by Anne Douglas
‘Oh, Ross, you’re not going to be involved, are you? Do you mean that’s why you’re back?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ he replied seriously. ‘We’re home for preparation and training. It’s what we’ve been working towards for some time; it’s something we have to do.’
‘It will mean killing, terrible killing.’
‘And victory, Jinny. If we want to overcome evil we have to have victory over Hitler. Lives will be lost – on both sides – but it’s the only way.’
She knew he was right, that victory was essential and must be paid for, but the price – it was so high she couldn’t bear to think about it, and leaped up to begin making preparations for their meal. May and Allan were to join them, and Josh, too, for he was taking time off from the theatre for Ross’s last night.
‘What did you think about Vi finding a lovely young man?’ May asked Ross over the wonderful gigot lamb chops she’d given Jinny, having been thrilled to be offered them by her butcher. When he’d heard about Allan he had been even more helpful to May, though Vi would probably still have put his helpfulness down to May’s beautiful blue eyes.
‘I’m very pleased for her,’ Ross said now. ‘Barry sounds like a damn good soldier, and from what I’ve heard he and Vi are really suited.’
‘Aye, she’s happy,’ Josh put in. ‘And Barry’s such a grand lad, you have to be happy for her, eh? Just hope he comes through what’s ahead, along with all you young men.’
There was a short silence after that, with Allan heaving a deep sigh and Ross finding Jinny’s face and saying, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be fine!’
If only he’s right, she prayed. If only they all come through, Ross, Barry and all the young men who meant so much.
But when D-Day arrived on 6 June, and the first Allied assaults were made on Normandy, though Ross survived, many of the other young men with him did not. And one of these was Barry.
Seventy
All those who knew Vi expected her to be stoical over the death of Barry, and so she was. Though it must have been hard to endure the euphoria of other people seeing an end to the war at last, she showed no emotion, driving her ambulance when she returned from a short time at home with the same dedication she’d always displayed. Only her face, so lacking in light, in any expression, revealed her feelings.
‘Oh, to see her not crying, not giving way, makes me want to weep,’ May told Jinny, and Jinny, trying to imagine how she would have managed had it been Ross who’d been killed, could only agree. There was something so poignant about Barry’s death, coming when there was real hope of victory after all the years of fear, that it made the grief of the Hendries very real, and because they could not share it with Vi herself, all the more difficult to accept.
Josh, in particular, was very affected. Such a fine young man, he would say, such a wonderful soldier. What good times they might have shared in the future, liking the same things such as football and going out for a pint! He might have been the son Josh had never had, mightn’t he? And talk of a son was something his girls had never heard from their father before.
All they could do was let Vi come to terms with her grief in her own way while they did the same, always thinking of her. In the world outside, the fighting went on that would eventually see the death of Hitler in his bunker. Nothing was easy – everything had to be taken after a struggle, but gradually the Allies reached their objectives, taking Rome, Florence and Athens, liberating Paris and finally crossing into Germany and reaching Berlin in April 1945. With the writing on the wall for Hitler, he ordered the destruction of everything that might be of use to his enemies, but his people were unwilling to put up resistance, being more concerned with escaping the Russians who would not have forgotten Germany’s attempt to overpower their country. It was the Russians, however, who, along with the Americans, encircled Berlin, and whose iron grip would cause trouble in the future. But when Germany had officially surrendered, all the Allies and their people at home could think of was celebrating victory, which they did on 8 May 1945, with immense joy and relief.
Of course, there was still the war against the Japanese in the Far East to be won, which the families of those involved bitterly pointed out, but after all they’d been through no one could deny the survivors of the war in Europe their chance to celebrate. Whatever happened tomorrow, today they would dance and sing, light bonfires, have street parties and, if they could find anything to drink, make toasts to everyone in sight.
As for the Hendries, they had their own private celebration of a different nature, which was the birth of May and Allan’s daughter on the day after the German surrender.
‘No street party for me!’ May had declared, laughing, when Josh came in to see her and his new granddaughter, who was to be named Victoria, and he’d shed a tear or two before hurrying to a phone box with all the money he could find to ring first Vi, who said she was delighted, and did sound so, and then Jinny at her billet.
‘And she’s to be called Victoria?’ asked Jinny, experiencing a little twist of feeling at the name, which was so close to Viktor’s. ‘Oh, but that’s wonderful, Dad, thanks for telling me. Oh, I’m so happy for them – now all I want is to be demobbed and to be at home!’
And with Ross, she added to herself. But when would that be? Please God, let it be soon, she prayed. Like everyone she knew, she’d had enough of her temporary wartime life and longed to get back to her own. It was true, she’d made some good friends – Josie, for instance, and Pauline, now the mother of a fine son, and young Sukie, and hoped they’d keep in touch, but there was a real life waiting for her somewhere and a real love. How soon before she could find them?
Seventy-One
With the process of demobilisation not beginning until June 1945, it was not to be expected that she’d be home very soon, but she was pleasantly surprised when her turn came six months later and the following January she was once again returning to Accounts. Not yet with Ross, though he was due to take up his old post soon, then Mr Lennox would depart and everything would be as it had always been.
Not quite, for Comrie’s Bakery was not the same. Shortages, difficulties of every sort, made the atmosphere after the first euphoria of victory strained and tense, as it was in so much of post-war Britain, and it didn’t help to see the newsreels at the cinema that showed the horrors of the German concentration camps, or the photographs of the atomic bomb explosions that had certainly brought the war in the Far East to an end, but had also destroyed two Japanese cities in the most terrifying manner. And then there were the endless problems of refugees everywhere, the misery of devastated cities, and the realization that everywhere there was so much to be done.
It was no wonder that Mrs Arrow took comfort in her usual complaints about supplies, and her new ones about the girls back from munitions being so discontented they’d already had enough of the queues and critical customers. Who’d won the war was the question. Nothing seemed different now there was peace.
All of this, Jinny might have expected to hear on her first day back, but what she had not expected was the news Mabel rushed to tell her, even before Mr Lennox had arrived.
‘Mr Comrie’s not in this morning,’ she told Jinny, drawing her urgently into his office. ‘He only manages the afternoons these days, poor man. He’s not at all well. But he wouldn’t be, would he? After the news he got not long ago.’
‘What news?’ asked Jinny, beginning to worry.
‘Well, it was terrible. Someone in Vienna – a friend of the family – wrote that they’d been trying to trace him, you see. They knew Mrs Linden had a brother and they wanted to tell him—’
‘What? Tell him what, Mabel?’
‘Why, that she’d been killed in the bombing of Vienna, dear, and her husband too. Their bakery was completely destroyed. A direct hit, it seems.’ Mabel’s eyes were bright and intense. ‘Viktor’s parents, eh? But no one knows, the friend of the family said, where Viktor is. And you don’t, do you, dear?’
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��No, I don’t know.’ Jinny, her face white, turned away. ‘I think I’d better get back to my desk, Mabel. Thank you for giving me that news.’
‘Well, I knew you’d want to know. But you’re looking awful pale, Jinny. Are you all right?’
‘Fine. It’s just – been a bit of a shock.’
Mr Lennox had just arrived when she returned to the accounts office, and held out his hand to her. ‘Welcome back, Miss Hendrie! It’s good to see you here.’
‘Thank you. It feels a bit strange.’ She sat down, putting her hand to her brow. ‘I’ve just been hearing about Mr Comrie’s sister and her husband in Vienna.’
‘Oh, my word, yes, that was terrible news. He’s been very badly hit by it. Not himself at all.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Jinny tried to rally. ‘Suppose I should try to get on with some work—’
‘Don’t worry about that this morning, Miss Hendrie. You look as though you’re feeling shocked yourself. Why not go and have a cup of tea?’
‘You’re very kind, Mr Lennox. And you’ve been wonderful, taking over, the way you did.’
He smiled. ‘Had to do my bit. But we’ll be having Mr MacBain back soon, I expect. Then I’ll be on my way. But you go and have your tea. Work can wait.’
Later, when she was at her desk again, she stared unseeingly at a pile of bills she was meant to pay, her thoughts dwelling on Viktor’s parents and Viktor himself – whether he were alive or dead, and whether he would ever know what had happened to his parents.
And poor Mr Comrie, losing his sister and her husband, and possibly his nephew, too, the talented young man he had so much admired. She must try to see him when he came in and give him her sympathy. And in her lunch hour, she would write to Ross, whose support she had never needed more.
As soon as Mr Comrie arrived after lunch, Jinny leaped up from her desk and asked very politely if she could have a word.
‘Of course, Jinny, of course! I was going to welcome you back, anyway. Come into my office.’
He had lost weight, his jacket hanging loosely on his once plump frame and his face gaunt, marked by new lines of strain, but he tried to smile as Mabel withdrew and Jinny accepted the chair he pushed forward.
‘How was the ATS, then? You glad to be back?’
‘It wasn’t too bad at all, being away, but yes, I’m glad to be back.’ Jinny hesitated. ‘Mr Comrie, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but I’d just like to say how sorry I am about your sister and her husband. It’s terrible news.’
‘Yes.’ He looked down at his blotter and played with a pen. ‘It’s been hard to take – the two of them, Clara and Bruno. I couldn’t believe it at first.’
‘I didn’t even know Vienna was bombed so much.’
‘Oh, yes, there were oil refineries, depots, that sort of thing. The city’s been ruined, I’ve been told – bomb craters everywhere, buildings just shells. It’ll take years to rebuild.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I wanted to go over there but it’s not possible. Travel is very difficult, and I’m not fit, Jinny. I’m not able.’ Mr Comrie ran his hand over his brow, his breathing suddenly rasping, filled with effort. ‘And then there’s Viktor to think about. You don’t know anything?’
‘I haven’t heard anything from him, Mr Comrie. I have no news at all.’
For some moments he sat very still, his breath becoming even more laboured, one hand at his chest, but then he began to fiddle with a desk drawer as drops of sweat gathered on his brow.
‘Oh, God!’ he whispered. ‘My chest – the pain – Jinny, call … call Mabel. My tablets … I need them—’
For a second she sat, frozen, then leaped to her feet. ‘Yes, Mr Comrie!’ she cried, and ran like the wind to find Mabel, who rushed in with Mr Lennox at her heels. ‘The tablets!’ Jinny cried. ‘Where are they?’
‘In his drawer! Quickly, Jinny, some water!’
But Mr Lennox was already on his way, and as Mabel found the tablets and shook out two, he returned with a glass of water which he managed to make Mr Comrie drink as Mabel gave him the tablets.
‘He’s bad,’ Mr Lennox whispered. ‘Look at his colour! I’m going to ring for an ambulance. Wait here with him, Miss Hyslop.’
‘He’s collapsing!’ she cried. ‘He’s losing consciousness!’
‘Just stay with him – the ambulance won’t take long; we should be in time—’
But it appeared that time had run out for Mr Comrie. By the time he reached hospital he had gone too far down his last path, and the following morning the staff at Comrie’s were informed that he had died the previous evening, in spite of all efforts to save him.
Seventy-Two
The unexpected death of its owner threw Comrie’s into confusion. For who was now the owner? What would the will say? Now that Mr Comrie’s sister and her husband were dead, there were no relatives to inherit the business, except for his nephew, Viktor, whose whereabouts were unknown, and who might even be dead, too. Was he even a beneficiary, anyway? If it turned out that he was and had to be found, would the business have to be closed for probate, and would everyone lose their jobs, even if only temporarily?
These were genuine worries that Ross, who had arrived back early, his demob having been unexpectedly brought forward, was able to put to the lawyers. They agreed to a meeting with the staff, at which they announced that Mr Viktor Linden was indeed the sole beneficiary of his uncle’s will, and that the business would not go into probate but be allowed to function until the results of a search already underway for him were known. In the meantime Ross, as the senior accountant, would be required to keep track of all finances, and wages would be paid.
‘Thank God they let you home early,’ Mr Whyte told Ross fervently. ‘I don’t know what we’d have done without you. I’m no good at talking to these legal fellows.’
And with everyone agreeing with Mr Whyte’s words and thankful to know where they stood, Jinny, back with Ross in Accounts, sneaked a kiss and told him he was their saviour.
‘What did I do? I only asked John Dixon to talk to the staff and he should have done that earlier, anyway.’
‘Well, it’s wonderful that it’s sorted out, at least for the time being.’
‘I suppose so, but I’m pretty upset to have lost Mr Comrie. And what’s going to happen if Viktor turns up and begins changing everything, as he’d be entitled to do?’
‘I don’t think he’s going to turn up, Ross.’ Jinny’s tone was quiet, yet definite. ‘I believe he’s dead. If he were alive he’d have found a way to get in touch with me when the war ended.’
‘You think that?’ Ross asked uneasily. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘No! Well, only to know what had happened to him. I would like to know that.’
And she was to know, rather sooner than she’d ever imagined.
Some days later, while Ross was dictating letters to Mabel in Mr Comrie’s office, Jinny sat working alone at her desk. A wind was rattling round outside, there was the promise of sleet, or even snow, and the accounts office was by no means warm, but Jinny, absorbed in her calculations, scarcely noticed. Nor did she notice when the door behind her opened. Only when a voice said her name did she turn round, and then her heart gave a lurch and the blood left her face.
A spectre was standing in the doorway. Or so for a moment it seemed. But he was not a spectre, he was a man, one she hadn’t seen for all the years of the war but instantly recognized.
‘Viktor?’ she whispered. ‘Viktor?’
Wearing a long, black overcoat marked with sleet, he was still tall, still handsome even, his bristling short hair still fair, but the etched lines around his eyes and his mouth told their tale. He had known suffering.
Oh, God, what had happened to him? Jinny’s heart was thudding as her gaze rested on him – so much the same yet so different, so marked by what he’d known and she could not imagine. Even his erect military carriage had left him, and if Ross had once called him Der Leutnant
, he would not do so now.
‘Yes, I’m Viktor.’ He gave a faint smile. ‘Clever of you to recognize me.’
‘I – I thought you were dead,’ she stammered. ‘Where have you been?’
‘To hell and back. Or, if you prefer, a Russian prisoner of war camp.’
‘You … were in Russia?’ Jinny, now trembling so hard she could scarcely speak, felt as though she were in some sort of dream, talking to someone she’d believed lost or dead, as one might in dreams. But this was no dream, this was real. This was Viktor … real …
‘How – how come you’re here?’ she asked, holding her cold hands together. ‘How did you leave Russia?’
‘God knows. Suddenly, after the German surrender, they let us go, though how we weren’t shot in the first place I have no idea. Not many prisoners were taken – on either side. Jinny, may I come in?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, please do! And let me take your coat – it’s quite damp.’
She hurried to hang up his coat with her trembling hands, noting that the suit he was wearing was too big for him and of cheap material, and he smiled again as he caught her glance.
‘A charity purchase after I’d burned my prison uniform, or what was left of it.’
She hesitated, still trying to accept that he was there, standing before her, amazed that she could speak at all. ‘Viktor, I was so sorry to hear about your parents. It must have been terrible for you, to come back … to find …’
Instantly his face appeared to shut down and he looked away, and Jinny, now feeling almost faint, said he must see Ross, he was just next door.
‘Ross? He’s here? He was in the army?’
‘Oh, yes, went right through the war. I was in the ATS myself – the women’s army. But please sit down, Viktor, while I tell Ross you’re here.’