"Have you been to see your parents yet?"
Tony frowned and shook his head. "No. Dad and I had a bit of an argument. I won't be going back there."
"What! Never?"
Tony shrugged. "At least not until after the war."
Sarah was shocked. "But that's awful!" What about your mother?"
"I write, and phone when I can. Believe me, it’s better for her than to have to put up with our constant bickering."
Sarah looked at him carefully and saw the unhappiness in his eyes. She knew him well enough to realise that this split with his family hurt him deeply, and that he did not want to talk about it. Her heart ached for him. She wanted to take him in her arms, smooth the frown from his brow and tell him that everything was going to be all right. Instead she smiled comfortingly.
"Do you want to dance?"
Tony grinned his boyish grin, and Sarah felt her heart fill with love for him.
"Yes. That's what I came for!"
Smiling happily, they made their way onto the dance floor where Tony took her in his arms. It felt good, as though they had never been apart, as though they belonged together, and the hours flew by. They talked and danced as though there had never been anything wrong between them. Sarah wished it could always be like this. So the time passed and midnight approached. Suddenly the band stopped playing and a GI leapt up onto the stage.
"OK. everybody. Ten seconds to go. Ten...Nine..."
All over the dance floor people began to join in the countdown.
"Eight...Seven...Six..."
Tony turned and smiled at Sarah, who smiled back as the counting continued.
"Five...Four...Three..."
Without quite knowing how, Sarah found her hand in Tony’s. It felt so right that she didn't want to pull away.
"Two...One...Happy New Year!"
Streamers were thrown. The air was soon thick with them, and balloons floated down from the ceiling.
"Happy New Year, Tony."
Sarah looked radiant. Her eyes sparkled and her smile was warm and inviting. Without thinking, Tony leant down and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. After a moment’s hesitation, Sarah’s lips began to move beneath his. She closed her eyes as his arms slipped around her, and gave herself up to the sensations washing over her. It felt so good, so right to be in his arms once more. Tony could hardly believe it was happening. He could hardly believe that after all that he had been through he was holding her, and feeling from the depth of her response that she really did love him. Then it was over. Sarah opened her eyes, placed her hands on his chest and pulled gently away.
"Sarah?"
She shook her head, her eyes a confusion of longing, hurt and regret.
“No, Tony. That kiss changes nothing. I can be no more than your friend."
It hurt Tony to hear the words, but the pain did not cut as deeply as before. He had held her and kissed her, and he knew from the way she had responded that she felt drawn to him in the same way that he was drawn to her. That was all he needed, the confirmation that she still loved him. Now he had that, he was content to wait until the war was over. Then he would be free to ask her to share the rest of her life with him.
JANUARY - DECEMBER 1943
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The war seemed to be going well at last. In January Churchill and Roosevelt met in Casablanca to continue planning for the Second Front, while the Germans were facing defeat in Russia. The assault on Stalingrad which had begun in the middle of August 1942 had failed, and the Germans finally surrendered at the end of January. In the Far East, the sea battle for Guadalcanal which began at almost the same time as the assault on Stalingrad, finally ended on 7th February 1943 with the Japanese withdrawing from the Solomon Islands. For a time North Africa looked as though things might go wrong when Rommel struck back at the Americans in Tunisia and the British at Medenine, but Montgomery led a counter-attack, and the Afrika Korps was defeated on 20th March. While the global picture was becoming more hopeful, life for Tony Kemshall continued in its less successful vein.
127
Tony found the work at Beaulieu tame compared with life in the field. He longed to return to France. Yet being in England did have its advantages. During the first two months of 1943 he was able to get over to Marlborough four times to join Sarah at the local dances. They were close again, in the way they had been close when Joe was alive. Being in England also gave him the opportunity to write to Sarah, which he did frequently, always in a chatty vein, talking of the war news and his social life in camp but steering safely away from personal relationships. Little did he know that far from smoothing the way for his relationship with Sarah, the letters and visits were only adding to her confusion. Each time Sarah went to a dance she hoped yet dreaded seeing Tony. She wanted to be with him, yet feared the turmoil of emotions which he awoke in her. The letters, too, were disquieting. Surely he was no less busy now than he had been in America. So how did he manage to write so often? And why in such an impersonal way? Sarah did not know how to respond. How was she to keep his friendship without letting him break her heart again? The solution presented itself one evening in early March.
“We don’t get anything like this back home.” Al surveyed the pub decorations of horse brasses and foxes heads with bared teeth.
Sarah smiled. “That could be a good thing! I still find them slightly unnerving. It seems strange that people should come out to enjoy themselves amongst these grim trophies.”
“Don’t be silly, Sarah. I thought you loved the country life?”
“You know I do, Jane. But I love the beauty. I love the animals running around, not stuck on a wall!”
“I shouldn’t say that too loudly, or we’ll get thrown out!” Jane laughed.
Sarah let her gaze wander around the pub. It was a cold evening. A log fire burned brightly in the hearth, going some way towards dispelling the gloom of the pub. A few locals leant against the bar quietly drinking their pints. In a shadowed corner a courting couple sat close together, oblivious to the world around them. Sarah smiled a little uncomfortably at Jane.
"Surely you and Al would prefer to be alone. Why don't I go back to the hospital?"
"No, stay with us. I hate to think of you brooding alone."
Sarah laughed. "I don't 'brood' and I certainly won't be alone. Why don't you and I come here again, some time when Al can't get away?"
Sarah could tell by the way the young couple looked at each other that they would prefer to be alone. Rising to her feet, she smiled at the newlyweds. "I'll see you later Jane; and you Al, please try to persuade her that I don't need looking after, so she should spend as much time as she can with you. Alone."
Al laughed. “Thanks, Sarah. I sure will."
"Well, goodnight then."
Sarah turned and made her way towards the door of the pub which opened to admit a GI who bumped into her, knocking her sideways.
“Gee, I'm sorry. Are you all right?"
Sarah nodded, unable to speak. There was something about this man which seemed so familiar, and made her heart beat faster. Then she realised what it was. The way his hair fell softly over his brow, the hidden depths of his eyes, his overall build and the way he moved, all reminded her of Joe.
"Hey, are you OK?"
Sarah nodded. The American voice brought her back to the present, and to the realisation that this was not Joe. She would never see Joe again. Seeing someone who reminded her so much of him made the pain of his loss so real that she paled as she made her way to push past him and leave the pub.
"Yes. I'm fine, thanks."
"I don't think you are, miss. It seems I gave you a bit of a fright. Can I buy you a drink to make amends?"
Sarah wanted to say no, but deep inside she wondered just how like Joe he really was. Would he think the same way? Have the same sense of humour? If she walked away now and did not give herself a chance to lay this ghost of Joe to rest, it would haunt her for the rest of her life. She nodded.
"Yes. Than
k you."
The American led her to a table. Sarah was so flustered that she did not see the smiles directed at her by Jane and Al.
"Sherry?"
"Yes. Sherry would be nice."
The young GI was at the bar for a few moments which gave Sarah a chance to compose herself as she watched him. Yes, he was very much like Joe, yet with an air of confidence and jauntiness which she had only ever seen displayed by the American GIs based nearby. Perhaps it was the difference between being born in the old and new world. Sarah recovered by the time he returned to the table, and she smiled haltingly.
"Sorry to put you to all this trouble. My mind was miles away, and I didn't expect to bump into anyone."
The American handed her the sherry and placed his whisky on the table.
"Are you sure you're OK?"
Sarah nodded. "Yes."
The American’s frown was smoothed away, and his face lit by a brilliant smile.
"Good. It's not the best way to meet someone, but I'm glad it happened." His eyes were appreciative as he spoke, and Sarah blushed slightly. "My name's Bobby Wilson, by the way."
"I'm Sarah Porter."
There was silence for a moment as each tried to think of something to say. Then...
"How long...?" Sarah began while
"Do you...?" said Bobby.
They both laughed.
"Sorry. You first."
Sarah smiled. "I was going to ask how long you've been in England."
"One week, so I haven't had much time to explore the country yet. What I've seen seems small compared to America, yet very beautiful and full of history. I'd like to get to know the place much better" 'And you' said his eyes although he did not say the words yet. "Do you live around here?"
"Yes and no." Sarah smiled at his puzzled expression, and went on to explain. "I was born and brought up in Coventry, but I came down here at the outbreak of the war to be a nurse. I've been living here for three years now."
Bobby sipped his drink. "You know, I still find it hard to believe that England has been fighting for so long, and we've only just joined in."
"So do we."
Bobby frowned slightly. "Is that a criticism?"
Sarah was tempted to say no, but somehow she could not lie to him.
"I suppose it is really. We've felt for a long time that you Americans could do more to help us."
"Still, we're here now. The war can't go on much longer."
"That sounds rather arrogant."
Bobby laughed. "Sorry, it wasn't meant to. I just meant that Germany has only limited resources, and can't hold out for ever. Still, enough of this. Tell me about yourself."
Sarah began to talk about her life and how the war had affected her. But she kept the most personal part of her life secret. She was not ready to share that with a stranger, no matter how much he reminded her of Joe, or maybe because he did remind her of her dead fiancé. How would she tell him that he resembled a man she had planned to marry, but who was now dead? And as for Tony, she was still so mixed up about her feelings for him that it felt better not to mention him at all. So she talked of her mother and her childhood, and of what it was like to receive the wounded from Dunkirk and be caught up in the bombing of Coventry.
Bobby shook his head in amazement. "You know, you make the war seem so much more alive and personal," he said when she had finished. "It makes me feel a little ashamed that America has sat on the fence for so long. My life over the last few years has been nothing in comparison with yours."
"What have you been doing?"
"Pa owns a small farm in North Carolina, and I've been helping him to work it."
"A farm?"
"Yes. Nothing big. Just a few acres of corn, some cows and a few horses, but it's a beautiful place. I'd never really been away from it until I joined up. I miss it."
Bobby went on to describe life for a child on the farm, a life which Sarah found hard to imagine. As they talked, they felt a closeness which belied their short acquaintance. Neither of them saw the pub filling up, or Jane and Al leave. It was only when the publican called last orders that they realised how many hours had gone by.
"I really must be getting back! I'm on duty at six in the morning." Sarah rose to her feet.
"Can I walk you home?" Bobby stood up and helped her into her coat. Sarah smiled her thanks.
"Yes, I'd like that."
They left the pub, and as they made their way down the road to Heronfield, Sarah felt Bobby’s arm slip around her waist. She did nothing to deter him. She liked the man, and during the evening she had come to know him as an individual, rather than a copy of Joe. It was only in physical attributes that they were so similar, and Sarah was glad that his character was so different. She liked him for who he was, not who she would have liked him to be.
The huge stone pillars guarding the drive to Heronfield House rose up before them sooner than either would have hoped. They lingered for a moment in the chill March air.
"I hear they have a dance in Marlborough every couple of weeks. Would you like to go with me?"
Sarah smiled warmly.
“Yes, Bobby, I would. As long as I'm not on duty."
"Can I call you here?"
"Yes, anytime. If I'm not available just leave me a message."
She stood for a moment looking into his eyes, which reminded her so much of Joe’s. Bobby was puzzled by her expression, a mixture of longing and pain. He reached out a tentative hand to touch her cheek. His touch seemed to break the spell which held her. Sarah smiled warmly again, and he leant down to brush his lips against hers. For a moment she did not respond, Then she closed her eyes and returned the kiss.
Bobby found her warm, soft lips incomparable. It was good that he could not read Sarah’s thoughts, for as they kissed she found herself thinking. 'This is not like his kiss’. To her surprise, she realised that she was not comparing his kiss to Joe’s, but to Tony’s.
In the weeks that followed, Sarah and Bobby met often, sometimes at dances or in the pub, sometimes just walking together to enjoy the spring weather and explore the English countryside. Sarah felt warm and comfortable in his presence. She enjoyed his company, his sense of humour and the way he treated her, without impinging too deeply on her already wounded heart. She no longer saw Bobby as a substitute for Joe, but as an individual who could be more to her than a friend yet less than a lover, someone who did not make her want to commit herself more than she was capable of. She felt safe in a way she had not for a long time. She thought briefly that she might be using Bobby to cushion her feelings for Tony, as a buffer between him and her heart. But she had not seen Tony since the end of February, and had not been able to put her theory to the test. He had written to say that he had been moved to another part of the country for a while. He continued to write, although his letters were more infrequent. She was glad. She knew how he would react to Bobby, and she needed to sort out her own feelings before confronting his. As it was, fate lent a hand, and Tony did not return to Beaulieu until the end of May, seven weeks after Sarah and Bobby first met, and their relationship was well established before he appeared on the scene to torment Sarah’s heart once more.
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Tony had been in Arisaig for two months. The Scottish spring was wet and cold, and the exercises he led were extremely uncomfortable. He was glad to be back in the south once more, the soft rolling landscape of home. Taking the first opportunity which presented itself, he arrived at the dance hall in Marlborough on a warm evening at the end of May. As he walked through the door he was greeted by the swirling rhythm of the American dance band. He found his heart beating faster and his face beginning to break into a smile. It was so long since he had seen Sarah, and he was looking forward to spending the evening in her company. His eyes eagerly scanned the crowded hall, hoping that she would be there. His relief was incalculable as he finally saw her, seated alone at a table. He made his way across the crowded hall towards her, shouldering his way through the numerous Am
erican uniforms. He pulled out a chair and sat down beside her.
“Hello, Sarah."
Sarah smiled in welcome, ignoring the increased beating of her heart as her happiness at seeing him washed over her.
“Hello, Tony. How are you?"
Tony smiled. She was as beautiful as ever. He never tired of looking at her. She seemed so alive, as though the whole world was her playground, and he was glad to see her looking so happy again.
"I'm fine. How are you?"
"OK."
Tony raised his eyebrows. OK? Where had Sarah picked up such an Americanism?
"OK?"
Sarah laughed. "Sorry. I suppose I've picked that up from Bobby."
"Bobby?" Tony’s smile faded. His earlier happiness evaporated as he waited for her answer.
"Yes. Here he comes now."
Tony turned to see the GI approaching with two drinks. There was something familiar about him which Tony could not put his finger on, but he felt vaguely threatened. When he saw the way the American looked at Sarah, he knew that his fears were justified. Sarah was smiling at the soldier, and Tony saw an easiness and confidence in their relationship which left a cold pit of fear in his stomach. He rose to his feet as the American placed the two glasses on the table.
"Bobby, this is Tony Kemshall. His father owns Heronfield House. Tony, this is Bobby Wilson."
The American held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you. It must be hard for you to give up your home for the war."
"I suppose so, but I'm not home often enough for it to matter to me." Tony was trying his best to appear friendly, only Sarah could see that his smile was forced. She felt sorry for him. She wished she had told him about Bobby in a letter, but it was too late for that now. Anyway, she did not have to explain her life to him. The two men sat down, each instinctively seeing the other as a rival. Sarah felt uncomfortable and broke the uneasy silence.
"Would you like to dance, Tony?"
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