Broken Rainbows (33 page)

‘No.' He touched her hair gently, and she turned to look at him. ‘But I could be.'

‘No, Tomas. You couldn't.'

‘Jane, I didn't want to fall in love with you. But it's happened. We can't ignore it.'

‘Nothing can change the fact that I'm married.'

‘Didn't Haydn tell you that he came to see me that night?'

‘After the fight?'

‘He asked me if I intended to marry you when you were free.'

‘And what did you say?'

‘That I loved you and if I was given the chance I'd marry you and bring up Anne as if she was my own child.'

‘But she's not your child, and I'm not your wife.'

‘But you could be.' He moved away, sensing that it would be better not to touch her again lest she think he was trying to pressurise her into making a decision she wasn't ready to make.

‘Tomas, whatever I feel for you, and whatever Haydn said, I can't just walk away from him and pretend that we were never married.'

‘I don't expect you to. After all, there's Anne. Whatever happens between us, Haydn will always be her father. The only question is, are you going to stay with him?'

‘How can I when he's divorcing me? I know Haydn, he won't change his mind, not now. And after what we did, who can blame him?'

‘It isn't as if we've done anything serious,' he said angrily. ‘Just two damned kisses.'

‘It's not the kisses, Tomas. I think if I'd asked him, he would have forgiven me if we'd made love. It would even up the score.'

‘He's been unfaithful to you and you're worried about what we haven't even done!'

‘I can't be sure, but I think from the way Haydn behaved before we married he's never set great store by fidelity, certainly not his own. Before he asked me out, I watched him work his way through an entire line of chorus girls. He spends his working life surrounded by beautiful, half-naked women, and most of them mean nothing to him, not even when he sleeps with them. He knew I'd be upset at the thought of him having an affair, no matter how fleeting, but guilt still drove him to confess. But that's Haydn. Honest to the point of recklessness. He'd rather risk our marriage than live a lie. And the problem is he's seen through me. It's not the thought of us having an affair that drove him to ask for a divorce. He would forgive me anything, except my falling in love with you.'

‘Then you do love me?'

‘Did you ever doubt it?'

‘I was beginning to wonder.'

‘I think I fell in love with you the moment we met.'

‘This is getting too complicated for me. I love you, you love me, Haydn knows and is prepared to divorce you, yet you won't marry me?'

‘No.'

‘Holy Mother of God, I'll never understand women.'

‘But I will make love with you, if that's what you want.'

He stared at her in disbelief. ‘Are you serious? You'll make love to me, just like that? What are we supposed to do? Go to my room, or some seedy hotel? You'll play the part of the whore and I'll be your client. We'll undress and spend twenty minutes grappling around in a strange bed, then afterwards, we'll put our clothes back on and go our separate ways?'

‘Hopefully it won't be like that.'

He knelt beside her and laid his hands gently on her head, pulling it close to his, gazing into her clear, brown eyes. ‘Don't you understand? I love you. I worship and adore you, I want you to be my wife.'

‘I'm not a Madonna, Tomas, but a flesh and blood woman.'

‘Then marry me!'

‘And your fiancée?'

‘I've already written to her.'

‘Tomas …'

‘No, you listen to me for once. I want you. Do you understand –
you
and no one else. I could never settle for Conchita, not now I've known you and what love can be like between a man and a woman. Life with her would be second best and she deserves a husband who will love her as much as I love you. So, will you marry me?'

She shook her head.

‘And that's your final answer?'

‘I'm married to Haydn.'

‘Who doesn't want or deserve you,' he retorted impatiently.

‘If he doesn't want me then perhaps it's time I lived alone for a while.'

‘What have you been doing?'

‘Not living alone. Haydn might have been away, but he's always been there in the background. Try to understand, Tomas, for most of my life people have made my decisions for me. The workhouse, the homes – I couldn't even choose what time to get up in the morning or when to go to bed. I had the use of only one dress a week so I didn't know what it was to stand in front of a wardrobe and pick out clothes for the day. And even when I left, there wasn't time for anything except earning the money I needed to survive. Not until Haydn came along. He gave me everything …' She turned away as her voice trembled.

Taking her in his arms, Tomas held her close. Her body was soft, unresisting.

‘Take me to your rooms?'

‘Now?'

‘Right now, Tomas. Please?'

‘And afterwards?'

‘I don't know about afterwards. I only know that I want you. And perhaps Haydn is right. It would be more honest of us to make love than dream about it. It's what we both want, isn't it?'

He drove towards Llantwit Fardre, slowing down in front of an old pub that fronted the road. Driving around the back, he parked his bike, unstrapped his bag and walked to a kitchen entrance.

‘There shouldn't be anyone here at this time of day. I assume you don't want to go through the bar?'

She hung back and shook her head.

Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and showed her into a whitewashed passageway.

‘Is that you, Captain D'Este?'

‘It is, Mrs Jones.'

‘I wasn't expecting you this early. Will you be wanting anything to eat?' A large, blowsy woman with frizzy hair stopped in her tracks when she saw Jane.

‘This is a friend of mine, Mrs Jones.'

‘Well.' She eyed Jane, staring at her wedding ring.

‘There's no problem with my having visitors in my room?'

‘None at all, Captain D'Este, as long as they're out by ten o'clock.'

‘I won't be staying that long,' Jane said quietly.

‘Well, if you do, I'll be charging double for the room.'

‘We'll be eating out, Mrs Jones.'

‘That suits me, Captain. It's the darts championship tonight, we'll be run off our feet in the bar. What did you say your name was?' she asked Jane.

‘We didn't, Mrs Jones. See you in the morning.' Pushing Jane ahead of him, Tomas ran up the stairs behind her. ‘It's not too late to change your mind,' he whispered.

‘I won't.'

‘It's a pity she saw you.' Tomas unlocked his door and showed Jane into a large, square room that looked as though it had been furnished at the beginning of Victoria's reign and not cleaned since. Brocade drapes thick with dust, spiders' webs and dirt hung at grimy windows. The bed was huge, with massive, mahogany head and footboards, and judging by the state of the faded satin cover, a lumpy mattress.

‘You could have told Mrs Jones my name was Smith. I wouldn't have minded.'

‘I would. You're not just some girl I picked up to have sex with. I love you, I'm proud of you. And I won't tell lies about who you are.'

‘How many bodies do you keep in the wardrobe?' she joked clumsily, feeling suddenly shy now that they were alone in his bedroom.

‘Dozens.' Closing the door he turned the key in the lock and tossed his bag into the corner. ‘We could just sit and talk.'

‘No.'

‘You do realise she'll tell everyone in the bar that I've brought a woman to my rooms? It won't take much for my fellow officers to work out exactly who that woman is.'

‘It doesn't matter. After the night of the garden party everyone thinks the worst of us anyway.'

‘I don't want it to be like this between us, Jane.'

‘You want me in a virginal white dress with orange blossom in my hair?'

He stood before her and removed her hat, running his fingers through her soft, brown hair. ‘Yes.'

‘You wouldn't get that, even if I was free.'

‘No. I suppose I wouldn't.' Leaving her, he went to the window and looked out at the surrounding rooftops. Dusk was gathering. ‘The nights are drawing in.'

‘Winter will soon be here.'

As he turned, his breath caught in his throat. She had slipped off her dress and was standing next to the bed in a white, silk petticoat.

‘This is as virginal and bride-like as you're going to get. But I warn you, I'm very skinny and not at all attractive.'

‘You're beautiful,' he murmured, taking a step towards her.

She opened her arms and he went to her. Suddenly nothing mattered. Not the dingy room with its ugly furniture, rickety gas fire and damp-stained wallpaper. Not that she had a husband, or he a fiancée. Nothing except his fierce, all-consuming hunger for her body and hers for his.

‘I never knew it could be like that.'

They were lying side by side in the bed, her head pillowed on his shoulder. When she didn't answer he looked down and saw that her eyes were moist.

‘Jane, I'm sorry.' He wiped her tears away with a corner of the sheet. ‘I only meant that it was the first time I felt as though I was making love. Really making love with a woman instead of just sex.'

‘You've slept with many women?' she questioned, hoping he wouldn't ask her about Haydn.

‘Two.'

‘And you didn't love either of them?'

‘One was a widow. A friend of my parents. I was seventeen, a real man of the world,' he mocked deprecatingly, as he recalled his other, younger self ‘Now I realise she seduced me, not the other way around.'

‘And the other?'

‘A nurse at the hospital. It happened after a party. We were both drunk, and neither of us could look the other in the eye afterwards.'

‘And here's me thinking that all Latin men have lovers lined up like dominoes before a game.'

‘Not this Latin lover.' He leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips. ‘I love you, Jane, and I want to marry you, no matter how long we have to wait. What do you say to my marriage proposal now?'

‘Some would say you have me at an unfair advantage.'

‘That's why I'm asking.' Leaving the bed he closed the blackout and switched on the light.

‘What did you do that for?'

‘So I could read the expression in your eyes. ‘Well, will you marry me?' he repeated intently.

‘I'm not free.'

‘But you will be, and until then you could move in with me.'

‘How can I? There's Anne and Haydn's family to consider.'

‘There's you, Anne and me. Your new family, Jane. And that's all that's going to be important from now on. Believe me.'

‘I won't move in with you. Not before the divorce.'

‘Please …'

She laid her finger over his lips. ‘But I will visit. As often as I can,' she murmured, pushing aside the bedclothes and pulling him close to her.

Chapter Twenty-one

Snow whirled down, catching in small flurries that banked up in between the skeletal frames of the fruit bushes and trees and formed drifts against the garden walls. Bethan stood with her face pressed to the glass of the drawing room window, watching as Jane took the letters from the postman at the entrance to the drive. It hadn't been easy to persuade her sister-in-law to stay with her after Haydn's last leave, and she doubted that she would have succeeded, if it hadn't been for Anne. The little girl adored Eddie and dogged his footsteps wherever he went. They had become inseparable, much closer even than Eddie and Rachel because they were the same age. Maisie had helped make up Jane's mind by insisting that it was easier looking after two toddlers than one, because they played together, leaving her free to get on with the housework.

Eventually, and Bethan felt rather reluctantly, after weighing up all the considerations, Jane had decided to carry on doing ‘her bit' for the war by continuing to work in munitions, and undoubtedly the easiest way for her to do that was by remaining where she was.

They had never discussed Tomas D'Este after the night of the garden party. Bethan knew that Jane still visited the hospital because she talked about the patients, and occasionally brought one home for a day or a weekend break. Maimed and injured men, who were pathetically grateful for a small glimpse of family life, and men her father empathised with only too well.

Jane also stayed out late on the days she visited, but if she was with Tomas D'Este, she never mentioned his name. And as Bethan never heard any rumours that linked her sister-in-law's name with D'Este after the night of the party, she hoped that their brief association was over. She preferred to believe that, than listen to David Ford's hints that if Jane and Tomas were still seeing one another, they were too discreet to go anywhere where they might be seen.

As Bethan left the window, Bing Crosby's new recording of ‘White Christmas' rang out from the wireless set in the kitchen, where Maisie, Eddie and Anne were baking Christmas biscuits with spices that had come courtesy of the Americans.

‘Anything?' she asked hopefully as she opened the front door for Jane.

The frown deepened on Jane's face as she flicked through the bundle of envelopes. ‘Christmas cards, but nothing for you from Andrew, I'm afraid.'

‘That makes it over four months.'

‘I think it's time you contacted the Red Cross again.'

‘I will. Today,' Bethan added decisively.

‘There's one for me from a London solicitor. I can guess what that is about,' she tossed it down on to a side table, ‘and this.' She held up a small parcel addressed to Anne in Haydn's writing, with DO NOT OPEN UNTIL CHRISTMAS DAY emblazoned across the top in red ink.

‘Nothing for you from Haydn?'

‘My Christmas present is the solicitor's letter.'

Bethan suppressed the urge to press her further. She had told Jane when she had finally decided to stay, that whatever happened between her and Haydn was their business, but that didn't stop her from hoping that they would get back together – eventually.

She returned to the drawing room and the window. She had been half out of her mind with worry for the past three months. When the erratic flow of Andrew's letters had dribbled to a halt four months ago, she had put it down to the vagaries of prisoner-of-war mail. Then, after making discreet enquiries among the relatives of other prisoners, like Mrs Richards and Tina, she had discovered that Andrew was the only one who had stopped writing home.

Clinging to the hope that his letters were simply going astray, she had begun to write to him every day instead of three or four times a week, then twice a day. Her concern intensified when her father-in-law confided that they hadn't heard from him either. Letters to the Red Cross only brought back confirmation that a man of Andrew's name, rank and serial number was being held in an officers' camp in the Reich.

‘Shall we start decorating the Christmas tree?'

‘Yes,' Bethan agreed absently, still watching the snow.

‘Are the boxes under the stairs?'

‘Yes.' Bethan turned around with a more determined look on her face. ‘And if we get them out now, while Eddie and Anne are with Maisie, we stand a chance of saving the more delicate glass baubles from their marauding hands.'

Jane looked at the tree Albert James had cut down and carried into the house for them. Its topmost branches brushed the ceiling. Over sixteen feet high, just the sight of it undecorated had excited the children.

‘I wonder …'

‘… if this will be the last Christmas of the war?' Bethan finished for her.

‘How did you know what I was going to say?'

‘Because I've been wondering the same thing myself. Who would have thought in 1939 that we'd still be fighting four years later?' Going into the hall she opened the cupboard door and threw out half-a-dozen pairs of wellington boots and a pile of old coats that had been crammed in on top of the rows of boxes. ‘Why do I keep all this junk?' She held up a pair of rubber boots that were too big for any of the children and too small for an adult.

‘Because you'll need them if the war goes on for another ten years?' Jane suggested. ‘Any more cutbacks in clothing coupons and we'll be snipping off the toes so they fit us.'

‘You're a proper Job's comforter.'

‘I'm glad Anne and I are spending Christmas here,' Jane said suddenly, squeezing Bethan's hand.

‘Me too.' Afraid to say any more lest Jane tell her something about her and Haydn she didn't want to hear, Bethan crawled back into the cupboard. ‘First box coming up.'

There were seven boxes of decorations, and they seemed to get progressively heavier.

‘It feels like there's last year's Christmas tree in here,' Jane complained as she staggered into the drawing room with a small, but surprisingly heavy parcel.

‘That one holds all the wooden table centres, and metal candle holders that Mrs John gave me.' She lowered her voice. ‘Don't tell anyone, they bought them in Germany on their honeymoon before the Great War. Between you and me, I think she thought it was unpatriotic to keep or use them, so she salved her conscience by passing them on to me.'

The doorbell rang just as they manhandled the last of the decorations into the drawing room.

‘Expecting anyone?' Jane asked as she tackled the string on a box marked GLASS BAUBLES.

‘No, and if it's anyone wanting a nurse, they'd better be on their last legs. I booked this day off weeks ago.'

Rising from her knees, she shouted, ‘It's all right, Maisie, I'll get it.' To her surprise her father-in-law was standing, shivering on the doorstep.

‘I'm sorry to disturb you.'

‘You're welcome any time, Dr John, you know that. Come in, you look frozen, and your trousers are soaking wet.'

‘I didn't attempt to bring the car down your drive, I thought if I did I'd never get it back out into the lane again.'

‘The snow's that bad?' she asked anxiously, thinking of the children having to walk home from school.

‘And getting worse.' He followed her into the drawing room.

‘Hello, Jane.' He greeted Bethan's sister-in-law awkwardly. It was well known in Pontypridd that Haydn was divorcing his wife and he couldn't understand why she was still living in Bethan's house.

‘Excuse the mess. As you can see, we're decorating the tree.' Bethan helped him off with his coat. Putting it and his hat on a side table, close, but not too close to the fire to dry, she pushed an easy chair near the hearth.

‘Sit down. If you want to change your trousers, you can have a pair of Andrew's. They'll only take a few minutes to air.'

‘No it's all right. I can't stop. I came up to talk to you.'

‘Would you like some tea, Dr John?' Jane asked as she went to the door.

‘That would be nice, thank you.'

Jane closed the door behind her.

‘I take it you still haven't heard from Andrew?' he asked as Bethan sat in the chair opposite his.

‘Nothing. You?' she asked eagerly.

‘Yes.'

‘Is he all right? Why hasn't he written …'

‘He's all right, Bethan, at least physically he's all right. Now,' he added acidly.

‘But something is wrong?'

‘I wish I didn't have to tell you.' Rummaging in his pocket he produced a creased blue envelope. ‘Perhaps you'd better see for yourself. That way you can draw your own conclusions.' He handed it to her. She tore it open and began to read.

Dear Dad,

I'm sorry I haven't written for so long. I know you and Mother must have been worried about me, but I couldn't bring myself to write to anyone at home, not after getting Mrs Llewellyn-Jones's letter …

‘Mrs Llewellyn-Jones wrote to him?' Bethan looked up quizzically.

‘If you read on, you'll understand what she said, and why Andrew hasn't written to either of us in months.'

…
about Bethan's affair with the American colonel who's moved into the house. You can have no idea of the effect the news had on me. I think I went insane for a while.

Bethan keeps writing, but I can't bring myself to open, let alone reply to her letters. And the damned XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX don't help. All we hear on the radio and from our guards is how the Americans are sleeping with our women while we're stuck in here and can't do a thing about it.

What I can't understand is why you didn't tell me what was going on. If I had to hear it from anyone, I would have much rather it had been you than Mrs Llewellyn-Jones.

This brings me to my reason for writing now. Can you start divorce proceedings and get the children away from Bethan? Mrs Llewellyn-Jones says they are calling this colonel Daddy. I can't bear the thought of my children being brought up by another man and not even knowing who their father is. I'd appreciate it if you and Mother could look after them until I get home, and then I'll make other arrangements.

And I will be home, just as soon as this is all over. There was a time a few weeks back when I thought I wouldn't. I behaved rather stupidly, and if it hadn't been for a couple of the men in here with me, I would be buried in the camp cemetery right now. But as they reminded me, I have a son and daughter who need looking after.

Andrew

*……*……*

Bethan dropped the letter on to her lap.

‘I've already written, telling him everything.'

‘Everything,' Bethan echoed dully.

‘About Anthea, and Mrs Llewellyn-Jones's threat to get back at you. I contacted the Red Cross and told them it was important that Andrew get the letter as soon as possible, in the hope that they'd have some way of sending it through quickly, but all they could suggest was that I put “urgent” on the envelope.'

‘What exactly did you tell him?'

‘The facts. That Mrs Llewellyn-Jones's letter was a pack of lies. That she became deranged after Anthea's broken engagement and backstreet abortion. It's short but to the point. I thought long and hard about putting more, but I knew that if I wrote too much, the censor wouldn't allow it through. Those German bastards seem to like nothing better than destroying the morale of our boys. By right they should never have allowed any letter through with a reference to Americans.'

‘No, they shouldn't have,' Bethan agreed, thinking of the sections that had been blacked out by the censor's pen in Andrew's letters to her.

‘I thought you might like to elaborate on my explanation.'

‘There's no point in my even trying. Andrew said he doesn't even open my letters.'

‘Rachel can write legibly now, can't she?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then get her to address the envelope. What father could resist his child's handwriting?' He looked up as Jane carried in a tray of tea and home-made biscuits.'

‘Would you like to see the children, Dr John?'

‘We'll see them later, Jane, if that's all right.'

‘I'll be in the kitchen with Maisie if you need me.'

‘Is everything all right?' Bethan asked anxiously.

‘Apart from the children discovering how to make flour bombs, fine,' Jane reassured her before closing the door.

‘There's just one more thing,' Dr John said as soon as they were alone again. ‘Telephone Isabel as soon as you can and tell her that you've heard from Andrew.'

‘You haven't told her about this?' Bethan held up the letter.

‘I thought it better not to, until I'd seen you and Mrs Llewellyn-Jones. You know how highly strung she is.'

‘Yes, but she should know …'

‘That Andrew tried to kill himself because her best friend wrote a pack of lies about you and one of your lodgers?'

‘Oh God, put like that it sounds appalling.'

‘What other way is there to put it? Fortunately, I was up before her this morning, so I got to the letter first. And you can leave Dorothy Llewellyn-Jones to me. I'm going up there to see her as soon as I leave here.'

‘What I can't understand is how she got Andrew's address?'

‘Isabel gave it to her. She's been sending him birthday and Christmas cards.'

‘He never told me.'

‘He wouldn't. You two never got on well, even before the war.'

‘But she is a family friend.'

‘She's always been more Isabel's friend than mine.'

‘Did you keep the letter from Mrs John because you think she'd believe what Mrs Llewellyn-Jones said about me and the colonel?'

He looked at Bethan a long time before answering. ‘People in this town have always gossiped too much.'

‘I'm not having an affair with anyone, American or British.'

‘I never thought for a minute that you were. For one thing I barely give you enough time to run this house in your free time, let alone entertain gentlemen friends. The only question is, how do we get Andrew to believe it when we can't even talk to him?'