‘Pa,’ I hugged him, ‘will it be a black wind?’
‘Probably,’ Pa squinted up at the cloudy Simonsberg. ‘Now sit down with me for a moment – here, on my jacket, don’t mess your uniform. Can you see what’s tied up?’
I examined the array of warships. One stood out. Plain, not camouflaged, and with a Stars-and-Stripes streaming at its mast.
‘American? We’re offloading American goods?’
‘Now that would be good,’ Pa chuckled. ‘They make the best ice cream in the world! But no, they’re not unloading anything. That’s all I’m going to say. Come …’ he got up and tucked his arm through mine as we went down the last set of steps.
‘By the way,’ he said, ‘I met one of your patients today. The DSO man, handsome fellow with a scar. He remembered me from before the war. I’d fixed the machine gun mounts on his ship, HMS Durban, when it was damaged in a storm. Remember the time of the landslide behind the Terrace? Anyhow, he was officer-in-charge when I did the repairs.’
‘What did he want, Pa?’
‘He said he didn’t get the chance to say thank you before being discharged. Nice manners, eh? He asked me to give you this,’ Pa fished into his pocket and handed over a letter inscribed with my name and title. ‘I wished him safe passage, told him to take care. Now let’s hurry. Piet’s waiting,’ Pa shot me a questioning glance. ‘He’s staying for supper.’
I once blamed myself for being a coward, for not being brave enough to speak up. But bravery, I’ve discovered, is a quality that’s learnt, not something that’s inherited from your parents or conferred by God as He passes by. It takes time to build, especially when it means hurting someone.
‘I love you, Lou,’ Piet said, his voice defiant rather than tender.
We’d had supper and Ma and Pa had left for choir practice at St Francis Church. Piet was sitting on the edge of Pa’s armchair opposite me in the sitting room. He’d taken some trouble with his clothes, and wore a pair of ironed trousers. His black hair was brushed flat against his head. Piet had never been handsome, but there was a tall, raw energy to him that drew you in, and made you ignore his tattered appearance. Lately, the navy’s steady pay was even filling out the lines on his face. Along with this new prosperity, maybe he’d found – I felt an unexpected stab – someone else. Maybe he was working up to tell me that, despite his love for me, he’d found a woman who would marry him without delay and be grateful to take over the Philander household. Or maybe he’d been stung to see me walking on the mountain with an officer of the Royal Navy, an officer whose letter I hadn’t had the chance to read because of the lively demands of a family supper, Pa and Ma’s departure, and this moment.
‘But do you really love me?’ His eyes flashed in the candlelight. ‘That’s what I don’t know. You say you do, but—’
The wind thrashed in the palms, ceased, thrashed again. The front door banged against its hinges. Piet didn’t know about the letter I’d written to Matron. I have no family commitments at this time, or in the future … I must tell him now. Not let him interrupt me this time, or manoeuvre me into silence. I must end it now.
‘I care for you,’ I reached a hand towards him, ‘but the war’s changed things—’
‘It hasn’t changed what matters to me,’ he broke in, his dark eyes boring into me. A sheen of sweat beaded his forehead. ‘I waited for you to get your training, but Lou-tjie,’ his voice cracked over his private nickname for me, ‘I can’t wait for ever.’
He knelt in front of me, took my hands, then drew me to my feet and wrapped me in his arms. ‘You’re so beautiful, I see how they look at you.’ His hands roamed down my back, over my hips.
I felt his breath quicken against my face.
‘Piet, no—’
‘Your pa and ma will be gone for ages,’ he breathed into my ear, ‘we’ve waited so long.’ He kissed me and I felt his hand hard against my waist and then he undid the top button of my blouse and pushed his hand inside, kneading my breast. I stifled a cry. He’d never been this bold, never taken hold of me so demandingly, never with such a sense of ownership.
Maybe that was what did it. The entitlement in his hands, his body, his lips.
‘No!’ I gasped, twisting my head away, but it had no effect. His lips were now devouring my neck, my throat, he pushed my bodice aside and I felt the wet flicker of his tongue against my nipple. A seductive heat began to rise through my body. It was going to happen, and I was going to let it happen unless I stopped him now.
I pressed both hands and forearms on his chest and pushed. ‘No! Not like this!’
He staggered backwards. Nurses aren’t without a wiry strength.
I stared at him, shocked at myself, shocked at him, for we’d never been so rough with one another before. I’m not sure he saw me, though, because his eyes were unfocused, cloudy, like a patient emerging from a coma. We stood, facing each other, panting.
‘Why not?’ he shouted, breaking the trance. ‘I’ve waited long enough!’
‘I don’t want to get pregnant, Piet. And we must talk.’
The pulsing flame of the candle on the kitchen table – or maybe it was my words – split his face into ugly planes.
‘I’d be careful – you wouldn’t get pregnant first time,’ he retorted, waving his arm like Amos had done when he hit me by accident on the day Piet was arrested.
I rebuttoned my blouse with shaky fingers.
‘Don’t you want me?’
Rain began to splatter against the windows like it had that day at the reformatory.
I swallowed. ‘I can’t marry you, Piet.’
His eyes focused and met mine in disbelief, as if I’d struck him rather than just pushed him away.
A sharp banging sounded at the front door.
‘What’s going on in there, Solly Ahrendts?’
Piet threw himself down on the sofa.
I rushed over and opened the door a crack. Mrs Hewson, her hair in curlers beneath a rain-flecked scarf, stood outside, a walking stick gripped in her right hand like a weapon.
‘I was passing by, I heard shouting—’
‘It’s alright, it’s just Piet. He’s upset,’ I cast a glance over my shoulder. Piet remained hunched on the sofa, turned away from the door. The wind whistled through the sitting room and plucked at the curtains drawn tight for the blackout.
‘Where’s your father?’ She poked her head inside. ‘He shouldn’t leave you alone.’
‘Choir practice. He’ll be back soon. Please, Mrs H, go home, now. We’ll be fine.’
She shook her head, sniffed, and hobbled back through the darkness.
I closed the door and turned to face Piet. His hands were balled into fists, the knuckles showing white. I walked slowly across the room, telling myself that he’d never hurt me, never hit me the way his father had once hit him. But we were alone. I’d just sent Mrs Hewson away, and the wind was howling at a pitch that would mask any upheaval. I sat down on the edge of the chair opposite him. Usually I could read Piet’s moods like I could gauge the regular ebb and surge of the tide; sometimes choppy, but always to a pattern. This was a different Piet. Churning, unpredictable as a freak wave, the sort of Piet that Ma feared might emerge from the reformatory and never be tamed.
‘I’ve changed, Piet. So have you. We’re different from who we were. But I hope we’ll always be friends.’
Outrage flared in his eyes.
‘Friends?’
‘Yes. I still care about you.’
How could I say I didn’t even trust him any more? Nothing would be gained by that kind of cruelty.
He stared at me with a hostility I’d never seen before, then looked down at his clenched fists.
I felt my legs tense. I gripped the arms of the chair.
‘I don’t want to be friends with you, Lou. I want a wife.’
He got up, brushed past me, yanked the door open and strode out into the night.
The door swung on the gusting wind and slammed shut.
The candle flared and blew out.
Dear Miss Ahrendts,
Please forgive me for leaving the RNH without saying goodbye. I needed to report for duty sooner than expected and will be departing Simon’s Town shortly. I can’t say when I will pass through again.
So please accept these hasty words as my heartfelt thanks for your dedicated care, and your understanding over my shell shock. I’d hoped that the memories of last year’s battle were fading, but my illness seemed to bring them back. Once I’m on active duty they will disappear, I’m sure, but for the moment the flashbacks are all too real, as you noticed.
I’ve been blessed to be treated here in the beautiful Cape, and I shan’t forget your kindness in getting me out of the hospital for a breath of fresh air. On a professional note, I’ve no doubt that your skills will indeed take you far. In time you will surely be promoted to the highest levels of nursing. And I wish you fulfilment in other ways as well, in the future.
I trust you won’t think it a breach of hospital rules if I say that I hope we meet again one day. I would very much like to take another walk on the mountain with you.
Yours sincerely,
David Horrocks
Chapter Twenty-Five
I was coming out of Sartorial House when I saw him. I’d dropped in to chat to Mr Bennett as I did whenever I was off duty, and there he was, wearing the insignia of his new rank, and walking slowly along the pavement amid the lunchtime crowd. A tall, formal figure with a slight limp. He didn’t see me at first, and I nearly turned and went back inside. Perhaps it was because I was in my own clothes, a sleeveless blue dress that Mrs Hewson had sewed for me, with a border of white at the neck. Without a uniform, I ought to have no right to speak to him.
But then he saw me, and he smiled. ‘Good afternoon, Nurse Ahrendts.’
‘Lieutenant Commander? You haven’t sailed yet?’
‘No,’ he replied, stepping out of the noisy foot traffic and into the mouth of a lane alongside Sartorial House. ‘Not yet.’
I scanned the crowds and then followed him. Curtains billowed from an upstairs window. He noticed my dress and my bare arms, usually hidden beneath starched cotton.
‘Congratulations on your promotion,’ I said hurriedly, wanting to get away but not be impolite, ‘and thank you for your letter. It was very kind—’
‘I meant it,’ he interrupted.
‘I know. It’s nice to be thanked.’ I smiled, nurse to patient, and held out my hand. ‘Good luck, sir.’
‘No,’ he shook his head, then glanced around, distracted by the sound of an approaching convoy of trucks. ‘I meant I’d like to see you again, I’d like to walk with you.’
I stepped away from him, poised to run like I used to towards Piet and Seaforth, or whenever I needed to feel the breeze in my face rather than the heat of those who said I was pushing too far.
A line of covered trucks laboured to a halt outside the Queen Victoria gate, their engines idling roughly. The wind tore at a line of washing strung between the buildings up the lane.
‘I’ve no right to ask you,’ he murmured, ‘but I’ve seen enough death to value moments when life counts for something.’
I stared at him, at the scar.
He glanced at the convoy of trucks at the gate.
‘My cargo,’ he said wryly, pointing. ‘My war.’
‘But I think you have a wife,’ I gestured to the ring on his finger. ‘I don’t want to deceive anyone.’
‘Neither do I. But I’d like to talk to you again. Could we be friends? Is that wrong?’
The wind eddied dead leaves around our feet. He didn’t shift, or look away from my eyes or my colour.
‘If you pass through Simon’s Town, come and see me. Maybe we’ll walk again.’
‘That American ship,’ I said to Pa the next morning as we ate breakfast at the kitchen table, ‘I looked, but it’s gone.’
Ma smiled as she served the scrambled eggs. She knew I liked to check on the ships every morning, as if they were patients.
‘Ja,’ sniffed Pa. ‘Wouldn’t let us near it. Must have been loading a secret cargo, or a new weapon.’ He tucked his napkin into his collar and attacked his eggs.
‘I never saw any of the crew downtown.’
‘Restricted,’ mumbled Pa, crunching his toast. ‘Hush-hush, that’s what they call it. Are you going to Vera’s tonight for supper?’
‘No other ships have moved,’ I went on. ‘HMS Dragon is still there—’
Pa laid down his fork. ‘Now why are you so curious?’
‘Lou’s right to be curious,’ Ma put in. ‘Mrs Hewson said old man Phillips’ daughter Milly told her there were armed soldiers guarding each of those trucks. She thought they must be carrying gold, the cranes struggled so much!’
Pa choked on his toast.
Ma shrugged. ‘If you want to know what’s happening in the docks, just ask a woman. Milly was delivering eggs for the American ship.’ She winked at me and began to gather the dirty dishes. ‘They love their eggs.’
An hour later I stopped by the aerial ropeway before going on duty. The southeaster had abated to leave clear skies and only a light breeze. A change in the wind …
The rupture of a lifelong friendship.
The unexpected hint of another.
I found myself veering between a spark kindled on the mountainside, the tense break with Piet, a risky exchange in an alley while crowds thronged nearby … But I’m not fickle, tossing out one man to cast my eyes at another. Perhaps the incidents were simply unrelated. Perhaps I was reading too much into their concurrence. Even so, local brown girls did not take walks with British officers – even innocently, even as friends. Not if they wanted to keep their jobs, and the respect of their families.
I smoothed my uniform bib, conscious of being deeply tired.
‘You can’t stay up all hours and then do a full day’s work,’ Ma had scolded over the breakfast washing up, noting my hollow eyes and imagining that I’d been reading too late.
‘Don’t fuss, Ma.’
The split would come out soon enough. I had enough to think about without Ma’s reaction.
A gust tugged at my skirt.
Down on Long Beach, the distant figures of Piet and his fellow fishermen were dragging their boats across the sand. Piet would be tilting his head back to examine the Simonsberg for a hint of the day’s weather, and probably complaining to his mates about the treachery of girls no matter how long you’d known them. Or maybe he was too hurt to say anything at all. But that way lay guilt, and I was done with guilt.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Piet’s fury took some time to subside. He tried to distract himself by thinking about the other available girls he knew – that tarty Vera, for one, but she was fixed on Abie. None of them really compared with Louise, but what was he to do? He’d hung on for Lou while the other good ones got taken, and now here he was, left high and dry like a boat that had missed the tide. And just because he wanted his reward for waiting all these years. He deserved her! She was his, she always had been.
Instead, all he got for his patience was rejection.
He forced himself to unclench his jaw.
Of course, if he was desperate, he could go visit the girls on Paradise Road. They would be only too pleased to see him. But that wasn’t a long-term solution. He needed a wife. Someone to take over the Philander household. And someone to make the next generation of Philanders.
‘Return to Cape Town,’ he said morosely, pushing his money across the wooden counter at Simon’s Town station. ‘Third class.’
At least there was his business to keep him occupied. Pocketing his change and the ticket, he strode onto the platform. The afternoon train wasn’t due to leave for another twenty minutes but he’d followed exactly the same process two weeks before – and two weeks before that – and was determined to do nothing different. He might be making a good living, keeping Den in heart pills and himself in decent clothes and Amos in the odd bee
r but there was always room for a little extra egg on the bobotie, especially seeing he’d need to provide for a wife one day, whoever that turned out to be.
He made his way to the end of the platform where goods were piled for loading into the guard’s van. People remembered surprises, changes to a routine, but they didn’t notice when you did the same thing every time. Like fish, he chuckled to himself, cheering up. Hang around them long enough and they get used to you. Dive among them unexpectedly and they skrik. Fish, people, they were all the same.
‘Hey,’ he called out to a sweating guard who was heaving boxes aboard. It was a man he recognised. Piet knew them all, now.
‘You can’t come aboard, this is private,’ the guard puffed. ‘Oh, it’s you, Piet. Come to check on your fish?’
‘Ja,’ said Piet. ‘In the meantime, why don’t I help you with these?’
He picked up a box clanking with metal and swung it into the carriage with ease. Then a second. And a third. Then a set marked keep upright.
The guard leant against the door and lit a cigarette.
Piet looked about. ‘My four crates. ’Specially for the navy in Cape Town. And also crates for Meintjies and Olifant?’
‘Over there,’ the guard pointed his smoke at the last pile, under a tarpaulin.
Piet strode over, lifted the cover. ‘Always want to make sure they have enough ice. Can’t have the fish fried before they arrive – ha ha!’
The guard smirked and ground out his cigarette. ‘Pass them up, then, we’ll get them out of the sun.’
‘Thanks, I can manage,’ Piet said.
He lifted the crates up one by one as the guard watched.
‘Good to know you look out for the fresh stuff. There, all aboard.’ Piet stretched his arms above his head and cracked his knuckles. ‘Good day for the fish, we couldn’t keep them out of our nets. Can I travel in here, like before? Then I can help you unload at the other end.’
‘Have you got a ticket?’
Piet showed him.
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