Far From Home (43 page)

Polly sighed. It appeared that fate gave with one hand and took with another – and, as life went on around her, the gloomy day only added to her misery.

Danuta was out of breath by the time she reached Beach View. She had a stitch in her side, and all the running and rushing she’d done this morning was taking its toll. As she let herself into the house, she discovered Peggy was standing in the hall as if waiting for her.

Peggy’s expression was fearful. ‘Why aren’t you still with Polly? Has something happened to Adam? He’s not …?’

Danuta was so out of breath it was a few moments before she could reply. ‘He’s just gone in to theatre, and I’ve come to get Kate Jackson’s private number. Polly needs to speak to her,’ she panted, holding her side where the stitch was hurting her.

‘I have already done that,’ said Peggy. ‘She gave me her home number some time ago, so I was able to get hold of her very quickly. I’ve told her what has happened, and she suggested she might try to arrange for Polly to speak to Alice if they can get a line through to Scotland. Unfortunately it would be long-distance, and with so many lines down because of the bombing, it may take a while to get the connection – but I’m sure Kate will manage something so Polly can speak to Alice.’

Danuta smiled. ‘That is what Polly was hoping,’ she said. ‘I will go and tell her.’

‘Before you leave,’ said Peggy, ‘is there anything you wish to tell me, Danuta?’

She met Peggy’s rather stern gaze and felt stabs of guilt and fear. ‘I do not understand,’ she hedged.

Peggy’s eyes glinted determinedly and her gaze slowly travelled from Danuta’s neck to the hem of her coat. ‘I think you do,’ she said softly.

Danuta realised she could no longer prevaricate. She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘How did you find out?’

‘I wondered several days ago,’ said Peggy, ‘but when you got dressed this morning I knew there was no mistake. How far gone are you?’

Danuta bit her lip, not quite daring to meet the older woman’s eyes. ‘Five months,’ she replied. ‘If you wish me to leave,’ she rushed on, ‘then I would ask you to give me time to find another billet.’

‘Oh, my dear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘I’m not about to throw you out. I’m just disappointed that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.’

Danuta looked at her then and saw genuine sorrow in Peggy’s face. ‘I am sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I am thinking you would be ashamed of me. It is not good to have baby and no husband, and I did not want you to think I am bad person.’

Peggy gave her a sad smile as she lightly brushed Danuta’s cheek with her fingers. ‘I would never think of you as bad, Danuta – and not really knowing your circumstances before you arrived here, how could I judge you?’

Danuta felt a surge of hope. ‘Then you are not angry?’

‘Why should I be?’ Peggy looked genuinely surprised. ‘These things happen – especially during wartime when the future is so uncertain.’ She blushed a little and dipped her chin. ‘I’ll let you into a little secret,’ she whispered as she drew nearer. ‘I was expecting Anne before I took my marriage vows at the end of the last war – so I do understand, Danuta. Really I do.’

Danuta felt a great tide of warm affection for Peggy Reilly and only just managed to resist throwing her arms about her. ‘So, I can stay here?’

‘Of course. You’ll need to be looked after, and once the baby arrives then I’m sure we can come to some arrangement over babysitting and such.’

‘But you will soon have your own grandchild to care for.’

‘The more the merrier,’ said Peggy, and laughed. ‘Don’t look so flabbergasted, Danuta, what did you expect? For me to turn my back on you?’ She shook her head and drew Danuta into a warm embrace. ‘Your brother was much loved, and it’s an honour to help his sister in her time of need.’

Danuta hugged her back, the baby moving between them.

Peggy slowly released her and giggled. ‘Lively little chap, isn’t he?’

At Danuta’s shy smile, Peggy patted her cheek. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort out all the paperwork for the extra rations and vitamins.’ Her smile was bright, her eyes watery. ‘Think of us as your family, Danuta. We will take care of you and your baby for as long as you need us.’

Danuta was close to tears as well. ‘I must go to Polly,’ she snuffled into a handkerchief. ‘She will wonder where I have got to.’

‘Do you want me to telephone the Red Cross and let them know you won’t be in today?’

‘Please.’

‘And do you want me to register you with our doctor and arrange for the district nurse to call round?’

Danuta shook her head. ‘I already have doctor, and I see midwife at clinic.’ She took a hesitant step towards Peggy and quickly planted a soft kiss on her fragrant cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she breathed and, before she could make a complete idiot of herself by bursting into tears, Danuta fled back to the hospital.

Polly and Danuta sat in the relatives’ waiting room as others came and went and the clock ticked ever more slowly through the long, anxious hours. Cups of tea had been brought by a probationer and left to grow cold, cigarettes had been smoked and mashed out into the large ashtray that sat on a low side table, and the linoleum covered floor had been paced. It felt as if they were in a cage, and Polly was as restless as a tiger.

They were sitting alone when Peggy arrived at eight-thirty with a flask and a packet of sandwiches. She shut the door firmly behind her and sat down on one of the uncomfortable chairs that lined the walls. ‘You left without breakfast, and I know what the tea is like in these places,’ she muttered.

As she unscrewed the lid of the flask, the heavenly aroma of real coffee drifted into the room. ‘Don’t ask how I got this,’ she warned softly. ‘Let’s just say I found it at the back of the larder.’

‘If I know Jim,’ murmured Polly, with a wan smile, ‘it more likely fell off the back of a lorry.’

‘Lorries and husbands certainly have their uses,’ Peggy chuckled. She tapped the side of her nose and winked before digging into her string bag for the china cups. ‘I thought we’d appreciate our treat even more out of proper china,’ she murmured as she began to pour the coffee.

Polly’s mouth watered as the dark, milky coffee was divided between them and, as she took her first sip, she realised she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a perfect drink. It was ambrosia, soothing and sweet – and yet sharp enough to give her the boost she’d needed so badly.

Once every drop had been drained, the sandwiches were handed round, and although Polly didn’t feel in the least bit hungry, she discovered she could manage at least two of the lovely soft rounds of bread with their home-made blackberry jam filling. They made her feel like a child again, bringing back the haunting memories of that long-ago seaside holiday with her parents.

‘Mrs Brown?’

They turned as one to regard the tall, grey-bearded man in the smart suit and waistcoat who stood in the doorway. A smoking pipe was clenched in the corner of his mouth, his white, curling eyebrows looked as if they’d been brushed daily, and his thumbs were dug into his waistcoat pockets where a fine gold watch and chain dangled across his broad chest.

‘Yes?’ Polly got to her feet fearfully. This had to be Mr Fortescue – or God himself if Matron was to be believed.

‘Mrs Brown.’ His voice was a deep, rich baritone, and when he smiled, his face lit up, making him appear benign and fatherly. ‘I’m Mr Fortescue, and I apologise for not having spoken to you before this,’ he said, as he shook her hand.

‘Now, you’re not to worry, Mrs Brown,’ he continued as he took the pipe from his mouth and inspected its contents. ‘The operation was more straightforward than I anticipated, and your husband is now being looked after in the recovery ward.’

‘Was it more shrapnel? Is there any damage to his brain?’

‘Ah, yes, I was forgetting. You’re on the nursing staff here.’ He stuck the pipe back in his mouth and puffed on it as he once again dug his thumbs into the waistcoat pockets. ‘It was a blood clot, Mrs Brown. A rather nasty one, but I got it all out and stitched him up again quick smart.’

‘What is your prognosis for recovery time?’

He raised a magnificent eyebrow. ‘He should wake within the next hour or so, and if he does not succumb to further clots or infection, I expect to see an improvement over the next few weeks.’

‘Weeks?’ breathed Polly. ‘But he’s already been here for over three months.’

He looked down at her, his expression kindly beneath those fearsome brows. ‘These things can’t be hurried, Mrs Brown, and although I can understand how impatient you must be to see him fit again, you must let nature run its course. He has some way to go yet to full recovery, and I wouldn’t expect him to leave here until the New Year at the very earliest.’

‘Oh.’ Polly’s spirits deflated and she found she had to sit down, for her legs simply wouldn’t hold her any more. ‘I was hoping we could go to Scotland for Christmas,’ she murmured.

‘He is certainly not fit enough to travel to Scotland,’ Fortescue said firmly. ‘And I doubt he will be for some time to come.’ He lowered his brows and eyed her intently. ‘I hope you aren’t planning to leave us, Mrs Brown? Your husband’s recovery depends in part on your regular visits to his bedside. The sight of a loved one perks up patients no end, and I firmly believe it speeds the healing process.’

Polly bit back the tears and swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I’ll be here all the while he needs me,’ she replied.

‘Good, good.’ He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. ‘You may visit for five minutes in about an hour. He should be coming round from the anaesthetic by then, but I warn you, he will be groggy and not making much sense until it’s worn off.’

He smiled at Polly. ‘I’m needed elsewhere,’ he muttered around the pipe-stem. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Brown.’

* * *

It was now the middle of November. Ten days had passed since Adam’s operation and, as Mr Fortescue had promised, he seemed to be making much better progress. The plaster casts had finally been removed from his leg and arm, the awful scar on his chest was fading nicely to a thin white line, and his head bandages had been reduced to a single strip of gauze which covered the cotton padding over the entry of his last operation.

Polly knew how close he’d come to death, for she’d surreptitiously read his notes. If that blood clot had moved more swiftly, it would have killed him instantly. Mr Fortescue might not be a god but, in Polly’s estimation, he was damned close to being one, and she joined the ranks of his greatest admirers.

Adam’s recovery could be seen every time Polly visited, and she knew he was feeling very much better when he began to complain that he was bored and restless. His physiotherapy wasn’t due to start for two weeks, and although the nurses massaged the wasted muscles in his arm and leg, he was frustrated at being kept in his bed.

Polly tried to persuade him that it was too soon to be up and about, but being a man, he wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t until Mr Fortescue read him the riot act that he finally took notice – but he did it with little grace, and by each evening, he was morose and out of sorts. He’d always been an active man, good at sport, fit and healthy, and Polly could understand his frustration, but she did wish he wouldn’t be quite so grumpy during visiting hour.

Kate Jackson finally came to Beach View with the news that there would be a special link set up between the two hospitals so that Alice could speak to both her parents. Matron had agreed to this, and Mr Fortescue had given permission for Adam to be taken to her office in a wheelchair. Polly was over-joyed, but it left her with a serious dilemma. She would now have to tell Adam why Alice was in Scotland.

It was the day before the link-up and Polly could leave it no longer. She got special permission from Matron to go on to the ward early that morning so she could tell him while he was still in a good frame of mind.

‘Hello, Pol,’ he said cheerfully. ‘What are you doing here so early?’

Polly sat down and took a deep breath. ‘Darling, there’s something I have to tell you.’ She saw the fear flash in his eyes and hurried to reassure him. ‘It’s not something bad – well, not all of it – but mostly it’s wonderful.’

He winced as he dragged himself up the pillows, but his gaze was steady and questioning. ‘Go on,’ he murmured.

Polly gathered the tattered remnants of her courage and told him everything. From the day she’d said goodbye to them, to the miraculous day when she’d learnt that Alice was alive. She was aware of his blue eyes darkening at times with anger, saw the tears shine before he blinked them away – but his gaze never left her face as he gripped her hand.

‘So, that’s why Alice is in Scotland,’ she finished. ‘And tomorrow we’ll be able to speak to her on the telephone line they’ve opened especially.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me before this?’ he asked gruffly.

‘Because you were too ill, and I was afraid it would make you worse. I was also frightened you would hate me for sending her away in the first place,’ she admitted in a whisper. ‘And I was already feeling guilty enough and couldn’t have borne that.’

He studied her for a long moment, and then reached up and tenderly wound his fingers through her tangle of curls. ‘My poor little Polly,’ he said, his voice unsteady, his eyes suspiciously bright. ‘How could I ever hate you? You’re my most precious girl, my beautiful Rapunzel with hair that sparks fire and eyes that make my heart beat faster.’