He shook his head. ‘No, but I haven’t been entirely honest, either.’
‘You’re married, is that it?’
‘No! I swear to you Flora there is only...’
Only you.
He stopped himself just in time. ‘I’m not married. It’s not that.’
‘Then what?’ She furrowed her brow. ‘Something to do with your family? Is that the reason you have not been home for so long, despite the fact that you obviously miss them. It’s complicated. I remember that’s what you said.’
The wind had died down. Outside, a golden eagle soared high above them then plunged suddenly out of view. Geraint unfurled his fingers from the steering wheel. ‘They think I left because I thought I was too good for the mines. They don’t know it’s because—because I couldn’t cope.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘It’s not the dark, as such,’ he said. ‘It’s knowing that you can’t get out. The first time I went down in the cage, I was sick. I got the shakes just standing at the pit head. The mineshaft was the worst, but it’s not the only place. Any small room, any tight space...’
‘Like the attics at Glen Massan?’ Flora asked gently.
‘Was it that obvious?’
‘At the time I put it down to strain. Overwork.’
‘Overwrought, maybe, blubbing like a girl,’ Geraint said grimly. ‘That’s what they used to say, those toffee-nosed bullies at the grammar school.’
‘What did they do to you?’
‘They called it the coffin. It was a cellar, really. The older boys used to lock the younger ones in it, as a punishment for breaking their pathetic so-called rules. Needless to say, once they saw my reaction, I was targeted mercilessly.’
Flora stared at him in horror. ‘Of course, that day in the wine cellar at Glen Massan—that’s why you looked so dreadful, it must have been a horribly painful reminder. My God, Geraint, they locked you up, knowing that you were afraid of such places, knowing what it would do to you. That is monstrous. Surely your father—when you told him...’
‘Tell him what, exactly, that I’m a nancy boy afraid of the dark?’
‘So you did nothing?’
‘I became a better fighter.’ He couldn’t bear the pity on her face, and gazed directly ahead at the windscreen. ‘I didn’t tell you this to win your sympathy. I need you to understand. I left the mine because it got to the point where I couldn’t sleep, worrying about whether or not I’d be able to force myself to get in the cage, whether I’d get through the day without throwing my guts up or giving in to the need to get out, up, away. I was good at covering for myself, but there were times...’ He stopped, shuddering, remembering the close calls. ‘There’s a sort of code among miners. It’s a bit like the army. You can’t let on that you’re afraid. You daren’t admit to weakness—it’s shameful and it’s there to be exploited. My father wouldn’t have been able to hold his head up if anyone found out how I felt, and he is a very proud man, Flora.’
‘So you suffered—my goodness, how you must have suffered. And then you lied to protect him. Even though he’s your father, and he might have understood?’
‘He wouldn’t have.’ Geraint ran his fingers through his hair. He’d had it cut, more hacked than cut, by an army barber. ‘Even if he did, he’d blame himself for expecting me to go down there in the first place, or for not spotting that I was struggling. I wouldn’t want that.’ He covered his wristwatch, twisting the strap around and around.
‘You love him very much,’ Flora said.
‘Quietly like,’ Geraint replied, his accent deliberately broad. ‘It wouldn’t do to say it, mind.’ His faint smile faded. ‘I signed up partly because I wanted to make him proud of me. Because I wanted to prove that I wasn’t a coward. I signed up before we had any idea what this war would become, and what it’s become is a— It’s my worst nightmare, Flora.’
Her hand went to her throat. ‘The trenches.’
Geraint clenched his fists, forcing himself to finish what he had started. ‘I panic. It’s not just the nausea and the sweats, I panic. I want to run. I can’t explain, but it’s almost impossible to stop myself. And sometimes I freeze. Can you imagine how that will look?’ He closed his eyes, partly to avoid seeing the realisation dawn on her face, partly to remind himself of the harsh reality of his condition. ‘What if I can’t even get into the trenches in the first place, never mind live there for weeks at a time, like a rat in a sewer? What if I run? They shoot you for cowardice, you know. They court martial you, and they tie you to a post in front of a firing squad.’ He dropped his head into his hands. ‘Imagine what that would do to my parents, having their son shot as a coward. Imagine what it would do to you, Flora, learning that the man you love is a traitor to his country.’
He forced himself to look at her. ‘I’m not afraid of fighting, I’ve done enough of that in my time, but I’m afraid I won’t get the chance to fight. I’m afraid that my weakness will be the cause of other men’s pain and suffering and death. My comrades. My countrymen. The men I enlisted to fight beside, to prove myself to. I’m afraid I won’t be able to hide it, that they’ll see my fear. There will be no glory for me in this war, Flora, you have to understand that. The best I can hope for is to be killed in action, but the most likely thing is that I’ll die a coward. You can’t love a man like me. I won’t let you. You deserve better.’
* * *
Flora stared at him, unable to make sense of what he was saying. ‘You think you’re a coward?’ she finally managed, bewildered by this more than anything. ‘You think this fear that you have no control over makes you weak?’
‘If I was stronger, I’d be able to overcome it.’
‘How long did you work in the mine?’
‘Two years.’
‘Two years! For two years, you went down into that pit, knowing what it would do to you, struggling to keep it under control, and you think you are weak!’
‘Flora, you saw what I was like in your father’s wine cellar. I virtually passed out. I didn’t tell you this to have you try to make me feel better about myself.’
Her head felt as if it might explode. ‘Then why did you tell me?’
‘Because I need someone to know the truth, and because I need you to see how pointless it is, wasting your love on someone like me.’
She thought she might be sick, then a wave of fury swept over her. ‘You told me this...this terrible, awful thing about yourself to stop me loving you!’ She stared at him in utter disbelief. ‘Do you really think I am so shallow! And so weak!’
‘Flora!’
She shrank from him. ‘You are the one who has been telling me all along that I am stronger than I thought I was. It was you who encouraged me to look beyond Glen Massan. It’s your voice I could hear when I wrote all those letters applying for various posts.’
‘What posts?’
‘I’m leaving for France. Next month, in January sometime, to help establish field canteens behind the lines.’ Determinedly, she bit her lip and met his gaze full on. ‘I thought you would approve, since I cannot have you...’
He caught her hand, gripping it painfully tight between his own. ‘It’s impossible. Have you not been listening to me?’
‘You mean it. I don’t doubt your sincerity, Geraint, and I am touched beyond words that you have confided in me today, but you are utterly wrong.’ Her voice sounded so cold, but it was the only way she could keep control over herself. Later, she would be devastated, but for now, she was angry, not with Geraint but with what had shaped him.
‘You said that you wanted honesty between us. Very well, then, here is my version of it, though it will pain you. I love you. I think you are the bravest man I have ever met, and I think you are possibly the most stubbornly pig-headed, too. I don’t know how you will cope in the trenches, but I do know that you will always put others first. No, don’t interrupt, just listen. Your compassion is what drives you. You have gone to extreme lengths to protect your family from the knowledge of your condition, to save them embarrassment, hurt, guilt. Something so deep-rooted will not fail you if you go to war.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘I do. I know you. I love you. If something happens—if you die—I will feel as if part of me has died, too, but I will carry on, because I know it is what you would want. I will know, no matter the circumstances, that you have died a brave man, Geraint. And if you were wounded, I know I would cope then, too. I don’t know how, or how well, but I would cope because you would still be you, the man I love, and I would rather have that than nothing.’
‘Flora...’
She shook her head, pulling her hand free. ‘I know you don’t feel the same way. I’ve thought about it and thought about it, and it’s the only explanation, because if you loved me, you’d want to take a chance on us having some sort of future, no matter how brief. But you don’t.’
‘I want you to be free of me.’
The lump in her throat made it impossible to reply to this. Flora nodded, biting hard on the inside of her cheek. ‘I know,’ she whispered.
His eyes were dark, his expression unbearably sad. ‘You’ll survive. I need you to survive.’
Without him, he meant. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I know you will, and your best is infinitely better than you ever imagined it could be.’
Putting on his cap, Geraint got out of the car and turned the starting handle. The powerful engine roared to life.
Chapter Nine
H
e had lied to Flora. Twice. The travel warrant dated today, not tomorrow—his white lie—had been folded inside his top tunic pocket when he drove her back to the Lodge from the Rest and be Thankful. He had turned straight around and onto the main road after he left her, parking the staff car at the tiny local train station where it would be picked up by a returning officer later that day. It was not for fear that Flora would try to change his mind that he had lied, but fear that he would allow her to.
The ill-fitting windows in third class blew a permanent draught through the carriage. The slatted wooden seats were uncomfortable. The train trundled slowly through the isolated stations, making countless unscheduled and seemingly pointless stops at lonely farmhouses and road junctions. Geraint sat deep in thought, oblivious of both the train’s discomfort and snail-like progress. His second lie lay black on his conscience. Flora thought he did not love her.
He loved her, all right. He loved her so much that every second, every passing mile that took him away from her felt like a stab to his already bruised heart. And she loved him. Flora’s words rang in his ears, circled his head, gnawed at his resolve. She loved him, despite his secret shame. She believed in him. She wanted him, no matter how maimed. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him. The words merged themselves into the rhythm of the metal wheels on the track.
And he loved her. Painfully. Deeply. Utterly. Brave Flora, who was willing to test herself to the limits, knowing that she might fail. Flora, who had not pleaded or attempted blackmail or even wept. Flora, who had loved him enough to let him go, though she believed he was wrong.
Was he?
He was afraid of being a coward, yet here he was, running away from the most astounding, wonderful, perfect thing that had ever happened to him, and telling himself that he was being brave and noble for doing it. Looking down at the stripes on his arm, it occurred to him that he had never, not once, allowed himself to believe he would survive the war. Yes, he had talked of his political ambitions, but they had faded the moment the reality of life in the trenches became clear. He assumed he would die because he thought he did not deserve to live. He had acted as judge and jury on his own conduct before he’d even had a chance to prove himself, just as he’d judged Flora and her family before he’d ever met them. And he’d been wrong on that one.
Flora was not afraid of failing. He had failed her, was failing her, with every mile of railway track that stretched between him and the woman he loved. The woman he was wilfully surrendering for no other reason than that he was afraid! What was he more afraid of, his claustrophobia or losing her?
As the train clanked into another tiny station, Geraint grabbed his kit back and cap.
Carpe diem
, Flora was forever saying. ‘Bloody right, I’ll seize it,’ he told the bewildered guard as he jumped onto the platform.
* * *
The next morning, Flora sat at the dining room table in the lodge staring down at her notebook. She was attempting to prepare a list of tasks she must complete before she left for France, but the page remained stubbornly blank as her mind drifted back once more to those last moments with Geraint. He had made no attempt to kiss her goodbye. She was relieved, in a way, though it was one more piece of evidence that he didn’t love her. She had decided it would be too painful to seek him out again. Just as well, as she had learned this morning from one of the other men, ribbing her about needing a new boyfriend, that he had left yesterday. As she had lain in her bed last night, imagining all sorts of impossible scenarios in which they met in the bothy to make love for the last time, he was already on the train heading south.
She was picking up her pencil for the umpteenth time when the doorbell rang, swiftly followed by a rapid, insistent thumping on the door itself. Her mother was in the village folding yet more bandages. Her father was also out. Sighing heavily, Flora got up and pulled open the front door.
Geraint was haggard, unshaven and wild-eyed. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I need to talk to you. Urgently.’
‘But—you left.’
‘That’s what I need to talk to you about. Flora, for pity’s sake, I’ve hardly any time. Please.’
She stood aside to let him past, ushering him into the dining room. ‘Is something wrong? You look dreadful.’
‘I’ve been trying to get back here since yesterday evening. Missed the last train. Had to spend the night in the station.’
‘You’re shaking. Sit down. Can I get you some food? Something hot to drink?’
‘No!’ Geraint threw his cap down on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Sorry, but there’s no time. If I’m not at the station in Arrochar in two hours to pick up the train south, I’ll be officially absent without leave by the time I get to my barracks.’