by Katie Flynn
And then, before she could reply, he was kissing her, at first gently, and then almost feverishly. ‘Johnny …’ she began, but he had flung away from her to climb into the driver’s seat of a battered old car and she saw that the contingent from Drake’s Farm was approaching. Johnny waved to them but started the engine, put the vehicle into first gear and jerked unevenly forward. ‘If you change your mind and want my address Connie’s got it!’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘Sorry I can’t wait, Auntie Bess; Eve will explain. Love to all, and as soon as I’m settled I’ll write.’
Chapter Fifteen
That night, as Eve made her way up the attic stairs, she saw once again the scene at the station and the happiness which had shone from Hank’s and Lily’s faces. But whilst not for a moment envying the American and the golden Lily their love, Eve felt the pain of Johnny’s departure and the fact that she had probably said goodbye to him for ever like a knife in her breast. If he was really friends with Connie she knew the other girl would make sure that the rift between herself and Johnny was given no chance to heal.
And now, as she began to undress, she realised that in all their time together at Drake’s Farm, in all their ploys and exploits, she and Johnny had never kissed. Kisses were a polite peck on the cheek when parents came visiting. Kisses were a comfort to a small child who had run too fast, tripped over its own feet, and grazed both knees on the lane’s uneven surface. Kisses were given and received on birthdays and at Christmas, but no kiss that Eve knew, could imagine, was like the kisses she had seen exchanged by Hank and Lily. Those kisses had all the passion and pent-up emotion of two people deeply in love, and resembled in no way the kiss which she herself had received from Johnny. There had been anger in his kiss, a desire to punish, yet it had also held another message. Johnny wanted her to remember him when he was far away, to remember the feel of his mouth on hers and the moment of closeness when he had held her in his arms. For maybe a whole second he had held her tight, then thrust her away, muttered something she could not catch and jumped into the old car.
Johnny’s kiss, she thought now, had been a sort of apology, telling Eve that her friend wanted to make up in some way for what had gone before. She had wanted to respond, to explain that she wanted to be his friend even if they could never be lovers, but her own words had made that impossible, so she had hurried to the Favershams’ old truck, squeezed into the bit of seat they had left for her, and told Mr Faversham gaily to set off.
‘Johnny’s been posted abroad,’ she had shouted above the wind of their going. ‘He’s doing a round of goodbyes.’
Auntie Bess had turned to stare at her. ‘So I take it what we saw just now was a goodbye kiss? Funniest goodbye kiss I’ve ever seen in all my born days, but then I suppose if he’s goin’ to live abroad with the air force he’ll mebbe not get another chance.’ She had put her hand out across the distance which separated them and pinched Eve’s cheek. ‘Don’t go readin’ too much into that kiss,’ she had said gently. ‘Kisses are casual things these days, not like when your uncle and I were young. Then you only kissed the feller you meant to marry, but it’s different today. Are you going to write to him?’
Eve had hardly had to consider her answer; her mind was already made up. ‘I can’t,’ she said briefly. ‘Well, not until he writes to me, at any rate. I don’t have an address for him.’ She smiled at the older woman. ‘Not unless I write to Connie and ask her for it, and I shan’t be doing that. Can we change the subject? What’s for lunch? I’m hungry as a hunter.’
Oxford, 2002
Eve looked at her wristwatch. She was over an hour early for her rendezvous, having finished her shopping a lot faster than she had expected. She was just wondering what to do next when a voice hailed her.
‘Eve! Eve Armstrong! Well, of all the extraordinary coincidences!’ The speaker had run across the road, narrowly avoiding a passing motorist whose hooter blared out an indignant protest. ‘My God, it must be sixty years since we last set eyes on each other.’
Eve stared incredulously at the speaker. They were both tall women in their seventies, but there the resemblance ended. After a moment Eve gasped. ‘Connie Hale,’ she said disbelievingly. ‘How amazing to see you! And you haven’t changed.’ She laughed. ‘In fact if I were to be put to the question I’d say I look like a woman in her seventies, which is what I am, and you look like someone in her fifties; how do you do it?’
If someone had told Eve she looked twenty years younger than her age she would have been surprised and delighted, but Connie – for it was she – looked slightly affronted.
‘I’ve been mistaken for someone in her forties,’ she said rather accusingly. ‘Mind you, I suppose that was a year or two ago, and I have had restorative treatment on my facial skin …’
She means a facelift, Eve thought, and felt not only a rush of admiration for Connie’s courage but also astonishment that anyone of their age could care enough about their appearance to go beneath the surgeon’s knife. However, Connie was staring at her, kohl-rimmed eyes widening.
‘Didn’t you recognise me straight away?’ she asked. ‘I knew you the moment I clapped eyes on you.’
‘Of course I did; recognise you, I mean,’ Eve said, allowing impatience to enter her tone. ‘You were a pretty thing then and you’re a pretty thing now,’ she added, crossing her fingers behind her back. She smiled at the other woman. ‘Look, Connie, it’s lovely to see you after all these years but we can’t stand on the pavement getting in everyone’s way. I’ve got some time to kill so why don’t we go into the café across the road and have a chinwag over a nice hot cup of coffee? But not if you have other plans for the rest of the morning – if we’re going to tell each other our life histories since we last met it’s going to take more than ten or fifteen minutes to catch up.’
Connie shot out her hand and consulted a large gold wristwatch. ‘Ten or fifteen minutes? My dear Eve, you must have led a very dreary life! By the way, did you ever marry? Don’t say you really are still Eve Armstrong? I’ve been married three times … but look, as you say, we can’t talk here, and I’ve plenty of time.’ She patted her pocket significantly. ‘I’ve got my mobile phone and the chauffeur will pick me up at any time, anywhere, as soon as I telephone him. Do you have a mobile phone? But everyone does, I suppose, though I doubt everyone has a chauffeur. Isn’t there somewhere a bit smarter where I can buy you a decent lunch?’ She fluttered her eyelashes and gave Eve what she no doubt believed to be a provocative smile. ‘Husband number three – Jethro Armardi – gave me the chauffeur as a birthday gift when we came back from the States. I’d had a tiny, tiny accident in his Roller and he felt the strain of driving first on the left and then on the right and then on the left again was too much for his wife to have to cope with.’ She fluttered her eyelashes again and Eve had to turn away to hide a smile as one of them came half off, giving Connie a very odd appearance indeed, but the other woman was still staring at her, waiting for an answer.
Eve chuckled. ‘Thank you, but I’m meeting someone at twelve. Come on, or we shan’t get a table. It’s a very popular café; what you might call cheap and cheerful.’
Connie looked sulky. ‘I told Ed to get himself a pub lunch, because I wanted to explore the town and take some photographs to impress the folk back home.’
‘Back home?’ Eve said tentatively. ‘Is home America now?’ she added as they crossed the road and headed for the café.
Connie nodded. ‘Yes. I’m an American citizen,’ she admitted, ‘but Jethro’s got properties all over the place – he’s a property developer, in fact – so at the moment we’re living in Britain. I’m Jethro’s second wife and he has a son at college over here. I thought I’d pop over to say hello, but he’s not in his rooms, as they call them, so I decided to do some shopping and then try him again this evening. So I’ve plenty of time on my hands.’
They entered the café as she spoke and made a beeline for a table for two at the back of the large and airy room, whic
h was already filling up fast.
Eve sat down at the table and indicated that Connie should follow suit. ‘You may have plenty of time but I’ve got to go quite soon,’ she said, consulting her own watch.
The other woman frowned, and Eve realised that this was still the same old Connie. She had always wanted to get her own way. When they had ordered their coffee – cappuccino for Eve, something called a ‘skinny latte’ for Connie – Eve turned to Connie once more.
‘Since you’ve led a much more interesting life than mine, you’d better start,’ she said.
Connie smirked. ‘My first husband was a theatrical impresario … he gave me a part in one of his shows and I don’t mind telling you that within three months they put a star on my dressing room door. After that, of course, the parts became more important …’
Eve listened with only half her attention, amazed to find that in this respect at any rate Connie had not changed at all. She simply could not resist embellishing every word she spoke, and by the time Eve had finished her coffee she was thoroughly sick of Connie’s life history and could not wait to get away. Apologising, she interrupted the story of the house on Long Island, its swimming pool, the servants needed to keep it clean and tidy, and the long garden that was miraculously green and beautiful all year round.
‘It all sounds wonderful,’ she said brightly, ‘but I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you. I don’t have a mobile phone and I mustn’t keep my friend waiting.’
Connie leaned across the table and took Eve’s hand in hers. ‘Don’t go yet,’ she pleaded. ‘Why don’t we get your friend to join us? If she’s a friend of yours she’s bound to be nice and I expect she’d like to hear all about America. Besides, you haven’t told me anything about yourself yet and I’m longing to hear what happened to you after us evacuees went our separate ways.’
Eve opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off before she could get the words out.
‘Talking of evacuees, I had a bit of a flutter with one of the chaps who’d been at Spindlebush and came to Drake’s Farm when that land girl left – what was her name? You must remember him – Johnny something or other – you were keen on him too.’ Connie laughed. ‘Goodness knows why, he was such a plain-looking chap, with squinty blue eyes and a million freckles.’ She grimaced. ‘He was nothing special, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers, and he was the only thing Drake’s Farm had to offer.’
Eve gasped and opened her mouth to speak, but Connie cut across her again. ‘Anyway, I bumped into his mate Robbo a few years back and he said he’d lost touch with Johnny but thought that he’d been badly wounded – or was it taken prisoner? – in Korea.’ She shrugged. ‘I wonder if he ever got married?’ She gave a silvery laugh. ‘You’d have to be pretty desperate to marry someone like him.’ She leaned forward to pick up her coffee cup and took a delicate sip.
Eve rose to her feet. ‘It’s been lovely meeting you after all these years, Connie,’ she said rather coldly. ‘We must do it again sometime …’
Interrupting her without apology, Connie said, ‘Fancy not having a mobile phone.’
Eve sighed. ‘Look, I’m longing to hear the rest of your story, but I really must be going.’
Connie sank back in her chair again, and took out her own phone. ‘Oh Eve, just stay with me until the car gets here! I’m sure Ed’ll be along in a few minutes. Can’t you wait? Be a pal; after all, we’ve not met for absolutely ages …’
But she was too late. There were two entrances to the café and she had not been quick enough to see through which Eve had escaped.
As soon as she saw Connie get into her chauffeur-driven car Eve left her hiding place and headed for Bumble’s, glancing at her wristwatch as she walked. She would still be too early, but at least she’d managed to escape the dreadful Connie.
My God, she thought to herself. Of all the people she might have imagined bumping into, Connie Hale was not one. Eve conjured up a picture of Connie as she used to be: pouting, provocative, boastful. No difference there, Eve thought to herself. The other girl had almost never walked along the track by the stream, worried that she might get some mud on her shoes, whereas Eve and Johnny preferred that walk to any other. Smiling, Eve continued on her way to her rendezvous, enjoying the thought that on this occasion she would have some unexpected gossip to impart. Miranda would be fascinated!
*
Eve used a nearby branch to pull herself creakingly up from the log which she had been using as a seat. Smoothing down her skirt, she glanced at her wristwatch. It was a quarter to three. She had no desire, nor indeed the time, to go up to Drake’s Farm, but she did have time to go to the place just over the ford where she and Johnny Durrell had had their first proper meeting.
As she began to cross the bridge she placed a hand on the smooth iron railing and closed her eyes, letting her palm slide along as she moved forward until she felt the bridge even out under her tread. Then she opened her eyes, turned, and looked down into the crystal clear water beneath her. She let out a short gasp. So lost was she in her memories that the reflection looking back at her came as a shock, for it was not that of the young Eve Armstrong, with wavy hair in plaits and a smooth young face, but that of an old woman, with short white hair, and a face which bore the lines of a full life’s journey.
Time, she considered, was cruel. It took your vitality, your youth, your stamina; yet your character, your personality, your very being remained the same. The reflection looking back at her might have been that of an old woman, but the Eve who looked into that reflection felt like the girl she had been at fourteen. A tear dropped into the water below her and was carried away on a journey of its own.
Eve thought back to that last encounter with Connie – more than a decade ago now – and, not for the first time, questioned whether it had been unfair not to put Connie straight on a few matters. The other woman’s information on Johnny had been half right. He had been wounded in Korea and he had got married – Eve smiled and wiped away another tear before it could fall – but not to someone desperate for a partner, or at least Eve did not think of herself in that way. It had been on the tip of her tongue to tell Connie that she and Johnny had recently celebrated their golden wedding anniversary, but the other woman had only been interested in her own affairs.
Eve’s smile faded as memory caught up with her. It had been five days after Eve’s unexpected meeting with Connie when Johnny had collapsed at home and been rushed into hospital. The doctors had examined him and informed Eve that the next forty-eight hours were going to be crucial. She hadn’t slept until the third day.
After that Johnny had made steady progress, and on the morning of the sixth day the doctors had told him and Eve that he might return home, provided he took things easy and went back to his doctor for regular checkups.
Eve was sitting next to Johnny’s bed. ‘You might as well stay where you are whilst we wait for your medication to arrive,’ she said. ‘You could be here for a while yet; you know what hospitals are like.’ She had produced a punnet of strawberries from her bag and handed them to her husband.
Johnny had dipped into the punnet and taken out the biggest, reddest and juiciest strawberry he could find. He sank his teeth into the tip and munched thoughtfully. ‘You know, having this scare has made me do a bit of thinking,’ he said, and took another bite. ‘We’ve been meaning to go back to Drake’s Farm for years, but we’ve never got round to it. Once I’m fit enough, what say you and me go for a look?’
Eve had smiled at him. ‘I think it’s a fabulous idea. It must be over fifty years since I last saw that place. What made you think of it?’
Johnny indicated the strawberry he was eating, and proffered the punnet to Eve. She took a couple, removed the stalk from one and popped it into her mouth.
‘The strawberries,’ he said, when he had swallowed. ‘Do you remember the wild ones we used to pick on the lane going to and from school?’ Eve nodded. ‘These aren’t as sweet as those ones – Auntie Bes
s always vowed and declared that wild strawberries were better than the cultivated kind – but they reminded me of them just the same.’
Eve shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, we’ll leave it a month or so, until you can walk a fair distance comfortably again, and if we get the all clear from Dr Yates we’ll plan our trip down memory lane.’
She reached for another strawberry, but stopped short as the fruit suddenly cascaded across the floor. ‘Johnny!’ she said with some annoyance. ‘For goodness’ sake, be a bit more careful …’ She had risen from her seat to collect the fallen berries when she noticed that Johnny had slumped forward, the strawberry he had just chosen crushed in his hand, smudging the clean crisp bedlinen.
‘Johnny! Johnny, wake up!’ Eve’s voice was desperate. She shook his shoulders violently, sobs rising in her throat as she frantically pressed the emergency button above his bed. ‘Johnny, please, please …’ She held his hand to her cheek. ‘Don’t leave me …’ The last words came out in a whisper.
Eve continued to stare into the water beneath her, her tears not even breaking the surface as they fell. She had been determined not to dwell on Johnny’s death, only to think of the good times they had had here. She turned, and walked on towards the spot where Johnny had first dropped down from a tree behind her all those years ago.
When at last she reached it, she started to crane her neck to see if she could glimpse the farmhouse from where she stood, then shook her head chidingly. No, no, no. She knew that the house would look different. She had received a letter from Auntie Bess, many years ago now, saying that since she and Uncle Reg had moved into the village the farm had changed hands several times, with the newest couple applying for planning permission to convert the shippon into a bungalow.