‘Rebecca, my love – is it really you?’ he whispered in some agitation. ‘Kiss me.’
She leant over and kissed his cheek and forehead.
‘Kiss me, Rebecca.’
She kissed him lightly on the lips, and he closed his eyes, drifting into sleep as the morphia took effect.
Paul touched her arm. ‘We’d better go now, Becky. He looks more peaceful.’
On that same Sunday afternoon a couple sauntered down to the Blackwater, their arms entwined.
‘I couldn’t go back to the base without seeing you again, Babs,’ he said, kissing her. She gave him a radiant smile. ‘And I wouldn’t have let you go, no matter what Mum and Dad said.’
They stopped to embrace, then continued to walk slowly on until they were hidden behind the alders that grew down to the riverbank. He pulled her down beside him on the dry grass.
‘Let me—’
She made no resistance as he pulled at her summery dress and with increasing urgency thrust a hand up between her thighs.
‘You’re the sweetest girl, Babs, let me make you happy,’ he said thickly, and she shivered in eager response, kissing his mouth and helping him to reveal her naked breasts. He kissed her nipples, first one and then the other, drawing them into his mouth. She gave a sharp gasp at the unfamiliar sensation on her tender flesh, and in the next moment he had climbed on top of her, and she felt his hand seeking an entrance; he did not need to ask her – she quickly removed her underwear and spread her legs for him. He thrust his hard erection inside her, and reached a climax almost immediately; she cried out at the stab of pain, for in spite of her reputation as a flirt, Barbara Seabrook was a virgin.
‘God, I’ve needed that ever since—’ he groaned with satisfaction. ‘By God!’
She lay passively beneath him as his panting subsided, scarcely able to believe what had happened, which was that Lester Allingham had possessed her, and she had freely consented. Now she was his and he was hers, before he returned to his air base.
Tom Munday and Eddie Cooper avoided each other’s eyes. They were easily the oldest among the men who had turned up on this summer evening at the cricket pavilion for the first meeting of the North Camp Local Defence Volunteers.
Seabrook the butcher had put himself forward as unchallenged leader. ‘We’re here in answer to the Prime Minister’s call to all of us, whatever age or occupation, to be prepared to defend our island,’ he said, to be answered by eager nods. ‘We haven’t got a uniform as yet, but armbands and forage caps will be issued soon. We must each imagine that a German invasion has taken place – and that could happen at any time. With so many of our young men away in the armed forces, it’s up to us, their fathers, to fight here at home.’ He lowered his voice to add, ‘My own son Robin has gone to join the Royal Navy, and it’s up to us old stagers to back our boys up, right?’
He had spoken for them all, and Tom and Eddie exchanged a glance and a nod.
Each volunteer gave his name, address and whatever skills he could contribute. Weapons ranged from rifles of the Great War to pitchforks and pickaxes to face the foe. Any overture on the part of the German invaders to seek their cooperation was to be repulsed, and in true Churchillian style Seabrook thundered that any talk of defeat, any spreading of ‘alarm and despondency’ should be publicly rebuked.
‘We’re sworn to serve our King and country to victory, at the cost of their own lives if need be,’ he told them, and echoed the Prime Minister’s vow that ‘We shall never surrender.’
And if the Local Defence Volunteers were something of a joke among their communities at first – ‘the Long-Toothed Volunteers’ – their numbers increased nationwide, and by the winter of that dangerous year they were properly kitted out with standard issue army uniforms and renamed the Home Guard.
But much was to happen before then.
‘But Mother, how can I go on saying what I don’t mean and don’t feel, just to placate him?’ asked Rebecca. ‘At some time he’ll have to be told that I can’t marry him out of pity.’
‘Don’t look too far ahead, Becky,’ answered her mother. ‘The poor boy may not recover, and in his present state he needs to believe that you return his love, so you must pretend, at least for the time being.’
‘But I feel so guilty, Mother, seeing how his eyes light up when he opens them and sees me standing there. If only I could help him in some other way!’
Isabel looked thoughtful. ‘Actually, there is one way you might help him – take Philip Saville with you when you next visit. His leg was amputated over twenty years ago, and so he knows how Geoffrey feels – and how he too might overcome the loss. The two have met here, when the Perrin boys took Philip down to the stables, and Paul and Geoffrey asked him to take tea with them on the terrace.’
‘Oh, Philip would be much too shy and wouldn’t know what to say – it would be too embarrassing for words, he’d never dream of visiting!’
‘He just might if I were to ask him,’ Isabel said with a little smile, and when Rebecca stared in surprise, added, ‘Leave him to me!’
‘Wasn’t it wonderful?’ enthused Valerie as she and John Richardson were walking home from North Camp station, having caught the last train from Everham. ‘That American Civil War was a long time ago and a long way away, and yet – all those wounded soldiers crying in pain, and the wives and mothers dreading the news of their loved ones – it could be today.’
‘Hardly to be compared with Dunkirk,’ John replied with a short laugh. ‘We were real men under bombardment, not actors as in the film.’
‘Yes, but they were re-enacting what happened then, and war is war, wherever it is,’ said Valerie, ‘and anyway, it was a wonderful film.’
‘I suppose you were swooning over Rhett Butler,’ he teased.
‘No, I didn’t care for him at all, I much preferred Ashley Wilkes.’
He laughed at her seriousness. ‘For my money, Scarlett O’Hara beat them both into cocked hats! So, little Valerie, you’re doing your bit on the home front. I can just picture you with those kids at the nursery. Hitler must be scared stiff!’
‘You can mock, but the children all have mothers working at the munitions factory, which they couldn’t do without us,’ Valerie pointed out, disappointed at his attitude. ‘And I’m so grateful to Lady Neville, who got me the job and persuaded my mother to agree to it.’
‘Lady Neville – ah, yes.’ He wondered how much Valerie knew about Rebecca. ‘Her son got out of Dunkirk, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but only after most of the survivors had got away. He stayed back with a friend who’d been wounded, now in hospital at Southampton. His father’s an MP, and Miss Neville goes to visit him when she gets a free day from work at Yeomans’ Farm. She’s a land girl.’
‘Oh. That must be a big consolation to him.’
‘I’ve heard he’s very ill, and might not recover,’ she said seriously.
‘Let’s hope for the best, then.’
His expression gave nothing away, and when they reached her home, she turned to face him on the doorstep. ‘It was a wonderful film, John, and thank you for taking me.’
‘My pleasure.’ He put his arm around her waist, anticipating the further pleasure of a kiss. Willing and wanting to return it with equal warmth, she offered her lips – and drew back with a sharp gasp when he pushed his tongue between her teeth, and held her body close against the hardening beneath his trousers. Never in her dreams of John Richardson had she imagined anything as physical as this, and to her shocked surprise found herself repelled; she just wanted to say goodnight and get indoors.
‘I’d like to ask you in for a cup of tea, John,’ she said breathlessly, ‘but Mother and I keep very early hours, you see. It’s nearly ten o’clock, and—’
‘It’s all right, little Valerie, I understand,’ he said, and kissing her lightly on her nose, disappointed by her silly shyness, but glad to be spared another encounter with the old trout.
Paul had returned t
o the war in Europe, and Rebecca and Philip Saville travelled down to Southampton by train; it was a weekday, because of Saville’s duties at St Peter’s on Sundays.
Trying to make conversation, she remarked that her mother appreciated his piano lessons to the Perrin boys, and his provision of music for the Ladies’ Knitting Circle on Wednesdays.
As always, he glowed with admiration at the mention of Lady Isabel Neville.
‘You and your brother are fortunate in having such a lady for your mother, Miss Neville. And I expect you take after her,’ he said with shy sincerity that Rebecca found rather touching.
‘It’s kind of you to say so, Philip, and I hope I can live up to her example, but in fact she’s not my birth mother. I was adopted, soon after my brother Paul was born.’
His jaw dropped in amazement. ‘But – you look so much like her!’ he exclaimed.
‘She has been a good mother to me – I couldn’t have had a better – and I’m very thankful indeed that she took me as her daughter – but yes, I was adopted.’
No more was said on the subject, but Philip pondered on the information, wondering what circumstances could have led to the adoption of a second child so soon after Isabel Neville had borne Paul, the child of her first marriage.
At the hospital, Geoffrey Bannister was improving. He was no longer feverish, and was strong enough to take a few steps with the aid of crutches. He seemed to welcome Saville, though privately thought him a poor advertisement for life as an amputee; and when Rebecca said she would take a walk around the ward to speak to other patients, he did not object; in fact he took advantage of a few minutes’ time to talk to Saville alone.
‘I’ve appreciated your visit, Philip,’ he began. ‘It’s obvious that Rebecca brought you over to give me encouragement, but in fact I’ve got another use for you.’
‘Yes, Geoffrey?’ Philip wondered what on earth was coming.
‘I don’t need to tell you how much I care for her, and the dear girl says she cares for me in return. We’re not officially engaged, but – both families expect us to be, as soon as I’m stomping around on a handmade leg.’
Philip was mystified. ‘Go on.’
‘The truth is that I don’t intend to marry her or any other girl until I’ve got my life in order. Things are completely different now, and I’ll have to look for another way to live out my life and still be of use. And that could be – a year? Two years? Five years? I don’t intend to allow her to sacrifice her life to look after me, nor do I need pity. She must be free to do what she pleases in this ghastly war, and who knows, we may come together when it’s all over, or she may find another lucky fellow. That’s where you come in, Philip, to explain this to her, comfort her if necessary, and you may need to talk with her parents, though I shall write to them, and explain to mine. Understood?’
‘My dear chap – are you really sure?’ Philip was unable to miss the irony of the situation. Isabel Neville had asked him to accompany Rebecca on her visits to this man, not only because of the experience of amputation that they shared, but also to shield Rebecca from too close an intimacy, because, she had confided to him, Rebecca was not in love.
‘Absolutely sure. You can choose the time and place to tell her, if there is ever a right time for something like this. Only don’t water it down at all, let her know that this is final, that I’m breaking off the unofficial engagement. Her mother will comfort her, if it comes as a very great shock.’ He held out his hand. ‘Thanks, Philip – sorry to land you with it, but there’s no other way.’ His mouth was set in a hard, straight line, and Philip was bereft of words as he shook hands. ‘And another thing, Philip, get yourself a decent artificial leg with a proper knee joint, and throw that stick away. It’s not too late for you to join the land of the living.’
When they left the hospital, before they reached the railway station, the news was on everybody’s lips, all around them, being broadcast on the wireless ahead of the newspapers. There had been an air raid on London: bombs had been dropped, and people killed and injured. Suddenly the air raid shelters, the sandbags and wail of the air raid siren had become reality.
Britain was under attack from the air, and all other news became insignificant. Philip Saville never plucked up courage to give Geoffrey’s message to Rebecca, but quietly told her mother that a letter from Bannister would arrive for her and Sir Cedric. He was overwhelmed by her thanks, and it was she who told Rebecca.
CHAPTER SEVEN
1940
Ernest Munday’s thoughts were bleak as he cycled the four miles from Everham to North Camp on a sunny Sunday afternoon. It would have been perfect, he reflected, were it not for the ongoing invasion from the air, the wave upon wave of Messerschmitts flying over from a conquered Europe to the southern shores of England, to be met by the Royal Air Force, the young, newly trained men piloting Spitfires and Hurricanes which met machine-gunning with machine-gunning, so that aircraft from both sides went nose-diving down into the sea or hit the ground, where they usually burst into flames. People looked up from the streets of London or the green countryside of Kent, Essex and Sussex to see the ‘dog-fights’ overhead, holding their breath to see whether the aircraft with the swastika or the concentric circles on its wings would fall to earth. Or both.
Ernest was visiting his father and the family at 47 Rectory Road, though Devora had hoped he would join her and the family on a picnic. A houseful of teenagers on their summer holidays was not easy to manage, especially now that Ayesha was getting asthmatic attacks quite frequently. These would have terrifying onsets, in which she gasped for breath and went blue in the face. She had been prescribed an inhalation contained in small glass ampoules which Ernest and Devora, now their only parents, had to break into handkerchiefs and hold the released vapour to her nose and mouth. Ernest was sorry to leave them, but had insisted that he pay a family visit to his father and the Nuttalls at a time when young Jack Nuttall was facing danger and death in the battle of the skies.
‘Dad! How are you?’ He clasped Tom’s hand, noticing how pale and tired he looked. Young Doreen, not at work, greeted him eagerly.
‘It gets very tense here, Ernest,’ said his father in a low voice, ‘with young Jack out there – or rather up there, facing those Messerschmitts. He’s a rear gunner, hardly trained to fly, let alone engage in battles. Grace is taking it very badly, poor girl.’
‘We all went to church this morning, Granddad, except for Mum,’ said Doreen, ‘and Mr Kennard prayed for our men in their aeroplanes, and specially mentioned our Jack and the rector’s son. Did you go to church too?’
‘No, Doreen, my family’s Sabbath was yesterday,’ he said with a smile. ‘And as we haven’t got a synagogue in Everham, we join with two or three other families to share the readings and a meal in the home of one of us. Where’s Grace?’
‘She’s resting. Didn’t have a very good night,’ said Tom. ‘And Rob’s gone out to the LDVs – I mean the Home Guard, as they’re called now – at the cricket field. It’s hard on him, too, him being Jack’s father.’
‘Hello, Ernest, I thought I heard your voice,’ said Grace, coming into the room. ‘Are you on your own?’
‘Yes, Gracie!’ He got up to kiss her. ‘I didn’t think you’d want an invasion from my howling mob, the Mundays and the Pascoes!’ Too late he regretted the word invasion, seeing that young Jack was among the RAF fighters resisting invasion from the air.
‘How are the Pascoe children?’ asked Tom.
‘Not bad, really. Young Jonathan and David are like the ones in the Bible, just like brothers. Ayesha’s not so well – she gets these asthma attacks that frighten us to death, and she still wakes up screaming in the night with bad dreams, which wakes us all up. Devora’s very patient with her, but doesn’t get thanked. I suppose Ayesha can’t forget what happened to her own parents, and won’t accept us taking their place.’
‘Poor child,’ sighed Tom, but Grace said curtly that it would be a lot worse for Ernest and Devora
if their David was in the RAF at this time, and Ernest nodded and agreed.
‘The rector’s son Lester is in the same situation as your Jack,’ he said gently. ‘We pray for them all, these young heroes, in church and synagogue, and at home.’
Grace was not to be persuaded out of her chronic, corrosive anxiety, and scowled.
‘I shan’t set foot inside that church again until I see my son alive,’ she snapped. ‘Nor that Ladies’ Circle or whatever she calls it now. She was calling round here the other day, that curate’s wife, and I soon sent her on her way.’
‘That was a pity, Grace,’ said Ernest. ‘It just doesn’t sound like the Grace Munday I used to know – a little tomboy always up to mischief, but full of life and fun.’
‘Oh, yes, I was a proper little goer,’ she answered with a dangerous edge to her voice.
After a pause, Ernest took a large round pie-dish out of the leather bag he had carried on the back of the bicycle. ‘Devora sends her love to you all, and has made you this apple pie from our own early apples.’
‘Very kind of her – thank her from us,’ said Tom, smiling.
‘Strictly kosher, I suppose,’ said Grace without smiling.
‘How’s our David getting on?’ asked Tom. ‘He must be – er – fourteen by now.’
‘Fifteen this year,’ said Ernest. ‘Yes, he’s a good lad, says he wants to come into the family firm later on, so Munday and Pascoe Accountants of Everham will go on!’
‘Oh, very nice, what a comfort,’ said Grace with bitter sarcasm. ‘Here’s my Rob can’t get enough woodwork jobs to pay our way, and my poor Doreen doing her best to please the Lady de la Mucks who go to Thomas and Gibson’s – but the Pascoes of Everham will never go short of anything; that’s Jews for you!’
A Family's Duty Page 11