Coming Home to Island House

by Erica James

  At the beginning of October, not long after Hope had returned to London, Allegra had left Island House and bought Winter Cottage. Roddy had helped her by arranging for an advance on the money that would be coming to her once Uncle Jack’s will had been finalised. It was a mystery to her why these things took so long, but patience was one of the many things she was being forced to learn.

  Just a short distance from Elijah’s house, her new home, a modest timber-framed cottage with a thatched roof and slanted walls, was more than adequate for her needs, and with each day that passed, it felt more of a home to her. At Romily’s suggestion she had had one of the bedrooms upstairs turned into a bathroom and had the place redecorated throughout. She had even tried her hand at painting the nursery, with pleasing results, realising that she was more artistic than she’d previously given herself credit for. She had chosen a colour scheme of sunny yellow for the walls and duck-egg blue for the ceiling in an effort to mimic the sky. Onto this she’d painted some fluffy white clouds and, as an afterthought, a trio of swallows. In her mind, the three birds were Elijah, her and the baby. At the small diamond-paned window she had hung a pair of pale green and white gingham curtains, which she had sewn by hand. She often liked to go and sit in the nursery and stare out at the garden and its grassy bank that sloped down to the stream.

  Mrs Bunch had offered to come in and clean for her, but Allegra had refused to have the gossiping old biddy over the threshold. Instead, she looked after the cottage herself – all those years of learning to clean and polish and scrub floors at the orphanage had not gone to waste! She would probably find a girl from the village to help with the heavier work when the baby was born. But for now she was enjoying having the cottage all to herself.

  In idle moments of daydreaming, she pictured herself next summer lying tranquilly on a rug in the garden listening to the soothing sound of birdsong and tinkling water from the stream while her baby slept contentedly at her side. But then she would remember there was a war on, and who knew where any of them would be next summer. There was an airfield on the outskirts of the village of Shillingbury, some five miles from Melstead, and every day aeroplanes could be seen and heard flying overhead. The first time she had been woken by a night-time flying exercise, she had bolted out of bed as the windows rattled and the walls of the cottage seemed to shake. Convinced it was the Luftwaffe, and bombs were about to fall from the sky, she had grabbed her dressing gown to run out to the garden and the Anderson shelter Romily had had built for her.

  Now when she heard the noise of the aeroplanes in the night, she felt no fear, only an awareness of her cousin Kit, for whom she would send up a silent prayer for God to keep him safe.

  Bored of waiting to be called up to begin his training with the RAF, Kit had taken matters into his own hands and crossed the Atlantic to begin pilot training in Canada, his hope being that when he returned to England, he’d be fast-tracked and put to good use. A letter had arrived from him yesterday, a short communication revealing his obvious pride in what he was doing. Allegra guessed he’d never been happier, that finally he was doing something worthwhile and, perhaps more importantly, something his father would have been proud of. Poor Kit, all those years of wanting to please Uncle Jack, and only now achieving it when it was too late.

  She was just about to go and look out of the window again when she heard a knock at the front door.

  Elijah, at last!

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  His kitbag at his feet, Elijah held Allegra at arm’s length, his eyes slowly taking her in from head to toe.

  ‘Don’t, caro,’ she said, ‘don’t look at me too closely, sono grassa e bruttissima. I’m so fat and ugly now.’

  He shook his head. ‘No you’re not. You’re beautiful. Even more beautiful than before. Your skin is glowing and your eyes are clear and bright.’

  She groaned. ‘You make me sound like a horse being sold at auction.’

  He laughed, then threw off his overcoat and drew her close, holding her firmly within his strong embrace, his hands pressing into the small of her back. He looked down into her face, his gaze intense. ‘You never could accept a compliment, could you? Would you accept a kiss instead?’

  Inhaling the masculine smell of him and the warmth of his body through the woollen serge of his battledress jacket, she nodded. His mouth was hard and sure against hers, and with her arms wrapped around him, she returned his kisses with a fervour that was filled with longing for him. All the time he had been away she had ached for his touch, to feel his muscular body against hers, to lose herself completely in his passion for her. She had never known such an acute sense of loss and loneliness without him. Her head swimming with desire, her legs felt ready to buckle beneath her. As if realising this, he held her even more firmly, but then suddenly pulled away and gazed down at her once more, his breath ragged. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice thick.

  ‘Why?’

  He touched her cheek lightly. ‘I should be more gentle with you, given your condition.’ He lowered his gaze to the unborn child between them.

  ‘I’m not made of glass, Elijah.’

  ‘I know, but …’

  ‘But what?’ And then she knew, and her heart sank. It was obvious – oh, so blindingly obvious, even to a fool like her – her swollen body repulsed him. She should have known better than to think she would still be sexually attractive to him. Before, when they had made love in his bed at Clover End Cottage, her body had gained hardly any weight at all in comparison to now, but in the weeks since he had been away, it had altered dramatically. Back then, they could both pretend that she wasn’t carrying a child – another man’s child – but now there was no ignoring the grotesque reality of that fact. She stepped away from him, sickened by her selfish greedy desire, and by her naivety in the believing – hoping – that he would still want her.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I understand completely.’ She bit her lip in quiet rage.

  He looked at her with a frown, his head tilted.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she asserted with an attempt at indifference. ‘Why on earth would you find me attractive when I look like an enormous barrage balloon? I’m so hideous I can barely bring myself to look in the mirror these days, so I understand perfectly that you would not be able to view me—’

  ‘Allegra,’ he interrupted sternly, his frown deepening, ‘be quiet and listen to me, will you? I love you unconditionally. That means I love you and your body whatever shape it is.’ He put a hand to her swollen abdomen. ‘I just don’t want to hurt you, or the baby. I would never forgive myself if I did anything to cause you harm. Now why don’t you put the kettle on and show me round the cottage? I want to see all the changes you wrote about in your letters. I particularly want to see the bathroom.’

  Later, much later, after they’d shared a bath together – the first Elijah had experienced that wasn’t in a tin bath in front of the fire – they made love. Afterwards, lying in euphoric silence with her head resting on his chest, Allegra listened to his heart thumping while tapping the rhythm of it with her fingers. ‘Ti amo tanto,’ she murmured in a rare moment of what felt like true happiness.

  He took her hand in his and kissed the tips of her fingers softly. ‘What did you say?’

  She lifted her head and looked at him. ‘I said I love you.’

  He gently rolled her off him and raised himself up on his elbow, staring at her for the longest moment. ‘That’s the first time you’ve said that to me. Do you mean it? Because please don’t say it unless you do.’

  ‘It’s true; I do love you. And in a completely different way to how I’ve loved anyone before.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘It’s simple. You want nothing from me. I’m not something that you see as being useful to you and which you can put to your advantage.’

  ‘Are you thinking of the father of your child?’

&nbs
p; She nodded.

  ‘I would never treat you that way, Allegra. You must know that. Just as you must know that I’ve always loved you, even when we were children.’ He smiled. ‘I adored you on sight. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.’

  ‘I wasn’t beautiful, I was just different.’

  With a smile, he ran a finger along the curve of her chin. ‘What was it I said earlier about you not being able to accept a compliment? To me you were beautiful, and so very fierce. I’d never come across anyone like you before.’

  She said nothing as a wave of great sadness came over her. ‘I wonder what my life would have been like if I hadn’t left here when I was sixteen.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have been happy. You had to leave. And then,’ he added solemnly, ‘you had to come back to me.’

  She pressed herself closer to him. ‘But now it’s you who’s leaving me,’ she said. ‘When will you have to go and fight?’

  ‘Shh … ’ he said, brushing his lips against hers. ‘Let’s not talk about that now. Let’s enjoy this time together.’

  Yes, she thought, for who knew what tomorrow would bring.

  Chapter Forty

  Meadow Lodge,

  Melstead St Mary

  10th December, 1939

  Dear Kit,

  I can’t believe it will be Christmas in less than two weeks and the school term will come to an end. Our classrooms have more or less resumed their normal numbers after most of the evacuees returned to London. Many of them hated being in the countryside; they found it too quiet, with nothing to do, and couldn’t wait to leave and go home. We never did have an evacuee ourselves – I suspect they’d all got wind of Mother!

  Talking of not being able to wait … I’m still surprised that you weren’t prepared to wait it out as a reservist for your call-up papers. But when I really think about it, I may well have done something equally rash, had I the opportunity and the financial wherewithal to relieve myself of the boredom of the status quo and travel halfway round the world to do it. So I salute you, Kit, for your impatience, and your good fortune in being able to afford to do what you’ve done.

  How are the flying lessons going? I have it on good authority that it’s perishingly cold there in Winnipeg, so I hope the enclosed present will come in handy for you. And yes, I knitted it myself; not very well, admittedly, but I defy you to be so impolite as to find one single fault with it. (You decide whether to open it before Christmas or not.)

  Never did I think I would turn into one of those women who sits at home knitting while listening to the wireless and humming along to Gracie Fields singing ‘Wish Me Luck as You Wave Me Goodbye’, but Lady Fogg issued a dictat that we must all do our bit and knit for our brave troops. It’s a sentiment I fully endorse, but I pity the poor fellows who receive anything I make them. You included! (If my effort doesn’t fit you, use it as a tea cosy!)

  I hear from Edmund that he’s seen Hope occasionally in London and is concerned about her. He seems to think that she’s tired and anxious as a result of fretting over Annelise, and would, in his opinion, benefit from returning to Island House. I’m not sure whether this is my brother speaking in a professional capacity as a doctor, or as a friend who cares deeply about Hope. Either way, I know him well and wouldn’t question his judgement.

  Mother continues to be Mother, which means I continue to grit my teeth and square my shoulders. She has some absurd notion that she should be exempt from rationing, that others can go without coal or petrol, or whatever else will be rationed in due course, in order for her to carry on as normal. I have explained to her until I’m blue in the face about the ration books with which we’ve been issued, that everybody has them, but as I say, she seems to think her needs should not be affected in any way.

  We’ve lost the lad who had been working in the garden for us this last year – he’s joined the navy – and Jean, who’d been cleaning for us, has joined the Women’s Land Army. I can quite see the attraction of working from dawn till dusk on the land in preference to putting up with Mother’s infernal griping over the silver that hasn’t been polished to her liking. For that matter, I should like to do the same myself!

  Well, I think I’ve grumbled on quite enough and should stop now if I’m going to stand any chance of getting this off to you in time for Christmas 1939!

  I hope you’re well and keeping your promise not to do anything silly in the way of heroics. Leave the heroics to me as I battle on with these wretched knitting needles while tangling myself up in life-threatening balls of wool!

  With warmest best wishes,

  Evelyn

  PS I apologise for the frequent use of exclamation marks, a habit I deplore in others but which I seem to have slipped into with lamentable ease in the writing of this missive. It must be you – you bring out the exclamation in me!

  Kit had read the letter three times over, and each time he had smiled, hearing Evelyn’s acerbic tone so clearly. The picture of her with knitting needles in hand, her lips pursed in concentration, her brow furrowed with irritation, amused him greatly.

  On the nightstand next to his bed was the three-page letter he had written to her late last night, and before hers had arrived in this morning’s post. Now, with just enough time before Charlie came to give him a lift to the flying school, he took it up to add a postscript so he could thank her for the present, which he was keeping to open on Christmas Day. Then he read the whole thing through one more time, just to be sure he hadn’t made any mistakes, or used the exclamation mark too frequently!

  119 Sunny Ridge,

  Winnipeg,

  Canada

  22nd December, 1939

  Dear Evelyn,

  Thank you so much for your letter, it made me quite homesick for dear old Melstead. I found your account of Miss Gant and Miss Treadmill acquiring a pig and taking it out for a walk on a lead along with their geese hilariously funny. In fact I laughed so much I nearly choked on my supper. My landlady, the wonderful Mrs Medwin, had to thump me on my back!

  The countryside here in Winnipeg with its vast prairie could not be more different to the softness of the Stour Valley that surrounds Melstead. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The landmarks of grain holders and the transcontinental railway line ensure that it’s just about impossible to get lost when up in the air.

  Another huge difference is the weather – it’s freezing, far colder than I’ve experienced before. It gets deep, deep into your bones and sometimes, if I stand still for too long in the wind, it feels as if my eyeballs might actually freeze and become stuck in their sockets, never to move again! One of the instructors told me a story about a boyhood chum of his who nearly lost his ears to frostbite when he forgot to wear his hat. When he got to school, the teacher boxed his ears; apparently that was the best way to stop them dropping off. The boy never forgot his hat again!

  Training continues well, both on the ground and in the air. When the weather’s too awful, we’re grounded and confined to the classroom at the flying school. The instructors are excellent, really know their stuff and put us through our paces. My group is only small, but I must confess to a glimmer of pride the other day when I came top in both a navigation and a night-time flying exam.

  But the time I most enjoy is when I’m up in the air. The Tiger Moths we’ve been training in so far are old bone-shakers in every respect, but they’re sound enough and do the job. It might seem odd, but these single-engined bi-planes, which leave us exposed to the elements, are marvellous for making us trainee pilots at one with the aircraft.

  Of course, this type of machine is a long way from the fighter planes I aim to fly. My first solo flight was one of the best experiences of my life and came after just ten hours of flying time. The sense of freedom when up in the sky on my own with the world beneath me is powerfully exhilarating – it’s all that I hoped it would be, a
nd more. My only frustration is that I haven’t been able to fly as frequently as I’d like, but that’s down to the snow. Never have I shovelled so much of the stuff! We’re often called upon to help clear the runway – the exercise keeps me fit and warm, so it’s not all bad.

  Outside of the flying school, my life is fairly quiet, but when I do go out it’s usually with some of the other trainee pilots. I’ve discovered the delights of eating out in the local diners. I’m now a connoisseur of egg, ham and chips – never has the humble potato tasted so good! I’ve also developed a fondness for dill pickle, as well as waffles with maple syrup, though not at the same time! I shall be spending Christmas Day with Mrs Medwin and some of her family who will be visiting – my landlady’s an excellent cook and spoils me rotten.

  I hear from Romily that their evacuee, Stanley, is doing well under your expert tutelage. As a work in progress under your guiding hand – a distant guiding hand – I like to think I’m also doing well!

  It’s funny, but I don’t miss London at all, but I think of Melstead St Mary often, probably because I think of you there. And before I say any more and make you roll your eyes, I shall sign off.

  With fondest regards,

  Kit

  PS 23rd December now … Your letter and present arrived this morning – whatever it is, I know it will be perfect and I shall wear it always. I hope by now you’ve received my little Christmas parcel, which I sent in haste and without much of an accompanying letter, I’m afraid.

  After a moment’s thought and scanning the letter once more, Kit added another postscript: PPS. I apologise for the excessive use of exclamation marks – seven in all. Then, looking at his watch and seeing the time – Charlie would be here any minute – he folded the pages and slid them inside the envelope with Evelyn’s address already written on it. He sealed it and put it ready to take with him to post on the way to the flying school.