The Waiting Hours

by Ellie Dean

  ‘I walked away without telling him something he had a right to know,’ Dolly said softly, ‘and I’ve spent the following years living a lie.’

  Carol sat very still, her gaze fixed intently on her mother, the niggles of previous, half-dismissed doubts rising swiftly. ‘What didn’t you tell him?’ she asked evenly.

  Dolly lifted her chin and met Carol’s gaze without flinching. ‘I didn’t tell him I was expecting you,’ she said.

  Carol reeled from the blow and stared at her mother in horror. ‘You were having an affair with my father at the same time as Felix, and didn’t think to mention you were pregnant by him?’

  ‘No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,’ said Dolly, grabbing her hands. ‘I was faithful to Felix, and you’re his daughter.’

  Carol snatched her hands away. ‘Then who is Major Frederick Adams?’

  As Dolly haltingly explained everything, Carol looked at her and wondered how she could have lied to her so well and so consistently for the past twentynine years. It was no wonder she’d refused to talk about her past.

  Dolly finally came to the end of her unedifying tale. ‘Please forgive me, darling. I only did it because I thought it was for the best.’

  ‘Best for whom, Mother? You’ve robbed me and Felix of the years in which we could have got to know one another and become proper father and daughter. You’ve lied and lied and lied – even to the point of giving me a picture of some man you know, pretending he was my father so that I’d stop asking questions you clearly had no intention of answering. And now you want me to forgive you.’

  She stood up, the anger so great she was trembling. ‘Did you lie to Pauline too? Did you pluck the name Paul Cardew out of the air because her real father is out there somewhere, ignorant of her existence?’

  Dolly scrambled to her feet. ‘No, Carol, no! I told Pauline the truth, I swear it.’

  ‘Then it’s a great shame you didn’t have the decency to be truthful to me,’ Carol said coldly. ‘I adored and trusted you. I’d have understood and forgiven you. But not now.’ She took a quavering breath. ‘Did Grandma and Grandpa know?’

  Dolly shook her head and reached for Carol’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Carol. Please don’t be angry with me.’

  ‘Angry?’ she snapped, slapping away her hand. ‘I’m so furious I can barely look at you.’ She balled her fists. ‘Have you admitted to Felix you lied to him?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve spoken to Felix,’ Dolly admitted. ‘He isn’t happy with me either.’

  ‘Are you really that surprised?’ Carol stormed. ‘Just go home, Mother. You’ve done enough damage for one day, and frankly, I could do with you not being anywhere near me at the moment.’ She turned on her heel and almost ran down the rest of the hill, the little dog chasing at her heels.

  Dolly went back up the hill, blinded by tears, her heart and soul crushed and aching with such intensity she could barely breathe. She folded her arms tightly about her waist as she watched Felix help to clear the beach of the last few bodies.

  ‘What have I done to you both?’ she whispered. ‘Can either of you ever forgive me?’

  It was as if Felix had heard her, for he raised his head and seemed to look right into her eyes before he turned back and helped carry the final stretcher to the ambulance.

  Dolly sank into the grass, heedless of the mud that was ruining her slacks, and wept for all that she’d lost.

  49

  Devon

  An urgent signal from Eisenhower’s HQ in Portsmouth had come through within hours of the carnage, ordering all personnel – military, civilian, naval and medical – not to discuss, mention or question the events, under severe threat of court martial. There was to be an immediate and complete news blackout to keep the disaster from the enemy, for it was imperative they never learned how close they’d come to wrecking all the plans for the D-Day landings.

  Felix had sat in on the hastily arranged meeting of the commanding officers, in which blame and counter-blame had flown back and forth, until it was realised that the ten men who knew every detail of the classified plans for Operation Overlord had gone missing.

  Officers were hastily sent to Portland to check the dog tags of the dead who’d been taken there prior to being temporarily interred in a World War I US military cemetery at Blackwood. Navy divers searched the seabed for the one hundred men who were still unaccounted for, and when it was discovered that all ten had perished and not been taken prisoner by the raiders as first thought, the relief was short-lived, for 749 men had needlessly lost their lives during the last twenty-four hours, and this shameful loss covered no one in glory – least of all the American Admiral Moon, who’d been the overall commander of Operation Tiger.

  Felix listened in growing horror as the reasons behind the debacle became all too clear. The first fatal error had been for the order to put back both the landings and bombardment by one hour, as some of the thirty landing craft were not yet in position to leave port. Tragically, not everyone got the message, and the landings coincided with the bombardment, killing Sergeant Herbert Cornwallis and four others.

  The chain of disasters that saw the sinking of two LSTs and the heavy loss of life following that night’s E-boat attack began when HMS Scimitar had been holed and kept in port. No one had thought to tell the commander, so the Saladin wasn’t called in to back up the Azalea as further protection for the convoy until it was far too late.

  But the most devastating revelation came when it was discovered that, due to a careless typing error, the American LSTs were on a different radio frequency to the Azalea and the British Navy HQ ashore. Ignorant of the situation, the commander of the Azalea had assumed the LSTs had heard the warning of incoming enemy, and the order to scatter – and when the captains of the LSTs sent out urgent pleas for help, the radio stations along the coast had no knowledge of the secret exercise, and thought they were an enemy hoax. It was only because an alert radio operator heard the words ‘T-4’ that the naval command were quickly informed that Operation Tiger was in trouble and sent help in the form of HMS Onslow.

  To compound this incompetence, the MGBs of the British Coastal Services had seen the flashes of battle while on patrol, but were not ordered to intercept or investigate, so remained unaware of the unfolding disaster nearby. Likewise, the British Fighter Direction tender had sailed out of Portland to provide radar and communications cover, but received a signal to ‘make port all haste’, which she did.

  The cause of so many deaths was attributed to drowning and hypothermia, although several men had succumbed to terrible injuries, mainly from burns caused by the thousands of gallons of unnecessary fuel that had been carried on the ships for the exercise.

  During the following week of intense discussion, it was decided that things would have to be improved if further disasters were to be avoided. Radio frequencies were to be standardised; better training on the correct wearing of life jackets for landing troops was to begin immediately; all lifeboats were to be checked and overhauled; only the necessary amount of fuel was to be carried on the LSTs; and additional small craft would accompany the fleet on D-Day to help pick up floating survivors.

  Felix felt a certain sense of justification about the order to train the men in life-jacket usage, but the despair that he’d not been listened to before it was too late over-rode any other emotion. He left the meeting and walked back to his billet, needing the clean air and brisk exercise to clear his head and rid himself of the terrible things he’d witnessed, but the images remained, the dead boys’ faces haunting him day and night.

  Finally returning to his billet, he sat at his desk and wondered how many more would lose their lives on the beaches of Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno and Sword. He’d been a soldier all his adult life, had fought in the ‘war to end all wars’, and now, just over two decades later, the world’s youth was again being sacrificed.

  It was the sheer incompetence and lack of common sense that ate away at him – and the fact that he was unable to trust t
hat the commanding officers would in fact follow the directives so recently laid down. Yet he felt helpless to do anything about it. He might have donned the uniform again and have the stars pinned on his breast pocket, but they meant nothing in the scheme of things, for he was simply background scenery – an observer – without a real voice.

  He sat back and lit a cigar, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the rolling fields, his mind conjuring up images of the orange and lemon groves of home and the blue Pacific cleaving beneath the keel of his sailing boat as the sun shone down and the white sails swelled with the salty wind. He gave a deep sigh of longing, for he wanted to be back there; to take Carol far from these war-torn shores where death and destruction hung like a pall over everything. But his orders from the Pentagon meant he must stay until Exercise Fabius was completed in May – and he had yet to even talk to Carol.

  He’d received a terse telegram from Dolly confirming that Carol knew he was her father, and although he’d written a long letter to the girl, explaining why he was unable to see her until all the meetings were over, there had been no word back, and it worried him.

  It couldn’t have been easy for Carol to come to terms with what her mother had done, and having heard from Brendon that Dolly had left Beeson in a hurry, he could only surmise that things hadn’t gone well. But why hadn’t Carol written back – was she angry with him too, or was the thought of him being her father too difficult to accept?

  He stubbed out his cigar. There was only one way to find out, and that was to go to Beeson as soon as his duties permitted, and talk to her.

  Coombe Farm

  Carol had packed the photograph of Hugh Cuthbertson away, and with it the fantasy of Frederick Adams. She had confided in Betty but said nothing to the others over the past ten days, for she was ashamed of how she’d reacted, and had been forcefully reminded that there were far worse things to worry about.

  Poor Ida was struggling to come to terms with losing Herbert, and although she’d thrown herself into her work, she spent most nights sobbing into her pillow. The scenes on the beach that awful morning still haunted Carol, bringing back the pain of her own loss, and the disturbing letters from Pauline and Peggy had simply underlined the horrors of this war, making her put things into proper perspective.

  It didn’t matter a jot who her father was when Martin and his men had been posted as missing in action, with no clue as to whether they were still alive or not – and she could well imagine what Peggy’s Anne must be going through. Her predicament seemed ridiculously trivial when boys were being killed on beaches; husbands, brothers, sons and lovers were shot from the skies; and small children and unborn babies were left fatherless.

  It was now May and the lighter evenings encouraged her to take Nipper for long walks after the day’s work was over, and she usually dropped in to the pub to see Betty before returning to the farm. The Welcome Inn was much quieter now, for although no one dared speak about it, the events on Slapton beach had sobered the GIs who came in fewer numbers as the new exercise began and the actual date for the invasion loomed.

  She pushed through the heavy blackout curtain and closed the door behind her, noting immediately that Brendon was sitting in a huddle with Betty in the corner of the bar. ‘It’s so lovely to see you,’ she said in delighted relief as she hugged him. ‘We didn’t think you’d get leave until this latest exercise was over.’

  ‘Azalea developed engine problems so she’s in dock, and I get an evening ashore,’ he replied with a broad smile.

  As Brendon went off to buy her a glass of cider, Carol leaned towards Betty. ‘I’m sorry to intrude when you have so little time together,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll just have this drink and leave you to it.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Betty replied. ‘Brendon was saying earlier that he hasn’t seen you in a while.’ She regarded her affectionately. ‘You seem more like your old self again. Have you heard from Dolly?’

  ‘She’s written twice, just short notes telling me she’s sorry, and I wrote back yesterday, saying I was sorry too. I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, she really didn’t deserve it. As for Felix, he sent me a lovely letter, but as I’m really not sure what to say to him, I haven’t replied.’

  ‘He’ll think you’re rejecting him,’ said Betty, ‘and that would be a shame after you’ve become so friendly. Perhaps you should just send a note acknowledging his letter, and telling him you need time to absorb everything before you meet again.’

  Carol nodded, and then looked up at Brendon who’d returned with her drink. ‘Have you got any news about Martin and the other pilots?’

  ‘I managed to get through to Beach View this morning, and they’re all on tenterhooks. Grandad Ron says Martin and another younger pilot were being led to safety by someone from the resistance, but were then caught by the Germans.’ He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Jerry’s usually very good at reporting back on men they’ve captured, with details of which POW camp they’ve been sent to – but there hasn’t been a peep out of them, and that is very strange.’

  Carol rubbed her face with her hands. ‘The worry’s never-ending, isn’t it?’ she sighed. ‘Poor Anne must be going through hell.’

  ‘I suspect Grandad Ron is on the case. You know what he’s like. He’s bound to know someone who might have inside information.’ Brendon grinned and patted Nipper, who was sitting at his feet. ‘He’s like this wee terrier, for once he gets his teeth into something he doesn’t let go.’

  Carol smiled as the little dog put his front paws on Brendon’s knee to encourage more fuss. ‘Life’s so much simpler for a dog, isn’t it?’ she sighed. ‘I think I’ll come back as one next time.’ She took a long, welcome drink of cider, vaguely aware of the door opening and closing behind her.

  ‘It looks like you’ve got a visitor,’ hissed Betty.

  Carol turned to find Felix standing by the door. She smiled tentatively and it encouraged him to approach. ‘Hello, everyone,’ he said. ‘I thought I might find you here.’

  Brendon got swiftly to his feet and saluted. ‘Will you join us, sir?’

  ‘Thank you, but I’d like a private word with Carol, if she wouldn’t mind.’

  It was the first time Carol had seen Felix look unsure of himself, and his diffidence warmed her to him all over again. ‘We can go over there,’ she said indicating another table.

  ‘Why don’t you use my room?’ said Betty. ‘You’ll be private there.’

  Felix looked at Carol, who nodded. ‘Thanks, Betty, it’s appreciated.’

  Carol left Nipper with Brendon and led the way up the narrow staircase to Betty’s room, which also served as her study. Opening the door she found it was as neat as a pin, the desk beneath the window piled high with exercise books. And yet the intimacy of the bed taking up most of the room made her feel uncomfortable, and she saw it was having the same effect on Felix, who was standing awkwardly by the door.

  ‘There’s not much room in here, is there?’ she said lightly to cover her nervousness. ‘So why don’t you sit by the desk, and I’ll perch on the bed.’

  They sat in an awkward silence as the bedside clock ticked away the time.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ they both said in unison, and the awkwardness melted away as they chuckled.

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry about,’ said Carol. ‘You were as much in the dark as I was, but I was wrong not to reply to your sweet letter. Thank you for that – it did make me feel better about things.’

  ‘I’m glad you’ve been so accepting, Carol. All of this must have come as a terrible shock to you.’

  ‘It did, and yet it didn’t,’ she replied. She smiled at his quizzical look. ‘You see, I’d begun to have my suspicions after that awful night in the hospital, and I suspect you were already thinking along the same lines.’

  He nodded. ‘It had occurred to me, but the mention of Major Adams threw me for a while. What led you down the same path?’

  ‘Mother refused to tal
k about you, and was being so secretive about your relationship, even going so far as to make you promise to say nothing to me about it. I couldn’t work out why she’d go to such lengths, unless she was hiding something from both of us. That idea took hold, and I began to question everything.’

  ‘Including Major Adams?’

  ‘He’d always been a shadowy figure, and Mother told me nothing about him, really – which suddenly seemed odd, considering she’d been so open with Pauline about her father. It hadn’t bothered me much before, but as I examined things more closely, that lack of openness began to niggle.’

  She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. ‘Realisation didn’t come as a blinding flash or anything quite so dramatic; it was more a slow dawning that there could only be one answer.’ She bowed her head. ‘I didn’t want to believe it, because it would have meant she’d lied to me all my life, so I pushed the thought away, telling myself that I was imagining things.’

  ‘You weren’t alone, honey. I felt the same,’ he said dolefully. ‘And when Dolly finally confessed she’d kept you from me your whole life, I’m afraid I didn’t react too well.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ said Carol softly. ‘In fact I told her I couldn’t stand the sight of her and she should go home.’ She shot him an embarrassed smile. ‘I have written since to apologise, but I am still cross with her.’

  ‘Me too. She stole the time we could have had getting to know one another, and although I was in no position to be a proper father to you, I would have done all I could to make sure you knew that I hadn’t abandoned you.’ He gave a wistful smile. ‘We’re both hurt and angry right now, but Dolly acted in haste, not stopping to think of the consequences. She didn’t know that fate would bring us together, and I think we can forgive her, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, she’s easy to forgive because we love her.’ Carol regarded him evenly. ‘And, despite everything, you do still love her, don’t you, Felix?