I must admit that my spirits were lifted at the prospect of going home.
My parents were at the station to meet us. There were hugs, kisses, and cries of delight. It was all wonderful. My mother could not stop talking; my father stood there smiling in that way I loved so much, and then his arms were round me.
“You’re home at last,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”
What a homecoming that was! I said it was worthwhile being away for so long to get such a welcome.
“It is your home,” said my mother emotionally. “It always will be. And here is Tristan … hello, my little love. And Nanny. Welcome, welcome!”
Tristan hunched his shoulders to show his pleasure.
“It’s nice,” he said.
We walked into the ancient hall, which was not at all unlike Tregarland’s. The two houses had been built round about the same period. There was a fire burning in the great fireplace and flowers at both ends of the hall. A feeling of peace came over me. If I must go on mourning for Jowan, I could feel great comfort in those who had been left for me to love.
We went to our rooms.
“Just the same as ever,” said Dorabella, gleefully.
She put her arms round our mother and danced with her round the room.
“Steady,” said our father. “She’s not so young as she used to be!”
“Ungallant wretch!” cried my mother happily.
“It’s so wonderful to be home,” said Dorabella, and I could not help wondering if she was already planning some rendezvous with Captain Brent.
In the nursery Nanny Crabtree was, as she said, “settling in.” She was crowing with delight.
“That old cupboard!” She turned to Dorabella. “That’s where you hid one day … just to tease us and give us a fright. You were a pickle, you were. And those beds side by side. You remember, when you were little. Look, Tristan, this is where your mummy used to sleep … Auntie Violetta too, when they were your size.”
Tristan gravely examined the beds and it was clear that he found it difficult to imagine us his size.
Of course, it was wonderful to be home. My parents had been right to insist that we come. It would help me, not to forget, of course, for I could never do that, but to get through those days of waiting and to find some happiness in the love of my family.
At least I hoped so.
Dorabella had written to Captain Brent, who was delighted that she was near to London; we had not been at Caddington more than a week when he wrote to say that he could get away for a few days and could she come to London?
My mother suggested she could stay with Gretchen, who would be delighted to have her.
And so it was arranged.
Dorabella came back radiant, with presents for us all. Gretchen was well, she said, and so glad we were at Caddington. It was wonderful to know that we were nearer and in fairly easy reach of London. She was hoping to come down to see us sometime when Edward could get enough leave to make that possible.
“London has changed,” said Dorabella. “That ghastly blackout! One is more conscious of the war and there is that awful air raid warning going off at odd moments when it is wise to take cover. But it is still dear old London—always that little bit more exciting than anywhere else.”
A few days later, my mother said: “I’ve got a surprise for you. Who do you think is coming for the weekend?”
“I can’t guess,” I said. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Remember Mary Grace?”
“Mary Grace!” I cried. “How is she? What is she doing these days?”
“She’ll tell you all about it when she comes.”
“That will be wonderful.”
“I thought you’d be pleased.” She was smiling a little secretively, and I guessed something was pleasing her in addition to the reunion with Mary Grace.
At last my mother’s secret came out.
“It is possible that her brother may be coming with her. He’s Major Dorrington now, you know. He may … just may … be able to get a little spell of leave, and if he does, he knows we shall be pleased to see him.”
I must say I felt rather disturbed. Richard Dorrington had at one time been interested in me, in fact, enough to suggest marriage, and I must have liked him sufficiently not to give him a direct no. It had not worked out very satisfactorily. I had discovered my true feelings for Jowan, and Richard and I had seen nothing of each other since before the war. It would be strange to meet again. My parents had selected him as a very desirable husband for me and, like most parents, they had an urgent desire to see their daughter make a good marriage; Richard Dorrington was, in their eyes, a very sensible and reliable man. After Dorabella’s disastrous adventures in matrimony, naturally they hoped to see me safely settled.
I could always read my mother’s thoughts. She was very much hoping that Richard would be able to come and that we would reconsider our feelings for each other. In her heart she believed that Jowan would never come back.
On the other hand, to see Richard’s sister Mary Grace would be a great pleasure. I had always liked her, since her shy, retiring days when I had first discovered that she could paint exquisite miniatures. She had done one of me, which I gave Dorabella, and one of my sister which Dorabella gave to me. The miniatures were important to us not only because they were delightful but because of what they had done for Mary Grace, who, through the notice she had received for them, had been commissioned to do others.
The weekend was almost upon us and we were still not sure whether Richard would be with us. We had been told that he had leave but it could be canceled at the last moment. So it was in a mood of uncertainty that we went to the station to meet the London train.
It arrived on time and when Mary Grace stepped out, with her was the tall figure of her brother.
We hurried to meet them. Richard looked splendid in his uniform. He grasped both my hands and said with fervor: “Violetta, it is marvelous to see you again.”
We drove back to the house where my father was waiting to receive our guests, and he immediately expressed his delight that Richard was able to come.
“Everything is so uncertain nowadays,” said Richard. “But my luck was in. It is good to be here.”
We sat long over dinner that night. Everyone had so much to say. My father and Richard talked earnestly about the progress of the war.
“Everything has changed since Pearl Harbor,” said Richard. “Even the most pessimistic can’t doubt that we shall win.”
“Hitler must be growing very uneasy,” remarked my father.
“I think he made a mistake in starting up the second front. It is clear that he is not going to have an easy victory in Russia. I imagine he thought he would plough through as he did in Belgium, Holland, and France. He ought to have given the matter more thought. Lucky for us that he didn’t.”
“And now the Americans are in.”
“And it is only a matter of time,” Richard assured us.
“Meanwhile it goes on and on,” put in my mother. “It was supposed to be over by the first Christmas.”
“We were unprepared,” commented Richard. “Now the whole country is working all out.”
“Even I,” said Mary Grace.
She told us about her ministry. Everyone had to work, of course, who had not domestic commitments. She was looking after her mother to some extent, although they had a housekeeper who had been with them for years and was too old to be needed for war work. However, Mary Grace worked part-time. It was interesting, she said, and she enjoyed it.
“And your painting?” I asked.
“I am still doing that, too.”
Richard could, naturally, tell us little of his activities, but he did say that he would have to be ready to land on the Continent when the time came. We still had to see the outcome between Germany and Russia, and there was a great deal of activity in the Middle East. But the outlook was certainly more cheerful than it had been f
or some time.
They had arrived on Friday and would have to leave in the late afternoon of Sunday. It was a very brief visit but we did manage to get a good deal into it. On Saturday Dorabella and I went riding with Richard and Mary Grace; we stopped for lunch at one of the inns we knew well, where we were warmly welcomed by the host.
We talked and laughed a great deal, and I was sorry they had to leave. We all went to the station to see them off and wish them a quick journey back. Trains were rather uncertain and they could not be sure whether they might not be diverted. Such things happened in wartime and Richard had to be back by midnight.
“Let us do this again … as soon as we can,” said my father, and my mother added: “Remember, the first opportunity you get, you must come down.”
“Perhaps you would like to pay a visit to London?” said Richard, looking at me.
“My mother would be delighted to see you,” added Mary Grace. “She often talks of you.”
The train came in and we stood on the platform, waving it out of the station.
My mother looked pleased.
“A very happy weekend,” she commented, and I knew that when she was alone with my father she would say that it had done me a world of good.
Mrs. Jermyn wrote. All was well at the Priory. Mrs. Canter was quite a success and the men seemed rather amused by Mrs. Pardell. They wouldn’t allow her to bully them and they teased her rather shamefully. Mrs. Jermyn was afraid she might have objected, but oddly enough, she seemed to like it.
“Your sister tells me that being in your old home seems to agree with you,” she wrote. “I guessed it would be a help. Dear Violetta, you must stay there as long as you feel it is necessary. I know how happy it makes your parents to have you, and I am sure Dorabella is enjoying being there, too.
“You will always be welcome when you come back, but much as I should like to see you, I believe it is best for you to stay where you are.
“Don’t forget. The first hint of news and you shall know it.”
They were right, of course. I did feel better away from those places where Jowan and I had been together.
A letter came from Mary Grace.
My mother was so interested to hear about our weekend. She wanted to know every detail. She is always saying how much she would love to see you both. It would be fun if you came up. There is still a great deal to see and be done in London now that we are only getting the occasional air raid. I talked to Gretchen about it. She said how pleased she would be if you came and stayed with her. I think she is rather lonely at times. She has only one maid living in who is a great help with Hildegarde, but it does mean that Gretchen can’t get about very much and she hasn’t all that many friends. She would simply love to have you.
When I showed that letter to my mother, she said: “Yes, I do worry about Gretchen. It’s not easy for her. That business back in Cornwall upset her a lot. Poor girl. She was not wanted in her own country and here … well, there’ll always be that tinge of suspicion. I wish she would come and stay here, but she wouldn’t be near enough for Edward’s brief leaves.”
“I think we should go up and see her,” I said.
The idea certainly appealed to Dorabella. She would be on the spot to see Captain Brent at short notice. As for myself, I should like to be with Gretchen for a while.
“Well,” said my mother. “Tristan will be all right. He’ll have his grandparents and Nanny.”
So it was arranged that we should spend a week with Gretchen in London.
Gretchen was delighted to see us. She hoped Edward would get leave so that he could be with us, if only briefly. She was comfortable in the house they had acquired before the outbreak of war. The maid was very useful, both in looking after the house and Hildegarde, but even so Gretchen was fully occupied. I knew she brooded constantly on the plight of her family; she might never know what had become of them. It was touching to see her pleasure in our being there.
Dorabella was full of high spirits. She was delighted that her love affair with Captain Brent was continuing; I think the nature and secrecy of his work added to the excitement of the romance.
We were very soon invited to the Dorringtons’ house where Mrs. Dorrington greeted us warmly and, during the evening, Richard arrived unexpectedly.
“When I heard who your guests were,” he told his mother, “I did a lot of contriving … and it worked. How are you enjoying wartime London?” he asked us.
“Enormously,” cried Dorabella.
“And Violetta?”
“The same,” I replied. “Particularly this evening.”
There was a great deal to talk about and everyone was in a merry mood.
Richard said to me: “If I can get the time off, would you come to a theater with me one evening?”
I said we should love to, and when the evening was over, as Edward and Gretchen lived only a short distance away, we walked back through the blacked-out streets.
The next day there was a telephone call from him. He could get away on Thursday. Were we free?
Dorabella answered it. She always dashed up when it rang, expecting Captain Brent.
She said: “Richard is asking us to the theater on Thursday.” She looked a little sly. “I can’t make it,” she said into the mouthpiece. “Another engagement, but I know Violetta is free.”
I said to her afterwards: “Have you a date on Thursday?”
“What does it matter? He was hoping I had. I couldn’t disappoint the poor man.”
“How do you know?”
“Of course I know. The trouble with you, sister, is that you have no finesse. He wants to be with you … not the whole family. I can see what is before my eyes, if you can’t. The role of chaperone or unwanted guest is not for me.”
“You are an idiot.”
“I may well be in some respects, but in matters like this I am a sage.”
That was how I came to be at the theater with Richard that Thursday night.
I don’t recall the name of the play. It was a light comedy, but I did remember that the theater was full of uniformed men who laughed heartily at the jokes, however feeble, as though they were determined to enjoy the evening at all cost.
During the second act a man came to the front of the stage and announced that the sirens had started and any of those who wished to leave the theater should do so quietly so as not to disturb those who wished to remain.
No one left and the play went on as before and in about forty-five minutes the man came back to say that the all-clear had sounded.
After that we went to supper. We sat in the darkened restaurant and there I found the same air of determined merriment which I had noticed in the theater. We had been shown the table almost deferentially, which was due to Richard’s uniform. Everyone was much aware of what we owed to the airmen, soldiers, and sailors of Britain.
We talked about the war, the hopes of a not-too-distant victory, of my parents, his mother, and Mary Grace.
He said he would never forget what I had done for his sister. She had changed when she did that miniature of me. Did I still have it, he wanted to know?
“I gave it to Dorabella,” I said. “And I have one Mary Grace did of her. They are very good indeed.”
“Yes, I fancy she is quite an artist and none of us realized it until you pointed it out. She changed from then on. She gained that confidence which she had always lacked before. You did a great deal for her and now she seems quite to enjoy being at this ministry. It was a good day for us when Edward introduced you.”
“I worry about Gretchen.”
“Poor girl. It’s sad. I fear she constantly broods about her family. It’s natural, of course.”
“What could have become of them?”
“I do not like to think. The fate of the Jewish people in Germany sickens me to contemplate. If there ever was a reason why we should fight this war, that is it.”
“We must succeed in the end.”
“We will, but at what a
cost!”
I liked Richard. He, too, had changed from the man I had known before the war. Then he had been sure of himself in a rather self-righteous way. Now he seemed different. I hesitated to apply the word vulnerable to him but it came into my mind. There were times when I thought he was about to tell me something … something important which was bothering him. It was almost like a cry for help, which surprised me since Richard was always so self-sufficient.
When we parted, he said: “I can’t get any more leave this week … and then you will be going back to Caddington.”
“Well, it is not so very far away.”
“You’ll come up again? There is room at our house and Mary Grace would be delighted to have you. Shall you go back to Cornwall?”
“I am undecided … my mother does not want me to. She thinks I am better with them and the occasional visit to London. I had my work in Cornwall, as you know.”
“You could do something up here.”
“I suppose so. There has been no difficulty in finding replacements for me.”
“You must consider it. Cornwall is a little tucked away and travel is not easy in wartime. It has been such a pleasant evening for me.”
“For me, too.”
“We must do something like it again.”
“That would be enjoyable.”
“It is a promise, is it?”
“Of course.”
He kissed me lightly on the cheek and I went in. Dorabella was waiting up for me. She looked expectant.
“Well!”
“Well what?”
“How did it go?”
“The play was not very memorable; there was an air raid warning during it, and we had supper afterwards.”
“And Richard … how was he?”
“Very nice indeed.”
“And?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“In the circumstances, no.”
“What circumstances?”
“He’s very attractive.”
“Oh, good night, Dorabella.”
We'll Meet Again Page 18