by Lilian Harry
After sharing the tea Stefan made, Alison went upstairs to feed Caroline. The baby was asleep again by half-past ten, and she laid her in the wooden cradle and covered her up. As footsteps sounded on the stairs, she turned to find the Pole standing at the door of the bedroom.
‘May I see her?’ he asked softly, and Alison nodded. He came to stand beside her and they stood together, looking down at the peaceful face.
‘She is even more beautiful than before,’ he murmured.
‘I know. And the image of Andrew – that dark, curly hair, and those huge eyes. I’m sure they’re going to be brown, like his. If only he could have seen her just once!’
‘I know. It’s all wrong that I should be the one.’ He reached down and touched the baby’s cheek with one fingertip. ‘It’s like satin. She’s perfect.’
Alison moved away from the cradle. ‘She’ll sleep for hours now. She’s such a good baby – hardly ever cries. Hughie was a monster at this age.’ Her voice trembled a little. ‘I’ll just go and make sure he’s covered up. He’s such a fidget, he throws his bedclothes off all the time.’
Together, they went into the next room, where Hughie lay in a tumble of sheets and blankets, his fair skin flushed and his hair damp. Alison straightened out his bedclothes and removed the top blanket, then smoothed back the damp curls. Hughie snuffled and muttered something, then turned away, shrugging the blankets over his shoulder and burying his face in his pillow.
‘Nothing wakes him now,’ she observed, ‘but when he was a baby we hardly dared move. I suppose they’re both used to noise, with all the planes going over.’ Memory washed its pain into her heart again and her mouth trembled. ‘Oh, Stefan …’
Once again, he took her in his arms. They stood together, her head against his chest, as she struggled to control herself, then she looked up at him and said, ‘You won’t go, will you? You’ll stay with me?’
‘All night?’ he asked doubtfully, and she nodded. ‘Alison – you have to think about what people will say.’
‘I don’t care what anyone thinks, or says!’ she burst out fiercely. ‘I need someone with me. I need you. You’ve been such a comfort to me all these months, coming to see me in the afternoons and evenings when Andrew couldn’t get home, and then being with me the night Caroline was born, and now, when I need you most. I can’t be alone tonight, Stefan, I can’t! Please stay.’
‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘Yes, of course I will stay. I don’t have to be on the airfield until the morning. I shall watch over you.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
May was out early that morning. All night, she had listened to the aircraft coming and going, and wondered whether Andrew had managed to get home yet. Her mind was filled with sorrowing thoughts of Ben as well, wishing that he could be one of those still flying. Except that then she’d be worrying over the danger he was in …
As the sun rose, sending fingers of golden light slanting through her curtains, she gave up trying to sleep and slipped out of bed. She was working at the Barton this morning but didn’t have to be there until eight. There was time for a walk before the rest of the family stirred.
In peacetime, she would have walked up to the common and strolled on the short, springy turf amongst the grazing sheep and Dartmoor ponies. But the airfield had spread itself over all her favourite walks, and since Ben had been lost it made her heart ache to see the clutter of buildings, the hangars, the bays and shelters and the long wire fence. Instead, she turned along the lane and walked down the long hill to Lopwell, where the River Tavy became tidal. There had been a mill here in earlier years, and May remembered the pleasure steamers that used to come up the river. They’d been good days, she thought, gazing down at the quiet waters – everyone walking down together for the Sunday School and church outings to Calstock, then coming home late in the evening, sunburned and tired, to sing their way through the darkening lanes. Would those days ever come again, or did they already belong to an era that was past? The war had changed and taken away so much; had it taken away that old way of life, for ever?
She walked back through the village, nodding to a few other people also out early, and went up the hill towards Alison’s cottage. She wouldn’t intrude, she told herself, but it would be nice to see if Andrew had managed to get home. However, as she came within sight of the cottage, she saw the front door open, and a tall man, wearing uniform, emerge and stand talking for a moment on the step.
May stopped. So Andrew had come home, she thought, and felt a warm surge of pleasure for her friends. She waited, not wanting to interrupt their farewell, and then a frown creased her brow.
The uniform the man was wearing was that of the Polish Air Force. It wasn’t Andrew at all.
It was Stefan Dabrowski.
Before she could move, Alison came out of the door and walked down the path with the Polish airman. They stood at the gate and May, frozen with shock, saw him take Alison in his arms and kiss her. Then he strode quickly away along the road, and Alison turned and saw May.
‘Oh, May,’ she said, and burst into tears.
May stared at her. She could think of nothing to say. Disappointment welled up inside her, together with the bitter taste of betrayal. Not that Alison had betrayed her, exactly, but her obvious betrayal of her husband had turned all May’s feelings for her upside down. She hardly knew which way to turn.
Alison held out her hands, as if begging her friend to come closer. But May felt as if her feet were nailed to the spot. She shook her head disbelievingly and found words at last.
‘I don’t understand. What be going on? What was that Polack doing here?’
‘Don’t call him that! It’s a horrible word. Stefan’s my friend, May. He came to – to …’
‘I don’t think I want to hear what he came for,’ May said stiffly. ‘He looked as though he’d been here all night.’
‘He was.’ Alison began to cry again. ‘Oh May, the most awful thing.’ She covered her face with both hands and May stared at her in bewilderment. ‘It’s Andrew. He’s missing. May, Andrew’s missing and Stefan came to tell me. They don’t know what happened to him. Nobody saw him go down. They waited to see if he would phone in, but he never did.’ She curled her fingers into fists against her cheeks, and then pressed them to her mouth. ‘He’s gone. And he never saw his baby. That’s the worst part about it – he never even saw his baby!’ The tears broke out again and this time May took three swift steps towards her and took the other girl in her arms. She felt Alison’s body shaking against her and cursed herself for the thoughts she had harboured. Even if she’d thought a few times that the Pole was getting too friendly, it was obvious that Alison felt no more than friendship for him. It was Andrew she loved, and now she had lost him, just as May had lost Ben.
‘Oh, you poor love,’ May said, holding her close. ‘You poor, poor love.’ She drew her back through the gate and along the path to the door. ‘Come back inside now and tell me all about it. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’ Crooning and murmuring, she led her friend into the front room and sat her down on the sofa. There were some blankets and a pillow there, as if someone had spent the night on it, and once again she felt ashamed of her thoughts. She pushed the blankets aside and then, on second thoughts, wrapped one round Alison’s shivering body.
‘I’ve just had some tea,’ Alison said dolefully. ‘Stefan made it. I feel as if I’ve been drinking tea all night. He came to tell me yesterday evening. I thought, when I heard him arrive, that it was Andrew. But as soon as I saw him, I knew.’ She raised anguished eyes to May’s face. ‘He’s gone, May! He always said he’d never have another crash, but I was always afraid he would, and I knew that if he did, he wouldn’t – wouldn’t – sur-survive.’ The words hiccoughed painfully out of her and she began to gasp as if she were losing her breath. ‘May! I can’t – I can’t – I can’t breathe!’
‘It’s all right.’ May took her flailing hands and held them tightly. ‘It’s all right, flower. Ju
st try to breathe slowly, one breath at a time. That’s it – that’s lovely. Now another one. Slowly, now, there’s no rush. There, that’s better. Lean against me. Let yourself go soft. Now just breathe gently, that’s all you’ve got to do. There.’
Gradually, Alison relaxed and her breathing became easier. The tears still flowed down her cheeks but the terrible, painful sobbing had ceased and after a few more minutes May laid her gently back against the pillows and wrapped the blanket more closely about her. As she drew away, she saw that Alison’s eyes were closing.
Tired out, poor soul, she thought compassionately. I dare say she didn’t sleep at all last night, and she’d have had to be feeding the baby as well. Us’ll have to be careful she don’t lose her milk. Well, she can sleep now for a bit. I’ll get Hughie up and give him his breakfast in the garden, he’ll like that, and there’ll be no need to disturb her until the baby wakes up. She should get another hour or so, at least. And I’ll run down to the phone box and let them know at the Barton. I can’t leave her by herself today.
She crept out of the room, closing the door softly behind her, and went quietly up the stairs. But before she went into Hughie’s room, she stood for a moment on the landing, looking out of the window and trying to take in the news she had just been given.
Andrew Knight, gone. And Alison, like so many other young women, a widow. It was enough to break your heart – if it hadn’t been broken already.
Andrew’s Group Captain came to see Alison later that day. They sat in the garden, where Hughie was playing on the scrap of lawn old Mr Prettyjohn had left when he had dug it over for vegetables. The lettuces were growing well, and the young tomatoes were neatly tied against twigs gathered from the hedges. Beetroot and radishes were showing leaf, and there was a patch of fresh earth where Alison had dug out some new potatoes only yesterday. She’d been going to cook them for Andrew’s supper.
Alison’s tears had dried now and she felt a strange, icy calm as she sat in the old garden chair watching the officer’s face. She knew that when he was gone she would probably weep again, but for now she was determined to maintain her dignity. Tears were only for friends to see, and then only at the very worst moments.
‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am,’ Group Captain Stanton said. ‘Andrew was a fine pilot and an excellent Squadron Leader. He’ll be very much missed. But we mustn’t give up hope. I’m sure Dabrowski told you that nobody actually saw him go down. We don’t know that he was killed. He may well have escaped – it’s not unknown, not unknown at all. And if he did …’
‘If he did,’ Alison said tonelessly, ‘the Germans will probably catch him. And they’ll kill him.’
‘Not at all. They’re far more likely to take him prisoner.’
‘Do you really think so?’ she demanded with sudden vigour. ‘I’ve heard the stories – parachutists shot as they come down, pilots killed in their burning aircraft, or just left there, struggling to get out. And suppose he was injured again? Are they really going to treat him properly, with our soldiers driving them back? Are they really going to give him a bed in one of their field hospitals, when they must have hundreds of their own men wounded? And even if they do, we’ll probably bomb it,’ she added forlornly. ‘It would be better for Andrew if he were killed when the plane went down.’
‘My dear,’ Stanton said helplessly, ‘you mustn’t talk like this. You mustn’t even think it. We must always keep up hope.’
‘I know.’ The baby, asleep nearby, stirred and whimpered, and Alison leaned over to rock the cradle. ‘I’m sorry to behave like this,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I do know what happens. And I know how unhappy Andrew was in the past few weeks.’ She lifted her eyes to his. ‘He never saw his baby, Group Captain Stanton. She’s almost a month old and he never saw her. It was cruel, doing that to him.’
‘There was nothing we could do about it. Orders—’
‘Oh, I know all about orders!’ she exclaimed. ‘My father was a Colonel in the Army. He served in the First World War. I grew up knowing about orders.’ She stood up and lifted the baby into her arms. ‘There – isn’t she beautiful? Our little Caroline. At least I shall have photographs of her daddy to show her as she grows up. And now she’s due for her feed, so …’
‘Yes, of course.’ The man got to his feet and stood awkwardly for a moment. ‘I really am sorry, Mrs Knight. And I’m afraid there will be a few formalities, once we’re certain … But as I say, there’s no certainty at all at the moment, and I myself feel sure that Andrew will come back. People do, under the most extraordinary circumstances.’
‘I know. Through Spain. I’ve even met one or two.’ She settled the baby securely in the crook of her left arm and held out her right hand. ‘Thank you for coming, Group Captain. It was kind of you to take the trouble.’
He bowed his head and left. Alison stood for a few more minutes holding her baby against her, looking down at the face that was so like Andrew’s, with the furrowed brow of babyhood beneath the black curls. As she gazed down, the blue-tinged eyelids lifted and Andrew’s eyes seemed to stare back at her, almost as if they were trying to tell her something.
‘What is it, my sweetheart?’ she whispered. ‘What is it you want to say to me? What is it that you know?’ And then, feeling even more strongly that it was Andrew himself who was trying to speak to her: ‘Where are you now, my darling? What happened to you?’
But there was no reply. The eyes squeezed tightly shut and Caroline opened her mouth instead and began to cry, and the moment that had seemed almost like a strange, brief flash of communication had passed.
Feeling more alone than she had ever felt in her life, Alison sat down to give the baby her feed.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The roses that Olivia had insisted on keeping, when the rest of the garden was dug over for vegetables, were at their best as John Hazelwood took the path that led to the church. The apple tree was covered in tiny fruits and had begun to drop them on the patch of grass where Hope had been born, and the path was bordered by lavender and rosemary which brushed against the skirt of his cassock and sent their aroma into the soft morning air. He felt the sun on his bare head and looked up into a blue sky with just a few small clouds hovering anxiously around the edges, and wished that the world were really as peaceful as it seemed at this moment.
He had written to May Prettyjohn three days ago, pouring out his sympathy and compassion for her in their shared loss. Trying his hardest to see her as the girl Ben had loved, a girl who would have shared his and Olivia’s lives as well as Ben’s and would have been the mother of his grandchildren, he had known a deep feeling of shame that it had taken Jeanie to show him the way. As he posted the letter, he couldn’t help wondering if he would ever hear from her again. Perhaps, having lost Ben, she would think his family had no more interest in her; perhaps she would read the letter he had written and then simply throw it away.
Well, it was done. And he needed to tell Olivia about it.
He opened the door to the church and stood for a moment letting his eyes get used to the shadowy dimness and the cool air on his face. A shaft of coloured light streamed through the east window and flung its rainbow pattern on the stone floor, and a vase of white roses glowed on the altar. Their scent wafted through the little church and as he breathed it in, he realised that there was someone else already here. A bowed figure, sitting in the front pew, hunched as if in prayer.
John stepped back, not wishing to disturb the person, and made his way quietly round the side of the church towards the vestry. As he came level with the front pew he glanced sideways, wondering who it was who had come so early to pray and, to his astonishment, saw that it was his wife.
He stopped abruptly, half-inclined to go to her, and then reminded himself that she was as entitled as anyone else to worship privately and undisturbed. But as he started forward again, she raised her head and their eyes met.
‘Olivia,’ he said quietly, and she got up and came towar
ds him. ‘Olivia, what are you doing here?’
‘What should I be doing in a church?’ she asked, and he shook his head a little, feeling bemused.
‘It’s just that you haven’t been here for so long. I was surprised – but very pleased, my dear.’ He took her hand. ‘I hope this means that you’re feeling better.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever feel better. Perhaps I feel different, though. Changed in some way.’ She sat down again and he took his place beside her, looking into her face. Her eyes were fixed on the coloured window above the altar and some of its light fell on her cheeks, touching them with iridescence. Her grey eyes were steadier than he had seen them for some time, and her lips firmer. He felt a sense of relief, yet reminded himself that her sadness must still be there. Nothing could change the fact of their loss of two sons.
‘How do you feel changed?’ he asked gently.
‘I don’t know, quite. As if I’ve come out of a thick fog, perhaps. There are still misty patches but I’m beginning to see again.’ She turned to him. ‘You’ve changed, too. I can feel it. Something’s happened in the past few days and you’re different. And that’s made me different too.’
He stared at her in shock. ‘I’ve made you change?’
‘It’s not quite like that,’ she said, ‘but we’ve always been so close, haven’t we? Our feelings have always been shared in some way. Do you remember when I was expecting the children, and you were the one who was sick in the mornings? And how you felt my labour pains? I think it’s been the same now. We’ve been feeling each other’s pain. As long as neither of us could break free of it, the other one was trapped as well. But in the past few days, I’ve felt almost as though a knot has been untied inside me. And I know it’s partly to do with you – your face is different. A few wrinkles have been smoothed out.’ She shrugged a little and looked up at the brilliant colours of the window again. ‘Or maybe I’m finding my way back to my faith, as you said I would.’