Soldier's Daughters

by Fiona Field

  Time to count your blessings, she told herself sternly. Luke may have left an aching void in her life but her father had come back into it. Surely that had to make up for everything and then some? Things could still be awkward between them but every time they met things improved a little more. And which would she rather have – Luke or her father? No, she couldn’t answer that; no one should have to make that sort of choice.

  She thought about the other changes that had happened around her. For a start, there were even fewer women in the battalion since Immi Cooper had decided to jack in her career in the army. Her time in Kenya had finally convinced her that there were plenty of jobs she could do that didn’t involve close encounters with unpleasant conditions and so she’d put her notice in and become a civvy. The last Sam had heard about her was that she was working as a PA to some smart property developer and doing very well. There was a rumour going round the battalion that she’d even got her picture in Hello!. Sam smiled at the thought. If it were true she was sure that Immi would be a very happy bunny. If ever there was a girl who would love to be a media star, she was it.

  Another turn up for the books had been Dan Armstrong’s glamorous wife falling pregnant and now she was a glamorous mum. And then there had been Michelle, who had made good her promise to sort herself out. No longer was Sam constantly worrying about what dumb ideas her mate would come up with, what pranks she would play that seemed so hilarious when she thought of them and then turned out to be such mistakes. Michelle seemed to be the model officer who never got extras and whose recruits worshipped her. Now their telephone conversations were about their work and their achievements and occasionally their social lives and Sam no longer had to listen to Michelle obsessing about Seb. Not unreasonably, though, she refused to come and see Sam in the 1 Herts mess.

  ‘I am so ashamed of my behaviour,’ she’d confided in Sam. Which had to have been a first, Sam had thought. ‘Even I haven’t got the brass neck to show my face around 1 Herts. Although I am so over Seb now. But it doesn’t alter the past. However, there’s this guy… Edward.’

  ‘Single?’

  ‘Totally! Only not for long if I have my way.’

  ‘I told you it would happen, that you’d find someone else.’

  All in all, life around Sam was pretty good and frankly, she told herself, if all she had to bitch about was a love affair that hadn’t panned out then she should count herself lucky.

  She pulled open her desk drawer and took out the file she kept in it. She flipped open the manila cover and looked at the news cuttings. Outwardly it seemed as if she had kept the mementoes of her fifteen minutes of fame, but the reality was they represented the only pictures she had of Luke. Time to move on.

  She shut the file again and went to drop it in the waste bin.

  ‘Hi, Sam.’

  Guiltily she dropped the file in the open drawer instead and slammed it shut. ‘James. Lovely to see you.’

  ‘I dropped by to scrounge a coffee.’

  ‘Of course.’ She got up and made her way over to the shelf where the tea things were kept.

  ‘All set for the ball?’ he asked as she put the kettle on.

  ‘Yup. Looking forward to it.’

  The officers’ mess May Ball was, apparently, the big social event of the year. It was held to coincide with some major battle honour won by the Hertfordshire Regiment centuries earlier. The previous year the ball had been cancelled because Exercise Askari Thunder had meant the battalion hadn’t got back from foreign parts in time to organise it properly. Then Sam had thought this a bit ridiculous, but since she’d been co-opted onto the ball committee she’d realised how much work went in to making it happen. This was not a slightly more grown-up version of the Sandhurst party she and Michelle had been involved in – this was a major event.

  ‘So, how’s it going?’ asked James.

  Sam finished making the coffees and plonked the two mugs on her desk.

  ‘Have you any idea how difficult it is to find proper sola topis?’

  James’s brow creased. ‘Sola topis! Why?’

  ‘It’s all the Edwardian theming. Honestly, I expect the makers of Downton Abbey went to less trouble to get things right than blooming Andy Bailey. Perfection doesn’t come close. It’s all rattan furniture and ostrich plumes and tiger-skin rugs – well, fake ones anyway – and art nouveau lamps… and… Sorry, I’m getting boring and obsessive about it and you don’t need to know the details.’

  ‘But he hasn’t been like this in the past. I mean, it’s always been pretty bloody good but he hasn’t gone completely off on one.’

  ‘Maybe it’s because this year Pemberton-Blake is coming.’

  ‘The CLF? But why?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘Search me. I reckon it’s because old Notley got a bit chummy with him when he had to come out to Kenya and now he wants to capitalise on it. We all know what Notley’s like when it comes to the main chance for advancement.’

  James laughed. ‘Good shout. You’re probably right. I wonder what happened to his son.’

  Was it Sam’s imagination or was he staring at her, as if he expected her to know something? She stared back as steadily. ‘Not a clue. He got posted out and that’s the last I heard, so your guess is as good as mine.’ And not a word of a lie there. But then she couldn’t help herself. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, except that you two went through a lot together so I thought you’d take an interest.’

  ‘Nah. Not really.’ She took a sip of her coffee.

  ‘Hey, talking of guests,’ said James, ‘I hear Jack Raven is coming to the ball too.’

  Sam felt a small ripple of relief at the change of subject. ‘Yes, I heard that. Another one old Notley wants to keep in with.’ Sam laughed. ‘Jeez, he’s a bit obvious, isn’t he, when it comes to who he associates with – CLF, the BBC defence correspondent… Makes you wonder who else will be turning up.’

  ‘Never mind. It won’t stop everyone having a good time, will it?’

  ‘No, I can’t wait. It’ll be a great evening.’

  Sam looked about the mess with a degree of satisfaction. It was, she thought, very Downton Abbey, with antimacassars on the chairs, loads of potted palms, faux stained glass made from cellophane decorating some of the windows, a wind-up gramophone in the corner and jazz playing over the mess’s proper music system, plus all the other props she’d managed to beg, borrow or hire to give it that authentic Edwardian feel. ‘Great job,’ said James, standing beside her in his mess kit and looking extraordinarily handsome.

  ‘You think?’

  James nodded. ‘I think you’ve really captured the period. Well done.’ He stared at her. ‘Although I was rather hoping to see you wearing that natty little number you wore to the corporals’ mess that time.’

  ‘Not appropriate, Captain Rosser, not appropriate. The dress code for officers is mess kit.’

  ‘I think there ought to be an exception made in your case.’

  ‘Ha. So much for equality. I can hear Mrs Pankhurst spinning from here!’

  The mess began to fill up with couples and although the wives and girlfriends had done their best to outshine their male partners they still looked like peahens next to the men dressed in their peacock, mess kit finery. Many of the wives had entered into the spirit of the evening and had found dresses that gave a nod to Edwardian fashions with ostrich plumes, beaded embroidery, long ropes of pearls or fur tippets. The consensus of opinion was that the whole eve-of-World-War-One theme was perfect.

  At last, as the party really began to get under way, Sam felt she could relax, and when the band struck up with some rag-time numbers (which were possibly not of the era, but who cared?) Sam and James put down their glasses of Buck’s Fizz and joined the others thronging to the marquee on the lawn and crowding on to the dance floor.

  By the time they’d had a third dance they were both hot and thirsty and they made their way back into the main mess building in search of a cold drink.
Sam stood at the periphery of the even-more-crowded bar as she watched James fight his way through to the counter. Over the heads of the others around her she saw the CO and Mrs N. He must have arrived with his house party.

  ‘Hello, boss.’

  Sam spun round. She recognised that voice.

  ‘Immi!’ Immi Cooper? What the hell…? And there was Corporal Cooper in a show-stopper of a turquoise blue ballgown with a fish-tail train that made her look like a mermaid.

  ‘Immi… what the heck? I mean, it’s wonderful to see you but what a surprise!’

  Immi looked as bit abashed and she smiled shyly at Sam. ‘I’m here as a plus one,’ she said as an explanation. ‘I always dreamed of getting an invite to a swanky ball like this in the officers’ mess and I can hardly believe I’m really here.’

  ‘But that’s great,’ said Sam, meaning it. ‘Wonderful, and you look amazing. How’s the leg?’

  Immi raised the hem of her skirt a few inches and showed Sam her scars – a line of four purple splodges on her shin. ‘They’re fading but I still don’t like showing my legs off. Still,’ she said cheerfully, ‘long frocks cover a multitude of sins, eh?’

  ‘And your dress is gorgeous,’ said Sam, meaning it.

  ‘That’s the advantage of being a civvy – I get to wear what I like. Not,’ she added swiftly, ‘that you don’t look lovely in your outfit.’

  Sam looked down at her taffeta dress with the bumfreezer jacket that went over it. ‘But it’s uniform, isn’t it?’

  ‘You ought to have worn the dress you wore to the corporals’ club that time. That was dead classy. And Lu—’ But before Immi could continue she gave a squeak and jumped. ‘Jack! I wish you wouldn’t do that.’ She turned to Sam. ‘My fiancé,’ she explained. ‘His idea of a greeting is to pinch my bum. You remember Jack, don’t you?’ She flashed her left hand at Sam and showed her the stonking diamond on her third finger.

  Sam goggled at the ring before turning to Jack. ‘Of course I remember you, Jack. Good to see you again. And in rather nicer surroundings. And congratulations.’

  Jack Raven kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You’re looking well. Certainly better than when I last saw you.’

  ‘Thanks. I think that’s a compliment.’

  ‘It is,’ said Jack. ‘I think this look suits you better than the Wild Woman of the Jungle.’

  Sam laughed. ‘I was a bit unwashed that time, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Hello,’ said James, returning with the drinks. ‘Is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?’

  Sam smiled at him and took her drink gratefully. ‘James, you remember Immi Cooper, don’t you? And Jack Raven?’

  James did a double take when he realised who Immi was. ‘Crikey,’ he said. ‘You look a bit different out of uniform.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ said Immi, giggling and swishing the fabric of her gown.

  ‘So, I want to hear all of your news,’ said Sam. She took Immi’s arm and towed her to the edge of the room, where there was more space and slightly less noise to contend with. ‘And the boys can talk shop and war stories. So… spill. What have you been up to in the past year, apart from getting engaged?’

  Immi stared at Sam, her eyes shining. ‘Ma’a… Boss…’

  ‘Sam,’ said Sam firmly. ‘It’s Sam now.’

  ‘Sam, I can’t keep the secret any longer. Jack doesn’t want you to find out just yet, but I disagree. You need to know now.’

  ‘What secret? What do I need to know now?’ Sam was intrigued.

  ‘You’ve got to come with me,’ said Immi.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Just… please?’

  Sam shook her head, feeling bewildered as Immi led her around the edge of the room.

  ‘There,’ said Immi, triumphantly.

  Sam stared. There was the CO and Mrs N., both schmoozing the CLF, General Sir William Pemberton-Blake, and a small woman who Sam assumed to be Lady Pemberton-Blake, and with them was a REME officer with his back to her.

  ‘And?’ said Sam.

  Immi rolled her eyes. ‘Look!’

  And then the REME officer turned and Sam didn’t notice the hand holding her drink go limp and the champagne pour out of the glass onto the floor, nor did she notice the triumphant look on Immi’s face, or the chatter of the people around her. Everything faded away, as if it was some amazing special effect in a movie, leaving her and Luke Pemberton-Blake, Lieutenant Luke Pemberton-Blake, in a bubble. Beside her Immi was babbling about the look on the CO’s face when not one but two of his ex-soldiers turned up on his doorstep for a house party, but Sam was oblivious to it. All she could see was Luke, in his mess kit, an officer… like her.

  ‘Hello, boss,’ he said, coming towards her.

  ‘Luke? Why? When?’

  ‘I went for a commission.’

  Sam nodded. ‘I can see. But you hate officers.’

  ‘Not all officers,’ he corrected her.

  ‘No…’ She lowered her eyes, confused by the surge of emotions. She’d spent over a year – a whole year – trying to put her feelings and her memories of him behind her, to move on with her life because a relationship between them was impossible, and all the time it had been for nothing. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Have you any idea…?’

  ‘I was afraid I might fail.’

  ‘Fail? But you’re the CLF’s son.’

  ‘So? They expect more, not less. You’re expected to excel if you have my sort of background, and to do well isn’t enough. Sam, I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t bear to raise your hopes and then let you down.’

  James came towards them.

  ‘I see congratulations are in order, Luke. Well done on the commission.’

  ‘Thank you, sir… James. Sorry, it’s tough to break habits. I called you sir for so long.’

  James took Sam’s arm and drew her to one side. ‘I am so pleased for you, Sam.’

  ‘Sorry, James, I haven’t a clue what you are talking about.’

  ‘Yes, you do. Don’t fib to me, Sam, I’ve known all along about you and Luke. When you got off that helicopter back at Archers Post, I thought I spotted something. I was pretty certain something significant had happened between you and him.’

  Sam stared at him, the crease of a frown between her eyebrows. ‘But how?’

  ‘Because you looked at Luke in a way that should have made me insanely jealous. Of course it didn’t… you’re not, ahem, my type.’

  Sam gave James an understanding smile. ‘Oh, James, you are so lovely. And far too good for me, even if I had been “your type”.’

  ‘You guessed?’

  ‘Put it this way, I had a suspicion, only because I felt so completely safe in your company.’ Sam gave him a peck on the cheek.

  ‘And now Luke can take over the job of keeping you safe.’

  ‘He may not want it.’

  ‘After he went and got a commission? Come off it, Sam.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘Well, maybe. And thank you. Thank you for being a friend. You made me feel welcome here from the start and when I felt lonely, after Luke left, you were always there. You couldn’t have done more.’

  ‘It’s been a pleasure,’ said James. ‘Only now you’ve got Luke back in your life I hope you won’t forget me.’

  ‘Never,’ said Sam with feeling.

  ‘So go and say hello to Luke properly,’ said James, sternly.

  Sam turned back to Luke and let him fold her into his arms. Ignoring the scandalised look from Mrs Notley and Lady Pemberton-Blake, she then let Luke kiss her long and deeply.

  ~

  We hope you enjoyed this book!

  Fiona Field’s next book is coming in spring 2016.

  For more information, click one of the links below:

  Acknowledgements

  Fiona Field

  About the Series

  An invitation from the publisher

  Acknowledgements

  There is a danger, when you start to acknowledge the assistance
people gave you when you were writing a book, that the ‘and-thanks-to’ list can get dangerously out of hand and lengthy … and thanks to my mother for giving birth to me, the stationers for supplying me with paper – that sort of thing. But, seriously, there are some people who were endlessly patient when I pestered them with questions, or helpful, or just plain supportive and it would be unfair of me not to recognise their contribution. My son deserves a medal for the advice he gave me about Askari Thunder, as do Jo Thoenes of BFBS Brize Norton and her friends Patricia and Jonathan, who have all lived in Kenya and made sure I got the details right. The team at Head of Zeus have been amazing but especially my editor, Rosie de Courcy, who has been such a lovely and encouraging person to work with, and I must thank my agent, Laura Longrigg, who makes sure my early drafts are fit to be seen before I send them off to my publisher. I am also blessed with some great friends who cheer me up, keep me going and generally make sure I stay focussed – none more so than the Chez Castillon crew; Janie and Mickey Wilson who own Chez Castillon and who provide the most wonderful writing space (and the most delicious meals!) and Katie Fforde, Judy Astley, Jo Thomas, Clare Mackintosh, Jane Wenham-Jones, Jan Sprenger and Betty Orme-Smith who are the best writing companions an author could hope to find.

  About Soldiers’ Daughters

  The story of two girls who, on the surface, seem to have a lot in common…

  Both motherless. Both sent to the same boarding school for ‘army brats’. Both, later, commissioned into the army themselves. Both desperate for their fathers’ love and approval.

  Samantha Lewis puts everything into being the soldier her father wants her to be. But her heart will lead her in an unexpected direction and threaten her authority over the men under her command.

  Michelle Flowers also craves her father’s attention, but her impulsiveness will drive her into an obsession with the husband of another woman – with disastrous consequences.