“Perhaps. I’ve not given it much thought.”
“Do you nurse Kippy,” I asked? Milk is in such short supply. Everyone I know with a baby is nursing.”
Oh dear, no! What? And ruin the shape of my breasts with that little beast chomping at them? I wouldn’t dream of it, “Edwina retorted. “Also, I wouldn’t be able to drink any alcoholic beverages, and nine months was enough of that.” I was completely taken aback, but didn’t really know why. The comment was very much in keeping with Edwina’s narcissistic attitude. Edwina probably didn’t even think it a bit crude.
“If I’d stayed in Paris I would have had a wet nurse. Anyway, I’ll have your farther make arrangements for me to have the milk I need.” I was becoming livid with her smug, selfish attitude, but knew it wouldn’t serve any good purpose if I were to show my irritation. She would, indeed, demand that Papa provide whatever she needed, and he would run her errands like a love-sick school-boy. At present, Kippy was soundly sleeping in Isabella’s nursery. Isabella was three years old, and didn’t used a cot anymore, so that is where we put Kippy, since my daughter’s former canopied one was still up on one wall of the nursery. Isabella had her own little youth bed on the other wall.
Papa had mixed himself a drink, and was scanning the headlines in the Times. He put the paper down, looked at the two of us, and smiled. “Right, this pleases me greatly. I can’t think of anything in the world I might enjoy more than sharing the evening with my two favorite women. ”I smiled, although it wasn’t easy.
“Oh Nigel, we’ve spoken so often of just such a thing. Isn’t it lovely? Sophia, I do thank you so much for letting me stay here. It’s so good of you.”
“You were there when I needed you, Edwina. I suppose it’s only right that I return the favor. ”
“That’s sweet,” she answered. “Honestly, Sophia, I do know that this is difficult for you. It’s a strange situation. Of course I know that. But, it will all work out. I’m just certain of that.”
“I hope so Edwina. I just hope you both understand what you’re doing,” I said.
Papa stood up, and clapped his hands together in what was an obvious effort to change the subject. “What say we go out to a pub, have a few pints, and celebrate Edwina’s being back on English soil?”
“Papa, Kippy is here and Martha is not. There would be no one to care for him.” I replied.
“Aah, yes. I forgot. Sorry.” He looked disappointed, but sat back down in his chair, and took another sip of his drink.
“Oh, Sophia what nonsense! Surely there must be someone we could ring and ask to stay with Kippy for a bit. He is a very good little baby…doesn’t much grizzle at all. It would be fun to get out, and to be around people, but we couldn’t go without you. If someone were to see us, it would be so much easier if you were in the party.” It was an unbelievably cheeky remark, but I kept still. I was growing rather used to cheeky remarks. I was a bit put out that they couldn’t stay at home for one evening, but conversely, I felt that I’d rather be out in public, than sitting in my flat trying desperately to think of something to talk about. So, I rang a friend in my building, who’d taken care of Isabella in emergency situations. She was only too happy to come up to Number 7 and watch over Kippy while we went out.
We took a taxi to the Café de Paris, a favorite haunt of London’s social set, but scarcely the pub Papa had spoken of so casually. Men and women were in full evening dress, wearing diamond bracelets, brooches and silk stockings. I felt sorely underdressed in a simple, classic summer ensemble, and also somewhat disgusted that there were so many people who didn’t seem to understand that England was at war. Edwina didn’t appear to mind her lack of formal attire, nor did Papa. When we entered, I saw several friends of mine from before my marriage. There were also persons I’d known during the time I was married to Owen. Some were those who’d made up the group with whom the former Prince of Wales ran. Lady Therese Furnett was one of them. She motioned for us to come to her table. She was older than I was, by several years, but very nice. I’d always liked her. We all walked her way. Of course, Therese knew Nigel, but not Edwina. Naturally, the fact that we had roomed together at Ashwick Park took care of any awkward moments. How fortunate for Edwina that they had me for a cover, for otherwise everyone in London would have been whispering the next day about the beautiful young blonde who’d been seen at the Café de Paris with Nigel Somerville.
‘Sophia Winnsborough! How splendid to see you. Where have you been hiding? It’s been eons since I’ve seen you,” Therese gushed.
“Therese. How nice to see you. I’ve been busy with my daughter and classes I’m taking at The University of London. I also have my school roommate visiting. She’s just been through the ‘Fall of Paris’ with her little boy.”
“How impressive,” she smiled, referring to my classes. Then, turning to Edwina, she said, “You were at Ashwick Park with Sophia? I don’t recall having seen you in London before… Are you from here?”
“No,” Edwina replied sweetly. I’m originally from Bury St. Edmunds, but I’ve been in Paris the last four years. I’ve only just returned, due to the ghastly happenings there.’
“Oh my dear, isn’t it too perfectly dreadful? Are you married?”
“I... ah... lost my husband quite recently. Edwina stammered, to my astonishment. “I have a two month old little boy.”
“Yes, Papa chimed in. “Our family has known Edwina since 1932, when she and Sophia met at Ashwick Park. She’s like a second daughter to us. When her husband was lost, I helped her return from France. She’s going to become re-established here in London.” This was the first I had heard of Edwina’s settlement in London, and her supposed widowhood. I didn’t know if they had actually decided that she would settle in London, or if that was just a story. I assumed the widowhood story was invented to explain the possibility of someone seeing her with Kippy.
“Oh my sweet girl,” Therese commiserated. “You are so young to be widowed... And to have a baby, as well. You poor, poor dear. I suppose we’re going to see a lot of this, now that the fighting has begun in earnest. Was your husband lost at Dunkirk?”
“Not at Dunkirk, but on the Continent,” she answered. I had to admire her evasiveness. It was true that Dieter had been lost on the Continent. Nigel introduced her as Edwina Phillips, so it seemed obvious that she wasn’t going to admit to having married a German.
“So, now you’re going to re-locate to London? Do you know where you’ll be, as yet?” Therese continued.
“I’ll need to take a flat. I’m to begin looking tomorrow.”
“I know just the place,” Thelma said, clapping her hands together. “It’s a town house in Mayfair. Really very smart, and perfect for a lady with a small child. The owners have removed to the country for the duration of the war. I know they’d like to let it, just to know there is somebody there to keep an eye on things.”
“Well…That sounds splendid, Edwina replied. Is it terribly large?”
“No…The usual. Three stories and narrow. Only three bedrooms, and a maid’s alcove, on the third floor. Enough for you and your child, and a servant, of course.”
Edwina glanced at Nigel out of the corner of her eye. He smiled, and nodded his head.
“Yes, yes. That sounds exactly like what Edwina has in mind. How would she go about seeing it?” He asked.
“I’ll ring the owners, and make arrangements. Where are you staying, then”? Therese inquired.
“I’m at Sophia’s flat at present. I can give you the number there, and you could ring me if that wouldn’t be too much trouble. Or I could ring you, if you prefer. Therese took a small gold pen out of her evening bag, and wrote a number on the Café de Paris cocktail napkin in front of her. She slid it across the table to Edwina, saying, “This is my number. Please ring me tomorrow afternoon. I expect to be home until evening.”
“Right. I cannot thank you enough. This is so nice of you. I’m just so touched. This could solve all of my problems. Re
ally, Lady Furnett, I’m terribly grateful,” Edwina went on.
“Not at all. I’m glad to be of help. Would you like to join our party?” She added, as an afterthought.
“No, I don’t believe so, Nigel interjected. Thank you for asking, but these two,” he said, waving his hand in Edwina’s and my direction, “haven’t had time to have a good chat, so I thought I’d give them that opportunity tonight,” he smiled.
“Of course, Nigel. How nice to have a reunion of school friends. And Nigel, how delightful for you to accompany these two lovely, young ladies for the evening,” she smiled.
“Yes,” he replied. “It’s always great fun to listen to Edwina and Sophia reminisce.”
“Well, it was lovely seeing you Sophia and Nigel, and meeting you Edwina. I’ll look forward to speaking with you tomorrow. Enjoy your evening,” Therese said, as she waved us off.
I murmured the appropriate niceties, as we all did, and proceeded to our own table. I was simmering inside, as I really did not appreciate being used in such a manner, but then, what had I expected? That was exactly what made it so easy for my father and Edwina to be seen together in public. No one would think anything of it, because of the close friendship Edwina and I shared. Or had shared. It was shameful, but as ever I said nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
1940
Back to Willow Grove
When we returned to the Flat that evening, we wished one another a goodnight and I retreated to Martha’s room. It was horrifically uncomfortable, knowing that my father and Edwina were down the hall in my room. I turned on the wireless, to drown out any sounds, and readied myself for bed. Then, I sat down at the desk in the corner, and wrote a long, letter to Spence, telling him of recent happenings. How I wished that he were there with me. As I crawled into bed, and pulled the comforter up, a well -known, popular wartime song was being sung, and I began to weep. It so reminded me of the last time Spence had kissed me, on that night when he came to my flat in 1939, wanting to see Sophia. He had said words to me about how we would meet again. My life had become so complex. All I’d ever wanted was the happiness and peace that accompanied a good marriage and a home of my own. Now, I lay in my own home, and in my own housekeeper’s room, while my father was undoubtedly making love to my once best friend in my own room.
In the coming days, Edwina did take the house in Mayfair, and it was charming. There was no doubt in my mind about who was underwriting it. Edwina had no means of support, and certainly wasn’t about to contact Dieter. I supposed she might have had some funds saved, but doubted that they’d have been sufficient to engage a property in Mayfair for any length of time. I was certain that the cost was dear. She also hired a Nanny/Housekeeper, by the name of Helen, who seemed competent, and set about making London her home. She didn’t seek employment as a designer, and I didn’t ask why. I had never believed it was a particularly good time to be seeking such employment. Most women of our class, who were working, had some connection to the war effort. Papa returned to Willow Grove Abbey, and I didn’t see him frequently. I knew that he was in London often, as Edwina had no difficulty keeping me informed of that fact. Obviously, he stayed with her in Mayfair. It was very hard to speak with Mummy on the telephone during that time, knowing the many lies that were being told to her. It was equally hard to talk to Edwina, who didn’t seem to understand the pain she was inflicting. She simply treated the whole affair as though she were involved with someone whom I casually knew... Having a wonderful romance. Our conversations grew more strained as time wore on, and I became less and less able to tolerate such a duplicitous existence.
On 22 June, France signed an armistice with Nazi Germany, and was divided into two zones. Winston Churchill recognized Charles De Gaulle as leader of the Free French on 28 June, and on 3 July, the Royal Navy destroyed most of the French Navy at Mers-el-Kebir, to keep the German’s from taking control of them. Then, madness reigned. On 10 July, 1940 the German Air Force began a massive bomber attack Temporarily, I stopped worrying about my father and Edwina, putting all of my energies into worry and prayer for Spence, and others engaged in the fight for their country, their lives, and their loved ones. Spence was in the thick of it. Every time the telephone rang, I jumped, my heart pounding with fear. I scoured newspapers, and listened to the wireless round the clock. Planes were lost and pilots killed by the score. I didn’t hear from him for weeks, which nearly drove me bonkers, but I understood that he had scarce time for writing.
On 7 September, the German Air Force switched strategies. They started to bomb London. It became known as the Blitz. On the first day, 430 citizens were killed and 1600 were critically injured. The German bombers came back the next day and another 412 died. Every night, all night long, the Germans bombarded us. First we would hear the wail of the sirens; then the hideous sounds of German planes flying in from the sea. On a clear day, I could see their airplanes high up in the sky. On those days, I could also see our own British planes flying up to intercept them. After the first siren, we were all supposed to go to the Anderson shelter. We were terribly afraid, and London took on a frightfully altered appearance. Eight Wren churches were destroyed in one night. Areas familiar to nearly everyone were unrecognizable. Streets were filled with burning buildings, broken, glass, and piles of rubble. On 10 September, I made the decision to leave London. I could no longer expose Isabella to such danger. It was apparent that we needed to evacuate to Willow Grove Abbey, where the war was more remote. The night before, innocent children asleep in their prams, and mothers with babies in their arms, were killed when a bomb exploded on a crowded shelter in an East London district. In one family, three children had died. The horror was unimaginable. I spoke with the Hausfater’s, who were living in continual terror, and asked them if they wanted to move to a safe-haven in the country. They literally jumped at the opportunity. I assumed that Edwina would take Kippy and flee to Bury St. Edmunds, but instead, she announced that she, too, was going to re-locate to Willow Grove Abbey. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I knew that it had to have been my father’s suggestion, so I didn’t even try to talk to him about it. I knew full well that anything I said would be met with stoic, stubborn resistance.
I asked Martha what her preference was. Did she want to leave Sumner Street and return to her own parent’s home, or come with us to Willow Grove? She’d become so attached to Isabella, and of course was considered part of our family. Martha quickly decided that she wanted to remain with Isabella and me. With the sounds of sirens plaintively wailing about us, I hastily packed. The delicate and fragile items in the flat were sent to storage, including the chandeliers, as I had no illusions that Sumner Street might be fortunate enough to escape damage from the bombing. I hastily scribbled a letter to Spence, telling him of my plans, which I knew would relieve him. I was certain that he was well aware of the devastation taking place in London. He was surely worried sick about Isabella. In the letter I told him that after waiting so long and suffering such anxiety about what might happen if bombing came to London, now that it had finally arrived, I found myself too busy worrying about what needed to be packed to go to Willow Grove, and what would go into storage, that I didn’t have time anymore for worry.
The people of London were bricks. They went on with their lives, in spite of the horror, and I never saw or heard anyone lose their heart or courage. I was proud to be a Londoner. King George and Queen Elizabeth were such incredible examples of bravery. They refused to leave Buckingham Palace. On the very day I decided to pack and evacuate, Buckingham Palace was hit by a delayed-action bomb, which fell outside of the north wing. No one was injured in the ensuing explosion, but the windows of the Royal apartments were shattered. The palace attack was on 13 September. The day was very cloudy, and it was raining hard. Six bombs made direct hits: two in the front courtyard, two in the quadrangle, one in the garden and one in the chapel, which was destroyed. Yet, the Queen and King held tightly to their determination to ride it out with their peopl
e.
Joseph drove up from the Abbey. He collected Isabella, Martha and me, and a separate car was sent for Edwina, Kippy and Helen. The Hausfater’s drove my little Ford the following day. We left early in the morning, when bombing from the night before had ceased. After another night of terror and noise, with very little sleep, we made our way from the flat on Sumner Street to the waiting car. I could hear the sound of broken glass being cleared away, as we made our way through heart- wrenching streets. We would pass a building which was no longer standing, but there would be two fireplaces straight up the wall. There was dust from brickwork in the air, and a strange odor from explosive materials which the bombs had contained. We could also smell domestic gas, seeping from broken pipes. My heart ached as I viewed the destruction. It was all so senseless. I knew that Spence would be actively involved in the battle. Britain was fighting for her life and all of the brave men who were defending her were struggling against horrific odds. The headlines in the Times kept everyone abreast of how many pilots and planes were lost. I prayed harder than I had ever prayed in my life, terrified that I would receive word that Spence was amongst those numbers.
The drive to Willow Grove Abbey was quiet. Each of us was terribly disturbed by the sights we’d seen. It was hard to leave, knowing that so many were left behind, to march on bravely. We all knew that there was more to come. And yet, I was so relieved to be escaping the horrible devastation. I wasn’t so naive as to think that there wouldn’t be bombing in the country, but it was far less dangerous at Willow Grove Abbey than in London proper. Isabella took it all so well. She was, after all, only four years old. She did show tremendous fear at the noise of the bombs, and the frightening concussions, but, Martha and I did our best to calm and reassure her that we were safe. I was extremely proud of the way my little girl displayed such bravery. We arrived at Willow Grove in the early afternoon, stopping only once for petrol and a quick pub lunch. Mummy was waiting in the Great Hall as we stepped out of the car, and made our way into the house. She seemed genuinely pleased to see everyone, and quickly set about directing us to our respective quarters. The Abbey was so immense, and there was certainly no lack of living space for additional numbers of people. Martha, Isabella and I were given a portion of one wing, consisting of a suite of rooms, which included a small parlor and two bedrooms with an adjoining loo. It was more than comfortable. Isabella’s room had been transformed into a duplicate of her room on Sumner Street. Her bed had been moved, and everything was in its place, exactly as it had been in her own home. I was grateful for that, as it lessened the trauma of the move. Everything was ready, with fresh flowers in each room, and large, fluffy towels on the warmers in the baths.
Willow Grove Abbey: A Historical World War II Romance Novel (The Somerville Trilogy) Page 32