If I Were You

by Lynn Austin

  “The grand tour will take all of two minutes,” Eve said, her impatience obvious as she stalked from the kitchen. “The dining room is here . . . the living room there . . .” They were one L-shaped room, with a picture window facing the front garden and comfortable sofas and chairs arranged around a coffee table. A small, round table with four maple chairs nestled in the dining alcove. Rainbow-hued dishes filled the matching hutch. “This hall goes to the two bedrooms,” Eve continued, leading the way. “Mine and Robbie’s.” Eve’s bedroom was pleasant, if small. It had a double bed with matching spread and curtains, a dressing table with a mirror—all pretty and feminine but crowded into a tiny space. “Bathroom’s in the hallway . . .” Audrey had never seen pink tile and fixtures before—tub, sink, and toilet, all pink. The black-and-white tile on the floor resembled a tiny chessboard. “Robbie’s room is here.” It had wooden bunk beds with a matching dresser and a bookshelf cluttered with cars and toys. More toys littered the floor.

  “Wanna play with my cars?” Eve’s son asked. He spoke the easy, sloppy American way, rather than with crisp British diction, reminding Audrey of Robert.

  “Yes, darling, why don’t you play with him?” Audrey nudged Bobby forward, but he shook his head, unwilling to release his hold. He’d always been a shy, timid boy, content to play quietly by himself. But the long trip from Wellingford Hall—the only home he’d ever known—had transformed him into a clinging, weeping child who sometimes cried out in his sleep and wet the bed at night. She must get him settled into their new life as quickly as possible.

  Eve ended the tour back in the tiny kitchen with its white metal cupboards, electric stove, and round-top refrigerator. “That’s all there is to see except the cellar and the back garden.” Eve gestured out the window at a grassy, fenced-in space with a single sapling in the middle. The neighborhood was so new that trees hadn’t had time to grow, and houses crowded in on all sides as if sharing secrets. For the space of a heartbeat, Audrey pictured Wellingford’s beautiful formal garden, the way it was before the war with boxwood hedges, colorful flowers, and gravel walkways. She blinked and the vision vanished.

  “I couldn’t picture this house when Robert sent me the floor plans and brochures,” she said.

  Eve gave a mirthless laugh. “This entire house could fit inside Wellingford’s drawing room. And how many bedrooms does Wellingford have?”

  “A lot.” Audrey looked away, not certain she knew. She couldn’t bear to think about Wellingford. “When will Mrs. Barrett return home?” she asked. “I’m eager to meet her.”

  “I’m not taking you back to the Barretts’ house, Audrey. We’ll have to sort this out between the two of us, right here and now.”

  Audrey sank down on a metal kitchen chair again, her skirt sliding on the red vinyl seat. She pulled Bobby onto her lap and he sagged against her, thumb in his mouth. “We have no place to go, Eve. We’ve traveled a long way and we’re both very tired, and . . . and we have no other place to go.”

  Eve released a huge sigh before opening her freezer again and grabbing one of the Popsicles. She peeled off the paper and gave it to her son. “Eat it out in the garden, please,” she told him, opening the screen door. He skipped outside, letting the door close behind him with a slap. Eve sighed again and sank down at the table across from Audrey. “You and your son can sleep in my bedroom tonight. I’ll share with Robbie—unless you’d rather go to a hotel.”

  “Here will be fine. Thank you.” This was her house, after all. Eve was the intruder.

  Eve gestured to her car outside in the carport, loaded with Audrey’s suitcases. “Did you bring everything you own?”

  “I’ve made arrangements for the rest to be shipped once we’re settled here.”

  “Settled here?” Eve shook her head. “You can’t stay, Audrey. There isn’t room for both of us.”

  Audrey didn’t reply, struggling not to cry again, unwilling to upset Bobby any more than he already was. “Will you make us a pot of tea? I would love a cup.”

  Eve rose and bustled around the kitchen, pulling cups and saucers from the cupboards, warming the teapot, boiling the water. “Don’t expect it to have much flavor,” she said. “It’s impossible to find decent tea over here. Everyone drinks coffee.”

  “At least you can get tea. We still have shortages back home, even though the war ended five years ago.”

  By the time Eve arranged everything on the table with the tea brewing in a pot, Bobby was asleep in Audrey’s arms. Eve sat down across from them. “Now explain what you said, Audrey. What do you mean, you’re not your father’s daughter? Did he disown you for marrying a Yank?”

  Audrey stared at the tabletop, regretting that she’d blurted the truth. She took a moment to reply, swallowing her sorrow. “No, he didn’t care that I’d married Robert. I think he rather hoped I would move far away to America.” She met Eve’s gaze. She had nothing left to lose by telling the truth—nothing at all, including her pride, which had withered away long ago. “Father called me into his study—what was left of his study—and told me to pack my things. He was selling Wellingford Hall and moving back to the north country where he came from. I could tell he’d been drinking, even more than usual, so I said, ‘You don’t really mean that.’ But he cut me off with a shout. ‘It’s done!’ he said. He had already spoken to an estate agent. Wellingford was cursed and he never wanted to see it again.” She swallowed, then drew a shaky breath to continue.

  “Father had been depressed for months. He’d never recovered from the war, and he’d lost all interest in life. I’d been waiting for him to decide to live again, but he holed up in his study, day after day, year after year, until it became a hoarder’s lair, with—” She halted, unwilling to disgrace him further by describing the piles of newspapers, discarded clothing, and filth-encrusted dishes. The mounds of dust and garbage that accumulated when he refused to leave the room, refused to allow the maids inside. “Father rarely left his study, taking his meals there, even sleeping there. When I tried to talk to him, he acted as if I were invisible. He became a recluse, Eve. But I never imagined he would sell Wellingford. When he told me that he was, I said, ‘What about your grandson? Wellingford Hall is his inheritance. You can’t sell his family home.’ He said, ‘I don’t have a grandson.’” Audrey paused, barely clinging to her composure as she remembered.

  “I wondered if he’d become senile, so I reminded him that I had a son, Bobby. He said, ‘I know who you mean, Audrey. I haven’t lost my mind. But that boy is not my heir.’ I was certain that he was merely confused, so I said, ‘I’m your daughter—’ But he shouted, ‘No, you’re not! You’re not my daughter!’”

  Audrey would never forget that terrible moment. She felt as if he had slammed her against a wall—like the aftershock when a bomb explodes. Father had worn a sick smile on his face as he’d stared at her.

  “He told me I was the product of one of Mother’s many dalliances. An unfortunate accident.” Shame consumed Audrey as she remembered. And Eve would surely remember the shocking sight of Mother kissing a stranger on the town house steps. Audrey hurried to finish her story, her grief as fresh as on that terrible day. “All I could think was, no wonder he’d never loved me.”

  Audrey looked up at Eve, trying to read her expression, dreading her pity, but Eve’s thoughts were unreadable. “I was so desperate, Eve, that I dropped to my knees and begged. You know what he said? ‘Go find a rich, gullible fool to live off like your mother did.’”

  Audrey paused as the pain rocked through her again. Her beloved home was sold. She was alone. Everyone she loved was gone. No, not everyone. She still had Bobby. She pulled him tighter against her chest as he slept, both of them damp with their mingled sweat. “You were right, Eve. I should have brought Bobby here to America to live with his grandparents right after Robert died.” But the fear of being rejected by them, the fear of leaving England and the home she loved, had been too overwhelming. Besides, she was the reason that Robert was dea
d. How could his parents ever forgive her?

  “I’m sorry, Audrey,” Eve said softly. “I truly am. Your parents didn’t deserve children like you and Alfie. . . . But I’ve made a new life here for Robbie and me. I didn’t steal it from you. I only took what you threw away when you decided to stay at Wellingford Hall.”

  “But if I had known—”

  Eve slammed her hand down on the porcelain table, making Audrey jump. “I can think of a lot of different choices I would have made if I’d known the future! Now it’s too late. We—” She halted as Robbie breezed through the back door, his face and tummy smeared with the dripping remains of his purple Popsicle.

  “Can I have another one, Mommy?”

  Eve rose as if unaware of what she was doing and fetched another Popsicle from the freezer, peeling off the paper. “Take it outside, love.”

  Robbie flashed Audrey a huge grin before leaving with his prize. He seemed like such a happy child, so contented, so . . . at home. Audrey’s heart broke for her own son. Fight for him! a voice inside her said. Fight for what’s rightfully his! And yours! She had learned all about fighting during the war.

  Eve sat down again and drew a breath. “Suppose it was the other way around, Audrey. Suppose I suddenly appeared at Wellingford Hall and announced that Alfie was Robbie’s father, that Robbie was the rightful heir, and I told you to get out. Would you and your son cheerfully step aside for us and move away, just like that?” She snapped her fingers. “You would never move out for Robbie and me, and you know it! You were happy when we finally left.”

  Audrey didn’t want to argue. She simply wanted . . . what? A home? A family? She wanted what Eve Dawson had. Hadn’t that been true all of her life? “What do you suggest we do?” Audrey asked.

  “I suggest that you and your son go back home to England so I can get on with the new life I’ve made here.”

  Audrey closed her eyes. She could think of no reply. None at all. Fight! For Bobby’s sake! the voice said again. Only softer this time.

  8

  LONDON, SEPTEMBER 1939

  Eve threaded her way through the mobbed train station searching for Alfie, her stomach a fist of anxiety. His height alone should make him easy to spot, along with his thick amber hair and noble profile. The mere sight of his lazy grin never failed to make her breath catch in her throat. But uniformed soldiers crowded the station, all dressed exactly like Alfie. Spotting him would be like finding one particular sheep in an entire flock.

  The children added to the melee, thousands of them squirming in endless queues. Solemn-faced children, clutching hands and suitcases, their gas masks tied in cardboard boxes around their necks, name tags pinned to their shabby coats. Government posters and leaflets picturing the horrors of the anticipated bombings blanketed London, persuading worried parents to evacuate their children to the countryside for safety. Most of the poor little things were leaving home for the first time, taking the first train ride of their lives. Eve gulped as she remembered leaving her home in the village and walking the long gravel road to Wellingford Hall.

  And the mothers . . . Eve couldn’t bear to look at the children’s mums, standing so bravely as they said goodbye, holding back their own tears to give their children courage. She couldn’t imagine the impossible choice they faced—sending their toddlers and schoolchildren far away to live with strangers, or risk seeing them blown to pieces by Nazi bombs. London was a prime target, capital of the vast British Empire, the nation’s largest port, center of transportation and industry.

  England was at war. Again. A mere twenty-one years after the first war—the span of Eve’s life. It wasn’t supposed to happen. The agreement reached in Munich a year ago had assured her and everyone else that it wouldn’t happen. The war that killed her daddy was called “the war to end all wars.” He’d given his life so Eve and Mum never had to experience the horror of another one. And so that Eve would never relive her parents’ story—saying a tearful goodbye to the soldier she loved as he headed off to fight. No, none of this was supposed to happen. But it had.

  One of the children on the platform let out a wail, quickly setting off a chain reaction of cries like air-raid sirens throughout the station. The no-nonsense chaperones in their sturdy shoes and tweed skirts set about silencing the tears with brusque assurances that the children would love the countryside. Yes, they would soon see.

  Eve checked the time on her wristwatch, a farewell present from Alfie. Where was he? She spotted a knot of men in drab-green uniforms on the next platform and moved toward them. The fist of worry punched her in the gut again as she remembered last night. What if he wouldn’t acknowledge her or speak to her, wouldn’t accept her feeble apologies? She remembered Mum’s warnings. Hadn’t Eve feared all along that this would happen?

  Eve inched close enough to see the group of soldiers, laughing and punching each other as if they were off to a cricket match instead of the living hell of the battlefield. Alfie wasn’t among them. Their laughter brought memories of the happier times she and Alfie had shared these past three years. They’d never attended another posh event at the Savoy, but Eve had fallen deeply in love as Alfie called from time to time and took her out. They’d driven down to the coast to spend the day on his boat. They’d danced until the early hours in London’s glittering nightclubs and at private parties. She’d watched Alfie drink to the point of stupor, then took away his keys and drove both of them home in his car. “You can even drive a car, darling Eve?” he’d asked in drunken wonder. “What an amazing girl you are!” She loved being with him. Alfie knew how to have fun. Eve enjoyed their passionate embraces in his car as much as he did. But last night he had asked for more.

  “I’m going away to war, Eve. Anything could happen to me. Can’t you give me one night to remember forever?”

  Eve had longed to give in. She couldn’t deny the desire she felt for Alfie or his desire for her. She loved him. And yet . . .

  Her mother’s warnings came unbidden, dousing the flames. Eve was still unsure of Alfie’s intentions. He had never said he loved her. Had never talked of marriage. She knew there were other girls in his life. Would spending the night be a way to bind him to her forever or was he just using her? Alfie made it clear he wasn’t ready to settle down to a responsible adult life. He’d told her so, again and again. He’d returned to London for a brief leave before heading to Europe to fight with the British Expeditionary Force and asked Eve for one night of passion to remember. And she refused. Had she lost him forever?

  Eve stood on tiptoes in the middle of the swirling mob and surveyed the station again. The children had boarded the waiting train, and it started forward with a hiss of steam. Little ones hung from every open window, bravely waving goodbye. Eve heard a cry of anguish from the crowd of mothers and turned to see them huddled together, consoling each other’s tears. They wouldn’t know where their children were until after they’d arrived in the countryside and mailed the postcard each of them carried. But at least they were out of London. They were safe.

  “Eve! Eve, darling!” She turned and there he was, pushing his way toward her, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his grin lighting the dismal station.

  “Alfie!” She reached for him and they held each other tightly before exchanging a kiss more appropriate for a dark corner than a public place. Eve didn’t care. He had forgiven her. And she loved him. “I didn’t think I would ever find you,” she said when they came up for air. “How long until your train leaves?”

  He consulted his expensive wristwatch, a graduation present after Oxford. “Only ten minutes. I was a little hungover this morning and overslept. Walk with me to the platform.” Alfie took her hand and cut a smooth path for them—a knife through butter—as people instinctively stepped aside for him in his officer’s uniform. “I’ve been telling the other lads how beautiful you are, and now they can see for themselves.”

  She didn’t want her last moments with him to be spent among a crowd of soldiers, but there was no h
elping it. Eve longed to tell him she loved him and hear him say he loved her, too. She wanted him to promise to come home safely, promise they would always be together, grow old together. Cross my heart. But too soon it was time for Alfie to board.

  “Send me your address as soon as you get there, Alfie. I’ll write every day.”

  “Righto. And keep your gas mask with you, darling.” He tugged the cord around her neck that held her boxed mask.

  “You, too!” She’d seen the wheezing, gasping veterans of the first war, some with missing limbs. Not Alfie. Please, Lord.

  He held her tightly one last time. Kissed her one last time. And just like the departing children, he and the other soldiers boarded the train, heading off in a hiss of steam, their lives about to be altered forever by the demands of war.

  WELLINGFORD HALL

  Audrey stood on a ladder, stretching as high as she could to pin the thick black cloth to the back of the dining room drapes. “Here’s the next piece,” Mrs. Smith said as she bustled into the room. “Oh, do be careful, Miss Audrey. Maybe you should let Robbins do those tall windows.”

  Audrey lowered her arms, rotating her aching neck and shoulders. “I sent him into the village to see about borrowing a wagon for the children. Do we have enough cloth to finish before they arrive?”

  “We ran out. And the dry goods store doesn’t expect more from London until next week.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Audrey said as she stepped down. “Every cottage and mansion and flat in England needs yards and yards of it.” Making blackout curtains for all of Wellingford’s windows was proving to be an enormous task. And even though it was a necessity of war, Audrey was determined to do a neat job of it and keep the mansion looking elegant, not dim and funereal.

  “When we finish this room and Mr. Clarkson’s study, all of the windows on the first floor will be done,” Mrs. Smith told her. “Robbins was able to tape the largest ones so they won’t shatter.”