by Lilian Harry
She missed Stefan too. After that last evening, as they’d sat late with the dusk gathering in the garden and the shadows finding their way into the house itself, she had heard nothing from him. He had got up rather abruptly after his remark about not wanting to leave, and left without his usual last cup of tea or cocoa. At the door, he had touched her cheek with one finger, and then turned away. She had stood at the door, watching him disappear into the dusk, feeling strangely disturbed, as if he had been trying to tell her something she had not understood.
He was probably worrying about his family, she decided eventually. The information about the Red Army advancing towards Warsaw wasn’t wholly good news for a nation that had suffered under the Bolsheviks before. And it was so long since he had heard anything of his parents, his brothers or sisters that he must be almost afraid to find out. They might none of them have survived; he might feel even more alone than he did now.
It was a surprise, then, to meet him walking along the road when she was out on one of her afternoon walks with the children. She quickened her step towards him and saw his face light up and then, unaccountably, close down again.
‘Stefan! Where have you been all this time? I’ve missed you.’
‘Alison.’ He stopped and took her hand, bringing it to his lips in the way that he always did. ‘I’ve missed you too. But I thought it best …’ He didn’t finish and she felt a small frown crease her brow.
‘What did you think best?’
‘Never mind. It’s of no importance now.’ He ruffled Hughie’s hair and peeped into the pram at Caroline, then said, ‘Are you out for a walk?’
‘Yes, we’re going for a picnic. It’s such a lovely afternoon. Why don’t you come with us? I’ve made plenty of sandwiches.’ She saw his hesitation and said coaxingly, ‘We could go as far as the river if you came too. It’s too far for me to push the pram on my own, and the hill’s so steep on the way back.’
They walked along together and she told him about the plans for the wedding. ‘I’m sure you’ll be getting an invitation. Ben says he’s asking the whole squadron.’
‘Indeed, he already has. And we are going to give him a guard of honour as he and his bride come out of the church. That’s a secret, though,’ he warned her. ‘You’re not to tell them.’
‘I won’t. Oh, it’s lovely to have something nice happening for a change.’ They reached the river and found a grassy spot on the bank to settle down. While Stefan took Hughie down to a little beach to paddle and throw pebbles into the water, Alison lifted Caroline out of the pram and laid her on the old blanket she had brought with her. The baby kicked her legs and gurgled at the gently moving leaves above, stretching her hands out as if trying to grasp them and pull them down.
She’s grown so much already, Alison thought, watching her. She was smiling and laughing now, an oddly deep-throated chuckle that made everyone else laugh too. She still had the thatch of soft, dark hair, so much like Andrew’s, and her eyes had darkened to the same brown as his. She was totally the opposite of fair-haired, blue-eyed Hughie; people would find it hard to believe they were brother and sister, as they grew older.
Stefan came back and threw himself down on the blanket beside her. They sat watching Hughie, who was sitting on a rock staring intently into the water.
‘What’s he looking for?’
‘Fish. We saw some very tiny ones – I don’t know the English name for them.’
‘Minnows, I expect. Or sticklebacks – they have little spikes on their backbones. He’s not thinking of catching some for tea, I hope.’
‘He’s thinking of it,’ Stefan said. ‘I don’t think there’s much risk that he will succeed.’
They sat quietly for a little while and then he said, ‘I have something to tell you, Alison.’
‘Oh?’ She felt her heart bump. She was suddenly not at all sure that she wanted to hear what he was about to say.
‘There is a Polish squadron coming to Harrowbeer soon – probably in the next week or two. I am going to join them.’
‘Oh,’ she said. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting to hear, although she could not have said what that was. ‘Well, you’ll be pleased about that, won’t you? To be back with your own countrymen.’
He inclined his head. ‘That will be good, yes, although I shall be sorry to leave our squadron. I have made many good friends there. But I shall be leaving Harrowbeer too, Alison. The new squadron will be going to another airfield and I shall be going with them.’
‘Oh,’ she said again. She looked down at her hands, looped around her drawn-up knees, and felt at a loss as to what to say next. She was conscious of a feeling of loss, as if something she’d hardly known she valued was being taken away from her. Lamely, she said, ‘I’ll miss you.’
‘I’ll miss you too, Alison.’ He paused and she looked up and met his eyes. They were very dark. Her heart jolted and she felt a sudden anguish.
The silence lasted no more than a heartbeat. Then he got up abruptly and stood over her, holding his hand down to help her up. She gripped his fingers and he hauled her to her feet. She stood close to him, her hand still clasped in his, and laid her other hand on his shoulder. She could feel his breath on her cheek.
‘Stefan—’
‘No!’ he said sharply, and let go of her fingers. He stepped away so suddenly that she staggered. ‘This is not what you want.’
‘I don’t want you to go away. I’ll miss you so much.’
‘And I will miss you. More than you know.’ His darkened eyes found hers again. ‘I have to tell you, Alison, that I asked for this posting. It was my choice. When I heard that the squadron would be here … I knew it was time for me to go back to my people.’
Alison stood very still. On the rug, Caroline kicked and chuckled, and down by the river Hughie had picked up a stone to throw into the water. She felt a great sadness settle over her. Sitting down again, she rested her forehead on her knees.
Stefan came back. He squatted in front of her and touched her on the shoulder.
‘You do understand why, don’t you?’ he said, and she nodded without looking up.
‘I have great feeling for you,’ he said. ‘I have always had it. I knew I must never say this to you – I should not be saying it now – but I think we should be speaking the truth to each other. If you had not been married …’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know.’
‘You feel it too. You know that if you had not been married—’
‘But I am!’ she exclaimed, looking up at last. ‘I still am. Andrew’s alive, I know it. And even if he weren’t …’
‘And that,’ he said quietly, ‘is why I must go away.’
They looked into each other’s eyes and he laid one palm along her cheek. Alison closed her eyes. Then he took his hand away and when she opened her eyes again, he was by the river with Hughie again, pointing at something in the water.
After a while, he came back and they ate the sandwiches Alison had made. They drank water from a bottle and Caroline had her feed while Stefan took Hughie for a walk. After that, they climbed the hill back to the cottage.
‘I won’t come in,’ he said as they reached the door. ‘Thank you for a beautiful afternoon, Alison.’
‘Will I see you again before you go?’ she asked, looking into his face.
He hesitated, then said a little too quickly, ‘Oh yes. I expect so.’ But she knew from the expression in his eyes that he would not come back.
‘Goodbye, then,’ she murmured, and he took her hand and kissed her fingers, his lips warm and tender on the tingling skin.
‘Goodbye, Alison, my friend. My very dear friend.’
He walked away along the road, but although Alison stood watching until he turned the corner, he did not look back.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The wedding day was fine and warm, and the villagers of Milton Combe turned out in force to see May Prettyjohn, in a billowing cloud of white muslin, go through the church do
or to marry the tall young RAF pilot who had come back, seemingly, from the dead.
The church was filled, and those who couldn’t get in lined the path through the churchyard to cheer her and wish her well. Inside, flowers blazed from the windowsills and beside the lectern. On the altar stood a vase of golden roses.
John Hazelwood, who was to officiate, stood on the chancel steps waiting, his prayer book in his hands. Ben, with his old friend Tony Sinclair beside him as best man, waited nervously in the front pew. Behind him sat his mother, his sister Alexandra and Jeanie. Hope was to be a bridesmaid along with May’s little cousin, and they had come down in the farm trap – which had been scrubbed clean and decorated with flowers – with May and her grandfather. William himself had been brought into the church on the bier more commonly used for coffins, and was now in the front pew on the other side, ready to give his daughter away, but she was to enter the church on Grandpa’s arm. Mabel, sitting beside her husband, was looking her best in a pink costume that she had had since before the war and a hat she had made herself.
Alison sat just behind them with Hughie and the rest of May’s family; Caroline had been left with Mrs Potter next door. She glanced across the aisle at Ben and gave him a small smile, and then the soft notes of the organ changed to the dramatic bars of ‘The Wedding March’. The bride was here.
The congregation stood up. Ben, visibly trembling, turned to watch his bride approach, and Alison’s heart turned over at the expression on his face. She glanced at his mother, saw tears glimmer on Olivia Hazelwood’s cheeks, and felt a warm gratitude for the older woman’s sake, that her son had come home.
May, carrying a bouquet of yellow roses that echoed the colour of those on the altar, came slowly up the aisle, leaning on her grandfather’s arm. Her dark curls were piled on her head and the radiance of her smile shone through the drift of muslin veiling her face. She stopped at the chancel steps and turned to Ben, and there was a moment of silence as, with a look that needed no words at all, they pledged themselves to each other.
John Hazelwood waited until they turned back to him, and then began to speak in a resonant voice that rose to the rafters and filled the church with his own personal joy.
‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together …’
As Stefan had promised, there was a guard of honour outside the church when the newly married couple emerged, and a burst of cheering and a shower of rose petals. May, her veil thrown back and her face rosy with laughter and happiness, ran with her husband beneath the arch of swords and posed for a few photographs. With almost no film available, only one or two people had cameras, but William had insisted on having the photographer from Tavistock to record the occasion.
Alison stood in the background, her heart filled with pleasure at her friends’ happiness, and yet still touched with her own pain. As she had watched and listened to the service, she had not been able to help remembering her own wedding to Andrew and the joy she had felt – their hopes for the future, their plans and their dreams. But as swiftly as the memories entered her mind, she thrust them away. This was a day for rejoicing; she could cry later, when she was alone.
At last the congratulations and good wishes came to an end. Those who were going to the reception at the Prettyjohns’ cottage began to set off up the hill, while May and Ben climbed into the trap and clattered off ahead of them, behind the old black pony. And as Alison stood with Mabel and old Mr Prettyjohn, waiting for the crowd to disperse so that William could be helped from the chair that had been placed by the church door, she noticed a man in RAF uniform walking down the narrow village street. His dark, tumbled hair was so much like Andrew’s that as she saw him she felt her heart stop.
He could not be Andrew. He was too thin. And one sleeve of his uniform was pinned, empty, across his chest. But as he came closer and began to search the crowd, as if looking for one particular face, she knew the truth, and began to run.
‘I went down behind the German lines,’ he told her as they sat in the front room of the cottage later that evening. Hughie, worn out with excitement, was in bed and Andrew had at last relinquished Caroline for her evening feed. Now she too was in her cradle, snuffling gently in her sleep. ‘I was damned lucky – a French farmer saw the plane go down and got me out. My left arm was pretty badly crushed but the local doctor saw to it pretty well, though he couldn’t save it. They kept me in their loft for weeks. They could have been killed if I’d been found, but they wouldn’t give me away. I owe them everything.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Alison said. Tears came to her eyes again. ‘I’m sorry, darling, I can’t stop crying. It’s been so awful – I tried to believe that you’d come back, but it was so hard at times. And it was all the worse that you hadn’t seen Caroline. It was all so unfair.’
‘Well, we know life isn’t fair, don’t we,’ he said. He slipped his right arm around her shoulder. ‘All the same, I’m glad I’ve still got one of these to hold you with. You’ll have to make sure you always sit that side of me.’
‘But how did you get back?’ she asked. ‘What did the French family do?’
‘Well, the Jerries are being driven back all the time, you see, so after a while we were in Allied territory and it was safe for me to come out. As soon as that happened they contacted the nearest Army camp and I was collected, taken to a field hospital and once they were satisfied with me I was sent home with the next batch of wounded soldiers. And here I am, back again like a bad penny.’
‘Not a bad penny,’ she said, leaning against him, feeling the warmth of his body. ‘A gold sovereign.’ She understood now what May had meant by saying she had needed to keep touching Ben to make herself believe he was really there.
‘Oh Andrew, I’m so glad you’re back. I’m never going to let you go away again!’
‘Don’t think there’s much chance of me going, anyway,’ he said a little ruefully. ‘By the time I’ve persuaded the RAF to let me fly one-handed the war’ll be over.’
‘I hope it will,’ she said, and then lifted her head. ‘Listen.’
The air was filled with the sound of aircraft. They got up and went to the door. The golden light of sunset bathed the sky and tinged the feathery clouds with apricot and gold. A squadron of Spitfires flew over in tight formation.
‘That’s the Polish squadron,’ she said quietly. ‘Stefan must be in one of the planes. He told me he was going with them. He’s left Harrowbeer, Andrew.’
Andrew slipped his arm around her and held her tightly against him. The Spitfires were on their way west, into Cornwall. As the two watched, the last one dipped its wings and then flew away into the burnished distance and, with a pang of sorrow, Alison wondered if she would ever hear from Stefan again; whether he would ever find his family; whether he would even survive whatever was left of this terrible war.
They turned to go back inside, their arms still wound about each other’s waists. The sound of the aircraft died away, and Alison heard the blackbird once again; and the shimmering sky was filled with the liquid joy of his song at twilight.