Broken Rainbows (34 page)

‘Bad news about Andrew?' Jane asked when she returned to the drawing room after the doctor left.

‘He hasn't written because he thinks I'm having an affair with David Ford.'

‘What?' Jane almost dropped the silvered glass ball in her hand.

‘Mrs Llewellyn-Jones wrote to him. I told you she threatened me the night Anthea was taken into the Graig Hospital.'

‘This is all my fault, Beth.'

‘Don't be ridiculous.'

‘Don't you see? I'm having an affair with Tomas, so you must be having one with the colonel. That's the way people's minds work around here.'

‘And no doubt Alma had an affair with Chuck Reynolds before he left too. It's hard enough trying to keep everyone in this house happy and healthy, and everything running smoothly without holding myself responsible for what people think of us.'

‘But I am having an affair with Tomas D'Este, so I should go.'

Taken aback by Jane's honesty, Bethan stared at her in bewilderment.

‘I'm sorry, I thought you realised.'

‘I had hoped that you and Haydn would patch things up.'

‘He made it plain the night of the party that he didn't want me any more. Did you know he asked Tomas to take care of me and Anne?'

‘No. But you know how proud Haydn is. He was probably so hurt and angry, he did and said the first thing that came into his head. And it wasn't the right thing.'

‘Neither is my being here. You and Haydn are close. He relies on you, Beth, and your father, much more than you'll ever know. Oh, outwardly he's the handsome, debonair man about town. The showbusiness personality with enough confidence to sink a battleship, but underneath all that …'

‘He's a frightened little boy playing the part of the celebrity and absolutely terrified of getting caught out.'

‘You've realised?'

‘Of course. I was the one who wiped his nose, bandaged his knees and covered up for him every time he tore his trousers or smashed something in the house. My father wasn't strict with us, but my mother broke nine stair rods on his and Eddie's backs. Not that beating either of them did any good. But don't you see, Jane, that's why he married you, not one of his leading ladies? He knows just how false and hollow the theatrical world is. He wants someone real, someone who will love him in spite of all his faults and someone he can love in return.' She fell silent, aware that she'd said more than she'd intended.

‘But he doesn't need me any more.'

‘And Tomas does?'

‘He's asked me to marry him as soon as I'm free.'

‘I see.'

‘I haven't given him an answer. Let's face it, none of us can make plans for next week let alone next month. Only for when the war is over, whenever that will be.'

‘And until then, I need you,' Bethan said forcefully. ‘And with this awful business with Andrew, now more than ever.'

‘Do you mean that?'

‘Who else am I going to talk to? Maisie treats me as though I'm her boss.'

‘Could it be because you are?'

‘And Liza's so wrapped up in work and Maurice she has no time for anyone else. The children are wonderful, but I can hardly confide in them. That leaves you. And,' she smiled wryly, ‘you know exactly what it's like to have a husband who thinks you're unfaithful.'

‘Unfortunately.'

‘So, let's concentrate on giving the children the best Christmas we can, and forget things we have no control over.'

‘And Andrew?'

‘His father has already written to him. I'll write tonight.'

‘You're lucky to have Dr John on your side.'

‘I know,' Bethan mused. ‘Very lucky indeed.'

The windscreen wipers on Dr John's car bowed beneath the weight of the falling snow as he drove cautiously up the hill to the Common. It lay thick and heavy on the bonnet and boot, piling high, blocking the rear window. Hoping that no one would need his professional services until the storm eased, he parked the car in his garage and tramped the short distance to the Llewellyn-Joneses' house.

Their drive was almost impassable, and he recalled last winter when Mrs Llewellyn-Jones had been out supervising her cook and maid's clearing operations while the snow was still falling. Stamping his boots to shake off the worst, he rang the bell and checked his watch, hoping that his wife had left for the day. He was in luck, the young girl who opened the door told him that Mrs Llewellyn-Jones was alone, resting, and had given strict instructions that she wasn't to be disturbed.

‘She has a headache, that's why she sent for me,' he said abruptly, pushing past her into the hall. ‘Don't bother to show me up, I know the way.' Brushing the snow from his coat, he hung it on the hall stand before climbing the stairs.

Dressed in a cream satin robe, Dorothy Llewellyn-Jones was lying on a chaise-longue in her pink and cream decorated bedroom. A box of chocolates was open on a sofa table beside her, a book on her lap. She looked up in surprise as he walked in.

‘Is something wrong? Is Isabel …'

‘Isabel is fine, Dorothy. Which is more than can be said for my son.'

‘Andrew? Have those beasts hurt him?'

‘Not as much as you have.' Without waiting to be asked, he sat on a Lloyd Loom chair.

‘I don't understand,' she said coldly, glancing down at her book.

‘I had a letter from him this morning.'

‘You must have been pleased. Isabel said you hadn't heard from him for months.'

‘We hadn't heard because he tried to kill himself after receiving a letter from you.'

‘Kill himself? Andrew? Surely you must be mistaken. He would never do a thing like that!'

He could see that she was genuinely shocked at the news, but that only made him all the more determined to bring home to her the magnitude of what she had done.

‘Have you any idea what it must be like for the men who were captured at Dunkirk? To be incarcerated behind bars in Germany for year after year with no sign of respite, no sign of the war coming to an end.'

‘Of course. That's why I wrote to him.'

‘To tell him a pack of lies?'

‘I told him what everyone in the town is saying. That your daughter-in-law is having an affair with Colonel Ford. She's been seen, Frederick. Going into his office at all hours of the day.'

‘A lot of people go into David Ford's office. Are they all having affairs with him?'

‘It's common knowledge. Besides, you can't deny that they spend their nights together.'

‘In the same house as six other adults, and God alone knows how many children.'

‘They talk …'

‘We are talking now, and in your bedroom.'

‘You are a doctor.'

‘For pity's sake, this affair was born in your sick and twisted imagination, Dorothy. Have you any idea of the damage your gossip-mongering has done this time? Not only to Andrew, but to Bethan and the children? She's been absolutely distraught the last four months.'

‘And what do you think I've been! If it wasn't for that slut, Bethan, Anthea …'

‘So you do remember you have a daughter?'

‘I remember, and I remember how Bethan took your son away from her.'

‘Andrew would never have married Anthea. He didn't love her. He loves Bethan and you've done your damnedest to ruin their lives.'

‘I won't allow language like that in this house.'

‘And I won't allow you to poison my son's life, such as it is at the moment. If his suicide attempt had succeeded, I think I might have killed you myself, Dorothy. Hanging would be a small price to rid the world of a venomous, frustrated woman like you.' He spoke so softly, she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

‘Unlike you, he'll thank me for having the courage to tell him the truth.'

‘He'll despise you for lying to him. And as for the truth, I've already written to him to tell him that.'

‘Then I'll write again. I'll -'

‘You'll do nothing, because if you do, I'll tell the whole town exactly what happened to Anthea. How she was forced to turn to a backstreet abortionist because she knew her own parents would fail her.'

‘You wouldn't dare!'

‘Wouldn't I? The file is still open in the police station. Anthea gave us the name of the retired nurse who carried out the operation on her. When she comes to trial I'll see your name dragged through the mud.'

‘You mean you'll see your own god-daughter's name dragged through the mud?'

‘Anthea's well away from Pontypridd and all its mud, Dorothy.'

‘You know where she is?' Her eyes blazed in anger.

‘I write to her every week. Someone has to,' he added, not telling her that he also passed on Anthea's letters to her father. ‘This is no idle threat, Dorothy. And one more word from you about my daughter-in-law and the Americans lodging in her house to anyone, and I'll have you in court for slander.' He left his seat. ‘And if the damage you've done can't be repaired, this won't be the last you'll hear of this.'

‘Isabel …'

‘Won't be visiting here any more. Goodbye, Dorothy.' Wrenching open the door, he walked on to the landing and down the stairs. He could hear her shouting behind him, but for once he didn't even pay lip service to the courtesy that had been instilled into him during his upbringing. All he had to do now was convince Isabel that he had done the right thing, and once she knew that Andrew had tried to commit suicide, he didn't think he'd have too much of a problem.

The
Pontypridd Observer
lay open on the kitchen table beside Bethan. She looked at the photograph of Haydn with the tall, curvaceous blonde, and re-read the caption.

PONTYPRIDD'S GOLDEN BOY STRIKES LUCKY ON TOUR.

As you see, Haydn Powell gets on extraordinarily well with his co-star, Lucy Langdon. When asked if their on-stage romance extended to their offstage lives, all our Haydn would say is that some things are best kept private.

Jane had pretended that the photograph and article meant nothing to her, but Bethan had seen her lip trembling when she'd read the page. A short while ago she wouldn't have believed it possible for any woman to be in love with two men at the same time; now she wasn't so sure.

Some time soon she would have to ask Jane if she'd given any thought to Tomas D'Este's proposal. But not now, she reflected as she stared at the blank letter in front of her.

For now she had enough problems of her own to sort out. Picking up her pen she began to write.

Dear Andrew,

Your father brought me the letter you wrote to him today. Colonel David Ford along with four other Gls have taken over the top floor of our house. We are friends, and that is all.

She chewed the end of her pen. Why should she apologise when she hadn't even done anything … ?

I am angry that you think so little of me, to take Mrs Llewellyn-Jones's word that we have been having an affair. I know it can't be easy for you, being locked up all this time, but if you have nothing else to do, you could try thinking of me and the children and what the war is like for us at home.

The Americans are just as confused and lonely as you. They've left their families in America and haven't a clue what is happening to them over there. The mail to America, if anything, is even slower than the mail to the POW camps.

David has a family, and a son of seventeen he is desperately hoping won't have to fight in this war. He's not a father to Rachel and Eddie, no one could ever be that except you, but like all his staff, he is a first-rate uncle. All the children, ours as well as the evacuees', look forward to what little time they can spare to tell them about another country, teach them baseball, and cook them food they wouldn't even know existed if it wasn't for the rations that come out of the American P
X.

I find it devastating to think that we've drifted so far apart that you'd rather believe a poisonous gossip like Mrs Llewellyn-Jones, before your own wife, to the extent that you even tried to kill yourself. Don't you realise how much the children and I are relying on and looking forward to your homecoming? How difficult it has been for us to survive without you?

If I ever do decide to have an affair I promise you now, you'll be the first to know. But I suppose I'll carry on waiting and hoping that one day we'll be together again and there really is a future for all of us – together.

Your father has told me that he has written to you about what happened to Anthea, but Anthea aside, Mrs Llewellyn-Jones has always disliked me, and it has grown into outright hatred since I stopped her from putting four of my evacuees into the homes. I should have told you, but I didn't want you worrying about domestic things you couldn't help with. Here's another bombshell. Alma and I adopted the four girls ranging in ages from seventeen down to ten rather than see Mrs Llewellyn-Jones put them out to service and in the workhouse.

I'm doing my bit in keeping the home fires burning, Andrew, it would be comforting to think that you are doing your bit and keeping safe until you can come home.

Your loving and faithful wife,

Bethan

She looked at what she'd written. It might not be the most tactful letter to send to a husband incarcerated for the duration, but she meant every word. Folding the letter in on itself she gummed down the flap. There was a postbox at the top of the lane by the Queen's Hotel. It was late, it was dark, still snowing and freezing, but she reached for her coat. If she didn't post it now, she never might.

Chapter Twenty-two

‘I'm sorry if I've inconvenienced you by asking you to call in at short notice, Mrs Powell. Sergeant Morelli.' David Ford pulled out a chair for Megan as Dino snapped to attention.

‘You haven't inconvenienced me at all, Colonel,' Megan murmured apprehensively.

‘At ease, Sergeant.'

Dino relaxed to the point where he dared broach the question uppermost in his mind. ‘Is this about our application for permission to marry, sir?'

The colonel offered him the chair alongside Megan's. ‘Yes, Sergeant. I had a memo from HQ yesterday and I wanted to inform you of the contents myself. I regret having to tell you this, Mrs Powell, but your application has been refused. The authorities will not grant you US citizenship.'

‘That's crazy!' Dino exclaimed hotly. ‘She's going to be my wife.'

‘You have my sympathy, Sergeant Morelli.'

‘They can't refuse an application just like that. There has to be grounds.'

David Ford flipped over the papers on his desk. ‘You have a criminal record, Mrs Powell?'

‘Megan never made any secret of it. We put it on the form. She told me she'd been in prison the first time I asked her out. It's plain to anyone who knows her she'll never do anything like that again. She was desperate. A war widow left with two young children to bring up on her own.'

‘Dino, please.' Unlike the sergeant, Megan had been watching David Ford and knew there was nothing to be gained from pleading. The decision had very obviously been taken out of his hands.

‘She sold stolen goods to pay her rent and put food on the table,' Dino continued, much to Megan's embarrassment. ‘She didn't steal anything herself. She did wrong, did time for it and it's over. In the past.'

‘I agree, Sergeant Morelli. But unfortunately the people who make the rules don't see it that way.'

‘Then they're idiots, begging your pardon, sir.' Dino threw the cap that he had been rolling into a ball on top of the mess of papers on the desk. ‘I have money, property. I pay my taxes. I'm an honest citizen and if I say so myself, a damned good judge of character. If I want to marry Megan, I will.'

‘No one can stop you from marrying once you've been demobbed, Sergeant, only Mrs Powell from entering the States.'

‘Then to hell with the States. We'll live here.'

‘Dino.' Megan laid her hand on his arm. ‘You can't give up your country. Your businesses, your family are all in America.'

‘I have no children, only nieces and nephews. And as for my businesses, I'll sell them. I want no part of any country that doesn't want you.'

‘Dino …'

‘We'll talk about this later. Thank you, Colonel Ford. I'm sorry I lost my temper there for a moment. I know you did what you could for us.' Picking up his cap he left his chair and snapped to attention.

David held out his hand to Megan. ‘I congratulate you on your choice of husband, Mrs Powell. When this is all over, I hope to get an invitation to the wedding.'

‘You will, sir,' Dino said firmly. ‘And if I have anything to say about it, it will take place the day I'm demobbed.'

*……*……*

‘I've run you a bath, put some of those salts you like in it, and as soon as you've finished, I'll serve dinner. Steaks
a la
Schaffer with French fries and green salad.'

‘Steaks. Real steaks?'

‘Real honest to goodness, American beef off the hoof.'

‘If I ever knew, I've forgotten what it tastes like.' Jenny gazed, dumbfounded at the table in her living room. Kurt had found her mother's best damask tablecloth, napkins and china, he'd also put red candles in a silver holder that was new to her. Next to it stood a vase of hothouse flowers and a bowl of exotic fruit that shone as though it had been polished. ‘What's the occasion?' she asked suspiciously.

‘If you need one, call it a late Easter celebration.'

‘Easter was weeks ago. You're not going to …'

‘I'm not going to do anything other than look after the steaks. You've no idea how many favours I had to promise the cook to get them, and that was in addition to a week's crap winnings. Bath, woman! I refuse to eat this sensational dinner opposite anyone with a munitions yellow face.'

Bemused and bewildered, Jenny went into the bathroom. Kurt had not only run and scented her bath, but also laid out her robe and slippers. After the long day in the factory, it looked warm, relaxing and luxurious. Five minutes later she was lying back, up to her neck in water with her eyes closed. Kurt knocked the door.

‘Is it time to eat?' she asked sleepily.

‘I thought you might like some wine.' He stuck his head round the door and handed her a glass.

‘Wine as well. Wherever did you get it?'

‘HQs secret store. It was marked “For the use of Generals only.” He touched his glass to hers.

‘You'll be court-martialled.'

‘Possibly, but it will be worth it.'

‘What are we toasting?' she asked, her misgivings resurfacing.

‘The evening ahead and my seduction techniques?'

‘And that's all?' She studied him over the rim of her glass.

‘Does there need to be more?'

‘Not for me.'

‘You have five minutes. Any longer and the steaks will burn.'

She pulled the plug on the bath, wrapped herself in a towel and went into her bedroom. Falling in with his celebratory mood she dressed carefully in her one good set of silk and lace underwear and a pre-war blue dress that matched her eyes. Brushing out her hair until it fell, soft and curling on to her shoulders, she applied a touch of make-up, and a liberal splash of scent. Knowing she looked good, she wandered into the kitchen.

‘I've never seen a man in a frilly apron before. It won't catch on as part of a military uniform.'

‘You're right.' He glanced down at the pink gingham print. ‘It's the wrong colour.' He handed her a bread mixing bowl filled to the brim with thin, chipped potatoes. ‘If you take that in I'll bring the steaks.'

‘How many are coming?'

‘Just us.'

‘There's enough here to feed an army.'

Following her into the living room, he heaped an enormous steak on to her plate. ‘You must be hungry after working all day.'

‘There's hungry and there's gluttonous.' Taking her knife she cut the steak in two and replaced half of the portion he had given her on the serving dish.

He refilled her wine glass. ‘Tell me about your day.'

‘It was like every other day. Boring.'

‘You forget I've never been in a munitions factory.'

Even as she recounted the strain that the step-up in production targets had put on all the workers, including her, she felt that there was something more, something he wasn't telling her. But whatever it was, she knew she'd never prise it out of him. She'd simply have to wait until he decided to tell her.

Bethan sat next to Alma on the sofa in the room above the shop.

‘It's so unfair,' Alma protested. ‘Chuck was only thirty. He had a wife and son, absolutely everything to live for …' the remainder of the sentence was lost in a torrent of tears and sobs as the reality of his death sank in.

‘He was happy while he was alive, and he brought happiness into the lives of others. You have to think how much that means to everyone who knew him.' Bethan looked helplessly to David Ford.

‘I'll make some tea,' he said awkwardly, retreating into the kitchen.

‘But his wife … his son …' She extricated herself from Bethan's arms. ‘I don't know how I'm going to bear this, and I only knew Chuck for a year. What must they be going through?'

‘We can only imagine,' Bethan murmured, thinking of Andrew and hating herself for wondering how she would have reacted if he had succeeded in killing himself when he had received Mrs Llewellyn-Jones's letter.

‘I must write to her.'

‘I've met Marilyn and I'm sure she'd appreciate hearing from you.' David Ford returned with a tray of cups that he set on the table. ‘Kettle's on.'

‘Do you know how Chuck died?' Alma asked.

‘I know he's been mentioned in dispatches, and he'll get a posthumous medal. He saved an entire platoon by single-handedly attacking and disabling a German gun emplacement,' he answered, neatly evading her question. Chuck's commanding officer's letter hadn't made easy reading. The major had survived the attack, only to die four hours later from abdominal wounds in a makeshift, front-line aid station. David needed little imagination to picture the conditions, or Chuck's slow, painful death.

‘I'm sorry.' Alma made an heroic effort to pull herself together as Bethan left to make the tea. ‘I know how busy you must be. It's kind of you to bring me the news yourself, Colonel.'

‘It was the least I could do under the circumstances. Chuck used to say that coming here to see you and Theo was like having a second home.'

‘He was a good man, and a wonderful uncle to Theo.'

Bethan came in with the teapot. ‘I could telephone home and stay here tonight?'

‘No.' Alma shook her head. ‘Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather be alone.'

Bethan nodded as she poured the tea, but she couldn't help worrying at the effect the news was going to have on Alma once the initial shock had passed. Would Chuck's death finally bring home the realisation that there was no real hope for Charlie? And if Alma was this upset over the death of a close friend, what would she be like when she was forced to accept that her husband would never be coming home?

‘Good meal?' Kurt asked Jenny as he cleared their plates.

‘Unbelievable.'

‘And you don't have to worry about cooking tomorrow, there's enough meat left over for cold steak sandwiches. They're delicious with mustard or horseradish.'

He returned with plates and knives for the fruit, and a bottle of whiskey. ‘Nightcap?'

‘Yes, please. I can't remember when I last felt this full, contented and sleepy.'

‘And that is exactly the mood I intended to get you in.' Pulling a small box from his pocket he went down on one knee. ‘Will you marry me, Mrs Powell?'

‘Kurt, I told you when you moved in that I didn't want a serious relationship.'

‘That was before we'd lived together for six months. And you can't deny that I've kept to my side of the bargain. We've had a good time, haven't we? And I haven't plagued you with proposals.'

‘So why spoil it now?'

‘Because I want to apply to the army for permission for us to marry, and I can't do that without you knowing about it. As soon as the war is over, I intend to take you back to the States.'

‘The States! Don't be ridiculous. I can't leave here.'

‘Why?'

‘I have the shop …'

‘Sell it.'

‘My father …'

‘Didn't even recognise you the last time you went to see him.'

‘I'm all he's got.'

‘We'll pay someone to take care of him.'

‘He's my father.'

‘And the doctor told you to expect the worst at any time. Jenny, his life is over, ours is ahead of us.'

‘You know I hate thinking about the future.'

‘You can't drift on alone for ever.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because when the war is over -'

‘You're leaving, aren't you?' she broke in suddenly.

‘For a while,' he admitted reluctantly.

‘So that's what all this is about. Instead of telling me that you're going off to fight, straight out, as any honest man would have done, you prettied it up with food, wine, candles and flowers.'

‘It's not like that, Jenny,' he remonstrated. ‘I love you …'

‘Love!' she spat out the word as though it was an obscenity. ‘You know you're going to die, and you want someone who'll wait for a telegram and shed tears every time she looks at your photograph. Well, if you think I'm your ticket to immortality and remembrance, Kurt, you've got the wrong girl. I've cried enough over men. No more. Go off and get yourself killed. I don't give a damn!'

‘I'm going to retrain as an army photographer not tackle Hitler on my own.'

‘Then you'll be in the front line of the invasion when it happens?'

‘Ahead actually,' he said wryly, recalling the army directive ordering combat photographers to step off the landing crafts in advance of the troops so they could film them attacking the enemy.

‘Is that supposed to be funny?'

‘War isn't funny, Jenny, but I'll survive.'

‘No you won't. And you're a selfish bastard for wanting me to agree to marry you when you know you're going to die!'

‘I know no such thing,' he contradicted vehemently.

‘And what makes you think you're so bloody special?'

‘I've got my very own guardian angel.'

‘Haven't you heard? All guardian angels have been given a sabbatical for the duration.'

‘Darling, I've got far too much to live for to do something as stupid as die on a battlefield.'

‘So did Eddie.'

‘What can I say to convince you that this particular bad penny is going to keep on turning up?'

‘Nothing. When are you leaving?'

‘Tomorrow,' he admitted hesitantly.

‘Good. You can start packing now. Tonight you sleep in the front bedroom.'

‘Jenny, I'm not going to get killed, but I have no idea when I'll be back. I wanted tonight to be special.'

‘It is, Kurt: the evening our relationship ended. Tell the billeting officer to send up a replacement tomorrow. Any young, good-looking officer who wants a good time will do. But the same rules apply. No strings attached.' She stormed out slamming the door behind her, leaving him staring down at the unopened ring box in his hand.