The Wartime Singers

by Lesley Eames

  Margaret frowned and tossed from side to side. Her eyes fluttered open, looking confused.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘That music… You shouldn’t be playing it.’

  ‘I’m not playing it.’

  Margaret’s befuddled brain realised it was true. ‘I’m dead, aren’t I? Or dying?’

  ‘No, Margaret.’

  ‘Hallucinating, then. Delirious.’

  ‘You’ve had moments of delirium but this isn’t one of them. It’s George playing downstairs.’

  ‘What?’ Margaret looked shocked, delighted, afraid…

  Lizzie explained how she’d contacted him. ‘He’s come specially to see you.’

  ‘I can’t see him like this!’

  ‘Of course not. But unless I’m much mistaken you’ve turned a corner in your illness so perhaps in a day or two…’

  ‘I haven’t seen the man in twenty-five years. We’re strangers to each other and just because we shared a… an interest in our younger years, it doesn’t mean we share one now.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Lizzie soothed, ‘but it doesn’t hurt to talk.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘I do.’

  40

  Margaret had indeed turned a corner and two days later prepared to receive George in her room. It was astonishing how a woman who’d cared little for appearances suddenly had a crisis of confidence over how she looked.

  ‘You’re going to wear this,’ Polly said, now allowed into the sick room, and holding up a satin dressing-gown that old Mrs Bishop had insisted on lending for the occasion.

  ‘It’s pink! I never wear pink.’

  ‘You always wear grey. But that was the old you. This is for the Margaret of the future.’

  ‘It’s also too short.’

  ‘You’ll be sitting in a chair with a blanket over your lap. No one will notice.’

  Margaret finally consented to wear the pink dressing-gown and it was amazing how the colour added a glow to her skin and softened the granite features, especially when Polly arranged Margaret’s hair in a looser, more feminine style than the scraped-back bun she usually favoured.

  Even the blanket over Margaret’s lap was chosen by Polly to present a picture of charm. A small cream satin eiderdown, it was another offering from Mrs Bishop.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Margaret said again and again, nervousness making her bony fingers clutch at the fabric.

  Lizzie went down to fetch George. He paused in the door to Margaret’s room, but, as his gaze settled on the woman he’d once hoped to marry, it was so full of tenderness that Lizzie knew he saw nothing to disappoint him.

  Margaret’s expression melted in return and Lizzie signalled to Polly that they should glide tactfully away. Margaret could ring the bell Lizzie had placed at her side if she wanted them to return.

  An hour passed before they heard George’s footsteps on the stairs. The change in him was remarkable. He was more upright, energetic, purposeful… ‘I’m leaving now because I don’t want to tire Margaret, but I’ll return later.’

  Lizzie smiled. ‘I’m glad.’

  She waved George off then went up to Margaret who was agitated but in an excited way. ‘It’s ridiculous to feel like this at my age! With a virtual stranger too!’

  ‘George isn’t a stranger.’

  ‘He should be after all these years, but he isn’t. That’s odd, isn’t it?’

  ‘Love endures.’

  ‘Love!’ Margaret said, as though it was too absurd an idea for her to contemplate, but the girl with grey eyes had a sparkle in them.

  The doctor announced himself to be deeply gratified by Margaret’s progress. ‘I wish all my patients had your powers of recovery, Miss Penrose. I declare your illness has made you look ten years younger.’

  It wasn’t the illness. It was George.

  He came every day to talk, laugh and play the piano. As soon as Margaret was allowed downstairs, she played duets with him, wearing one of the new dresses she’d asked Polly to buy on her behalf after deciding her dull, ancient clothes weren’t fit to be seen. ‘Nothing gaudy, though,’ she’d warned Polly. ‘Something befitting a woman of my age.’

  Polly had bought a pale blue dress and a lilac dress, and although Margaret had fussed that they were too frivolous – ‘Ribbons and lace? What were you thinking, Polly?’ – she’d been persuaded to try them on and gone strangely quiet.

  ‘Elegant, not frivolous,’ Polly had said.

  ‘I suppose it would be a bother to return them…’

  ‘Margaret and George should play a duet at the show,’ Jack suggested, one evening.

  He’d dropped the formal name of Miss Penrose as it no longer felt right with this softer woman.

  ‘It would be an honour,’ George told him.

  Jack’s plans for the show were coming along well. He and Polly were to sing a duet and Polly was also to sing with Lizzie. It warmed Lizzie’s heart to see the two happy couples so full of joy but she couldn’t help feeling the contrast with her own loneliness. It was beginning to look as though neither Harry nor Matt would be in England for Christmas.

  Another Christmas overseas! Harry wrote. I was so looking forward to spending our first Christmas together but I’m trying not to be down-hearted. After all, we’re at peace now so it can’t be long before I’m home…

  Matt didn’t mention Christmas. Just a quick note to say I was pleased to hear that women can now stand for election to Parliament. Congratulations. It’s good to see all those years of campaigning paying off again…

  Lizzie read Matt’s letter often. It was short, a scribbled note on a subject he knew was dear to her heart, but she wished he’d written more. It was impossible to know what he was thinking and feeling when there were only a few lines to interpret. A sense of foreboding took root inside her, but perhaps her imagination was simply running a little wild.

  They were rehearsing one morning when Lizzie answered a knock at the door to find Matt outside in his stained brown army greatcoat with his pack slung over his shoulder. For a moment she was so dizzy with joy that she could neither speak nor move.

  ‘Hello, Lizzie,’ he said.

  He looked leaner than ever. And very tired. Lizzie’s muscles were unlocked by an urge to run to him. But she got no further than a single step. Matt’s green eyes were sombre. Something was wrong.

  Dread kicked inside her chest. Was he here to tell her that it had been nice to exchange letters in the war but now their lives were going in different directions? In other words, was he here finally to put an end to their friendship because she’d crossed a boundary that day on the farm?

  ‘It’s so good to see you,’ she said. ‘Come in, Matt.’

  ‘I have a train to catch, but I didn’t want to pass through London without seeing you.’

  ‘You’ll come again? Or I could—’

  ‘I came to say goodbye as well as hello. I’m going to spend a few weeks on the farm, but then I’m going to try my luck in America.’

  ‘America?’ Lizzie was stunned.

  ‘The farm no longer needs me and Peter is happy there with Edith. I’m free to try to do more with my music at last. I’m told America is a great place for aspiring musicians.’

  But it was thousands of miles away. ‘You’re coming back?’

  ‘I’ll see how things turn out.’

  ‘Please, Matt. Come in and talk about it.’ Lizzie was distressed beyond words.

  ‘It’s a wonderful opportunity for me.’ Clearly his mind was made up and there was no room for discussion. He mounted the steps at speed, kissed her cheek, then stepped away. ‘Goodbye, Lizzie. Be happy.’

  He walked off without once looking back.

  Lizzie closed the door but leant against it, too upset to return to the others. ‘I’m going to make tea,’ she called, and stumbled down to the kitchen for a few minutes alone.

  She wanted what was best for Matt. Of course, she did. But America? Musician
s might well thrive there, but they could thrive in England too. She could understand that he wanted to get away from her, but not the family who’d been looking forward to spending time with him now the war was over. They’d miss him terribly.

  But perhaps the war was partly to blame. Matt might have been more deeply affected than he’d liked to admit. Lizzie thought of the poor unfortunates she’d seen at some of the concerts – men whose nerves had been shot to pieces the way other men’s bodies had been shot to pieces. She remembered trembling fingers, the terror of unexpected noises, and eyes staring into space as though disconnected from the world. Matt hadn’t appeared quite so damaged on the surface, but underneath…

  Something he’d said gave her a glimmer of hope. He was returning to the farm before travelling to America. Once there he might find the healing he needed. Lizzie shouldn’t despair yet. Even so she felt distraught.

  Time was passing, though. Her friends would be wondering where she was and Lizzie wished to keep her distress to herself.

  ‘That was Matt at the door,’ she said, when she returned to the music room.

  Everyone looked behind her, expecting to see him.

  ‘He had a train to catch but wanted to say hello first. It was nice of him to come out of his way.’ Lizzie busied herself with tea pouring so no one could see her face.

  ‘Hopefully he’ll return to London soon or you could visit the farm,’ Polly suggested.

  ‘Actually, he’s thinking of trying his music in America.’ There. Lizzie had said it, and she hadn’t broken down in tears. Not yet, anyway. ‘You’ve heard Matt’s music, George. Do you think he’ll do well over there?’

  ‘A young man of his talent should do well anywhere.’

  George told them about New York’s shows and clubs, and Lizzie slumped with the relief of having got through the moment.

  A few days later a letter came from Edith. Lizzie tore it open.

  As you can imagine we’re all in a tizzy about Matt’s plans. It’s only fair that he should have the chance to see what he can do with his music after he’s sacrificed so much for the family, but we’ll miss him horribly!

  We’re trying to persuade him to wait for three months but we’re not having much luck…

  Matt really was keen to be gone. Once he got to America he might settle there permanently and Lizzie might never see him again. The thought was unbearable.

  That same day a telegram arrived. Throwing her hopes into good new of Harry, Lizzie ripped it open. Home next week, Harry advised.

  Thank goodness! Surely now the world would stop feeling as though it had tipped off its axis?

  41

  Polly, Margaret, George and Jack were thrilled to hear about Harry’s return. ‘If he should invite you to spend Christmas with his family, don’t refuse on my account,’ Margaret said. ‘There’ll be four of us here, so I shan’t be starved of company.’

  ‘His family may want to keep Harry to themselves for few days.’

  ‘They might. But if the offer is made…’

  The wait for Harry’s return felt endless but time passed as time always does. He sent another telegram to advise his expected arrival time and as soon as Lizzie heard his knock she flung the door open and threw herself against his chest.

  Harry laughed. ‘That’s a nice welcome!’

  ‘I’ve missed you so much.’ Lizzie realised she was crying. Again.

  ‘I’ve missed you too, my darling.’

  She looked up at him and grimaced through her tears. ‘I wanted to look nice for you but now my eyes must be red.’

  ‘You’re as beautiful as ever.’

  They went into the music room where a fire had been lit so Harry would be comfortable. Like Matt, Harry looked thinner and sharper-boned but that was to be expected, given the horrors of the war. Lizzie supposed that all men who’d fought would carry the scars of dark memories all their lives. Doubtless Harry was tired too but Lizzie was relieved to see that his eyes were as warm as ever when he looked at her. The war might have battered him, but it hadn’t defeated him.

  Margaret came to welcome him and introduce George but after serving sherry to celebrate Harry’s homecoming, the older couple tactfully withdrew.

  ‘We can make plans for our future now I’m back,’ Harry said. ‘We can visit the jeweller for one thing. It’s time my engagement ring was on your finger. We should look at wedding rings at the same time because I hope you’ll marry me soon, Lizzie. First things first, though. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow so this is terribly short notice, but will you come down to Ashlyn and spend Christmas with my family?’

  ‘Your family shouldn’t feel obliged to invite me, Harry. I’ll understand if they don’t want to share you for a while. As long as you come back to me, of course.’

  ‘My parents suggested inviting you. They want to see us both, but be prepared for a lot of questions about the sort of wedding we’d like.’

  They travelled to Surrey by train after Lizzie had spent the morning shopping for gifts. Giles Benedict met them at the station in the car. He shook Harry’s hand then pulled him into a quick hug before hugging Lizzie too. ‘This is the best Christmas treat we could have asked for,’ he said.

  Mr Benedict spent the short drive telling them how much his wife was looking forward to seeing them, and how she’d cajoled the cook into cooking the finest feast possible, given that food supplies still hadn’t returned to pre-war levels.

  Maria rushed out of the drawing room as soon as they arrived. She was tearful at the sight of Harry and hugged him several times before she collected herself enough to turn to Lizzie. ‘Forgive me, dear. I was a little overwhelmed but it was rude to leave you standing there.’

  Lizzie assured her that she understood and walked into the drawing-room arm-in-arm with her future mother-in-law.

  Harry’s sisters and their husbands came to dinner, and Lizzie fielded numerous questions about the forthcoming wedding. ‘Our church, St Michael’s, is charming,’ Harry’s mother said.

  ‘I remember it.’

  ‘You could have the service there and the wedding breakfast here, but only if you wish. It’s a bride’s privilege to choose where she marries, and your godmother may have her own ideas about the wedding. We just want you to know that we’d be happy to host the celebrations.’

  ‘It’s kind of you,’ Lizzie assured her. ‘I’m sure Harry and I will be thinking about the arrangements soon.’ After all, there was no need to fear jinxing the future now Harry was safely at home.

  ‘Of course. Poor Harry has barely had chance to draw breath since returning.’

  ‘I won’t be able to draw breath at all after this feast,’ Harry said. ‘It’s a splendid dinner, Mother.’

  Maria Benedict couldn’t have looked more pleased.

  The following morning, they attended the service at St Michael’s – Maria Benedict watching Lizzie as though hopeful that the surroundings would impress her favourably as a venue for the wedding ceremony – then returned to the house for drinks, gifts and Christmas lunch. Harry’s sister, Charlotte, was spending the day with her husband’s family but Eleanor and Alicia came with their families and Lizzie enjoyed the children’s excitement as they talked about the oranges, sweets and toys Father Christmas had left in their stockings.

  Charades were traditionally played in the Benedict household but first Giles said, ‘Why don’t you take Lizzie out for a drive, Harry? You haven’t had five minutes alone together today.’

  Harry jumped up enthusiastically and soon they were motoring along Surrey’s peaceful roads. ‘It’s green here even in winter,’ Harry said.

  He was right. Many of the trees had shed their leaves but evergreens and still-lush grasses compensated for any starkness.

  ‘There’s something I want to show you,’ he added.

  Turning a corner, he pulled up next to a grassy verge. ‘What do you think?’

  He was looking down a drive towards a house. It wasn’t as large as Ashlyn but it w
as pretty with an oak door set into a timbered porch and windows made from diamond-shaped glass panes criss-crossed by silver leadwork. Beside the drive an estate agent’s board announced, For Sale.

  ‘Can we afford this?’ Lizzie asked. The house had four bedrooms at least, and the gardens were large. ‘I’ve very little money put by and—’

  ‘I’m not marrying you for money, Lizzie. I have money saved from before the war as well as my army service gratuity, and my father has offered a large sum as a wedding gift. I’ll be earning a good income too, once I’m back at work. We can’t look inside the house now, but perhaps in a week or two?’

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ Lizzie said. ‘Are you sure you want to live here, though? Straight away, I mean. If we live in London for a while, you’ll be nearer to your office. I can continue working too.’

  ‘I don’t expect my wife to work.’ Harry looked as though that would make him a terrible husband.

  ‘I enjoy my work.’

  ‘You could teach my sisters’ children, and perhaps some of the children of our friends. Just as a hobby.’

  ‘I enjoy my singing too.’

  ‘Singing is allowed in Surrey, darling. We have a lively social life and I’m sure our friends would love to hear you play and sing.’

  ‘Jack’s opening a nightclub. He’d like me to sing for him.’

  ‘Nightclub singing?’ Harry blinked, clearly appalled. ‘Jack can’t realise what he’s asking.’

  ‘I haven’t agreed to it. The club isn’t even open yet. But don’t you like London, Harry?’

  ‘I lived there for about a year when I’d just started at the bank, but it was too bustling and impersonal for me. I was much happier when I returned here. Please don’t think Surrey will be dull. We live very social lives, yet we also have tranquillity and space.’

  Perhaps Harry craved tranquillity and space after his experiences in the trenches.

  ‘If you really don’t like the thought of living here, we can think about London,’ Harry said, beginning to look worried. ‘I want you to be happy, darling girl.’

  Lizzie wanted him to be happy too, and clearly London wouldn’t make him so. ‘Surrey is beautiful.’