by Liz Fenwick
It was odd how I’d come to accept his frequent departures, never asking because I knew he couldn’t say. In fact it would be worse to know, for then I might have to lie to others, either by denying knowledge or fabricating something innocuous. The only thing that felt real in this mad world was Bobby and my love for him.
Mrs Tonks smiled at me. ‘There’s a rasher of bacon in the pan, Miss Delly, but I’m afraid we finished the coffee.’ I saw Bobby’s mouth twitch at the use of the names we were known by locally, Melly and Delly. ‘But I’ve made a fresh pot of tea for you.’ She put the old brown pot on the table. How things had changed. Not the Georgian silver one, but the one used for the help. Amelia and I always thought the tea tasted better from it. No metallic tang to ruin the flavour. I poured Bobby and myself a cup and added the smallest dash of milk. I’d learned to like it without sugar since the start of rationing.
‘It’s been wonderful to see you,’ said Mrs Tonks, untying her apron and hanging it on the hook on the back of the pantry door. ‘I’m so pleased your grandmother asked me to come by.’ I smiled as my suspicions were confirmed. ‘It’s a lovely day to go exploring,’ she continued, as she moved to leave. ‘The Ferryboat is doing a good lunch, I hear.’
We waved goodbye to her and watched her collect her bike and cycle down the drive.
‘Alone at last?’ Bobby walked towards me.
‘For the moment.’ I wondered where Madame Pomfrey was as he closed the distance and took me in his arms.
‘What are your plans for me today?’ A wicked glint lit up his eyes, making them dance with mischief.
A smile hovered on my lips as I glanced out of the window. ‘I wish we could take the boat out and I could steal you away to a secret cove. But there’s not enough wind, so that can’t happen.’
‘Shame. I like the sound of another one of your hideaways.’
I blushed. ‘I bet you do. Instead we’ll walk the coastal path and have lunch at the Ferryboat.’
He frowned. ‘Ferryboat?’
‘The Ferryboat Inn. The name comes from the ferry that goes between Helford Passage and Helford.’
‘A ferry?’
‘Not a big one but a passenger one. It’s been going for hundreds of years. To reach the south side of Helford by road takes for ever, but crossing the river is short.’
He kissed me then, and suddenly the cup of tea that I’d been trying to keep upright splashed down the front of my shirt. ‘Oh,’ he gasped, ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Not to worry. I’ll just go and raid my sister’s clothes.’
I bounded upstairs and entered Amelia’s room. The scent of her perfume hung in the air. Tabu. It captured her as nothing else could. On her bedside table were photos of Eddie and one of me. I smiled. It was good to have confirmation that she was missing me too. The room was exceedingly tidy, which meant she’d changed – but then so had I. Living in a cabin with five other women had done that for me, but she hadn’t had the same motivation living at home.
I opened her cupboard and pulled out a top. A few minutes later I was back downstairs wearing a violet blouse that was Amelia’s favourite. I had been jealous when she’d found it and there was only one. It had been a long time since we’d had matching clothes.
We walked down the drive from the house then out onto the footpath cutting across several fields. The hedges were filled with bluebells. I loved this time of year when the greens were brighter and sharper, and everything had an urgency to it. The lane to the church was strangely quiet, though I wasn’t sure what noise I was expecting. Everything was still. I listened for birdsong but there was none. Even the new leaves on the trees were motionless. The heat of the day would build quickly without a breeze.
As we walked up, the old parson was by the lych gate, getting onto his bike and adjusting his glasses. ‘Morning.’
I waved back. Bobby smiled at him, then turned to the inscription above the gate. ‘What church is this?’
‘It’s the church of St Mawnan and St Stephen, but it’s called Mawnan Church.’
‘Mawnan.’
I smiled. ‘A saint who settled here in the sixth century.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘There were many religious pilgrims who landed in Cornwall from Ireland and Wales to convert the heathens.’
He chuckled as we walked through the graveyard to the entrance of the church itself. Pushing the door open, I led him inside and sighed, realising how much I had missed it here. Sunlight streamed through the windows and caught the dust in the air. As a child I used to sit and watch the motes, thinking it was God’s way to show me He existed.
‘This place is important to you,’ said Bobby, studying my expression.
‘Yes.’ I looked around at the familiar stonework. ‘It is.’ I looked up at him. ‘I always dreamed of getting married here.’
His smile faded.
‘What’s wrong?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s just that it couldn’t happen.’
I grabbed the nearest pew, feeling the grain of the wood beneath my fingers.
‘Not that I won’t marry you, but it’s just …’
‘What?’ My mouth dried and I couldn’t swallow.
‘I’m Catholic.’
I nodded. Conversion. I knew this but hadn’t thought about the implications. From his expression, nor had he.
‘Falling in love wasn’t in my plans and yet …’ He smiled. ‘I have.’
My heart stopped and started again. ‘Me too.’
‘But I––’ He ran his hand through his hair, messing it. Suddenly he was younger and less sure of himself. ‘I can’t convert. And seeing you here, I’m realising that I can’t expect it of you either.’
I looked to the streams of light then to the altar. Would I give this up for him?
I took him by the hand and walked to the front of the church. We stood facing each other by the altar rail. ‘I’ll convert.’
His face lit up, but then he frowned. ‘I can’t ask this of you.’
‘You haven’t. I have willingly offered it.’ I stood on tiptoes and kissed him. ‘Robert Webster, I love you and I will do whatever it takes to be with you for the rest of my life.’ A tear slipped down his cheek and I wiped it away. ‘I love you.’
‘You do, and I feel unworthy of that love.’
‘No, not unworthy at all.’ I took his hand. His fingers tightened on mine as I lifted them to my lips. I loved this American with everything that was in me, and I would prove it to him.
Twenty-Eight
Constantine, Cornwall
18 September 2015
The night was drawing in by the time Lara returned home. Snowy was sitting outside on the terrace looking both angry and hungry. He made his feelings loudly known when she opened the door, meowing and wrapping himself repeatedly around her legs, so she went to the cupboard in the kitchen and grabbed the box of cat food she’d bought last week.
She placed a bowl of dry biscuits on the floor in front of Snowy, but the cat simply looked at it blankly before looking back up at Lara. ‘Sorry, old chap,’ she said, ‘but that’s what you’ve got for dinner tonight. The tin of tuna will be mine.’ She opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and poured a glass. The inside revealed little else except one withered pepper and some desolate rocket leaves.
Snowy looked from the tin of tuna and her glass of wine to his bowl of dry cat food, then padded away to stretch out on the sofa. Lara couldn’t help imagining that he would use the nearby remote control, turn on a sports programme and snub her totally if he could.
Instead she ignored the fluffy white shape and looked at the photos and letters spread out on the kitchen table. There was so little to go on and only one clue, Helford.
She picked up the wedding photograph. It gave no sign of the time of year. She turned the photo over, hoping she’d missed a vital detail, but all she could see was the same faded pencil marks declaring the year, 1945. Grandie was in uniform, which wa
s logical – he had served in the US Army until 1950.
It was all a bit of a wild goose chase. Still, Leo had been right to get her off the Cape and stop her from festering. She took a large sip of wine and set about making dinner. Cassie was still with her parents in north Cornwall, and by the sound of it their whole lives needed to alter. Lara shook her head. It was all very frightening, and had made her stop and evaluate her own life. She was enjoying the slower pace here.
Her stomach rumbled and she turned to the counter behind her. As soon as she picked up the can opener Snowy was off the sofa and up on the counter. He sat there beautifully with his two big front paws placed delicately as if he were about to plié. His glorious fluffy tail swung wide and then gracefully covered his paws. The look in his eyes said it all: If you think you’re going to have that whole can of tuna on your own, you can abandon that idea right now. In her mind Snowy had a very upper-class British accent. He was a proper cat and she had let him down terribly by offering those appalling dry nuggets when she was about to feast on tinned tuna fish.
She stroked him and he purred loudly, absorbing the adoration that was his due. She could tell he thought he’d won, and he may well have – guilt was creeping in. The cat watched the tin-opening operation closely, especially when she squeezed the excess water from the can. He did not move, simply continuing with his scrutiny. Taking down a bowl, she threw the rocket into it, then the pepper and finally three quarters of the tuna. She peered at the cat food on the floor, and was tempted to just put the tuna on top. However, her distinguished guest might turn his nose up at that too. Instead, she placed the rest of the tuna into a fresh bowl and put it down next to the original serving of cat food. Snowy hit the floor at the same time and quickly buried his face in the new bowl.
Topping up her glass, she ate at the table and looked over the list of the few facts that she had. Robert Webster had married Amelia sometime during or after the war. They had a daughter, Betty, who was born in England in 1946.
My phone pinged with an email from Deborah, Leo’s fiancé.
Hi Lara,
Did a little digging on Amelia’s death for you. She drowned on October 5, 1950. It’s not clear how. But the ruling was accidental death. The newspaper said her body was found on the beach outside of Eventide by a neighbour and Betty was alone in the house. By all accounts it had been a stormy night. Maybe she went out to stop something blowing away and got swept up.
Leo sends his love.
Dx
She chewed on a piece of rocket, thinking over the contents of the email. Grandie had never remarried after Amelia’s tragic death. He left the Army in 1950 and returned home to Massachusetts to look after Betty, continuing his education and becoming a professor of Marine Engineering at Woods Hole.
Lara flipped through his diaries. She had the one for 1945 but there were no entries from one week after VE Day. It was as if his life had ceased to be worthy of recording from that point onward. His last entry was one sentence:
I’ve been such a fool.
That was it. No more excitement about meeting with A. No more coded entries about where and whom he was with.
Tomorrow she would try calling this General Tucker that Leo had tracked down. Hopefully he would be able to shed some light on Grandie’s war, at least, if not on her great-grandmother.
Snowy jumped up on the seat next to her and proceeded to clean his paws while she pushed the chopped pepper around in the bowl, debating what to do next.
Her phone rang three times. Snowy stretched.
‘Hi, Lara,’ said the voice on the line. ‘It’s Jack Rowse.’
Lara raised an eyebrow at Snowy, who was watching intently. ‘Hi,’ she said carefully.
‘Just wanted to check that everything was sorted with your car? And were you serious about cooking’
‘Of course I was. Sadly, it’s a bit worse than they thought. The rim was damaged too.’ She tilted her head and gave the cat a surprised look. ‘So I’ll be without the car tomorrow. But I’m still good to come by and cook, if you want me to. I can borrow Cassie’s van.’ I frowned.
‘No need. I can collect you …’ He hesitated. ‘I’ve been thinking. When Gran was running a high temperature, she mumbled “the girl” repeatedly – and I just remembered that when I was talking to Eddie about it, he said she must be referring to the caterer in the pretty sundress.’
Lara pulled the wine bottle out of the fridge. ‘I did wear a sundress.’
‘Yes. And the more I think about it, you do have something of a resemblance to my grandmother when she was young.’
‘I do?’ She looked at the cat lounging with his back legs out straight behind him. It boggled the mind how he could do it and then manage to walk afterwards, but it appeared to be his favourite position.
‘Yes. I only saw a picture of her young for the first time a few months back. This BBC reporter wanted to interview her, and brought along a photo taken of her on VE Day, in 1945. The way she looked back then – you’re very similar.’
‘Oh.’ Lara’s skin tingled. Maybe his grandmother was related to Amelia. That could explain the house in the wedding photo.
‘Anyway, I don’t know how she’ll be tomorrow but I think she may be able to help. See you in the morning.’
‘Great.’ She put the phone down and stared at it for a moment. That had to be the most unexpected conversation she’d had in a while. Her trip to the library tomorrow would have to be put on hold, but hopefully Jack’s grandmother would feel well enough to chat.
15 May 1944
The cool air wrapped around us as we walked under the cover of the pine trees. Bobby’s silence worried me. I had hoped that my promise to convert would have eased the tension in him, but with each step away from the church towards the coastal path his silence became heavier and he withdrew further from me. As we cleared the trees I stopped and turned from the view towards him. ‘What’s wrong?’
He looked away from me, towards the view, and then shook his head. ‘I’m asking everything of you.’
I took his hand. ‘I give it willingly.’
‘I know you do.’ He scanned the coast and then began to walk again. ‘I can’t take you from this. You have a wonderful life.’
I grabbed his arm. ‘Stop walking and look at me.’ The water of Falmouth Bay was glistening like blue diamonds, the hillside was blossoming and all I wanted was slipping from me.
He turned and focused on me. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Stop. I love you.’ I took a deep breath. ‘If this wretched war has taught me nothing else it’s taught me how important now is and how we act in the present. It’s about us and how we feel about each other.’
His pupils were small pinpricks in the bright sunlight. I searched for some sign that my words were reaching him.
He shook his head. ‘I’ve seen first hand what can happen when people from different worlds marry.’
‘No, I will go to the States and no one will know who Adele Seaton was or who her family were. They will simply know I am Adele Webster, English wife of Bobby.’
‘I pray that you’re right.’ He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too and that’s all that matters. We can overcome everything else.’
He brought me into his embrace and kissed me. ‘Now tell me what I’m seeing.’
‘Across the mouth of the Helford is Dennis Head, then Nare.’
‘It’s so beautiful here.’ He scanned the horizon.
‘It is.’
He took my hand and we began walking side by side when the path was wide enough. ‘That house on the south side is Pengarrock,’ I said, pointing out the landmarks. ‘And above us is Porth Sawsen. This is its beach.’ The pebbled strand was vast as the tide was out, while the water was clear with pockets of turquoise rimmed with dark cobalt patches. The cool water called to me on this hot day, but we walked past the temptation holding hands.
From behind the boathouse at th
e end of the cove came Bill Tonks in his Home Guard uniform. ‘Hello, Bill,’ I said.
‘Hello, Adele.’ He squinted at me. ‘Home on leave?’
I nodded, thinking how quickly the gossip moved around here.
‘And your man?’
‘Lieutenant Robert Webster.’
Bill looked him up and down. ‘Papers, please.’
After reviewing them he looked up. ‘Off to the Ferryboat?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have a pint for me. It’s going to be a hot one today.’
‘Will do.’ We walked behind the pillbox and continued in silence along the path until we came to Durgan, looking sleepy in the noon sunshine. Fishing nets were drying on the foreshore and for a brief moment I could forget that there was a war going on. However that changed by the time we reached Trebah. The beach was unrecognisable with a pier protruding into the river. It was like a foreign land as we were stopped not only by the Home Guard but by American soldiers, who stood like imported plants that had pushed out the native species. The beach had been covered in concrete and the garden was unrecognisable, with many of the plants hidden under equipment.
‘Papers?’ asked our latest obstacle, a young corporal. We handed them over and I saw Bobby’s glance take in the number of men on watch and the barbed wire marking the boundaries.
‘Sir.’ The corporal saluted him.
As we continued the short distance to the Ferryboat Inn I knew I was the alien now. This was no longer mine and would never be again. I had promised to marry the man beside me, change my faith, my name and my country. Breathing deeply, the smell of salt and seaweed filled my lungs. Amelia would have this place always and I might never return. I stopped walking and stared across the river to Helford. The view was achingly familiar. Part of me would always be here. The noonday sun fell on the cluster of houses at Treath. Lobster pots were drying on the quay. The tide was far out, transforming the landscape. Bar Beach to my right was vast, not as I imagined when I thought of home. I had to burn these views into my mind so that I never forgot them.