Doctor Millard smiled in welcome at Tony.
"Welcome home, Lieutenant." He nodded towards the two stretcher-bearers. "Follow me please."
The doctor led the way up the stairs to the first landing where he turned right. The two stretcher-bearers followed him until he stopped in front of a door and opened it.
"In here, please."
The two men carefully deposited their burden on the bed, before folding the stretcher and withdrawing. Tony looked around in surprise. His was the only bed in the room, the remainder of the furnishings consisted of a desk and chair, dressing table and door to a closet. He turned in amazement to his companion.
"This is my own room!"
The doctor smiled. "Yes, I know. I received a visit from a Lieutenant Briggs yesterday to say you were on your way, and to get this room ready for you."
Tony was curious. "Did he say anything else?"
The doctor nodded, his face becoming serious. "Yes. I had to sign the Official Secrets Act before he could tell me everything, but he felt it necessary for your doctor to know how you came by your injuries." He frowned. "He was still rather vague about that, although he did say that you were injured in France while carrying out a secret mission. I must say, Lieutenant, that I admire your courage in going out into such a situation."
Tony, not knowing what to say in answer to the compliment decided to ignore it.
"The reason Jim, I mean Lieutenant Briggs, didn't give you too many details about my injuries, is that he didn't know himself. You see, until last night I was still in France. I was brought off by submarine, and here I am."
Millard was amazed. "They certainly put themselves out for you. So, how did you get your injuries?"
Tony frowned. "I know you’ve signed the Official Secrets Act, but I think it would suffice to say that I fell down a cliff."
"Interesting." Millard was thoughtful. "What is the extent of your injuries?"
"Broken leg and collar bone, fractured ribs, gash to the head and concussion along with numerous other minor cuts and bruises. Can you speak French?"
Millard nodded, puzzled. "Yes. Why?"
Tony retrieved the oilskin package from his sling and handed it to Millard. "These are my notes from the doctor who treated me in France."
The doctor shook his head in disbelief. "This is incredible! It's hard to believe I'm not dreaming!" He took the package and unwrapped it, before sitting at the desk and beginning to read. There was silence for a time as he slowly translated Leclerc’s notes, then he looked up.
"You seem to have been a remarkably lucky young man, Lieutenant. You should have been in hospital long before this." He looked down at the notes. "I agree with this doctor though, a few X-rays would be in order to see that everything is knitting together properly." He looked at his watch. "We'll do that in an hour, after you’ve had breakfast, then I’ll let your parents know that you’re here.” He frowned. “How are you going to explain your injuries?”
"My cover story is that I was injured in an air raid in London a week ago. That’ll explain why my head is healing so well."
Millard nodded. "Yes, but it doesn't explain why you haven't been in touch with them before now."
Tony frowned. "I hadn't thought of that."
"May I make a suggestion?"
Tony nodded.
"We'll tell them that you suffered from loss of memory. When you regained your full faculties yesterday you were brought straight here."
Tony smiled. "Brilliant. I like it."
"Good." Millard rose to his feet as he spoke. “I’ll see that breakfast is brought to you, then we’ll get you X-rayed.”
With that he turned and left the room.
Tony lay back upon the pillows, eyes closed wearily. The door opened some five minutes later to admit a nurse, who carefully divested him of his clothes and dressed him in clean pyjamas before bringing him breakfast. It seemed strange to Tony to be eating breakfast in his own room again; it was so familiar yet so different. The room had been prepared as a private ward for officers. He wondered how many other wounded men had lain in his bed, sat at his desk or gazed from his window. He smiled. Few men in hospital can feel so at home! he thought. Finishing his breakfast he put the tray to one side. His injured body craved sleep, particularly after the long and painful journey from France, but he struggled to stay awake until the X-rays had been taken. He heard the door opening and turned towards the sound. At the sight of the young nursing auxiliary, he smiled.
“Hello, Sarah."
Sarah’s mouth dropped open in amazement. For a moment she felt she could neither move nor speak as she gazed at the recumbent form on the bed. Finally her voice found its freedom.
"Tony! What are you doing here?" She pushed a wheelchair into the room, then moved briskly over to the bed. "What happened to you?"
Tony was overwhelmed by his feelings of joy and relief as he looked at Sarah. He realised just how close he had come to never seeing her again, and the relief at seeing her face once more washed over him like a flood. Through blurred eyes that threatened tears, he smiled up at her.
"Oh. I'm all right. Just a few minor injuries from one of Hitler’s bombs.”
Sarah's hand had somehow become tightly entwined in Tony’s, but she did nothing to release it. Her mind was a whirl of thoughts. She was shocked to see Tony suffering from more severe injuries than he cared to admit to, more shocked than she would have expected to be. She thought he was up in Scotland, far away from the threat of bombs; but her overriding feeling was one of joy at seeing him. She frowned. When had his friendship become so important to her? She had never felt such a conflicting jumble of emotions - fear, sorrow, pain, concern and above all joy - for anyone else before. Except for Joe. Could her friendship for Tony have developed into something far deeper without her even being aware of it? She thrust the thought aside. Time enough to dwell on that when she had her emotions under control. She gently squeezed Tony’s hand.
"Dr. Millard asked me to bring a new patient along to X-ray, but he didn't tell me who it was." She smiled brightly, a smile which warmed Tony’s heart. "I'm so glad to see you again, though I wish it was under different circumstances."
"Me too." Tony grimaced as he tried to sit up. Sarah, conscious once more of the duties she was there to perform, helped him. "Bring over the wheelchair, then let's get to X-ray. Dr. Millard will be wondering where we've got to!"
Sarah smiled as she fetched the chair. "I have so many things to ask you, and to say to you, but I suppose they can wait. It looks as though you'll probably be with us for some time to come."
Tony grinned. Being wounded had its compensations after all!
While Tony was being X-rayed, a message was sent down to the lodge to inform his parents that he was now a patient up at the main house so that when Sarah wheeled him back into his room, his parents were already waiting for him. Sir Michael was gazing out of the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, while Louise sat stiffly at the desk, her face white. As the door opened she rose to her feet.
"Tony!"
Sir Michael turned at the sound of his wife's voice, his face inscrutable.
Sarah’s gaze roved from one face to the other as she pushed the chair closer to the bed. She could feel the pent -up emotion in the room. Such a reunion should be held in private
"If you will excuse me, I have work to do."
Tony watched her as she left, closing the door quietly behind her, then turned to face his parents. “Hello, Mamma. Dad."
Louise crossed the room and knelt on the floor beside her son’s chair.
"Are you all right, Tony? What happened?"
”Yes, son. How are you?”
Tony looked up at is father; his face was set, but the anxiety in his eyes betrayed him. Tony smiled. Perhaps his injuries could bring the two of them closer.
"I'm all right, Dad. Just a few cracked ribs, and a broken leg and collarbone. It's a bit painful at times, but I’ll be all right.”
&n
bsp; Sir Michael indicated the stitched gash on Tony’s forehead.
"That looks to be healing well. When did all this happen?"
Tony frowned. Would his cover story stand up?
“They tell me I was injured a week ago.”
"A week? But why did you not contact us?" Louise's voice was troubled, and Tony reached out a hand to comfort her.
"I'm afraid this gash on the head is responsible for that, Mamma. I lost my memory and only really knew who I was yesterday."
"Why didn't the hospital contact us? You were wearing your dog tags, weren't you?"
Tony’s mind worked fast. He had left his dog tags behind when he went to France, and Jim had not returned them to him. He hoped his father would not want to see them.
"Whatever broke my collar bone must have broken the chain because I wasn't wearing them when they got me to hospital. I'd still be there now if I hadn't got my memory back."
Sir Michael crossed the room and placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder, the first physical contact he had initiated between them since Tony had said that he was joining the Ministry of Economic Warfare.
"I thought you said you would be safe up in Scotland, son?"
"Oh, that job had finished. I was just reporting back to London when this happened."
"Were you on leave, then?"
Tony felt a tightening in his father’s hand. Could he resent Tony’s apparent lack of active service so much that he was willing to argue about whether he was injured on or off duty? Tony vowed to do his best to build up the tenuous link his father had initiated.
"No. I was on my way to the office when the raid happened." He looked up at his father. "War work, Dad."
Louise watched her husband’s face. Their son was injured. Surely all that mattered was getting him well again? Then Sir Michael smiled.
"Perhaps your job isn’t as safe as I thought it was." He walked over to the chair and sat down. “Now, my son, how long are your injuries going to keep you cooped up in here?"
"I'm not sure, Dad." Tony relaxed as he held his mother’s hand in his and smiled at his father. Getting well now seemed immaterial to him. It looked as though the real healing had already taken place. "I'll have to wait and see what Doctor Millard makes of the X-rays."
As if on cue, the door opened and Millard entered, smiling.
"Good morning, Sir Michael, Lady Kemshall. I've just got the results of your son’s X-rays. You'll be pleased to hear that all the broken bones are mending nicely. The leg was quite bad, so it will be some time before he can return to work. I'd like to keep an eye on him here for the next week or so, then he can move down to the lodge with you." He turned to Tony and smiled. "You’re a lucky young man, and have been receiving excellent medical attention. I'd like to meet the doctor who has been treating you one day."
Tony smiled. "I'm sure he would like to meet you too. Let's hope it's not too long before that's possible."
Sir Michael frowned, convinced that there was something in the exchange which he was missing but unable to put his finger on what it was. Millard turned towards him.
"Now I think the patient needs some rest."
Louise rose and kissed her son on the forehead. "I'll come in and see you later, mon cher."
"Thank you, Mamma."
Sir Michael merely nodded as he moved over towards the door. "See you later, son."
“See you later,
As the door closed behind them Tony was smiling happily. It was good to be home.
68
The speed of Tony’s recovery surprised, and pleased, Millard. Maybe it was due to the reduction of tension and anxiety. He found it almost impossible to imagine how Tony must have been feeling, unable to move unaided, in hostile territory, knowing that the enemy were on the lookout for him after his work of sabotage. The fear would have been enough to hinder the healing process; now in familiar territory with no worries and with caring parents to watch over him, Tony was improving in leaps and bounds. Little did Milliard know that the improved relationship between Tony and his father, as well as the constant attention from Sarah, also contributed to the speed of his recovery. A week after his arrival at Heronfield, Millard was sufficiently satisfied to allow Tony to move down to the lodge. Sir Michael volunteered to push the chair down the driveway, and Tony was glad of his company. He still found it hard to believe that the animosity between the two of them had been brushed aside by his injuries, and was keen to continue the improved relationship. The wind blew coldly. Sir Michael tucked a blanket closer around his son’s legs as he made his way down the drive to be greeted by Louise at the door to the lodge. She smiled warmly to see Sir Michael supporting Tony as he made his painful way up the steps.
"Come in. I have a hot cup of milk waiting for you in front of the fire."
"Mamma!" Tony laughed as he leant against his stick and hobbled into the sitting room. "I can remember you doing that for me when I was hurt as a child!"
He seated himself in the comfortable armchair, close to the fire, and Louise wrapped a blanket round his knees.
"Surely you don't want milk at your age, son. How about something stronger?"
Tony looked at his mother, realising her need to express her love and concern for him in the only way she knew how. He turned to his father and smiled.
"No thanks, Dad. I'll have something stronger later. Right now, milk sounds wonderful."
Sir Michael nodded, realising that Tony was doing his best to please his mother, and wondering, as he had done so many times over the past week, how he had ever allowed his feelings to drive such a wedge between them in such uncertain times. He stood with his back to the window, looking thoughtful as he gazed at mother and son.
"You know, Tony, I think I owe you an apology."
Tony looked up. "Dad, it's not necessary. I..."
"Yes it is, son." Sir Michael interrupted. "I thought you should have volunteered for active service, especially after you saw that mess at Dunkirk. Then when David died I thought you would want to avenge him. I still think your job is suited to an older man and that you should be fighting for your country, my views about that haven't changed, but I should never have allowed my views to come between us. This war is different from the last one; anyone anywhere can be killed or injured, civilians as well as the military. The danger here is not as great as the front line, but I suppose you know what you’re doing. This is the last time I'll bring the subject up, son, though I do hope you will volunteer for active duty some time."
Tony smiled.
"There was no need to say all that, Dad, but thanks." He was thoughtful. “I do intend to come face to face with the enemy before this is all over, Dad, perhaps when we invade France I'll ask for a transfer. But right now I must obey orders."
Sir Michael crossed the room and laid a hand upon his son’s shoulder.
"That’s good enough for me, son."
Tony turned as he heard the sound of the door opening. Chantrelle de Thierry entered, smiling broadly, and Tony felt his heart stand still. He had pushed his experiences in France to the back of his mind while in hospital but now, seeing his grandmother, the memories came flooding back. He could tell her all she wanted to know, and more, about her home and friends, but he must remain silent. He found himself at a loss for words, but Chantrelle de Thierry did not notice as she crossed the room and kissed him on both cheeks.
"Tony! It is good to see you. I am sorry that I did not come up to the big house, but it is so unnerving to see strangers there, it makes me think of my home and the strangers who must be living in it."
Tony reached out and took her hand.
"That's all right, Grandmamma. I understand."
He looked around at the room full of smiling people. It was good to be home. This was where he belonged.
As Tony grew stronger he was able to walk for a while each day in the gardens, and Sarah walked with him. She had thought long and hard about her reactions when she saw Tony in the hospital bed, and had at last admitted
to herself that he was special to her. Yet she was still not ready to admit it to him. Tony, however, noticed a subtle change in their relationship. She smiled more, and seemed more relaxed in his company; she spoke of Joe less frequently, as though she had now let go of him. Their daily walks assumed great importance to each of them, a time when they could talk about the war and how things were going. But as time passed, they talked less about the war and more about themselves. Slowly they came to know each other better. If the weather was inclement and they were unable to walk, it felt as though an important part of their day had been lost.
So time passed. The leaves continued to change colour and fall from the trees, rustling and crunching underfoot. In the mornings, the grass and trees were edged with white crystals of frost, and the windowpanes were patterned with its fine etchings. So November turned to December. A year of setbacks in the war was drawing to a close and people were looking forward to the New Year, hoping the combined might of England and Russia would finally bring Germany to her knees.
69
Sarah and Jane sat in the nurses’ common room, relaxing over a cup of tea after a busy day on the wards. It was 8th December 1941.The dreary sounds of rain drumming against the windows hardly registered as the two young women laughed and talked. As usual, Jane was teasing Sarah about the number of men she attracted when they went out dancing.
"I shouldn't take you with me!" The smile on her face belied the harshness of her words. "You always get the best looking ones and leave the rest to me."
"That's not true!" Sarah laughed. "You know very well I don't go there looking for men!"
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