by Erica James
Seconds passed before Allegra said, ‘May I ask you something, Hope?’
‘Of course.’
‘Were you as nervous as me on your wedding day?’
With a stab of pain, Hope thought back to that day in London when she and Dieter had married. Neither of them had had any family members there to support them, and though she had fought back the pang of regret that she had not invited Kit, she had stood by her decision. This was about her and Dieter and their love for each other. And no, she had not been nervous, not one little bit. She had never been surer about a thing than she was that morning as she dressed herself and did her hair. But to put her cousin at ease, she said, ‘Nervous? Oh, I was as skittish as a kitten. I could barely remember my own name I was in such a state.’
Allegra frowned. ‘I would never have thought that of you.’
Glad that her lie had seemed to reassure her, Hope smiled. ‘Just goes to show, one can never know a person completely.’
‘There now,’ she said a short while later, ‘you look as beautiful a bride as any I’ve seen. And if you hold your flowers in front of you, like this,’ she added brightly, ‘nobody would ever know you were seven months pregnant.’
Allegra looked at her dubiously, but obediently took the proffered arrangement of pink roses and white carnations and held them so that they draped over her stomach. Hope placed the borrowed white fur stole around her cousin’s shoulders, but there was no getting away from it: Allegra’s swelling bosoms had a mind of their own and were determined to have their day.
As if reading her thoughts, Allegra smirked. ‘I hope the sight of me won’t be too much of a distraction for the Reverend Tate.’
‘His eyes will be practically out on stalks the whole time,’ said Hope good-humouredly. ‘You’ll be a war bride he won’t forget in a hurry.’
The two women, who for most of their lives had been unable to find any common ground between them, smiled, and when Allegra put her arms around Hope, and thanked her for all that she’d done, Hope found herself hugging her cousin back with genuine affection.
The two wedding parties gathered at the Half Moon Hotel after the combined marriage ceremonies.
Resplendent in their battledress uniforms, Elijah and Billy both looked so very young to Roddy. He felt sad at the sight of their youthful vitality, knowing that tomorrow they would be returning to barracks to hear what their fate would be. He could not look at the two fresh-faced men without thinking of how he and Jack had met in the field hospital during the bloodiest of wars that was supposed to end all wars.
‘You did a wonderful job earlier, walking Allegra down the aisle.’
He turned to see Romily at his side. ‘It was easy,’ he said. ‘I just put one foot in front of the other and held onto Allegra.’
Romily smiled. ‘I didn’t mean that, and you know it. You looked as proud as any father could standing in the church.’
‘I was proud, and I’m proud of the way Allegra has finally allowed herself to be happy. But …’ He let the word hang in the air, unsure whether to say more.
‘But what, Roddy?’ Romily pressed.
‘I can’t bear the thought of her suffering, should anything happen to Elijah.’
Romily slipped her arm through his. ‘We’ll be there for her. You and me. We’ll pick up the pieces if we have to. If she’ll let us.’
He smiled admiringly at Romily. ‘You had no idea what you were getting into when you fell in love with Jack, did you, taking on his family?’
‘That’s life for you. You think you have it perfectly licked, but somehow it has a way of going its own way.’
‘And now you have Hope living back here with Annelise. I’m so pleased you persuaded her to leave London.’
‘It took some doing, I can tell you! But just as I knew it would, being here has relaxed her and she’s drawing again. Don’t say a word, Hope swore me to secrecy, but she’s begun working on a children’s book based on Stanley and his dog Bobby. She’s actually writing it as well as doing the illustrations.
‘Did you have a persuasive hand in that?’
‘I may have suggested something along those lines, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt about Jack’s family, it’s that they’re as stubborn as hell and have to do things their own way and in their own time.’
Roddy laughed. ‘Just like Jack himself, in that case! And maybe you, if I may be so bold.’
‘You may,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Have you heard anything from Kit or Arthur?’
‘I had a letter from Kit just after Christmas, but not a word from Arthur. Though after that stunt he pulled on you girls in the summer with Annelise, I have no desire to speak to him ever again. He’s a rotten apple through and through.’
‘I can’t help but think that when a man loathes the world as Arthur does, and with such an intensity, really it’s himself he detests. But come on, this is a party, not a wake. And any minute now you’ll be called upon to carry out your last duty of the day: the wedding speech on behalf of both brides.’
Roddy groaned. ‘How did I ever let you talk me into doing that?’
She kissed his cheek. ‘You’ll be fine.’
He was just about to ask her when she thought she would be next in London, and if she might find time to have dinner with him, when he heard the sound of glass breaking. Across the crowded room he caught sight of Florence with Billy and his parents, and she had the oddest expression on her face. She looked quite literally as if she had been turned to stone.
Chapter Forty-Six
Her brain told her that she was seeing things, but her heart said otherwise, and not caring that the glass she had been holding now lay in pieces at her feet, Florence crunched over it and rushed to the small window that looked out onto the market square.
Yes, there in the fading afternoon light was the woman she had caught sight of through the window! She was walking across the cobbles, a basket of shopping in each of her gloved hands. She was wearing a tailored navy-blue woollen coat with a scarf at her throat and a knitted cream-and-blue tam-o’-shanter pulled to one side of her head, from beneath which hair the same colour as Florence’s could be clearly seen. She was striding briskly in the direction of the war memorial.
‘What is it, Flo?’ asked Billy, at her side now. ‘What’s wrong?’
She didn’t answer him; instead she pressed her face against the cold glass, trying to get a better look, willing the woman to turn around.
Several times as a young child Florence had been in this very same situation, convinced that she had seen her mother, even calling out to her. But each time she had been proved wrong. Afterwards she would feel crushed with disappointment and would vow never to make the same mistake again, no more would she be subconsciously looking out for her mother who had abandoned her.
But here, surely, was a woman who could not be anyone but Ernestine Massie. It wasn’t just the colour of her hair that made Florence so sure; it was the tam-o’-shanter she wore. Florence had such a clear memory of her mother knitting one for her just like that.
Across the square she noticed the bus trundling up Meadow Lane, its destination the bus stop by the war memorial. What if the woman got on it?
‘Flo?’ said Billy again. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ll explain later,’ she said, pushing past him. She had only one thought in her head now: she had to speak to that woman before it was too late. Frantically she barged her way through the startled wedding guests and made it outside onto the pavement, where cold wintry air sliced through the thin fabric of her dress, straight to the bone. But Florence didn’t care. Only one thing mattered.
Over by the war memorial, the bus had now stopped and passengers were spilling out into the square, chatting and laughing and infuriatingly getting in the way of Florence being able to keep track of where the woman in the tam-o’-shanter was heading.
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In desperation, she called out her mother’s name: ‘Ernestine! Ernestine Massie!’ When she got no response, she set off at a run, her eyes fixed firmly on the woman.
She didn’t see the truck, not until it was too late and her ears were filled with the deafening squeal of brakes, and she felt the impossibly hard impact of the vehicle slamming into her.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The nurses had told her she’d drifted in and out of consciousness for the last twenty-four hours, since she had been brought to the cottage hospital; to Florence it had felt no more than a blink of an eye. But each time she had floated up from the depths of a deep sleep, another piece of the jigsaw had slotted into place.
Now she could remember almost everything, especially leaving the church on Billy’s arm and thinking she was so proud and happy her heart might burst with love for him. She remembered too the moment at the Half Moon Hotel that had stopped her in her tracks – seeing the woman who looked like her mother through the window – but what was still a blank was how she had not seen the truck she ran into. Apparently it was a military vehicle that had taken the corner faster than it ought to have, but the blame lay entirely with Florence; she simply hadn’t been looking where she was going.
Very gingerly, she sat up, knowing that any sudden movement would result in excruciating pain, not just to her head, which felt like it was being repeatedly shaken, but all over her battered body. The doctor had told her it was nothing short of a miracle that she had got off as lightly as she had. Her injuries included two cracked ribs, more bumps and bruises than could be counted, and a blow to her head that had concussed her and given the doctor the most cause for concern. To her mortification, she had been sick several times, once very nearly on poor Billy. What a way to start married life!
She was looking at the empty chair by the side of the bed and wondering if Billy was still around to visit her when he magically appeared through the doorway at the other end of the small ward she shared with five other women, all of whom had visitors with them.
‘You’re awake,’ he said softly when he drew near.
‘Yes,’ she said.
He sat down, moving the chair closer to the bed. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’ve felt better.’
‘Me too.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise.’
‘But I spoilt our wedding day.’
He smiled. ‘You made it memorable, that’s for sure.’
‘And I’ve robbed you of your wedding night,’ she said shyly.
He took her hand in his. ‘Plenty of chances for that another time,’ he said.
Whenever that might be, Florence thought sadly. ‘Shouldn’t you have returned to barracks by now?’
‘Trying to get rid of me, are you?’
‘I’ve been trying to do that ever since we met,’ she said with a smile. Then more seriously: ‘You mustn’t worry about me, I’ll be all right when you’ve gone.’
‘But I’m your husband, it’s my job to worry about you.’
‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘your job now is to come back to me safe and sound from wherever you’re posted.’
‘And your job,’ he said, ‘is not to go running after strange women.’
Embarrassed, Florence lowered her gaze from his. ‘I was so sure it was my mother,’ she said quietly.
Before Billy could respond, Florence saw the familiar and striking figure of Miss Romily enter the ward; she looked marvellously glamorous in her fur coat. Trailing in her wake was a sour-faced nurse who could not have looked more disapproving. ‘Be sure to keep the noise down,’ she said sternly. ‘I won’t have my other patients disturbed.’
When the nurse had gone, Miss Romily removed her coat and gloves and rolled her eyes. ‘Goodness, she’s a bit of a tartar, that one, isn’t she? What does she think we’re about to do, have a wild party? Now then, how are you feeling, Florence?’
‘Foolish,’ she said. ‘I’ve put everyone to so much trouble.’
‘Nonsense my dear, we’re all only too delighted you’re going to be up and about before too long.’ She pulled out a cake tin from the basket she’d brought with her. ‘This is from Mrs Partridge, she thought some cake would be the answer to getting you back on your feet. I’m inclined to agree with her. Everyone else sends their love, including Stanley. But I have to tell you, if you’re thinking of making this a habit, throwing yourself in the path of oncoming vehicles, I’d rather you stopped as of now.’
‘I promise twice is enough,’ Florence said with a small smile.
‘I’m very pleased to hear it, and I want you to know that you’re not to worry about a thing – you too, Billy. In your absence, Mrs Partridge and I will take the best of care of Florence.’
‘I appreciate that, Mrs Devereux-Temple. I really do. Flo means the world to me.’ Billy pushed the cuff back on his battledress sleeve and glanced at his watch. ‘I have to report for duty in the next two hours, so I should get going. I’d give anything to stay.’
‘In that case, I’ll step outside and let you two say your goodbyes.’
Florence watched Miss Romily go, and despite her earlier brave words, she suddenly felt overwhelmed with sadness. This was no ordinary parting; Billy was a trained soldier now, ready to be sent somewhere dangerous where his life would be put at risk.
Perched on the edge of the bed, he rested his hands lightly on Florence’s shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes. She tried to be cheerful, to make it easier for him. ‘Billy Minton,’ she said, ‘you be sure to stay out of trouble. Do you hear me?’
‘The same goes for you. No more crossing roads without looking.’
She blinked. ‘I love you so much it hurts.’
‘That’ll be your broken ribs,’ he said with a tight smile. ‘And since you owe me a wedding night, you can be damned sure I’ll be home quick as a flash to claim my prize.’
She was crying when Miss Romily came back, and kept on crying even when she held her close. ‘There, there, you cry all you want, you’ll feel better for it.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Florence snivelled when finally she could speak. ‘I keep thinking of what that wretched gypsy said about finding love and losing it. What if it comes true with my Billy?’
‘Hush! That was all a lot of twaddle; you’re not to think about it ever again. What I want you to concentrate on is making a full recovery.’
Her lips quivering again with the threat of more tears, Florence swallowed. ‘You’re so good to me,’ she murmured. ‘You always have been, and I really don’t deserve it.’
Miss Romily tutted. ‘Tommyrot, you deserve all the happiness and kindness the world has to offer. Now,’ she said more briskly, ‘is there anything I can do for you?’
‘Yes, take me home, please.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
Four days later, with a sudden drop in temperature and bitterly cold winds sweeping in across East Anglia from the North Sea, snow began to fall.
It was not much more than a fine dusting when Romily set off for the hospital after lunch to fetch Florence home, but by the time they were driving back, they found themselves caught up in a blizzard with visibility down to just a few yards.
Twice now Romily had almost lost sight of the road and come close to skidding off into a ditch. A competent driver behind the wheel of a racing car, she had no fear of extreme conditions, but in this instance, with Florence in the passenger seat next to her, she was taking no chances and was keeping her speed low in Jack’s Bentley. She also kept her eye on the petrol gauge, knowing there was no hope of being allowed to purchase any more fuel until next month.
They’d covered less than a mile, crawling along at a snail’s pace, when Florence said, ‘I haven’t apologised for putting you to so much trouble.’
‘What trouble is that precisely?’
‘Managing without me, what with Annelise and Stanley. I’m sure I could have come home sooner.’
‘If you had, I would banished you to your room to rest.’ Romily turned to glance at Florence, sensing there was something the girl wasn’t saying. ‘What’s really bothering you?’ she asked. ‘And don’t deny there’s something on your mind; I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re hiding something.’
A few moments passed before Florence answered her. ‘I feel such an idiot,’ she said quietly, ‘spoiling my wedding day by imagining that I’d seen my mother. What was it you called it when I asked you about the fortune-teller, about hearing what we want to hear?’
‘Autosuggestion,’ said Romily.
‘Yes, that was it. I suppose I stupidly wanted my mother to be there to see me marry Billy, so I imagined her in the market square.’
‘There’s nothing stupid in that, Florence. I felt much the same way when I married Jack. I would have loved for my parents to be there, to know that finally I’d found a man with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. You see, my mother and father had the happiest of marriages, and so I know it would have pleased them greatly to see me equally happy.’
She kept to herself how devastated they would have been for her at Jack’s death. Instead she took her hand off the steering wheel and patted Florence’s leg beneath the woollen blanket. ‘So how does it feel to be a married woman, Mrs Minton?’ she said in an effort to lighten the mood.
‘I’m not sure, if I’m honest,’ said Florence. ‘It’s almost as though I dreamt marrying Billy.’
‘It’ll take some getting used to,’ Romily said, again keeping to herself the sorrow she felt that she had been robbed of that chance. ‘It’s a shame you’ve got off to such a poor start,’ she added, ‘what with your accident and Billy back in barracks waiting to hear where he’ll be posted.’
‘That’s the worst of it,’ murmured Florence, ‘not knowing where he’ll end up and what kind of danger he’ll be in.’