wait to consummate our marriage and I meant it.”

  She swallowed hard but still her voice didn’t sound normal to her. “I’m sorry. It’s just—well, I hardly know you and so much has happened that I don’t feel to know myself either. Please don’t be angry with me.”

  “The only thing that would make me angry would be you assuming I’m as unreasonable as your father.”

  “Call him Fleming,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to call him ‘father’ any more.”

  “Fleming, then. Most men aren’t unreasonable, you know. And I promise I won’t lay a finger on you until you feel the time is right.”

  Her eyes strayed to the double bed and he followed her gaze. “I can sleep on one of these chairs, if you prefer it. I’ve slept on far worse.”

  Suddenly her fear of him left her. “No, that would be silly. You need a good night’s sleep too.”

  She couldn’t hold back a yawn. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night or the night before, and I’m exhausted.”

  “So am I, actually. I’m getting better, but I’m still not my old self. Look, why don’t you go and use the bathroom, then you can change into your nightdress while I’m using it.”

  He was being so kind, she took heart, but she still made haste to take her clothes off and get into bed while he was out.

  When he came back, he was wearing his pyjamas and a checked woollen dressing gown. He put his clothes tidily on one of the armchairs, broke up the fire to save the unburned pieces of coal and turned off the lamp. In the dying glow of the fire his silhouette seemed very large as he walked across to the bed and for a moment her heart skipped a beat or two. Would he change his mind?

  But he got into bed without touching her, said, “Good night” in the same pleasant tone and settled down beside her.

  With a sigh of relief she snuggled down.

  He heard the sigh and it soon became obvious that she was asleep. She was frightened of him, for all her brave talk. Fleming had done that, he was sure, given her a fear of men. During the day she’d relaxed a little, but as soon as they’d come into this bedroom she’d turned into a stiff, careful stranger.

  The trouble was, she looked so pretty he couldn’t stop his body reacting to her, so now he was all too conscious of his unsatisfied desire and longed to touch her and enjoy the softness of her skin. He smiled grimly. He wouldn’t do that though. He didn’t intend to frighten her off.

  But one day he would make love to her and she would enjoy it. That he swore.

  The following morning Serena woke with a start to find Marcus bending over the bed, shaking her shoulder lightly and smiling.

  “I’d have liked to leave you to sleep longer, but they stop serving breakfast in half an hour.”

  “Oh, goodness!” She sat up abruptly, realised she was only wearing a nightdress and tugged the sheet up, feeling her cheeks go hot with embarrassment though the garment was as modest as any blouse.

  “I’ll go and wait for you downstai
rs in the dining room. Don’t be long. I’m ravenous.”

  Again she was grateful for his understanding and when he’d gone, she scrambled out of bed and had a quick wash. She put on her wedding outfit again, because she was so ashamed of her other clothes. As soon as they got back to the Hall, she intended to alter everything which wasn’t too nasty a colour.

  Downstairs she found Marcus leaning on the lounge bar, talking to the landlord, but he turned when he heard her footsteps and led her across to a small side room where a table was set ready for them.

  “We have a special breakfast for newly-weds,” the landlord said, chuckling when Serena blushed. “Bacon, a whole egg each, fried bread, and as much toast and jam as you want.”

  Serena didn’t think she could eat so much and started to say so, “I’m not sure I—”

  Marcus put his fingers across her lips. “You hardly ate anything yesterday. I don’t want you fainting on me.”

  “I’ll—try.”

  Marcus ate his food, persuaded her to eat most of hers, then finished the rest for her, after which he sat back in his seat and sighed in satisfaction. “I don’t think I’ve been so well fed since I came home. I have a hearty appetite, I’m afraid. Now, I think we’d better go back and sort things out in Tinsley, don’t you?”

  She couldn’t stop herself from shuddering. “Yes, though I wish we didn’t have to.”

  “Fleming can hardly knock us over the head in a public place and carry us off.”

  “He tried to do that to me before, remember? Well, not knock me over the head, but carry me off from a public place. And he’d have succeeded, too, but for you and Vic.”

  “Well, it’d be a futile effort now because I’m officially your next of kin, and I know you’re of sound mind.”

  She nodded, trying not to let him see how afraid she was. But something told her that Fleming wouldn’t easily give up.

  “Come on. Let’s find out about trains then I’ll pay our bill and take you home.” He pushed his chair back and went to move hers to let her stand up.

  ‘“Home,” she said wonderingly.

  “I hope the Hall will soon feel like home, Serena.”

  “It can’t feel less like it than Fleming’s house did.”

  “And don’t forget, it’ll soon be Christmas. I’m determined to celebrate in style this year, our country’s first peaceful Christmas for so long, and the first for us as a married couple.”

  She knew he was trying to cheer her up, so she didn’t say anything else. But all the way back to Tinsley she was wondering what sort of reception they would have, wondering if Marcus really would be able to protect her from Ernest Fleming.

  Part 2

  Chapter 9

  On the afternoon of November the eleventh, the chief nurse came into the ward and smiled round at the men. “It’s happened at last, boys!”

  They turned towards her expectantly.

  “The war’s over.”

  There was silence, then some ragged cheering. One man turned his back to hide the tears in his eyes, another sat motionless, staring down at the floor.

  The orderly, who was a former patient, walked across to the window and let the sounds of the long, narrow ward wash around him. He didn’t feel like cheering or weeping . . . or anything much really.

  “You all right, Aubrey lad?”

  He turned to Jim, who’d become a close friend over the months they’d both been here, and smiled. “You’re sure you’ll go mad for joy when it happens, but all I can think of is how many people have lost their lives. Was it worth it?”

  “We didn’t have much choice.”

  “You did. You came all the way from Australia to fight with us—and you suffered for that.”

  “Ah, I’m getting right again now. And who was there to miss me back there?” He studied the younger man. “You’ve not—remembered anything else?”

  “I think I have, actually. It’s the name of a town. Tinsley. But I only remember the name, not anything about the place. Maybe that’s where I lived. Who knows?” The doctors said Aubrey’s memory might never return and because no one knew who he really was, or even what regiment he was from because of mix-ups in the field hospitals, they weren’t sure enough of him to let him go back to active duty.

  He didn’t mind them setting him to work here because he didn’t want to get himself killed. The ones he felt sorry for were the lads who did have to go back, but he knew what he did here was useful, more useful to his mind than the killing he’d been forced into before.

  He saw Jim frowning and managed a smile. “What I’d really like is to get out of here. You’ve only one more operation to go now. I’ll miss you. You’ve been a good friend to me.” It was the nearest he could get to saying out loud that this man had become like a father to him. Jim had no family of his own back in Australia and was older than the rest of them. His body was now a patchwork of scars and new skin, and his thinning hair was streaked with silver, but his eyes were bright with life and more importantly, he was both wise and kind, knowing when to listen quietly and when to tell a chap to buck up and get on with his life.

  “We can keep in touch afterwards, if you like,” Jim offered, rubbing the toe of his slipper in circles on the floorboards. “I could even come and visit you in Tinsley before I go back to Australia.”

  “I’d really like that. Promise!”

  “Cross me heart an’ hope to die.” Jim looked at him thoughtfully. “Dr Fitton might be able to help you get out of the Army for good now the war’s over. Why don’t you ask him?”

  Aubrey nodded. In July 1917 he’d been found naked, unconscious and badly injured, with even his identification tag missing, after the battle they now called Passchendaele. He’d not remembered how his injuries had happened or much else, either. No one had recognised him, so the nurses had given him the name Aubrey Smith. He liked it so much he’d arranged to keep it officially when they brought him back to Blighty to the blessed quietness of this long-term convalescent home in Surrey.

  He’d done little except sleep the first month, then gradually his body had recovered enough from his injuries for his mind to start functioning better, but he still had no idea who he was, except that he had a northern accent—probably Lancashire they said.

  Sometimes he thought he remembered a young woman, rather plain but with a lovely kind smile. He didn’t remember her name, though. He’d wondered at first if she was his wife but that hadn’t felt right, so he’d come to the conclusion that she was either a relative or a friend because she was definitely too young to be his mother. Unless he was very lucky and bumped into her or someone else who recognised him, he reckoned he’d never know.

  And would anyone recognise him now? The face that looked back at him from the mirror was serious and not bad looking, but he seemed to catch fleeting glimpses of another face, that of a much younger man, rather nervous and soft-looking was the only way he could describe that face.

  He didn’t look soft now, few men did after what they went through in the trenches.

  And what he’d seen in the convalescent home had made him appreciate how lucky he’d been.

  He’d only lost his memory and sustained a few superficial wounds. He still had both arms and legs, all his fingers and toes. Some men had lost so much of themselves, physically or mentally, that they’d have to be cared for like babies for the rest of their lives.

  He did keep wondering who he was, though. How could you not? The book he’d borrowed from the doctor about his condition said that such complete memory loss was often caused by things too painful to bear.

  What had been so painful about his previous life?

  Ah, who knew anything? He fixed the smile back on his face and turned to clap Jim on the shoulder. “Come on! Let’s join in the celebrations.” He took a sip or two of the beer one of the orderlies had smuggled in, then passed the glass to Joe who had no legs now but was determined to walk again one day, not ride on one of those little trolleys some legless me
n used. Joe was another whose example kept Aubrey going. There were a lot of grand fellows here.

  The following day Aubrey went to see the doctor in charge of their unit to ask how quickly he could be demobilised.

  “Why? Have you remembered something?”

  “A town called Tinsley. I’ve looked it up on the maps and it’s a small place in Lancashire, north-east of Oldham, so that fits with my accent.”

  “Do you want us to make inquiries on your behalf with the authorities there?”

  “I’d rather do it myself, sir. It’s more than time I went out into the world and stood on my own feet again, don’t you think?”

  “I do. I’ll sign you off as ‘unsuitable for further service’ but suitable to be released.”

  “Thank you, doctor.” Aubrey hesitated, then had to ask, “You do think I’m fit to be released, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. I have done for a while, but I was waiting for you to ask me yourself. That was my final test.”

  “Good.” Strange what a difference it made, a doctor saying it. But he’d known it really.

  “Will you be all right for money, Smith?”

  “I’ve been saving my wages since I started working as an orderly, sir. Well, there isn’t much to spend them on here, is there? So I can manage for a while then find myself a job. After all, I’m a trained orderly now. If I had any money, I’d like to become a doctor and help people, but I can’t afford the training.”

  “There are other ways of helping people. It’s a long training to become a doctor. If we reckon you at about twenty-five, which seems reasonable, you’d be into your thirties before you were qualified to practise.”

  The doctor didn’t say that they had no idea of the education Aubrey had received, no idea of his qualifications or training, though they’d told him he’d probably had a sound education from the ease with which he read and the things he said. Sometimes, when he felt particularly desperate about all the uncertainties with which he had to live, he wondered how you could build a whole new life on a few months’ memories and no family of your own?