by Hilary Green
It was over a year since she had left her FANY comrades to join Mabel Stobart’s Women’s Sick and Wounded Convoy in Serbia, and more than that since she had last seen Tom. Although their engagement had been a matter of convenience for them both, freeing Leo from the oppressive if well-meaning control of her brother Ralph, and providing Tom with camouflage for desires he was afraid to acknowledge, she had developed a genuine affection for him. She found it hard to imagine how a gentle, artistic soul like Tom could survive in the midst of the horrors she had encountered while she was in France. But so much time had passed and so much had happened to her since she left there that her memories had become vague. Tom and Victoria seemed to belong to a different life and she herself was a different person. She wondered what they were doing – and if they had survived until now.
Two
Victoria clung to the steering wheel as a blast rocked the Napier and threatened to turn it over. Ahead, the road was lit up by the flash of explosions and, outlined against the glare, she could just make out the silhouette of the railway station and the adjacent building. Once it had been the veterinary hospital, but now it had been turned over to human use. Above her, the sky was criss-crossed by the beams of searchlights and over the noise of the engine she could hear the roar of aero engines and the scream of descending bombs.
Her companion, a VAD called Monica Dickenson, leaned over and yelled in her ear. ‘They’re getting a terrible pasting. Do you think we should hold back for a bit?’
‘We can’t!’ Victoria yelled back. ‘There are wounded in there to be evacuated.’
She pressed the accelerator and drove the Napier forward. As if some higher power had intervened there was a pause in the bombing and they reached the entrance of the hospital safely. As soon as the ambulance stopped the doors of the building opened and stretcher-parties appeared. Dickenson jumped down and opened the back of the vehicle and four stretchers were hurriedly slid into position.
‘Look out!’ someone yelled. ‘He’s coming back. Take cover!’
A man tugged at Victoria’s door. ‘Quick! Take cover!’
‘I can’t!’ she shouted back. ‘I can’t leave four wounded men out here. Get in, Dickie! We’ve got to move!’
Dickenson jumped up beside her and Victoria reversed and turned the Napier to head back towards Calais. As she did so she heard the German plane swoop low overhead and another bomb exploded somewhere behind them. A short distance away she saw a dark shape beside the road.
‘That looks like some kind of barn or shed,’ she shouted to her companion. ‘I’ll pull in there and hope he doesn’t spot us.’
The open-sided barn offered little in the way of shelter but at least they felt less exposed than on the open road. Victoria turned off the engine and they both climbed into the back of the vehicle, where the four patients lay on their stretchers.
‘You girls ought to be in a dugout, not out here like this,’ one of the men said.
‘Can’t leave you all alone, can we?’ Victoria replied. ‘Cigarette?’
‘You’re an angel of mercy, and no mistake!’ he exclaimed.
One of the patients was only semi-conscious, but the other three willingly accepted cigarettes and they all lit up as the bombs continued to crash around them. Eventually, silence fell and Dickenson climbed down and looked out at the sky.
‘I think it’s over. It’s all quiet.’
‘Right!’ Victoria scrambled back to the driving seat. ‘Let’s get out of here while the going’s good!’
A few miles away the Second Battalion of the Coldstream Guards was back in billets again after a spell on the front line. This time the officers, including Tom, were housed in a small chateau which had somehow remained undamaged in a fold in the hills. For once, he had a room to himself and was enjoying the unaccustomed luxury of a comfortable bed and the occasional hot bath. Even the mess dinners were no longer as drearily formal as they used to be. Many of the old hands had disappeared: some killed, others transferred to fill the gaps in other units. New men had taken their places, many of them not regular soldiers, and the atmosphere had become much more relaxed and collegiate.
In spite of this temporary improvement in physical conditions, morale was low. After the long months of minor skirmishes they were all weary and bored, and a stream of bad news had done nothing to help. First, word had arrived that the entire British force in Mesopotamia had been obliged to surrender to the Turks; then they read in the papers of the Easter Rising in Dublin and soon after that of the inconclusive battle of Jutland, at which the pride of the British Navy had been humbled by the Germans. No one could see how the present stalemate could be resolved and there was a general feeling that the war would drag on for ever.
The family who owned the chateau had decamped to safer lodgings, but some of the servants, either too old or too young for active service, remained. Among them was a boy in his mid-teens; good-looking after a fashion with full, red lips and thick dark hair which he was constantly pushing back from his brow in what struck Tom as a rather affected manner. His name was Louis and he helped out in the kitchen and generally fetched and carried. He often hung around the officers’ quarters, waiting for the chance to run errands, for which he was rewarded with cigarettes and chocolate.
One evening, Tom was in his room, tidying himself before going down to dinner, when there was a knock on the door. Louis stood outside with a glass of Pernod on a tray.
‘For you, Lieutenant,’ he said.
‘No, not me,’ Tom responded. ‘I didn’t ask for it.’
‘Yes, for you,’ the boy insisted, stepping adroitly round Tom into the room.
‘No!’ Tom said again. ‘I don’t even like Pernod. You must have got me mixed up with one of the others.’
Louis put the glass down and gave Tom a lascivious smile. ‘You give me cigarettes, yes?’
‘No. Why should I give you cigarettes? I didn’t send for that drink.’
The boy stepped closer. ‘Yes, you give me cigarettes and I . . .’ He leaned in and whispered in Tom’s ear a suggestion of such extreme obscenity that Tom felt himself grow hot with shame.
He took a sharp step backwards. ‘No! You will do no such thing! Get out, and take your foul suggestions with you. I wouldn’t dream of indulging in anything so gross.’
Louis’s eyes widened mockingly. ‘No?’
‘No! Now, get out.’
The boy shrugged and moved to the door. As he reached it Tom said sharply, ‘And don’t go making any such lewd suggestions to any of the other officers, or you might get a hiding. No English gentleman would stoop to anything so low.’
Louis gave him a smile of amused contempt. ‘You think?’
He left the room, closing the door softly behind him, and Tom, deeply shaken, grabbed the glass of Pernod and drained it, even though the taste revolted him. He looked at himself in the mirror. Why had the boy approached him? Was there something about his face or his bearing that gave a clue to his awful secret? He thought he had concealed it very well but now he wondered if other people guessed it too, and the thought made him blush again.
Going downstairs he was jolted out of his introspective mood by the sight of a familiar figure standing in the hall. Ralph had been wounded a month earlier and sent home to recuperate. Tom’s heart leapt. Ralph had been the most significant presence in his life since his schooldays. They had joined up together and this was the longest time they had been apart since that first day. At Tom’s exclamation of delight Ralph swung round and ran to the foot of the stairs.
‘Tom! Thank God! You’re still OK. Oh, it’s good to see you!’ He gripped Tom’s hand in a fervent clasp and pounded him on the shoulder.
Tom, in a confusion of mingled joy and shame, resisted the urge to embrace him.
‘It’s good to see you, too. But I’d rather you were still safe in England. How are you? Completely recovered?’
‘Fit as a flea and thankful to be back in harness.’
‘Reall
y?’
‘God, yes! You’ve no idea how awful it is at home. People constantly asking “what’s it like out there?” and “how did you get wounded?” and then the next question is always, “when are you going back?” As if anyone who has been through it wants to talk about it when they get home!’
‘I remember,’ Tom agreed.
‘Oh, I’ve got news! I had a letter from Leo. She’s in Salonika. Have you heard anything?’
‘Yes, there was a letter waiting for me when we got back here last week. Thank God she’s all right.’
‘I wish she’d come home. Can’t you write and tell her to get on the first ship?’
‘I can write, but it won’t do any good. You know that as well as I do.’
The gong sounded for dinner and they went in to join their fellow officers, who were all delighted to see Ralph back. After that there was little time for private conversation.
Three days later, as he left the dining room after dinner, Tom was sent for by the colonel. ‘You’re not going to like this, old man, but I’m afraid you’re being transferred.’
‘Transferred? Where to?’
‘First Battalion are being moved to the area round Thiepval, near the River Somme. They’re very short of officers, so I’ve had orders to transfer you to them.’
‘Why me?’ The words came out almost as a bleat.
‘Don’t ask me.’ The CO shrugged. ‘God alone knows how the minds of those at HQ work. I’m sorry, old chap, but there it is.’
‘When do I go?’
‘First thing tomorrow.’
Ralph was not in the drawing room, where the officers habitually assembled after dinner, and someone said they thought he had decided to have an early night. Depressed beyond words, Tom dragged himself upstairs to find him and give him the news. It seemed unjustly cruel that they should be separated when Ralph had only just got back. Reaching the corridor leading to the bedrooms, he was infuriated to see Louis coming out of Ralph’s room.
‘Damn you!’ he exclaimed. ‘I told you to keep your filthy ideas to yourself.’
The boy looked at him and sniggered. Then he reached into his pocket and held up a packet of English cigarettes. As Tom stared, he slipped past him, still sniggering, and ran down the stairs. Tom rapped briefly on Ralph’s door and walked in. Ralph was standing in front of the washstand with his trousers round his ankles, washing his genitals. He swung round as Tom entered, water splashing on the carpet.
‘Damn it, Tom! Can’t a chap have any privacy? What do you want?’
Tom stood and stared at him wordlessly. There was no doubt in his mind about what had been going on, and suddenly the whole idealized edifice he had built up since his adolescence came crashing down. Ralph glared at him for a moment, then reddened and turned away, pulling up his trousers.
‘I don’t know what you’re thinking . . .’ His voice wavered uncertainly.
‘I know,’ Tom said. ‘I know what has happened. That boy came to me a few days ago and made the same suggestion.’
Ralph looked round. ‘You didn’t . . .?’
‘No, of course I bloody didn’t!’
There was a silence. Then Ralph, his back turned again, muttered, ‘Oh, Tom, I’m sorry. I hoped you’d never find out.’
‘Find out? What?’
‘What a weak, pathetic creature I am. I’ve tried, God knows I’ve tried. But there is something in me . . . something that yearns for . . . for . . .’
‘For that? For that sordid business with a despicable creature like that boy?’
‘No! No, you don’t understand. How could you? You’re so straight, so honest. We used to snigger about this sort of thing when we were at school and express contempt for those who fancied themselves in love with a pretty boy. Me, louder than anyone! Because I was terrified of what you might guess. I thought it would pass: that one day I would feel differently. But it hasn’t. I know that for men like me the only honourable course is abstinence . . . but I don’t have the strength.’ He turned to Tom, and his face was streaked with tears. ‘I need someone, Tom! I need some kind of human contact.’
‘But why not come to me?’ Tom cried. ‘For God’s sake, Ralph, you didn’t have to suffer like this. If only I had known . . .’
He was about to spill out the story of all the long years of painful concealment but before he could go on Ralph came closer and put his hand on his lips.
‘No, Tom. I know you want to help, but there’s nothing you can do. You have to understand. All these years you’ve been the one shining light in my existence. Your honest friendship has kept me sane, made me feel that I’m not completely worthless. If I lost that, I don’t know what I should do. I’m more sorry than I can say that you had to find out this way. But if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, to continue to be my friend, that is more important to me than anything else in the world. Can you do that?’
Tom stared at him in dumb misery. ‘You know I can. Whatever happens, I would never let you down.’
‘I love you, Tom,’ Ralph said. ‘You are like the brother I never had. Please let me hang on to that.’
Tom swallowed and nodded. He wanted to seize Ralph and crush him in his arms and pour out his true feelings, but with a few words he had put that beyond the reach of possibility for ever. Instead he said, ‘They’re transferring me to First Battalion. I leave first thing tomorrow.’
Three
Luke Pavel drew the hired buggy to a standstill and pointed ahead with his whip. ‘There it is. Welcome to Taupaki Farm.’
Sophie gazed in the direction he was pointing. ‘All this? Yours?’
‘Well, my Dad’s at the moment. Mine one day.’
‘Is beautiful!’ Sophie was still struggling with English, although Luke had been giving her lessons on the voyage from Cairo.
‘Horsey! Horsey! Giddy-up!’ cried an excited voice from behind them. Anton had made more rapid progress with the new language than his mother.
Luke turned in his seat and smiled at the little boy. ‘Yes, lots of horses. We’ll have to see if we can find you a pony to ride.’
He turned back abruptly and shook the reins to make the horse walk on, aware that his words had contained an assumption that he had no reason to make. That thought segued naturally into the dilemma that had dominated his mind since the ship docked at Wellington. In a few minutes he would have to introduce Sophie to his family – and he did not know what form of words to use. He had written home soon after leaving Cairo and posted the letter when the ship called at Cape Town, but he had ducked the problem of explaining their relationship, simply stating that he was bringing with him a young Macedonian widow and her son, whom he had met by chance during the fighting on Gallipoli and who needed sanctuary and a temporary home. He knew that the reference to her nationality would guarantee her welcome and decided not to muddy the waters by referring to their hasty marriage. That was what he told himself, but he knew that the real reason was that he was so confused in his own mind about the nature of their relationship that he was unwilling to make it concrete in writing. All through the voyage they had maintained a chaste distance. In fact, they had had little choice in the matter as Luke had been accommodated with the rest of the returning troops in a crowded dormitory, while Sophie and Anton had shared a cabin with two other nurses. But during the day they had spent a lot of time together, reminiscing about their earlier experiences at Adrianople and playing with Anton. Luke found himself enjoying both her company and his developing relationship with the little boy more and more as the days passed. They had never spoken of the future. It seemed that they had both tacitly agreed that the duration of the voyage was a time apart from ordinary life, belonging neither to the trauma of the past nor to the uncertainty of the future.
But now the voyage was over and in a moment he would drive up to the door of the farmhouse and be precipitated into the midst of his family. He was longing to see them, and he did not want the homecoming to be clouded by misunderstanding.
>
There had been no way of letting them know that his ship had docked, but they must have been forewarned somehow because the whole family was assembled on the porch as he drew rein, and for a moment he forgot his dilemma and jumped down to embrace first his mother, then his grandmother and sister, and to exchange a fervent handclasp with his father. His elder sister was married now and living in Taupo, but he was assured she would come to visit the next day. In the middle of these greetings Sophie climbed off the buggy and lifted Anton down, and Luke’s grandmother solved the immediate need for introductions by rushing down the porch steps to embrace her with a babble of the Macedonian Serb which was still her primary language. Sophie replied in the same manner and soon she was being welcomed into the house by the rest of the family. No one thought to question why Luke had chosen to bring her to them. She was a fellow refugee from the old country and as such needed no further excuse.
It was not until after a celebration dinner of tender lamb marinated in fragrant spices, combining the abundance of the new country with the traditions of the old one, that the subject was raised. Sophie was putting Anton to bed. Luke’s mother and sister were washing the dishes, supervised by his grandmother, and Luke and his father were sitting on the porch with cigars and a bottle of home-made peach schnapps.
Neither of them spoke for a while, until Mr Pavel said, ‘You didn’t have any trouble getting Sophie through immigration, then?’
Luke put down his glass. He understood that he had been given the cue he needed. ‘No. You see, officially, Sophie is my wife.’