Nightingale (38 page)

Shahin was already the past. Now he had to look to the future. Claire thought he was writing to his parents, who hopefully by now were celebrating the news of him being alive, but in truth he was crafting the hardest of letters to Alice.

She was a sweet enough girl. He'd made the journey to farewell her in Melrose. They'd stood in the looming shadow of Mount Remarkable, not far from the North Star Hotel but out of sight of the pub's patrons, and Alice had cried as he'd hugged her farewell.

‘You'll come back to me, won't you, Jamie?' she'd said through a teary smile as she tried to be brave.

‘I'm coming back, Alice, I promise.'

‘And will you promise to marry me then?'

He'd felt embarrassed to be talking about marriage on the eve of his grand adventure of war in far-off lands.

‘Let's wait until I get home. We'll work it all out then.'

‘You will marry me, though, won't you, Jamie? I'm going to wait for you.'

He didn't think she had much choice. So many of his peers were going too and very few had anything but war on their minds and those left behind didn't have weddings in their immediate scheme of life. Even so, there would be a queue of farming boys who would give an arm to be with Alice.

Jamie gave a near inaudible, rueful sigh at that final thought. Strange, his arm that wasn't there was itching from its slow healing as he thought about it. He hoped that sensation would pass.

He wondered what his parents thought of the telegram message that he had married Claire. He'd read his father's letter to her, astonished and touched by its tenderness, and knew their relationship would be changed as a result.

He returned to his letter and read back what he'd written.

Hello, dear Alice,

I hope this finds you in good spirits and I'm sure it also finds you as pretty as I left you. I'm imagining that you'll still be on fire alert but hopefully the rains aren't far away with autumn arriving.

I guess you've heard by now from my parents that I made it through the war and, although I left a bit of myself behind, I am glad to be alive as so many aren't.

There is something important I need to tell you and I didn't want you to hear it from anyone but me. Finding the right words, of course, is hard and I am no wordsmith as you know so I shall just say it plain and hope you understand.

The war has changed me. I look different with only one arm now. I have an injured leg too and suspect I shall always limp but I'm learning to live with both situations and I shall be fine. In fact I can't wait to try riding again when I am fully healed. But the war has changed more than my physical appearance, dear Alice. I have changed inside too and I want to be honest with you and tell you that I cannot be with you. I realise this might bring upset to your life and to your plans, and heaven knows you deserve better than me. There are so many men in the district who would fall over each other to be lucky enough to call themselves your beau and some of them more than wealthy enough – if they made it through the war too – to make a good life for you, and give you the family you always talked about.

I have met someone. It would be wrong not to tell you this. Her name is Claire and I fell in love with her when she nursed me after I was wounded in Gallipoli. I thought I'd lost her but we found each other again in England and we have married, Alice. I feel as though I should apologise to you for falling for her, but I can't make any apology for loving Claire. She is my world now and that is how I think love should be . . . like the grassfires we used to watch from afar. Remember how the flames used to consume everything in their path? That's what our love is like. She is the fire that consumes me and while I think you might hate me for telling you all of this, I have always aimed to be honest with you.

I do want to offer my regret, though, Alice, for any hurt this letter brings. Maybe in time you will forgive me for letting you down and it is probably better we both discovered how disappointing I am for you sooner rather than later.

You are such a great girl and I wish you love and happiness with the right bloke, who is surely in that queue outside your door in Melrose right now.

I'll be home towards the end of the Australian summer and hope by then you will have forgiven me, and perhaps already found someone special who has both his arms to hold you close!

Goodbye, pretty Alice, and thanks for being such a good friend.

Jamie x

He sealed it, would address it later and post tomorrow. He slipped the envelope into his pocket and looked out at the setting sun. It seemed fitting that it was closing on its horizon, setting the sky ablaze with a golden-pink that harked back to his days on Walker's Ridge when he watched Claire's ship disappearing into the light as though it was being drawn into heaven. This sky was the colour he would always associate with his wife and he was glad it was a gold-flecked pink dusk to remind him that he loved Claire so wholly that his honest letter to Alice felt right and he should suffer no regret at telling her only the truth.

He turned and saw her now, smiling at him with a look of such pleasure that he wished he could capture this moment and store it away so that he could bring it out and feel its glow whenever he felt lonely or vulnerable. There she was, Nurse Nightingale, the golden afternoon painting her in the colour of the angel he knew she was to him. He grinned back and blew her a kiss. Claire caught it and instantly tucked it beneath her shirt. Their laughter erupted into the gloaming, where swallows, newly arrived from their migration, flew their swooping flight joyfully in the lowering light as if joining their celebration of new life.

Storytellers take liberties. And if we accept that my job as a novelist is to entertain, then I'm asking that readers knowledgeable about Gallipoli will tolerate that I may have taken a few small liberties to bring you a story to escape with. That said, I have involved myself in plenty of research: from the dozen or more books I've read on everything from anaesthesia to life in Turkey at the turn of the previous century, to the various trips I've made to the Australian War Memorial and the Imperial War Museums in England. I have walked the ANZAC site at Gallipoli with an expert guide in 2013 and spent time in Istanbul, Alexandria, Cairo and, of course, London and Radlett, where so much of the non-war action takes place.

My deepest thanks to Kenan Çelik of the Çanakkale Onsekiz Mart University in Turkey, who was a wealth of information for both the ANZAC and the Ottoman perspectives and who guided me so faithfully on my visit to Gallipoli. I must also thank Cameron Atkinson from the Australian War Memorial for his patient, tireless and always cheerful help over the course of writing
Nightingale
. Love and thanks to Chris Sweeting in Hong Kong, who grew up in Radlett and gave me a wonderful guided tour and insight into its post-war layout, life and people, for helping me to find the perfect house for Eugenie but especially for sharing the secret fairy tree in the woods! Louse Furrow from California – what a star you are for helping me with the bathing scene . . . much gratitude. I'm grateful to Nick Barrington-Wells at the Langham Hotel in London too for spoiling me with a pretty marvellous afternoon tea, all in the name of research, and to Paul Gauger and his team at VisitBritain.

Thank you to the wonderful Penguin Group for its sterling support – special nod to the fabulous trio of Ali Watts, Chantelle Sturt, Lou Ryan, each amazing at what you do. Pip Klimentou, Nigelle-Ann Blaser, Sonya Caddy . . . all important first readers – thanks, your early critiques are vital and much appreciated. Wonderful booksellers and librarians around Australia and New Zealand – sincerest thanks for your brilliant support at the coalface.

Heartfelt thanks to Ian McIntosh for having my back always and to Will and Jack who never fail to make me explode into helpless laughter at least once a day, and usually at inopportune times.

The writing journey of this story was made all the more poignant because a member of the McIntosh clan gave his life at Lone Pine in 1915. Darcy Roberts was just twenty when he passed away and was like so many other braves who volunteered from Australia: he fought in a war not of his making, one that took place on the other side of the world. According to the family he was a gifted horseman and, like the majority of the mounted soldiers, he would have hated leaving behind his beloved horse in Cairo when the Light Horse Brigade was posted from Egypt to the Dardanelles to fight as infantry. The Battle of Lone Pine over three days resulted in some of the fiercest and most heroic fighting of the Turkish campaign with devastating losses on both sides, amounting to eight thousand lives given and countless injured. It's impossible not to weep when you walk through the Lone Pine cemetery, now so peaceful and picturesque.

F

1. The opening of the novel is extremely evocative. Did it reveal new aspects of the Gallipoli story for you?
   
2. When Claire and Jamie meet it is love at first sight. Do you really think it's possible to fall in love just like that?
   
3. Jamie's friendship with Spud and Claire's friendship with Eugenie are critical to this story. Discuss the ways in which these secondary characters influence our lovebirds, and the outcome of the novel.
   
4. Did the war strengthen or weaken the bond between Claire and Jamie?
   
5. Claire begs Jamie: ‘Live for me. And I will love you.' Discuss this and the role of other promises made throughout the novel.
   
6. Who do you think is the bravest character in this book?
   
7. The story contains a number of very powerful scenes. Which of those did you find most effective? Most heart-wrenching? Most satisfying?
   
8. Did you ever hope that Claire would surrender to Rifki's charms?
   
9. I think we all like to imagine that Rifki will find his own happy ending. What do you imagine happens to him after our story concludes?
   
10. How many instances of tea drinking can you find throughout the novel? What are the different functions of it in the story?
    
11. If Gallipoli symbolises all that is hopeless about war, why do we continue to throw our young men and women into conflict? Have we learned much about war since WWI? Discuss the symbolism of the birds in the story.