by Anne Douglas
‘He’s certainly another of our successes. Somehow, he’s found the strength this time to cope with whatever horrors he’s seen, and that means a lot to us here.’
‘Because you set him on his way, just as you did with Barry.’
‘I’m not so sure of that. I think you had more to do with his recovery than I did.’
‘Don’t forget his new leg,’ Elinor remarked with a smile.
‘Ah, no, that was a godsend for him, I know. But he’s not here tonight, is he? I think he was asked.’
‘No, he hasn’t come.’ She paused for a moment. ‘He’s really happy, now that he can walk, but maybe, seeing folk dancing – maybe that’d be too much.’
‘Yes, it’s hard.’ The major heaved a sigh. ‘But, look, you’re not dancing yourself. They’ve just changed the record. Shall we take the floor?’
The dance was a foxtrot – not something Elinor knew – but the major led well, made it easy for her, and she felt no self-consciousness in dancing with him, having long ago put out of her mind Barry’s foolish remarks. Major Henderson was the type to be naturally courteous and thoughtful, and what he felt for her was clearly no more than the same kindly interest he gave everyone. Which was just as well, as she had no wish for anything more.
‘Talking of Barry,’ he said quietly, as the dance ended and they moved to chairs. ‘I’m still so relieved you and he didn’t go ahead with wedding plans. Marriages for the wrong reason often end in failure.’ He gave a quick shrug. ‘Not that I speak from experience. I’ve never been married, though I was once engaged.’
‘I see,’ she murmured, though she didn’t, and thought it strange that the normally reticent major should now be talking about himself.
‘Yes, it was before the war. I was engaged to someone from Reigate – my home town – but she died.’ The major looked down. ‘Diphtheria.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’
‘It’s all right; it was a long time ago.’
‘Circulate, Major Henderson, circulate!’ came a cry from Matron, as she sailed up with Sister Penny in tow. ‘There are a number of ladies waiting for partners, and patients waiting for you, Elinor. Come along now – you know Colonel Shannon wants us all to be mixing at this Christmas party!’
With a rueful grin, the major allowed himself to be led away, while Sister Penny steered Elinor in the direction of a group of patients sitting together.
‘On the floor now, on the floor!’ the sister cried. ‘You’re all supposed to be enjoying yourselves this evening! Here’s Elinor, come to take you, Private MacDuffie, and if I take you, Private Mennie, you others can move around and ask some of those nurses over there. Quickly, now!’
‘We’re enjoying ourselves here,’ Private Mennie muttered, backing away from Sister Penny’s outstretched hand, but it was to no avail. As the other patients scattered, he was taken on to the floor, followed by Elinor with Private MacDuffie.
‘Reckon I’m the lucky one,’ he murmured, as they tried to fit their steps to an old-fashioned waltz. ‘Getting you to dance with, eh? There’s a lot o’ fellows keen on you, Elinor.’
She only smiled, trying to avoid his feet. It was true, of course, that patients often thought themselves to be in love with those who cared for them, but such romantic ideas always disappeared at the end of the hospital stay. Only Barry and she had ever got as far as an engagement, and it was no surprise that that, too, had ended when Barry recovered. Oh, what a relief that had been to her! And to Major Henderson, seemingly, but that would only be a sign of his genuine interest in everyone’s welfare. What a shame about his fiancée, though. No doubt he would always be faithful to her memory . . .
‘Ouch!’ Elinor cried.
‘Sorry,’ groaned Private MacDuffie. ‘Was that your toe?’
‘Nae bother,’ she said faintly. ‘Nae bother at all.’
‘Had a good time, then?’ her mother asked, when she got home late after the party.
‘I did, I really enjoyed it – apart from the odd injury to my toes in the dancing.’
‘I bet,’ said Corrie, laughing. ‘I know what soldiers’ feet are like!’
His mother and his sister looked at him fondly, still unused to his being at home, a civilian again, discharged from the army with a right arm and hand that were virtually useless. Though he’d taught himself to write with his left hand, there was no question of a draughtsman’s career for him now, or even factory work, and he had found himself a job as a salesman in a gentleman’s tailor’s in George Street. It wasn’t bad, he said; he could make something of it, and it did mean he had wages and could save up to get married to Sally.
There was an engagement that would last, Hessie and Elinor had told each other with pleasure. It would have to be a long one, of course, until they could afford to wed, but they were both so much in love, they’d be sure to get there in the end. Meanwhile, Sally was stitching her trousseau and already discussing her wedding dress with her mother.
Two happy people, Corrie and Sally, Elinor thought as she went to bed. Which meant, then, that some few could be happy in spite of the war? She hoped so. She hoped her brother’s marriage would help to salve the pain of his memories, just as perhaps Stephen’s would help him to forget. But Elinor couldn’t bring herself to dwell on that. Besides, she didn’t even know what had happened to him – that was the worst of all.
Sixty-Three
It was the end of January. Too late for the sales, but Elinor was looking round Maule’s on her free afternoon, in the hope of finding a bargain, perhaps cheering herself up, for her spirits were low.
‘Wish I’d the same time off, so I could’ve come with you,’ Brenda had said, for with Tam back at the front, she too was feeling depressed. Not that looking round the shops would be any solution to that, but at least it would be a change of scene. ‘Maybe you’ll find a new hat,’ she’d added hopefully, at which Elinor had smiled.
‘Need more than a new hat, I think, to make me feel better.’
‘A ceasefire, then?’
‘Aye, that’d do.’
As she’d guessed, wandering round the large department store didn’t really help. There was very little that she really wanted, and those things she did want, she couldn’t afford. What am I doing here? she asked herself, and was standing at the glove counter, turning over gloves she didn’t need, when she heard a lady standing next to her say, ‘I’ll take this pair, then – would you put them on my account please?’
And the assistant replied, ‘Certainly, Mrs Muirhead.’
Muirhead? Elinor stood very still, gloves in her hand, and very slowly turned her head to look at the lady by her side. She was perhaps in her late fifties, a little on the plump side, but well dressed in a dark blue cape and sweeping skirt, with a matching hat over silvery fair hair. Her face was rather long with a fine nose and short upper lip, and the eyes that briefly met Elinor’s before returning to the assistant were grey. Fair-haired, grey-eyed, good-looking . . . Oh heavens, there was no mistaking it, this was Stephen’s mother. Of course, she would shop at Maule’s, she just lived in Shandwick Place. It was even surprising that Elinor hadn’t seen her before, for she would have known her anywhere. Mrs Muirhead, Stephen’s mother. Whatever it cost to her nerves, she must speak to her. Must somehow find out about Stephen. All right, he was engaged – might even now be married – but surely she had a right to know if he was safe?
As Mrs Muirhead finished her transaction and turned aside holding her little parcel by its string, Elinor bravely took a step forward.
‘Excuse me,’ she began, huskily. ‘Is it . . . Mrs Muirhead?’
‘Yes, I’m Mrs Muirhead.’ The lady’s look was of course puzzled. ‘May I help you?’
‘I hope you won’t mind if I speak to you, but I heard your name and I wondered if you were related to Mr Stephen Muirhead.’ Elinor’s colour was high, her lip trembling. ‘I used to be in his evening class, you see, at the WEA.’
‘In his class?’ Mrs Muirhead was smilin
g warmly. ‘Why, that is so interesting. Stephen is my son, Miss . . .’
‘Rae. My name is Elinor Rae. I work at the Primrose Hospital, helping the nurses, and one of his other students works there, too. We wondered – you know – if he was all right?’
‘Oh, yes, thank God. So far, he is safe. In fact, he’s here now; he’s been on leave, but he goes back tomorrow.’ Mrs Muirhead’s smile had faded. ‘He’s taking me out to dinner tonight and I’ve just been buying some new evening gloves – mine were in such a state, pre-war, you know.’ She laughed tremulously. ‘Must look my best, for his last night.’
‘Will you . . . will you give him our best wishes, then? Say, from Mrs MacLean and Miss Rae? Tell him we wish him well?’
‘Of course, my dear – how kind.’
‘And maybe our congratulations, too?’
‘Congratulations?’
‘On his engagement.’
A change came over Mrs Muirhead’s face, as though a cloud had covered the sun.
‘Did you not see the announcement?’ she asked stiffly. ‘The marriage between my son and Miss Glenner will not now take place.’
Elinor felt as though everything was moving round. The glove counter, Mrs Muirhead, women shoppers turning over merchandise . . . Elinor felt she must be moving, too. Such news, such news – she couldn’t believe it! Please God, may his mother not see how much it meant to her. Without good reason, maybe, but suddenly everything was different, for before there had been no hope and now . . .
She stood straight, steadying her thoughts.
She must face it; nothing might have changed at all.
‘I’m very sorry,’ she heard herself saying politely, telling lies, crossing fingers, but Mrs Muirhead was pursing her lips.
‘No need to be. Miss Glenner is a charming girl, but she had some foolish idea of . . . Well, I won’t go into details, maybe just say that what happened was all for the best. Stephen has other things to think about, anyway. He’s a captain, you know; he has his responsibilities.’
‘I’m sure,’ Elinor murmured. ‘Well, I’d better be going, but it was nice to meet you, Mrs Muirhead. Do hope . . .’ Her voice began to trail away. ‘All goes well for Captain Muirhead.’
‘You can speak to him if you like,’ his mother said kindly. ‘I have to go home now, but he’s in the Gentleman’s Outfitting Department, choosing some civilian shirts.’ She laughed indulgently. ‘Says he might need them soon. The war is going to end this year, he’s sure of it.’
‘Gentlemen’s Outfitting,’ Elinor repeated dazedly. ‘Well, it would be nice to wish him luck.’
‘Yes, my dear, I’m sure he’d appreciate it, he loves meeting his students. It’s just on the next floor, you know, you can take the lift.’
She saw him before he saw her, her eyes drawn immediately to his tall, spare, uniformed figure bending over a pile of folded shirts, his hat under his arm, his face so gaunt, so worn, her heart sank in dismay. Then rose. For he was there. She had found him. No matter if he didn’t care to see her, she had seen him, and would have this image of him to remember when she was alone again.
She was about to speak his name when suddenly he looked up and saw her, and their eyes locked.
‘Elinor?’
He took a step towards her.
‘Hello, Stephen.’
‘Well, this is a surprise!’
He came closer, put out his hand, which she briefly shook, remembering its firmness, and still they kept their eyes on each other, hers large with wonder, his hard to read. But warmer, she thought, than the last time they’d met. More as they’d been in the old days, if she could believe it.
Be careful, she told herself, don’t expect anything. Don’t see something that isn’t there. He might appear more friendly, yet at the same time mean nothing. In any case, his manner seemed to her to be uncertain. As though he couldn’t decide how he should be.
‘How did you know I was here?’ he asked.
‘I was shopping when I met your mother. She told me you were here.’
‘My mother?’ He was mystified. ‘But you don’t know her.’
‘I heard her name, I spoke to her, told her I’d been in your evening class, and she said if I wanted to speak to you, you’d be here.’
‘And so I am, surrounded by shirts.’ He smiled and shook his head, as an assistant approached. ‘Think I’ll have to leave them for today. I don’t need them yet, after all.’
‘I don’t want to interrupt your shopping.’
‘No, no, it’s all right. Would you like a cup of tea, perhaps? Or to walk?’
‘Walk?’
‘In Princes Street Gardens?’
Princes Street Gardens . . . Where they’d once walked, long ago. Long ago, before the war.
‘I’d like to walk,’ she told him, adjusting her hat, to give herself something to do, to calm her nerves.
Together they left the shop, making their way, as they had so often done before, to the gardens across the road. Wintry-looking today, of course, but still filled with light, and almost empty. Just as they had always wanted them to be.
Sixty-Four
‘Plenty of seats to choose from,’ Stephen remarked. ‘Though might be too cold to sit for long. Shall we keep walking?’
‘Maybe we should.’
Amazed to hear herself still sounding reasonable when she felt so light-headed, Elinor kept looking at Stephen to make sure he was really walking at her side. After all these months of not knowing, she could scarcely believe that for the time being at least, he was safe. Safe and with her. Walking as in the old days. But be careful, she told herself again. These are not the old days. This is now – and things have changed.
‘Does it bring back memories?’ he asked, turning to look at her. ‘Walking here?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She wondered – did it mean anything, the question? Was it significant? Was she clutching at straws?
‘And for you?’
‘Of course.’
He said no more. Looked away. Kept walking. Rather slowly, as she was beginning to notice, but didn’t like to comment.
‘What’s been happening to you?’ she asked carefully.
‘This and that.’ His tone was light. ‘Enduring battles. Cambrai, and such. Managing to stay lucky.’
‘It must have been terrible.’
‘Had its compensations.’
‘Heavens – what?’
‘Well, I suppose I’ve learned a lot.’
They halted for a moment, standing together to look up at the castle on its vantage point of rock above the gardens, above the city.
‘Not about warfare – God, no.’ He shrugged at the idea. ‘We just do what we can there. No, I mean, other people – my chaps, for instance – the Tommies. Elinor, I’d no idea what life’s like for some. I thought I had, working at the WEA and all that, but in fact I knew damn all.’
‘What did you find out?’ she asked a little wryly.
‘To begin with, half of my men are underweight – malnourished, I suppose – and have known so little comfort, I swear they don’t even mind the trenches. I’m not talking about all soldiers, of course, but those from some of the tenements – they’ve never had a chance, Elinor. Never had a chance at all, for a decent life.’
‘Stephen,’ she said gently, ‘I live in Friar’s Wynd. I know what some tenements are like.’
‘Sorry, of course you do. But the thing is, this eye-opener’s given me an idea of what I might do when the war’s over. Because I feel sure it’s going to end this year. Germany’s getting tired. We’re all getting tired. And when it’s all over, what I’d like to do is work for people who need help. Set up some sort of centre where they can come for advice on jobs, welfare, all that sort of thing, and maybe combine it with a hostel.’
They had turned to pace on, down the still-frosty paths, Stephen glancing often at Elinor, she trying to stem a feeling of rising excitement she couldn’t be sure she should have.
‘Won’
t all this cost a lot?’ she asked shakily.
‘Yes, but I think I can manage. My uncle left me a bit and you remember I was going to buy a place of my own one day? This centre could be it.’ Suddenly, he grasped her hand, then let it go. ‘Don’t you agree? Don’t you think it could be a success?’
‘There’d be a lot to think about.’
‘I’ll have the time. Haven’t exactly finished fighting yet.’
At his words, carelessly said, a great cloud of darkness seemed to descend over her, as it sank into her mind afresh that his fighting wasn’t over, that he must return to the front.
‘Oh, don’t!’ she cried. ‘Don’t talk about it. You have to go back tomorrow!’
There was a silence between them, broken by sobs she couldn’t hold back, and Stephen, pulling off his glove, gently dried her eyes with his handkerchief.
‘You still care, then?’ he asked softly. ‘About me?’
‘You know I do.’
‘Look at my handkerchief.’
‘Handkerchief?’ She turned it in her fingers, saw the initials she’d embroidered, raised her tearful eyes. ‘Oh, Stephen, you’ve still got them? My hankies?’
‘I’ve still got them. Put them aside once. Took ’em out again.’
‘And I’ve still got my scarf. Always will have.’
Gently, he drew her into his arms, holding her close, pushing back her hat so that he could brush her brow with his lips.
‘Elinor,’ he whispered, ‘we’ve both been pretty foolish, haven’t we?’
‘I was foolish, Stephen. I was the one who made the mistake. Threw away something precious.’
‘I know how it was. You were dazzled, that’s all. It happens.’
‘Dazzled? Yes, maybe. It’s no excuse.’
‘I made mistakes, too,’ he said after a pause. ‘I knew you and Barry had parted. I knew – I could sense it – that you wanted to come back to me, but I was too proud. I wouldn’t forgive you.’
‘I don’t blame you. I’d let you down; I would have felt the same.’
He gave a long, troubled sigh. ‘I thought I could be happy with Frances, but she was wiser than me. You know she broke our engagement?’