Rose Cottage was a pretty house set back from the road with a wrought-iron fence around it. Opposite was the rectory whose occupants, and the life within it, had been so closely bound up with his own family and their fortunes. He had heard that the rector was nearing retirement and that he and Sophie were considering moving right out of the district.
Wenham would never be the same place without them.
Carson put on his hat, got out of the car and strolled up the path. The house had changed very little since those days: the same white walls and window frames, the shiny black painted door with its large, highly polished brass knocker. Walking up the path Carson imagined that even some of the flowers in the garden, now nearing their end, were the same: hollyhocks, foxgloves, fuchsias, dahlias, a brave second showing of delphiniums and lupins.
Connie herself threw open the door just as he was about to knock. She looked rather dishevelled and seemed surprised to see him.
“Carson?”
Carson removed his hat and said with a smile, “Hello. May I come in?”
“Of course.” Connie pointed to some baggage in the hall. “I am just packing. Everything is in such a mess.”
“Oh!” Carson’s smile was replaced by a look of concern. “You’re going so soon?”
“Tomorrow. I fly out to Berlin the day after. It’s all quite exciting.”
Carson didn’t reply, but walked through into the sitting room which looked out on to a pretty garden.
“I wish you weren’t going,” he said turning round.
“But why?” Connie sat down and lit a cigarette.
“Well I just feel like that. I’m sure the refugees can manage without you.”
“That’s a very selfish attitude, Carson. They need help. Financial too, of course, and I’m giving them quite a bit. I think the Refugee Council is glad of my help on both counts. Don’t forget I was a nurse in the fourteen-eighteen war. Netta will join me when she’s finished her secretarial course.”
“I blame Netta for all this,” Carson said grumpily helping himself to a cigarette. “The bloody refugees can get on quite well without the pair of you.”
Connie sat looking at him with some amusement. “You’re no longer in control, are you Carson? No longer the leader of the Home Guard. That’s your trouble.”
“That’s a ridiculous thing to say.” Carson was still cross.
The feeling of anticipation, even of euphoria he’d felt since he received the letter from Sally’s solicitor had completely evaporated. “There’s nothing wrong with a man wanting his family around him after six years of war. Now they’re flying off in all directions. I shall be completely on my own.”
Toby had just obtained his commission in the army and Leonard was in his first year at King’s College, London. Netta was also in London but would be joining her mother in Germany. The birds had flown the nest.
Connie contemplated her one-time husband. How she’d admired him, adored him. She, too, was conscious of the association of the house with their early love affair, or rather hers. He hadn’t loved her at all. It had been a horrible and humiliating experience. Now the boot was entirely on the other foot. Or, was it?
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Carson asked.
“I’m just thinking, as you probably were, of those days long ago –
of the association with this house, a little sad, I guess.”
“But it need not be,” he said earnestly. “It did have a happy ending and could have again.” With the air of an excited schoolboy Carson went and sat beside her producing a letter from his inside breast pocket. “Sally is asking for a divorce.”
Connie took the letter from him and slowly read the contents.
“So,” she said passing it back. “She wants to live in France.”
“Things have been adrift between me and Sally for a long time. I think she was disappointed we didn’t have children. She always thought I married her on the rebound from you.”
“And?” Connie gazed him.
“Perhaps she was right. Anyway she and Dora get on well and she wants to invest in the business. Dora is alone and could with the company and also the help. Sounds ideal to me. I’m agreeing to the divorce of course. So when you come back I’ll be free. Just thought I’d let you know.” He gazed at her earnestly. “Perhaps you can think about it in the meantime? You know what I mean?”
“I think I know what you mean, Carson,” Connie said also rising and, suddenly, the world seemed a sunnier, more hopeful place again.
“Besides,” Carson’s tone was gruff, “we owe it to the children.”
*****
11 October 1946
Upper Park
Wenham
Dorset
Dear Sam,
What a nice surprise to get your letter. It was very interesting to hear about your travels in Europe, but sad that the recovery is so slow.
I envy you your travels. Part of my desire to join the WAAF was to enable me to travel, and look what happened! Here I am stuck in the country with two small children.
It’s not fair to say ‘stuck’. I am very happy here and the comfort of Upper Park is a hundred times better than Lally’s cottage, sweet though that was. Massie and the babies are most comfortable and the staff very kind and obliging. I am beginning to take an interest in the gardens and Gilbert, the head gardener, is patient with me, and knowledgeable.
Not much happens here. I occasionally see Alexander, but he is busy in London. He has to reorganise the business completely and doesn’t come down here as often as he used to. He likes to see the children, but something tells me he is deliberately staying away from me. I can’t blame him and I hope he doesn’t blame me. We’d got ourselves into an impossible situation.
Deborah and Abel come over for dinner. I like them. Eliza is very good and comes to see me, and Lally pops over a lot. She misses the children.
That’s all for now. Do write again.
With best wishes,
Minnie
March 1947
Alexander looked out of his office window and watched the boats plying up and down the Thames. It was a grey, gloomy day reflecting his state of mind. He spent most of his time these days in his office, not only because there was a lot of work to do, but because it took his mind off his domestic problems: his increasing isolation from Minnie; his lack of any rapport with Irene to whom he was no closer than when he saw her in the hospital in Germany and found he couldn’t even kiss her.
He felt that an iciness had entrapped him in which he no longer felt emotion or even sexual desire. He saw Minnie and their children regularly, but he and she were no longer lovers. The situation had made it impossible Consequently, there was tension and unease between them, unspoken reproaches from Lally and an apparent continued indifference from Irene, as though she didn’t care whether she saw him or not.
No wonder he spent most of his time in London buried in his work.
Alexander was in fact very lonely. This wasn’t the sort of existence he’d anticipated when he courted and married the exotic Irene, or began a relationship with the beautiful Minnie. He had not been blessed in love, though he had loved and had been loved in return; but fate had not smiled kindly upon him or the women he had loved.
Alexander often walked home through the London streets to spin out his solitary evenings. Occasionally he would stop at his club in St James’s for a drink and a meal. Tonight he caught a cab and went straight home. Before he had paid off the driver, Roberts had opened the door looking, for that normally imperturbable servant, slightly agitated.
“Mrs Martyn is in the drawing room, sir,” he murmured into Alexander’s ear as he took his hat and coat.
“Oh?” Alexander’s face brightened and, looking into the hall mirror, he smoothed his hair and checked his tie. “And how is my mother?”
Roberts coughed discreetly and lowered his voice to a whisper, “It is Mrs Irene Martyn, sir, your wife.”
“Oh!” Alexande
r felt an even greater depression of the spirits descend on him. Somehow Irene, although she didn’t mean to, always presented problems, reinforcing his feelings of guilt.
She was sitting in the drawing room leafing through a magazine, looked up and smiled as he came in.
“I’m so glad to see you,” he said, trying not to sound insincere.
“It’s my first trip to London. I felt quite adventurous.”
“How did you manage?” He sat down opposite her.
“Very well. I took a cab from the station. See,” she pointed to either side of her chair. “No stick.”
“That’s wonderful.” Alexander smiled and, getting up, went over to the drinks table. “Sherry, Irene?”
“That would be lovely. I do hope you don’t mind me parking myself here for a while Alexander. If you prefer I can go to a hotel.”
“Don’t be ridiculous”. Alexander poured her a dry sherry, a whisky for himself, and handed her her glass.“You must stay as long as you like. Cheers!” he said raising his glass.
“Cheers, Alexander.”
“Continued good health. I mean that sincerely.”
“Thank you.” She took a sip of her wine. “And thanks to you I have made such a marvellous recovery. You and Lally, and the doctors of course. I can never repay you.”
“Nonsense,” Alexander said gruffly sitting down again opposite her.
“No honestly. You have been patient, generous and kind.”
“I am, after all, your husband,” he said pointedly.
“Oh, I know you considered it your duty, but you performed it so generously because you no longer loved me, and that was generous beyond the call of duty.”
Alexander studied the shiny tips of his shoes.
“It isn’t that I no longer loved you.” He looked at her earnestly. “The situation was, is complicated.”
“I know, by Minnie. I can’t blame her. I never did. I certainly don’t blame you, but sometimes I wished I’d died in Berlin and then you would be free.” She leaned forward, her expression grave. “But you see, Alexander, I want you to be free. I want to give you that freedom and offer you a divorce.”
“But what will you do?”
“Do what I should have done before, but of course I wasn’t strong enough. Now I feel I am. I am going to stay for a few days in London at a hotel and look for a property, somewhere in Kent. There will be reparations from Germany which will enable me to this and of course the money my father left.” Irene’s mother had also died towards the end of the war
“That’s ridiculous,” he said robustly. “You must stay here. Whatever you say you are not quite well enough. We must keep an eye on you. I ...” he took another sip of his drink before putting the glass down carefully on the table, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I want my freedom. You know that things are not the same between Minnie and me.”
“But that is my fault. She resents me. She would not be human if she didn’t.”
“It’s not only that ...” Alexander frowned. “I don’t think things can ever be the same. Maybe I should have given more time to Minnie. The war has changed everything hasn’t it?” He passed a hand wearily across his face. “Look, let’s go out to dinner. How about the Savoy?” Suddenly excited he looked at his watch. “It’s not too late. Remember when we dined there last?”
“How could I forget?” Irene said, suddenly looking shy. It was the night he had proposed.
That night, in January 1938, they had ordered vintage champagne. He had told her that Bart Sadler had found her father and he would soon be home. She had looked enchanting in a short black velvet evening frock with gold lamé jacket, a single row of pearls round her exquisite neck. A little cheeky pill-box hat had perched saucily forwards on her head, a half-mesh veil obscuring her eyes, those wicked exciting eyes.
They were still the same eyes, only tonight everything else was different. There was no pre-war Krug champagne but a non-vintage bottle of an obscure make.
He wore his business lounge suit and she the grey costume with a white jabot blouse she’d worn up to town. There was no little black hat – no hat at all – no alluring single row of pearls. Opposite him was a war-weary woman who had spent five years being hunted like a rat and whose raven black hair had turned white practically, she’d told him, overnight. But she had never whined or wanted pity. She’d just struggled to get better with the grim determination that had kept her alive during the war.
Now he felt that the white hair gave her a strange beauty and dignity, the eyes still shone with undiminished brilliance and she had resumed her exotic and rather skilful use of make-up: a slash of scarlet lipstick to heighten her colour, yet a more subdued use of rouge and mascara than she’d employed when she was a younger woman.
She looked grave, desirable, even beautiful, and she was still his wife.
Suddenly Alexander longed to take her in his arms, embrace her and comfort her.
He reached out his hand for hers.
“I’m so glad we came,” he said as he felt her fingers tightly clasping in his response. “Shall we order?”
Later that night Alexander felt as though he’d started to live again, and next to him Irene smiled into the darkness because she knew that fear and suffering were behind her and that her husband, Alexander, loved her still.
Only they had to get to know each other all over again. It was like starting out afresh.
*****
23 April 1947
The Hotel
Pierre New
York
Dear Minnie
It has been great to get your letters. I think they have all found me, and your latest arrived only this morning. I have been away upstate exploring the country and it has been enough to convince me that America is a wonderful place, vibrant and full of life. Of course, unlike Europe it has been untouched by war. There are no bombed buildings or shattered lives, not that you see, anyway, though millions of Americans fought in the war overseas and there must be plenty around.
I think I might start my own business here. At the moment I’m not sure what that will be.
I’m not at all anxious to return to Wenham which was never a very happy place for me. I don’t have many good memories of it ... except meeting you. Like my father when he went abroad before the First War I don’t miss it.
But I miss you Minnie. I love your letters. As to the personal news you wrote in your last one, well, it doesn’t surprise me that Alexander and Irene have decided to try and make a go of their marriage again. What does surprise me is the generosity with which you have accepted it. You even sound as though you mean it.
But then you are the most generous, good and kind person alive.
Oh, Minnie, I feel you would adore New York.
Is it possible that you might want to join me here for a visit, or are you still in love with Alexander?
Sam
*****
September 1947
Carson stood on the platform at Blandford Station waiting with a good deal of impatience for the train to arrive. He paced agitatedly up and down, hands behind his back, a pipe in his mouth.
As the train came in he walked slowly along inspecting the carriages, anxious for some reason that even now Connie might have changed her mind or missed the train.
Then the door of one of the rear coaches opened and she stepped out, turning round to thank someone who was helping her with her bags.
Carson rushed forward to take her luggage and also thanked the man handing them out to her. Then he kissed her on the cheek and, a bag in each hand, led her towards the car.
“It’s great to see you,” he said glancing down at her. She looked magnificent with her hair swept back and wearing a fashionably long skirt and a short jacket over an open-necked shirt. “You look extremely well. I thought you’d be haggard and emaciated and I’d have to fatten you up.”
“Oh, no, we were well fed and looked after. We have to be to be of any use to those we were ther
e to help. Oh, Carson I can’t tell you how awful the refugee situation is. There are thousands and thousands of displaced people who have lost their homes and everything.”
“Is Netta OK?” he asked anxiously. “Isn’t she a bit young for all that?”
“Not at all. Netta is in her element. She organises everybody, just like you.” Connie paused and smiled. “She is every bit your daughter, Carson.”
Carson put the bags into the boot of the car, saw Connie into her seat and then drove swiftly out of Blandford. Connie, obviously contented to be home, sat back gazing at the familiar countryside through which they were passing.
“I have missed Dorset,” she cried. “It’s so beautiful, so civilised. They haven’t begun to reconstruct Germany, you know. It’s an almost impossible task. Berlin is divided between the Russians and the Allies. Some help is desperately needed if the rest of Europe is to survive against the communists. It was a terrible mistake to let the Russians get to Berlin first.”
“Don’t let’s talk about gloomy things,” Carson said. “We have enough gloom here. The food crisis is getting even worse. I tell you I am having to turn over every acre we have to fulfil the food quotas. Sometimes I wonder what we went to war for.”
“Don’t forget it was the same after the last war,” Connie said quietly. “We forget. Anyway, tell me all the news, the gossip.” She looked at him expectantly. “How’s Eliza?”
“She’s fine. Oh, and by the way, I have got some surprising news: Minnie and Sam are getting married.”
“Minnie and Sam ...” Connie seemed lost for words. “You mean our Sam?”
“Yes.” Carson smiled. “Apparently they had a long correspondence while he was away which blossomed into love. She went over to New York to see him, and the news arrived the other day.”
“I’m so glad. How lovely. Minnie deserved something good to happen to her,” Connie smiled contentedly. “And Alexander?”
In Time of War (Part Six of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 20