‘Why, Sir?’
Alex hadn’t realised he’d aired his worry about lack of time aloud. ‘Well, I feel I must fill in the blanks of my life quickly, or I shall go mad, Jones.’
‘I can understand that, Sir.’
Alex was convinced that Jones would like to tell him to be grateful, that he was one of England’s richest industrialists, and to stop his bleating. There was some truth in this sentiment, of course, but still the ghosts of his past nagged.
_______________
Edie’s pounding heartbeat had been replaced by a new energy. She hoped the others could not see her shaking. And if they could, she certainly hoped it would not be interpreted as anything but the fury she was experiencing. She took a few moments to gather her wits, moving over to an ensemble she was working on for her newest client.
‘What do you think of this, Sarah?’
The girl blinked, unnerved.
‘It’s lovely.’
‘Oh, come on. You can do better than that. Could you improve it, if you were given the opportunity? Be honest. I shan’t be offended.’
Sarah approached the wax mannequin, staring nervously at the dress while Edie studied her. She was quite sure that Sarah was so modest she had little conception of how pretty she was with her sweet, neat profile and button-shaped nose. When Sarah turned to regard her, Edie was treated to a front view of soulful brown eyes that seemed an odd match to the brightly golden hair that was worn short near her dimpled chin. Edie remembered how captivating the young woman’s smile and warm chocolate eyes had been on the first occasion they’d met at the restaurant.
‘I . . . I would consider turning it into a matching dress and coat,’ Sarah said.
Edie turned to look at her design, presently only modelled up in bleached calico.
‘Lightweight coat,’ Sarah continued, surprising Edie as she suddenly sounded more confident. ‘In a soft but daring colour for spring.’
‘Which colour?’ Don’t say pink, Sarah. Surprise me, Edie urged privately.
‘Oh, it has to be a brilliantly light, bright blue,’ came the reply. ‘Like the first thaw of spring . . . like the pictures of a glacier I saw in a magazine.’
Edie felt her heart lighten. ‘Sarah?’
‘Yes?’
‘I want to apologise unreservedly for putting your honesty into question. Will you forgive any misunderstanding?’
‘Of course. I’m glad we cleared it up, Miss Valentine.’
‘But very importantly, I want to say why don’t you come and work for me? We could so use a new assistant. We’re advertising for one right now. I need someone to be my eyes and ears out here. Can you sew?’
Sarah nodded; she looked stunned.
‘Well, think about it. Perhaps you —’
‘I don’t have to!’ Sarah gushed. ‘Think about it, I mean. Yes, Miss Valentine. Yes, please!’ Sarah’s expression changed from guarded as she unleashed a smile that sparkled through the depths of those dark eyes to glisten within happy tears. ‘I’d work here for free!’
Edie was touched, felt the heat of Sarah’s pleasure warm the frostiness that the girl’s explanation had set inside Edie. She would confront that later.
Madeleine gave a lazy smile that was all approval. ‘Well, you’d better go hand in your notice to the restaurant, Sarah.’ She turned to Edie. ‘Does she begin tomorrow?’
‘Why not make it the day after? Then I can run up a beautiful black shift for you to wear as a uniform. Do you have some black heels, Sarah?’ Three pairs of eyes glanced down at Sarah’s feet. Edie noted the shoes were polished but old enough to be sagging, the creases testimony to years of hard wear of a person on their feet all day. ‘Madeleine, give Sarah two pounds, please.’
Both women stared, slightly flabbergasted, at her but Madeleine moved towards the back office and the salon’s kitty. Edie gave Sarah a reassuring smile.
‘Spend tomorrow looking for a pair of black shoes with a T-bar and buttonhole ankle strap.’
Sarah’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, Miss Valentine, I’ve seen exactly those in Peter Jones! I don’t know what to say.’
‘If you’re going to work here, you must look the part, so there’s nothing you need to say. Consider this not only part of my apology but also necessary to help you fulfill your role. Gradually we’ll build you an appropriate wardrobe but those shoes will go with everything through winter, early spring and autumn. We’ll need to take some quick measurements but I want you to enjoy your shopping day. Oh, and Sarah?’
She turned. ‘Yes?’
‘Don’t say anything to anyone yet about where you’re working . . . just until the day you start here. Then you can tell everyone.’
Sarah beamed. ‘Our secret.’
_______________
Alex stood at the front of the imposing triple-storey building. From a distance, in the car, it had triggered a memory, but now, from the drive in front of the main entrance, the hospital felt meaningless.
‘You look disappointed, Sir,’ Jones said as he opened the door.
He gave a low sigh and it had nothing to do with the soft drizzle of rain that had arrived. ‘I had hoped it would trigger a flood of memories, but there’s nothing.’
The man closed the door gently behind Alex. ‘Maybe you don’t remember this entrance, Mr Wynter. If you weren’t well, Sir, you were probably brought in without seeing much at all anyway.’ He gave a cheer-up grin. ‘Once inside it may seem more familiar.’
‘Thank you, Jones,’ Alex said and nodded at him to ensure the man knew he meant it. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘Good luck, Sir,’ he said, touching his cap. ‘I’ll be waiting right here.’
Alex walked up the few steps into the cavernous lobby and was aware of his footsteps echoing on the hard floor. This reception area connected various corridors leading off to different wings of the hospital, but nothing struck him as familiar, except for the smell of strong disinfectant and carbolic soap.
‘Can I help you?’ the petite nurse behind the counter asked. She was one of three busy women in uniform behind the desk; not the prettiest of the trio, but he liked the welcome in her voice immediately.
Alex detailed his situation succinctly and her expression began to ease into surprise. She offered a smile that he was sure would ease many a sick soldier’s heart. ‘Oh, Mr Wynter, that’s such a happy ending.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose it is,’ he said.
‘I’m afraid I transferred to Edmonton only a few months ago,’ she continued, ‘but I’ll see if I can find someone who may have been around when you were here. Do you remember anyone at all?’
He shrugged. ‘A void, I regret to say.’
‘Well, don’t you worry. My father returned from the war a bit fuzzy,’ she said, tapping her temple. ‘He’s much better now.’
He gave her an indulgent smile and wondered how nurses managed to stay so damn bubbly without being nauseating.
‘So, now, let me just go and ask around for you. Would you like to take a seat?’
‘Er, may I ask your name please?’
She grinned. ‘It’s Betty.’
‘Well, Betty, I don’t suppose I’m allowed to stroll around, see if anything bubbles up in my memory?’
She frowned. ‘Er, I’m not permitted to let you do that, Mr Wynter,’ but he heard hesitation. That probably meant that his ‘disarming smile’ was working its charm.
‘Go on, Betty. How about I accompany you? Could you perhaps walk me through to where the soldiers recuperated?’
‘Oh, very well, then. Can’t hurt. Our job is to heal, isn’t it?’
‘Well said, Betty. I’ll bet you’re a favourite with the patients.’
She giggled, blushing slightly. ‘I do my best, Mr Wynter. Doesn’t cost much to be cheerful or kind.’
‘Amen to that,’ he said and fell into step alongside her.
As they strolled through the wing of the hospital he was disappointed to realise that the hollow feeling of his ar
rival was deepening; he recognised nothing and no one.
Betty – or Bet, as she’d since suggested he call her – looked as crestfallen as he felt. ‘There have been so many changes since you were here, Mr Wynter.’
‘Who is the oldest nurse . . . or, better still, a matron?’
That seemed to prompt a fresh idea. ‘Sister Bolton! She’s been here for centuries. But she’s not in this part of the hospital. She looks after the sanatorium wing.’ Bet appeared to lower her voice in the last few words.
‘What happens there?’ He frowned.
‘Well, as I understand it, right now it’s for people who are incurable and for patients who have dementia. I don’t know how it was used during and directly after the war, though.’
‘Can we find out?’
‘Of course. I’ll just let my colleague know that I’m taking you through.’
As Alex accompanied Bet into what began to feel like a more dilapidated area of the hospital, he also began to sense the first awareness of vague familiarity.
‘Any bells ringing?’
He didn’t want to say they weren’t just ringing but clanging, so he nodded. ‘Hopefully we’re on the right track here,’ he remarked.
Bet stopped a redhead with a jaunty walk who was tying a dark cape at her neck. Alex guessed she had perhaps a decade on Betty. Something trilled deep inside him when the nurse turned front on and regarded them both. ‘Oh, Nancy,’ Betty began. ‘Excuse me. I wondered if I could ask if —’
‘Jonesy!’ the new nurse exclaimed.
Alex’s insides felt as though they were somersaulting. ‘Do you recognise me?’ Nancy . . . Nancy, he repeated in his mind, and then suddenly it was as if curtains were drawn back in his thoughts . . . Nan? That’s all he had. A name. But it felt right and it had resonance, he was sure.
Her face filled with delight, reddish golden curls escaping from her hat. ‘Yes, yes, of course I do! I wouldn’t forget that rakish smile anywhere.’ Then her eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t half cause a panic for us, Jonesy, the way you walked out on us on the day of the Peace Party. Can you remember that?’
He stared back at her blankly but she didn’t seem to want his reply. ‘Got me into so much trouble with Matron, you did.’ She gave him a playful slap and it was in that touch that a fresh memory triggered.
‘Nurse Nancy,’ he murmured and distractedly rubbed his chin.
‘I see you shaved at long, long last. Wow, but you’re a looker, Jonesy . . . but then I’m obviously not that fussy because I always fancied you with your beard.’ She giggled and nudged him. ‘My, my, but you look fine and well.’
Betty, he could see, felt overwhelmed by Nancy’s response and made a gracious escape.
‘Thank you, Betty,’ he said as she began saying her farewell and made a mental note to send her something with his thanks for her kindness. He returned full attention to the redhead. ‘Nancy, I need your help.’
‘Ooh, the hide! After all the trouble and heartache you put me through?’
He could tell she was still teasing him. ‘My name is Alex Wynter. I found my family.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ He could tell she meant it and realised suddenly, feeling instantly foolish, that not everyone read the London business pages. Nancy recognised him in a blink without his beard so maybe he should have put out a photo and request into The Evening News, which he knew had close on a million readers. Little yellow vans delivered it to the paperboys and everyday people read its eight pages – people from Golders Green to even here in Middlesex. It seemed so obvious now. Perhaps he still could, but visions of his mother and fiancée with sour looks shut down that option.
Nancy’s expression was filled with relief for him. ‘Mr Wynter,’ she repeated as she stood back to get a better look at him. ‘You wear it well. So I suppose that beautiful young woman found you at last, eh? Oh, what’s her name? I can’t remember but she had been up and down the country searching for you. She was so distressed when we couldn’t locate you and of course the hospital was very embarrassed that it had lost you.’
‘Her name is Miss Aubrey-Finch.’
‘Ah, that’s right. Is she your sweetheart? What happened?’
He was glad of her endless curiosity. He didn’t want to discuss Pen, so he answered her final question instead. ‘Well, Nan, that’s why I’m here. You see, I don’t know what happened. I’m hoping you can help.’
She frowned at him, perplexed.
‘Let me explain. When I remembered who I was, I’d forgotten who I’d been. And you’ve just given me my first clue . . . you said Jonesy.’
She looked shocked at this news. ‘Mr Jones. Yes.’ She shrugged, embarrassed. ‘We gave all our returned soldiers easy-to-remember surnames.’
Alex looked around. They were conspicuous in the corridor and it didn’t make for easy conversation. ‘Nan, can we sit down somewhere for a few minutes? Perhaps you’re due for a break? I can buy you a pot of tea at the cafeteria or something?’
She laughed. ‘At last, the date I’d always hoped for.’
He looked back at her quizzically.
‘Oh, never mind. I was just off on my break. I can give you ten minutes, unless you want to meet and see that new film The Three Musketeers that’s showing at The Palace?’ she offered. ‘Douglas Fairbanks . . .’
He’d seen the posters and grinned, but it was a sad gesture. ‘I can’t, Nan.’
‘Are you properly with Miss Aubrey-Finch, then?’
He nodded. ‘She’s my fiancée.’
Nancy pulled a face of regret. ‘That makes perfect sense,’ she said. ‘All right, a cup of tea it is, then, in the canteen.’
They found a small table in a nook by the window and Alex did his best to ignore the stares from other nurses.
‘Oh, well,’ she remarked, ‘at least this will get their tongues wagging. They’ll all be wondering who my handsome guest is.’
He smiled. ‘Thank you, Nancy, for whatever you did for me. I’m sorry that I can’t remember any of it.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. You were easy. So polite, charming, witty when you wanted to be, although usually grumpy because you felt so hopeless all the time.’
He got to the point. ‘What do you remember about that day I disappeared off the ward? I was on a ward, was I?’
‘Yes,’ she frowned. ‘That’s right. You were in the sanatorium, but everything was as normal. You were a bit low and you hated the idea that we expected you to get dressed into a suit and attend the Peace Party.’
He smiled. ‘Go on.’
She recounted everything she could recall about the day, including the arrival of Penelope and the ensuing panic it set off when it was discovered he was missing.
She took two swigs of her tea, thirsty from all the talking. He’d also paid for her to have a cake.
He nodded at it now. ‘Go ahead. You could use some fattening up,’ he said, knowing every woman loved to hear such a remark. ‘Where was I when I disappeared?’
Nan attacked her rock bun with a fork and struggled to get a neat chunk into her mouth. She talked while she chewed and he tried not to smile. ‘As far as I can remember, you were in the garden, having a smoke. You liked to sit outside the ward, always talking about the little robin that visited.’
He nodded, remembering the connection he’d felt with the robin inside the maze.
‘Sister Bolton was the last person to see you, we thought. Oh, but she was furious with you – you’d said you’d see her at the party, and no one defies Sister Bolton!’
Alex coughed a laugh, sipped his cold tea. ‘So I just walked out?’
She nodded. ‘The side gate, where all the deliveries were made through; quite cunning of you, especially as you’d always struck me as being unnerved by what lay beyond the hospital grounds.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you were offended that no one had claimed you and gradually became more nervous about facing the world outside, not knowing who you r
eally were.’
She may be a simple enough girl but Nan was perceptive, and he was very sure she made a terrific nurse. ‘Do you think someone helped me?’
‘We don’t know. The only visitors around the time of your disappearance were Billy Lockley, who was a regular delivery boy from the local greengrocer, and Mr Fairview, a visiting physician. Neither of them knew anything about you.’
‘Nancy, I regained consciousness and the memory of who I was while wandering around in Savile Row in 1921.’
She gasped. ‘You’re joking!’
Alex shook his head sadly. ‘I have no idea where I spent those years in between but I was certainly well fed, healthy, shaved, dressed in a quality suit. I must even have had money in my pocket, but . . .’
Nancy looked shocked. When he paused she raised an eyebrow in silent disbelief and swallowed the rest of her tea. Alex turned to gaze out of the window at the rain that was falling heavier now, running in rivulets down the windowpane to distort the images beyond them. He sipped again on the tea he didn’t want. Its stewy flavour reminded him of life in the trenches, while the chatter and laughter of nurses sounded like a hen-coop above the din of steel cutlery clattering against plates. He recalled now how the hospital trolley would trundle down the corridors, wheels in need of oiling and a cacophony of crashing crockery and ringing cutlery above them.
And drifting above all the other sensory information came the unexpected sound of high heels on a pathway and the memory of Nancy and him standing by the window.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly parched. Alex realised that Nan was shaking his arm.
‘Mr Wynter?’ She sounded worried.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, her anxious expression coming into focus. ‘Forgive me. This happens sometimes. I was chasing a memory that is just as keen to elude me.’
She smiled, unsure. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
‘Truly, I am. Little glimpses puncture through from time to time and are prompted by the oddest of events. I was having a memory of us standing by a frosted window and someone’s heels clicking down the pathway, and you nagging me to shave.’
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