‘I’ve still got a few days leave before I go abroad. If you like, I could come down from London and pick you up at barracks. We could go and have a drink somewhere. What do you think of that?’
As long as it’s just lemonade, thought Cassie, wincing in embarrassment at the very thought of anything remotely alcoholic.
‘Do you have any photos of yourself?’ continued Robert. ‘If so, could you spare a few for me? I’m sending you a cutting from the Sketch. You’ll see some hack photographer had nothing else to do that night, and snapped us at the Florida.
‘Look after yourself, my darling Cassie. I’ll hope we’ll meet again before too long, and in the meantime, I send you all my love.’
He sent her all his love!
Suddenly, Cassie felt beatified. She understood the power of holy relics, for she held one in her hand. As the queue for supper shuffled forward, she felt she’d been renewed, redeemed, reborn in Robert’s name.
She read the letter through again. She looked at the smudgy, smeary photograph, saw that it was captioned Miss Daisy Denham, Mr Ewan Fraser and their party at the Florida Club last night.
There was dear old Stephen drinking whisky, and there was Robert smiling, and he had his arm around her shoulders, and – oh, thank you, God – the picture had been taken before she had got drunk.
I’ll learn to be better, nicer, kinder, Cassie told herself. I’ll be the sort of girl he thinks I am, and I’ll deserve him.
‘Come on, Dolly Daydream,’ said the cookhouse orderly who was dishing up. ‘Do you want sausages in batter, spam and mash, or cheese and onion pie?’
Cassie couldn’t trust herself to send him anything longer than a sentence on a postcard. Saying she was sorry could come later, she decided. All she told him there and then was she’d be off duty Wednesday evening.
To Cassie’s huge delight, the vile Lavinia and her vile best friend, the Honourable Antonia Something, were both walking into barracks just as Cassie happened to be walking out of them, and as Robert came along the road.
As they heard his footsteps, both the women turned to glance behind them. When they saw a tall, dark, handsome officer, they smirked and started preening, smoothed their jackets round their hips and fiddled with their hair.
‘Good evening, ladies,’ Robert said, and Cassie realised from the way he looked at them that it was an effort not to laugh. ‘Cassie, what good timing. I was worried I was late.’
The look Lavinia gave Cassie would have curdled milk.
As Robert held out his arm and smiled at Cassie, she heard Antonia hiss.
‘Good friends of yours?’ asked Robert as they walked down the road towards the town.
‘No, Rob, they hate me,’ Cassie said. Then, before he started to ask why, she stopped and looked into his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Rob,’ she said.
‘You’re sorry?’ She’d never seen a face blanch quite so quickly, as all the natural colour drained away. ‘You mean – ’
‘Yes, Rob – I mean no!’
Cassie realised what he’d thought she meant, why she had sent him that curt sentence on a postcard, and now a torrent of words came pouring out. How she was sorry for behaving like an idiot, how she was mortified, how she’d been sure she’d never hear from him again, how relieved she’d been to get his letter, how she’d never meant to get so drunk –
She stopped, and took great gasping breaths, and she was astonished to see he was breathing heavily as well.
‘I thought you meant,’ he said, ‘I thought you were telling me you’d changed your mind about me. I thought – ’
‘No, Robert – no!’ She grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him hard. ‘I didn’t mean that at all! I just meant I’m sorry to have behaved so badly, to have embarrassed you in front of Daisy, to have been such a stupid, drunken fool – ’
‘Oh, Cassie darling, don’t worry about that!’ Robert started laughing. ‘You should have seen me the first time I got drunk! I thought I’d never hear the end of it from Mum and Dad.’
‘What happened?’
‘Steve and I were fifteen, sixteen – I’m not sure exactly, but about that age – and we and some other chaps from school managed to get hold of half a dozen flagons of strong cider.
‘We drank the lot, and – God, we were so ill. You think you were embarrassing! But let’s not talk about it any more. There’s a little pub just down the road, and they’re bound to have some lemonade or ginger ale or soda water.’
The pub was quiet and almost empty, apart from three or four old men who were sitting playing dominoes. They all looked up and smiled and nodded, then looked away again.
Robert went to the bar and bought some drinks – a glass of blameless lemonade for Cassie, and a pint of beer for him. Cassie found she didn’t want to talk. All she wanted was to sit with Robert, holding hands with him. It seemed this was all he wanted, too.
I’ll remember being here, she thought, how I felt so contented in this little pub, how we sat feeling comfortable together, how we didn’t have to chatter on, because there was no need. We understood each other perfectly.
‘Be careful, Rob,’ she said, as they walked back to Cassie’s barracks in the moonlight. ‘Stay safe, and come back home to me.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Robert had his arm around her shoulders, and now he pulled her close. ‘I’m always very careful, actually.’
‘You go on being very careful, then.’
‘Cass, I’m coming back to you, I promise.’ Robert kissed her lightly, then more deeply, and she clung to him, unwilling to let him walk into the night, but knowing he had to go.
She watched him walk off down the road again and thought her heart would break.
There was a yawning gap before she heard from him again, and Cassie had to fight down her despair, to keep the faith. Then two letters came at once – but these were very short, a bit of hasty scribble which she could hardly read.
She did her best to keep her vow of saintliness, but this was very difficult, especially when the bitch Lavinia and her stuck-up friends kept on making horrible remarks about certain people who got drunk in nightclubs of which they were not members.
But Cassie’s virtue was eventually rewarded, and letters started coming all the time. They smelled of dust and spices, said he missed her, and couldn’t wait for them to meet again.
Then, in September, Cassie heard from Stephen.
When she first saw the writing on the envelope, and realised it had been posted on the UK mainland, she felt it was the birthday of her life and all her Christmases in one.
But it was not from Robert, after all. The handwriting was similar, but it was not the same.
‘A missive from the other twin,’ wrote Stephen, as if he had divined her disappointment. ‘We’re planning a little party, Fran and I. We wondered if you’d like to come along. Dad’s not very well, but it’s their wedding anniversary soon, and Mum’s afraid that it might be their last. We’ve both got a few days’ leave, and so we’re going to Dorset.’
Cassie was surprised, then touched – and also sad, for Mrs Denham’s sake. Poor Mr Denham, he’d never looked particularly well. But she hadn’t thought he might be dying.
She asked for three days’ leave, and got it.
Stephen and Frances met her off the train, and Stephen took her kitbag.
‘Oh, Stephen, Fran – it’s great to see you!’ Cassie cried, and realised she meant it. ‘Gosh, I’ve missed you!’
‘It’s great to see you, too,’ said Frances, grinning. ‘My goodness, midget, you look very smart! You’ve had your hair done, haven’t you, and what about that lipstick?’
‘I’m trying to be a credit to my service,’ Cassie told Frances primly, smoothing her lapels, then picking up a cardboard box with holes punched in the sides. ‘Steve, how are your parents?’
‘Dad’s going downhill fast. It’s his lungs, the doctor says, it seems they’re packing up. They think he’s got a month or two at most.’ Stephen shrugged de
jectedly. ‘I don’t know how Mum’s going to cope alone.’
‘On the farm, you mean?’ Cassie touched his sleeve in sympathy. ‘Steve, you don’t need to worry. She’s always seemed quite capable to me.’
‘I mean, inside herself.’ Stephen slung Cassie’s kitbag on his shoulder. ‘They haven’t spent a night apart for almost twenty years, except for when Dad was in hospital, and that was back in 1930-something.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Cassie, wishing she could unsay what she’d just said, which now seemed insensitive and mean.
‘But we’re going to make these few days special,’ added Stephen. ‘We’ll have a party we can all remember.’
‘Cass, what’s in that box?’ demanded Frances.
‘It’s just a little present for Mrs Denham,’ Cassie said mysteriously.
Mrs Denham had really pushed the boat out, Cassie thought.
Every piece of furniture in the cottage had been polished, the range had been black-leaded, and she must have stockpiled food for months, to make a spread like this.
She’d even got dressed up and had her hair done, and Cassie saw how beautiful Rose Denham must have been when she was young – how beautiful she was today, in fact. She could understand how Mr Denham must have fallen for her all those years ago.
‘Hello, Cassie,’ said Mrs Denham brightly, welcoming her former land girl with a generous hug. ‘Goodness, Alex, look! She’s got a stripe already. You must be doing well!’
‘She’s driving senior army officers all around the country,’ Stephen told his mother. ‘She brought my colonel back from Halifax last week. They all ask for Cassie, actually.’
‘No, they don’t,’ said Cassie, blushing scarlet.
‘Well, they should,’ said Frances.
‘I brought you this,’ said Cassie, still blushing and handing Rose the cardboard box. ‘I thought he would be company for you.’
‘Oh, Alex, Stephen, look!’ Mrs Denham opened up the box to find a sleepy puppy lying on a bed of straw. ‘Oh, aren’t you beautiful!’
Cassie smiled, relieved.
The chocolate Labrador looked up at Rose Denham, sniffed the strange new human smell, but then he wagged his tail. She stroked him with a gentle hand, and then she picked him up.
He snuggled up against her, licked her face and whickered.
‘I expect you’re hungry,’ said Mrs Denham kindly. ‘Come along inside, let’s find you something nice to eat.’
Cassie saw she’d brought the perfect gift.
‘I didn’t know if I should get your mum a dog,’ said Cassie, after the party which had been attended by almost the whole village. The weather had been kind, and so they’d taken tables, chairs and trestles out into the stable yard, and organised some games with little prizes for the village children.
Everybody had enjoyed themselves, eating, drinking, having fun, and for just one afternoon the war had been forgotten.
Daisy and Ewan had to leave to go straight back to London because they were both on stage that night. Frances took her parents home, and Mrs Denham helped her weary husband up to bed. Cassie and Stephen helped a couple of women from the village wash the dishes and clear the last few bits of mess away.
‘I mean,’ continued Cassie, ‘she’ll have to feed him, exercise him, train him, as well as all the stuff around the farm she has to do. But I think he’s a lovely little thing.’
‘Where did you get him?’ Stephen asked.
‘One of the driver’s mothers is a breeder of chocolate Labradors. She said he’s a pedigree.’ Cassie shrugged. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t know! Steve, he was so quiet and good while we were on the train. He didn’t whine or bark.’
‘Mum had a chocolate Labrador when she was a girl at Charton Minster,’ Stephen said. ‘She’s thrilled to have a puppy, I can see, and I wish I had thought of it. She’s going to call him Tinker.’
‘If that’s all then, Mr Denham?’ said one of the village women.
‘Thank you, Mrs Lyle and Mrs Croft.’ Stephen smiled his gratitude. ‘Make sure you take some cakes home for your children?’
As the village women left, Stephen swept up the last few crumbs and then leaned on his broom. ‘Cass, you won’t hurt him, will you?’
‘Rob, you mean? Of course I won’t.’ Cassie looked at Stephen. ‘What do you take me for, some kind of trollop? Out of sight and out of mind – is that what you’re saying?’
‘Now, Cass, don’t get annoyed.’ Stephen shrugged and looked apologetic. ‘It’s just that Rob takes everything so seriously, and when he gets upset – well, you know what he was like when you first came to Melbury. When he was worried the army wouldn’t have him back.’
‘Yes, I remember,’ Cassie said. ‘But I didn’t chase after him, you know. When I first began to think Rob liked me, I didn’t want him to know I liked him back. I mean, I’m not exactly the sort of girl your mum must want for Robert.’
‘Mum’s not that kind of person, Cass,’ said Stephen. ‘You know her well enough to know she’s not a snob.’
‘No, but she – well, anyway. I won’t hurt your brother, Steve. I promise, hand on heart. When Rob comes back, it will be the best day of my life.’ Cassie smiled at Stephen. ‘It’s been so lovely to see you and Frances.’
‘Yes, dear Frances.’ Stephen pulled a face. ‘Salt of the earth, is Frances. A pity there aren’t more like Frances, eh?’
The following day, the three of them walked along the lane to Charton, Frances and Stephen striding on ahead, Cassie dawdling, pulling at grass stalks, eating blackberries, and enjoying autumn in the countryside, something she’d not experienced before.
They passed the ancient Minster, glowing golden in the sun.
‘It’s empty now,’ said Stephen.
‘I thought it was a school for boys?’ said Cassie, who had just caught up.
‘It was, but rain was getting in, the owner wouldn’t repair it, so the boys have gone elsewhere.’
Cassie looked up at the roof. She saw some of the weathered grey stone tiles were cracked or missing, and a chimney stack was leaning at an awkward angle.
‘It looks like the enchanted castle out of Sleeping Beauty,’ whispered Frances.
‘It looks more like the ogre’s lair to me,’ said Stephen, grimacing.
‘Steve, have you ever been inside?’ asked Cassie.
‘No, but Daisy often used to say she wished we were locked up there with all the other hooligans.’ Stephen grinned, remembering. ‘Poor Daze, as kids we used to drive her mad.’
‘What’s Daisy going to do?’ asked Frances. ‘Cass was telling me she’d like to buy the place and give it to your mother.’
‘You never know with Daze, but now the place is empty, she says she’s going to make the bloke an offer, although she’s almost sure he’ll turn it down.’ Stephen shook his head. ‘There was some village gossip once, along the lines this chap was Daisy’s father – that he seduced her mother when he was in London, during the last war. Then he smarmed up to Mum’s old man, and somehow got his hands on Charton Minster, so he must be a nasty piece of work.’
‘Have you ever met him?’
‘No,’ said Stephen, ‘and he had a stroke a few months back, so he doesn’t go out any more.’
‘Why won’t he sell the Minster?’ Frances asked. ‘It can’t be any use to him.’
‘Maybe he likes upsetting Daze and Mum.’
As they were walking back to Melbury, Stephen fell into step by Cassie, leaving Frances to go on ahead. She wished he wouldn’t walk so close, almost pushing her into the hedge, but she didn’t want to make an issue of it, or shove him away.
As they climbed a stile, Cassie stumbled.
Stephen caught her hand, and then he held it longer than he needed, and she could feel his gaze upon her face.
‘Stephen,’ she said gently, as she tried to pull her hand away.
‘I know, Cass,’ he said, and sighed, ‘wrong twin.’
Chapter Nine
Ja
nuary 1943
Robert lay on his stomach among some thorny bushes, scanning the Tunisian hills and wadis through his field binoculars.
A German unit was supposed to be dug in on the hillside opposite. But, stare as he might, he couldn’t make it out. Fritz must be well camouflaged, he decided. If Fritz was there at all …
Suddenly, a shell exploded fifteen feet away, and then another, closer this time. So, even though he couldn’t see any Germans, they’d obviously seen him. They’d spotted the light reflecting off his lenses, he supposed.
You fool, he told himself. You shouldn’t have used binoculars! Now, it was time to go. He inched back down the hillside, accompanied by angry bursts of red and purple fire that made the orange dust spurt up all round him, crawling on his belly like a lizard until he was out of sight of the ridges held by German gunners.
Then he lit a welcome cigarette, inhaling deeply, and began to make his way back to the British camp.
Earlier that day, his men had been attacked by German Stukas dropping bombs on them and on some London Irish, who were next to them in line. The planes had killed four Royal Dorsets, and wounded seven more.
The British anti-aircraft guns in batteries further back had brought a couple of German bombers down, but now the British guns were silent. So what were they doing? What was going on?
As so often happened, he didn’t know and wasn’t likely to find out. All he and his platoon could do was lurk here like a nest of new-born leverets, ill-concealed amidst the vegetation, hoping a fox or eagle in the shape of a Stuka wouldn’t spot them and swoop down on them.
As he made his way back down the hill, he passed a couple of Arab homesteads, which had been shelled and burned by enemy fire. Some Highlanders were using one of the houses as a makeshift operations post, and they had trashed the place, destroying the little garden round the house, and using all the furniture for firewood. As a farmer’s son himself, he pitied the Arab farmers who’d got caught up in this, who’d had their land invaded by columns of men in khaki and their war machines, who’d had their livestock killed and crops destroyed.
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