by Erica James
The very thought of you and I forget to do
The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do,
I’m living in a kind of daydream
I’m happy as a king
And foolish though it may seem
To me that’s everything
But rather than give in to the grief that without warning still had the power to creep up on her and strike her down, she cleared her tightening throat. ‘Roddy,’ she said, ‘there’s something I need to discuss with you. It’s something I should have arranged with you a long time ago. Do you remember the jewels and the Rembrandt sketch belonging to the Friedberg family in Austria that I brought back from Europe before Jack’s death?’
‘Yes.’ Roddy nodded. ‘I remember thinking how you really shouldn’t have taken such a tremendous risk.’
‘Tish and tosh, it was hardly any risk at all! Now what I want to ask you is this; those items have been in the safe upstairs ever since I brought them back with me. The original plan was for Sarah to have them in London, but when war broke out we decided it would be better for them to stay here in what we believe is comparative safety.’
‘That makes sense, yes. Although a bank vault would be quite secure, I’m sure.’
‘You’re probably right, but transporting them anywhere now could put them at risk. A risk I’d rather not take. Currently, apart from me, only one other person knows the combination to unlock the safe, and that person is Florence.’
‘Florence?’
‘Don’t look so surprised, Roddy; I’ve trusted that girl implicitly since the day she came to work for me. Just as Elijah and I have trusted her to look after Isabella in our absence.’
‘Fair enough. What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to know the combination also, in case anything happens to me or Florence.’
‘Nothing is going to happen to you,’ he said with a frown. ‘You’ll live forever, Romily. You’re indestructible.’
Romily recalled saying a similar thing to Jack. ‘But in the event of your optimism being misplaced,’ she said, ‘I’d like for you to have the combination. It would give me peace of mind. I think it would give Florence peace of mind too, knowing she wouldn’t have to shoulder the responsibility completely alone if for some reason I did fall out of the sky or something equally careless. We also need to have a document drawn up stating very clearly who owns the contents of the safe. Of course none of this really seemed necessary when I carried out the favour for Sarah, as we didn’t think the war would go on for too long. Now we know better.’
‘I’ll do whatever is necessary,’ he said. ‘Will you have time to sign the paperwork before you and Sarah leave?’
‘Sarah’s leaving first thing tomorrow morning, but I’ll be here until the afternoon. I’d also like to make a new will. Again, it’s something I should have done before now. Will you have time to prepare everything?’
‘I shall make time.’
‘Thank you, Roddy, what would we do without you?’
‘You of all people would manage.’
‘Well, Hope, this is quite the party you’ve thrown,’ said Arthur, coming over to join her and Kit. ‘If you’re not careful, the good people of Melstead St Mary will expect this every Boxing Day.’
‘Would that be such a bad thing?’ replied Hope. ‘I enjoyed organising it, so why not?’
‘Why not indeed?’ With a nod to Kit, Arthur said, ‘You’re looking in pretty good health, all things considered.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you,’ said Kit. ‘Fatherhood seems to be suiting you,’ he added. ‘Ralph is a regular chip off the old block and no mistake.’ He exchanged a look with Hope. Not long after his return to Island House, his sister had confided in Kit what she and Edmund had witnessed in London: Irene playing fast and loose with another man. A year ago Kit might have taken grim satisfaction in telling Arthur that his wife was making a fool of him, if only to settle an old score, but he had no appetite for such juvenile games now. What was more, when Ralph was born there was no question of his parentage. The child bore an unmistakable likeness to his father; he was a Devereux through and through. The poor devil even had his father’s temper if he couldn’t get what he wanted. As a consequence, both Kit and Hope had decided that maybe all marriages had their share of secrets, and if Irene was unfaithful to Arthur, it was frankly none of their business. Sleeping dogs and all that.
Absorbed in his own thoughts, he hadn’t realised his brother had drifted off to talk to somebody else, not until Hope nudged his arm. ‘You all right?’ she asked with a small frown on her face. ‘Are you weary of being sociable?’
‘I’m fine,’ he lied. Tiredness was a permanent problem for him. He rarely slept for longer than a couple of hours at night, frequently woken by terrifying nightmares of being consumed by a raging inferno, the flames licking at his body. He would wake bathed in sweat and more often than not screaming loud enough to wake the entire household.
But he was determined to get better, to focus on leading as normal a life as he possibly could. As Evelyn never stopped telling him, he just had to be patient with his recovery. He looked across the room to where she was talking to Romily. He smiled to himself, thinking he could look at her for hours, given half a chance.
When the revulsion and rejection he had anticipated from Evelyn had not happened, he had assumed her feelings for him were based on nothing more than pity. She had soon put him right on that score, telling him that as far as she was concerned, he was still a work in progress, an undertaking that she had every intention of seeing through to the end. She caught him staring at her now and smiled. It was the kind of smile that made him believe in miracles, that anything really was possible.
‘She loves you very much, you do realise that, don’t you?’ Hope said softly beside him.
‘She could have any man she wanted,’ Kit murmured, still staring at Evelyn.
‘True. But she’s chosen you, so don’t you forget that.’
‘I won’t,’ he said, turning to look at his sister. ‘The same goes for you and Edmund.’
She smiled, reminding him of when they were children and she had corrected him over something, only then to concede that he hadn’t been wholly wrong. ‘I suppose we have to count ourselves lucky,’ she said, looking around the crowded room until her gaze found Edmund.
‘Perhaps you should go and rescue him,’ said Kit, seeing him cornered by Lady Fogg.
‘I’m sure he can take care of himself. Besides, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you.’
‘Oh, that sounds ominous. What are you going to take me to task over this time? I’ve said I’ll agree to see that skin-graft specialist friend of Edmund’s in the new year; you don’t need to cajole me any more over that.’
Kit would prefer never to see another doctor or hospital again for the rest of his life; any visit to one usually resulted in excruciating pain. But if he were to have any semblance of a normal life, including a way to earn a living, it was something he would have to endure for a long time ahead. He’d do it for Evelyn’s sake, if not for himself.
‘Kit, you always make me sound such a tyrant,’ his sister said disapprovingly. ‘I only nag you because I want the best for you.’
He smiled and put his arm around her. ‘I know. And you know what, that was probably what Dad thought when he was screaming blue murder at us.’
‘Lord, now you’re likening me to our father, of all people!’
‘But isn’t it true? Aren’t we all a bit like him, just trying to make the best of a difficult life? More and more I’ve begun to see what a challenge it must have been coping with us four children on his own. Yes, he often got it wrong, spectacularly wrong, but by God, can we say we’d have done any better? If nearly losing my life has taught me one thing, it’s to walk a mile in another fellow’s shoes
before I judge him.’
‘You’ve become quite the philosopher,’ Hope said with a smile.
‘No I haven’t, I’ve grown up. Now then, what was it you wanted to say to me?’
‘Something I should have said a long time ago. You’re the best brother I could ever wish for.’
‘Is that it?’
She laughed. ‘You want more?’
‘Always!’
Chapter Seventy-Four
Later that night, over at Winter Cottage, Florence lay wrapped in Billy’s arms. It would be their last night together for goodness knew how long, and she was determined not to miss a second of it.
My husband, she thought dreamily, listening to the rise and fall of Billy’s breathing, as well as the steady thud, thud, thud of his heart as she lay with her head on his chest. My handsome, wonderful husband. How lucky I am!
It was funny, they’d been married for almost a year, but it was only now that Florence felt she was truly his wife. Was that merely because at long last they had made love?
With my body I thee worship, she thought with a smile.
Well, since Christmas Eve they had certainly committed themselves to the joy of worshipping each other with their bodies! Their initial attempt had not gone too well, but now they had really got the hang of it and Florence could see what all the fuss was about.
She raised her head very slowly so as not to disturb him as he slept, and looked up at his handsome face, tracing his features with her eyes, wanting to run a finger along his smooth jaw, but again not wanting to wake him.
Florence had confided in Miss Romily and Mrs Partridge, and both women had assured her that it was only to be expected that Billy would need time to recover from the awful things he’d experienced in France; that she was not to worry, as it would only make things worse. She didn’t kid herself that Billy was the carefree, light-hearted boy he had once been, but he was definitely easier within himself now, and his old sense of humour had returned, and for that she would be forever grateful.
As if sensing she was watching him, Billy stirred. ‘Go to sleep, Mrs Minton,’ he murmured sleepily, his eyes fluttering open. ‘Or otherwise I’ll have to have my wicked way with you again.’
‘You’re all talk, Billy Minton,’ she teased.
‘Oh yes?’ he said, his voice less sleepy now. Then with one strong, effortless movement, he rolled her over and stared down into her eyes. ‘Say that again.’
She laughed and kissed him happily on the mouth. ‘You know what, Billy, I love you even with all your many faults.’
‘Of course you do. It’s because I’m so irresistible.’
‘And so modest.’
‘You’d have me no other way. Come on, we’d better go to sleep, we both have to be up early in the morning.’
‘I can’t sleep,’ she said, not wanting to think of tomorrow when she would have to say goodbye to him again.
‘Yes you can.’
He was right. Eventually she did sleep, a deep restful sleep.
Chapter Seventy-Five
‘There she goes.’
‘Just look at those awful mannish trousers she’s wearing. It’s not natural, women dressing that way.’
‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, what she’s doing is not a proper job for a lady. Not a real lady.’
‘Which only goes to confirm what we’ve always thought.’
‘I disagree.’
Edith Lawton and Ivy Swann abruptly lowered their teacups and turned away from the window of the Cobbles Tea Room, through which they had been observing the driver of the red sports car stride at a hurried but elegant pace into the newsagent’s shop. The two women looked quizzically at Elspeth Grainger, each convinced they must have misheard her.
‘I admire her,’ said Elspeth boldly, putting down the mince pie she was eating. ‘What she’s doing shows she has backbone. Real backbone.’
Her comments were met with shocked disbelief.
‘Backbone is all very well,’ said Edith stiffly, ‘but as I’ve said before, what about her responsibility to the children?’
‘Yes,’ joined in Ivy, ‘what’s to become of them while she’s playing at being a pilot? It’s shameful, that’s what it is. It’s the men I feel sorry for. Women like her are stealing their jobs. Jobs that would be better done by a man, a man who—’
‘I hear the children are very well cared for,’ interrupted Elspeth. ‘And heaven only knows, with the nightly bombing raids on London, the RAF needs every bit of help it can get. If that means women are needed to ferry aircraft about the country while our brave boys in blue can get on with the business of combat, I for one am all for it.’
‘Well,’ said Ivy with a scandalised shake of her head, ‘I never thought I’d hear you take that woman’s side. Are you feeling all right, Elspeth? Are you running a temperature? Was it all too much for you over Christmas?’
‘I’ve never felt better, thank you very much,’ said Elspeth. ‘And I’ll tell this for nothing. That Mrs Devereux-Temple’s a darned sight more patriotic than some people I can think of round here. What’s more, if I were her age, I’d be doing a lot more than knitting and digging for victory. I’d be … I’d be driving an ambulance or manning a canteen at the very least!’
A stunned silence fell on the table, and not knowing what else to say, the three women turned to look out of the window again. The object of their discussion was emerging from the newsagent’s with a newspaper tucked under her arm. Her stylish long fur coat, worn over her ATA uniform, accentuated the swift grace of her step as she approached the open-topped car and slipped nimbly behind the steering wheel.
Still without speaking, the three women watched her secure a silk scarf around her head and pull on a pair of cream fur-trimmed gloves. She then started up the engine and pulled away from the kerb. She drove round the square, and as she passed the tea room, she seemed deliberately to slow her speed before waving at the three women. Elspeth Grainger waved back with pride and respect, earning herself a wide smile from the driver and a cheery toot-toot of the car horn.
Then with a throaty roar of engine, Romily Devereux-Temple was gone.
Acknowledgements
The village of Melstead St Mary exits entirely in my head, as do all the characters, but a very real and beautiful house inspired me, and so I’d like to thank the owners who unwittingly provided me with Island House. They know who they are!
I’d also like to thank one of my readers – Naomi Veasey – for giving me Winter Cottage.
My good friend Rita Annunziata deserves a mention for helping me with the ninna nanna – Fate la Nanna Coscine di Pollo – the words of which I still struggle to make sense of!
Lastly, I’d like to thank the staff at the Suffolk Regiment Museum in Bury St Edmunds for showing me round and for being such a great help.
As always, artistic liberties are the prerogative of the author!
Also by Erica James
A Breath of Fresh Air
Time for a Change
Airs and Graces
A Sense of Belonging
Act of Faith
The Holiday
Precious Time
Hidden Talents
Paradise House
Love and Devotion
Gardens of Delight
Tell it to the Skies
It’s the Little Things
The Queen of New Beginnings
Promises, Promises
The Real Katie Lavender
The Hidden Cottage
Summer at the Lake
The Dandelion Years
Song of the Skylark
Copyright
AN ORION EBOOK
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Orion Books.
This ebook first published in 2017 by Orion Books
The right of Erica James to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 1 4091 5962 9
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