‘I can only remember some little pictures or scenes – like bits of a roll of film that has been mostly destroyed. Money always seemed to be a problem. I remember that. So anyway – the letter – what did you say?
‘I said simply that I was writing to tell him that I was leaving him – had, in fact, left him. That I realised now that I wasn’t the person he thought I was or wanted me to be. I hoped he would stay safe and find somebody else. I told him that my solicitor would be in touch in due course to work out a divorce.’
‘Do you have a solicitor?’
‘No, I’ll have to find one. I’m sure there’s one here, but for the moment, I don’t want him to know where I am.’
‘Why, what would he do if he found out?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m afraid of but I am. Maybe that he’d come after me.’
‘And hurt you?’
‘No, not so much that. At least I don’t think so. More that he would try to use guilt to make me come back to him. I’m not strong enough to deal with that yet.’
‘What will he do when he gets it?’
‘He’ll be furious. Apoplectic. And the first thing he’ll do is to stop my money. So I’m going to have to start looking for a job.’
Later, the waiter brought the bill. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whom to hand it to. Then Helen reached up and took the little silver tray with the paper on top. Her eyes widened fractionally when she unfolded the little piece of paper.
‘Please let me pay for some of this,’ said Lewis.
‘Nonsense,’ she said, as she reached into her handbag. ‘I asked you out.’
‘But you need to save your money now.’
‘That’s as may be. But some things are special and have to be celebrated.’
‘Well, thank you so much. It was a lovely evening. Wonderful food. Beautiful company.’
‘Why, thank you, sir,’ she said.
‘I’ve had another idea,’ said Lewis, as the waiter took the tray and money away.
‘What?’ she said, resting her head on her hands.
‘Well, remember I said I could give you some money – once I was in the Army?’
‘Which you’re not going to,’ she said.
‘No. But right now I’m paying Mrs Middleton at the bed and breakfast. Supposing instead I paid that money to you?’
She looked puzzled for a moment.
‘I mean I would become your lodger. I would stay at your house. I haven’t seen it all but it looks like there must be room. I would have a place to stay and you would have some money. Some income – so that you wouldn’t be eating into your savings. It would give you some breathing space while you looked for a job.’
He looked at her expectantly.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
She hesitated and he was sure she was going to refuse him.
‘Lewis,’ she said. ‘There was a time when I would have thought, “That’s going to raise eyebrows. What are people going to think?” But you know – I don’t care now what anyone thinks. I’ve let what people think run my life for too long. We’re out here, we’re away from town, we’re not doing anyone any harm. Let them think what they like. I don’t care.
So your idea is marvellous. How clever of you to have thought of it.’
25
Lewis sighed, took a deep breath of the stale air and began his preparations. He touched the photograph of Helen again, caressing her cheek. Then he began to say the words. There was a time when he had had to read them. Now he didn’t need to reach for the tattered volume. He knew them by heart.
‘When it began to grow dark, the Rat, with an air of excitement and mystery, summoned them back into the parlour, stood each of them up alongside of his little heap, and proceeded to dress them up for the coming expedition. He was very earnest and thoroughgoing about it, and the affair took quite a long time. First, there was a belt to go round each animal.’
Lewis took a knife in its sheath from his pack and, opening his belt, slid it on. He retied the belt and positioned the knife comfortably on his left side.
‘And then a sword to be stuck into each belt, and then a cutlass on the other side to balance it.’
He took off his boots and socks and put on a pair of dry socks from the line overhead. Then he put his boots back on and re-tied the laces carefully in double knots. Placing his right foot on the chair he re-tied his puttee. Then he did the same with the left one. The boots and puttees felt tight and comfortable.
‘Then a pair of pistols, a policeman’s truncheon, several sets of handcuffs, some bandages and sticking plaster, and a flask and a sandwich case.’
Lewis slipped a couple of hand ropes into his tunic pocket and made sure that he had his first field dressing. He checked his revolver and that he had extra ammunition in his pocket. His watch showed just after nine thirty. He was starting to get anxious again.
He had always found the words comforting. He read them before any operation and he felt that their effect was to armour him, to give him some form of magic protection. They didn’t seem to have had much of an effect this time.
He lay on his bunk and closed his eyes but sleep wouldn’t come. He tried to read, write in his diary. He started to make a list of things he might do after the War. But then he decided that that might be an unlucky thing to do, so he put the paper in the candle flame and watched it blacken, catch fire and crinkle up. He shook it from his fingers. Private Chase looked in to take away the plate and Lewis gave him the letter for Helen. Lewis didn’t need to say anything – Chase knew.
With the letter to Helen gone, Lewis feels that he has ‘passed over to the other side’. He is in the ante-room to hell, the waiting room for death. It is a place not of the old, comfortable, everyday world, but neither is he dead. It is another no-mans-land, paralleling the one between him and the Germans. Here he will spend the next few hours and with luck he will return. But now all he can do is to complete his preparations.
Opening a tin of shoe polish, and propping a small mirror against the whiskey bottle, he blackens his face and his hands. He checks that he has his compass and slips a torch into his other tunic pocket. It is nearly ten o’clock. Now he must just wait.
The minutes crawl. At ten thirty he goes outside to relieve his bladder. The Divisional weather people were right. The mist is gone but it’s cloudy overhead. He can see no stars. When this was a German front line trench the sap to the latrines lay to the rear of the trench. Now that the British are using it as their front line trench, the sap to the latrines runs out into no-man’s-land and ends just short of the wire. Lewis is reluctant to venture out there before he has to, so he just moves a little away from the dugout entrance and urinates against the revetting. Judging by the smell of urine and excrement and the soggy mess underfoot, it is what most people do. He tries but not much comes. He will try again before he leaves.
At eleven Lewis picks up the photograph of Helen, kisses her image on the lips and speaks to her.
‘Darling Helen, I’m going out soon,’ he murmurs. ‘And I’m not going to be able to do this by myself. I need you to take care of me, so I’m going to give you my life to mind. It’s going to be in your hands while the raid lasts. Please take care of it so that I will see you again.’
Then he puts her picture in his pack and ties the straps.
Just before eleven thirty Lewis has just finished putting on his Bomber’s Shield when Sergeant Robinson looks in.
‘It’s about time, sir. The men are waiting outside.’
Lewis nods in acknowledgement. He finishes dressing and follows Robinson outside to where Jackson and the six men are waiting. The men have removed their greatcoats and wear steel helmets and Bomber’s Shields over tunics. If nothing else the Shields keep them warm. The eastern end of the sky overhead has cleared and some stars are visible. It is very cold. There will be a frost tonight and the men blow on their hands. Apart from that they are silent.
Now he must b
e the leader. He must be physically strong when he has to grapple with Germans. He must be brave and make all the right decisions and accomplish the mission and bring his men back safely. He knows they are thinking this as they look at him. It seems an impossibly tall order.
‘All set, men?’ he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral, ordinary; trying to keep the quiver out of it.
There are muttered ‘yessirs.’
Lewis says, ‘Very good. Sergeant Jackson?’
Jackson speaks the order softly and, with Lewis leading, they move off.
26
Lewis gave Mrs Middleton a week’s notice and a week’s rent but moved out the next day. As he carried his bag up the laneway, he phrased in his head the letter he would write to his father to tell him of his new address. He would say – truthfully – that he had found ‘nicer lodgings at the same price’.
When he arrived Helen showed him around the upstairs, where he had never been before. The open stairway came out onto a small landing with two bedrooms off it. Both doors and the upstairs windows were open to let the warm air circulate through the house. Her bedroom was at the back of the house looking out to seaward.
‘This is my room,’ she said, stepping just inside while he stood on the threshold. There was a neatly made bed, a dressing table with some jars, small bottles and a hair brush, a chair, a wardrobe, a low, narrow chest of drawers, a washbasin and a jug. He thought of her sleeping here, in this bed. He wondered again whether she had been lonely.
‘And this is your room.’
The room had a view out onto the front of the house and the gate that led to the lane. It was furnished very much as hers.
‘It’s lovely,’ he said.
‘Well, it’s not the Ritz,’ she said smiling. ‘But it’s all nice and dry and airy. You unpack and I’ll make some tea.’
‘Was your old place – I mean the place you lived with your husband – much grander than this?’ asked Lewis, as they sat drinking tea outside the back door.
‘A lot grander,’ she said. ‘It was a small country house. It had been in my husband’s family for generations. We even had a couple of servants when the War began – a cook and a maid.’
‘Ooo, very posh.’
‘Wasn’t it just? Far too posh for me. I had been brought up in an ordinary suburban house. So there was all of that to learn as well – running the house, managing the servants, choosing menus. A whole lot of other things that I would end up not doing right.
Both of the servants left at the beginning of this year. They found jobs that paid better, working in a factory – munitions, I think or building aeroplanes. In one respect, it was a blessing that they did go. I should never have been able to escape with them there. Or at least it would have been much more difficult and he would have found out almost immediately. But then that left me rattling round this big house on my own. I nearly went crazy at that point.’
‘You can tell me to mind my own business —’
‘You’re my friend, Lewis,’ she interrupted. ‘My very dear friend. There shouldn’t be too many things I need to keep from you.’
Then she added, ‘Just a couple maybe.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘A girl has to have some secrets after all. Go on – what was it you were going to ask?’
‘I … I was wondering whether it would have all turned out differently if you’d had a child – or children.’
She looked away from him, down the garden towards the hedge that was the border on that side.
‘I’m sure it would,’ she said. ‘But we didn’t.’
The way she said it, it sounded like she might have wanted to say more. Instead, she turned back to him.
‘But then again maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference and it would have been much worse if there had been children. I wouldn’t have been able to leave him then. Not with children involved. I don’t think I could ever have done that.’
‘Still – it must have been very hard when it came to it – to leave, I mean.’
She nodded.
‘You know how it is. You get into habits. You have a routine. Simple things like how familiar the bed is and knowing where everything is and just, one’s comforts I suppose really. You’re going to have to give up all of that – swap the familiar for the unknown.
For days before I left I went through everything I had – having to choose. Did this matter so much that I had to bring it? Did I really want that? The first time I did it I was left with a pile of things that would have needed a truck to carry them all. So I did it all again and finally got it down to two suitcases.
I’m lucky this house came furnished and with linen and crockery and everything, because a lot of the things I brought with me weren’t too practical.’
She shrugged – a hopeless expression on her face.
‘A lot of the things were things from my childhood. While I was going through a trunk in the attic I found an old sketch pad of mine and some coloured pencils. I had forgotten about it until I found them, but when I was about thirteen I used to paint and draw. Mainly landscapes. I thought that maybe I would start to do that again. I used to love it.’
‘Maybe you could earn some money doing it,’ said Lewis. ‘That would be a good way to make a living.’
‘I would need to practice and practice and practice but yes, you’re right – it would be a nice way to make a living. Especially down around here where there is so much beautiful countryside.’
‘And holidaymakers who would buy your pictures,’ offered Lewis. ‘We should go and buy you some paints so that you can get started.’
He jumped up.
‘Let’s do it now. Let’s go into town. There’s a stationary shop down there. I’m sure they’d have paints.’
‘Hold your horses,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’ll get to it. The more immediate thing is to get a little income going. I need to start giving piano lessons again. I don’t know how much call for them there is in a place like this, but I could go to peoples’ houses and teach their children until I can afford to buy a piano of my own. And I would probably need to live in some place that was a bit more central to town. But it’s probably best to leave that until the children go back to school. So for right now, I just want to enjoy the summer and this lovely place that we’re in. I want to explore and swim and lie in the sun and eat some nice food.’
‘Do you know how to cook?’ she asked, changing the subject.
He loved this about her – how she could jump to some entirely new and unexpected thing.
‘I can make bacon and eggs. I used to do it for my Dad and myself on Saturdays. When he was at home, that is.’
‘Hmm. Bacon and eggs. It’s a start. Can you boil an egg?’
‘Yes. Eggs became a bit of a staple in our house. After another catastrophic day trying to survive the housekeeper’s latest attempt to poison me, eggs would always hit the spot. So I can fry them, poach them, boil them, scramble them.’
‘My, I am impressed. What else?’
‘Well, that’s about it really.’
‘Stew?’ she asked hopefully.
He shook his head.
‘Well, let me teach you – right now. It sounds like it would be a useful thing to know when you’re in the Army. All you need is a pot, a cooker or a fire, and some things to throw into it. Come on – no time like the present. Oh, and I’ve got a bottle of wine. Do you drink wine?’
‘I’ve had little drops from time to time. When I used to go to family parties, my cousins and I would be dragooned to clean up glasses. We used to take them into the kitchen and empty them into one glass. Wine, beer, stout, sherry – all in together.’
‘Uhhh,’ she said.
‘You have to keep tasting it,’ she said later as the pot simmered on the range.
She had poured generous glasses of white wine for each of them.
‘That way you’ll become an instinctive cook. You won’t need to follow recipes. You’ll just know what to do. So have a taste
of this now.’
She took a spoonful of broth from the stew and held it out to him. Steam rose from it. He blew on it to cool it.
‘Come on, don’t be such a baby,’ she said. ‘It’s not that hot.’
‘It’s bloody boiling,’ he exclaimed. ‘Just because you have a fireproof mouth.’
‘Come on.’
He drank the broth.
‘So?’ she asked.
‘More salt and pepper, I’d say.’
‘Alright – off you go.’
He added some of each. Then he dipped the spoon in again and this time brought up a piece of meat. It steamed and he blew on it. Then taking it between his finger and thumb he bit a piece of it off.
‘Oh, that’s very good,’ he said, as he chewed. ‘Try some?’
‘Yes,’ she said eagerly.
He went to dip the spoon back in to get another piece but she nodded, indicating the piece in his hand.
‘That’ll do fine,’ she said.
He extended the hand and her lips closed around the piece of meat and the tops of his fingers. Then she sucked the meat into her mouth, along with the juice that clung to his fingertips. When her lips came away it was as though she had tried to peel his fingers.
‘That’s wonderful,’ she said.
Her eyes held his for a moment or two longer and then she snapped out of it.
‘Time to lay the table,’ she said.
Later, after they had eaten and listened to more music, Helen said, ‘Well, I’m off to bed. Feel free to do whatever you want. Stay up. More music. Whatever you like.’
Lewis rose too. She came towards him and embraced him.
‘It’s good to have you here,’ she said. ‘Good to have company. There were times when it was very lonely.’
He loved the sensation of being held in her arms. Then she proffered a cheek and he kissed her goodnight.
27
Lewis woke from a deep sleep and it was a while before he remembered where he was. The window had curtains on it but he always liked to sleep with them open. It was much darker here than it had been in town and he could see stars low in the sky. A faint smell of honeysuckle drifted in through the window. The sheets still had the fresh smell of having been newly washed. The bed was comfortable and the pillows deep. He lay on his side gazing at the stars trying to see if he recognised any of them.
Starlight (The Four Lights Quartet Book 1) Page 14