The Color of Secrets (16 page)

Eddie was sitting at the kitchen table when she let herself in. He had done exactly as he was told. Cutlery, plates, cups, and saucers were laid out neatly and the kettle set on the stove to boil. While they were eating, she steered the subject away from Eva. She asked him about his injuries, hoping that this would fill enough time for them to finish the meal.

But she was unprepared for the effect her question would have. It was as if she had opened the floodgates to a tidal wave of the most harrowing memories. Her soup went cold as she listened, openmouthed, to the horrors he had endured in Burma.

“They took us to the jungle in a truck,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Five days and nights it took to get there. Thirty-five of us, packed in like sardines. Couldn’t all sit or lie down at the same time. Then we had to walk along two rivers. Sixteen miles in the dark each night so we wouldn’t be seen. Best part of two weeks, that took. One of my pals, Stan, got sick.” He paused, staring at his plate. “I had to carry him or the Japs would’ve shot him.” He looked up and Cathy saw that his eyes had filmed over with tears. “I should have let them: probably would’ve been the kindest thing.” He sniffed. “They made us cut logs from the jungle to build a bloody railway from Bangkok to Rangoon. It was so hot we worked naked except for two bits of rag tied round our waist and between our legs.”

Eddie stirred his soup with his spoon and broke off a piece of bread, staring at the coarse gray crust. “There wasn’t much to eat. Most days it was nothing but a bowl of rice gruel with maybe a slice of onion in it.” He grunted. “One bloke found a fig tree, and we ate figs for days.

“The weight was just falling off us,” he went on, after taking a bite of bread, “but if you weren’t fit for work, you got no food at all. They could see Stan was on his knees, but they told him to dig out this great big tree stump. Four foot across, it was. No one man could shift it on his own. When he collapsed, they strung him up by his arms. Looked like Jesus on the cross.” He blinked and looked away. “Three days, they left him. Don’t know if he was still alive when they bayoneted him.”

In the silence that followed Cathy stared at her soup bowl, well aware that any attempt at sympathy would sound hollow. “How did you survive?” she ventured.

He drew his lips into a tight circle and let out a deep sigh. “I got what they call a tropical ulcer,” he said, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a purplish scar the size of an egg just above his elbow. “Lots of blokes got them. Only had to graze yourself on something and it’d turn into an ulcer. I was lucky. Mine wasn’t that bad. There were people round me with their flesh all eaten away so you could see the sinews and the bone underneath.” He paused and looked at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. No one should have to hear this stuff.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Go on—it’s all right.”

“Well, when the ulcer cleared up, they kept me in the hospital tent and made me help.” His voice wobbled and he coughed, struggling to contain his emotion. “Ninety-six amputations with a wood saw.” He looked at her with brimming eyes. “Only four men survived the shock.”

He slid his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a pencil and a sheet of paper. As Cathy watched, he began to scribble grotesque cartoons of men. Some were being tortured, others dying of horrific injuries or disease. And all around were the smiling figures of the Japanese captors. When he looked up, Cathy saw that his face was composed, with no trace of emotion.

“It helps,” he said simply, screwing the paper into a tiny ball and tossing it into the bin.

“How did you get away?” Her words sounded loud in the quiet house.

He frowned and sucked in a breath. “We were put on a prison ship when the railway was finished—those who were left, that is.” He sat for a few seconds examining the veins on the mottled backs of his hands. “On the way to Japan we were torpedoed by an Allied sub.” He paused again. “Don’t remember much about it, really. One minute I was scrubbing the deck, next I was floating about in the ocean, clinging onto a bit of driftwood. Don’t know how long I was there: started drinking seawater and that must have sent me a bit crazy. I saw this thing like a telegraph pole sticking up out of the water. It turned out to be the sub that hit us. When it came up, a bunch of Americans climbed out. They pointed a double-barreled shotgun at me and said: ‘Who the hell are you?’” He grunted a laugh. “Bit like you, eh? I must have looked a damn sight worse then than I do now.”

He pushed his plate away and glanced at the window. “They wrapped me in this beautiful white blanket. I remember how soft it felt, like silk. Couldn’t do enough for me, those boys.” He shrugged. “And here I am.” His eyes searched Cathy’s face. “Where’s Eva?”

“Eddie, there’s something I have to tell you,” she said, her stomach lurching. “The baby,” she began. “She’s
. . .
” Cathy paused, losing her nerve. Was a man in Eddie’s state of mind capable of handling this?

“She’s what?” Eddie frowned. “Has she got a birthmark like David? Did Eva tell you how stupid I was about that? Well, don’t worry, Cathy; I’ve grown up. My God, if I’d known then what
. . .
”

“No,” she interrupted, “you don’t understand. It’s not that.” She cleared her throat. “The baby’s father—the American soldier
. . .
” She took a breath. “He’s a colored man, Eddie. The baby’s colored.” She watched his face, expecting anger, disbelief, but he just gave a half smile and nodded slowly. “Don’t you see?” she said, floored by his reaction. “You can’t bring her up as your own, can you?”

“Of course I can.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “Take a look at this.” He pulled a letter from his pocket and pushed it across the table. “I wrote it while you were fetching the food.” It was addressed to the US Army, Allied Headquarters, France. The flap of the envelope had not been stuck down and she slid the letter out.

Dear Mr. —,

Thank you for offering to take my wife’s baby to America via the Red Cross. That will not be necessary as I intend to adopt the little girl and give her my name. I promise you that she will want for nothing and that I will hold no blame against my wife, as she had no way of knowing that I was alive.

Yours sincerely,

Edward Melrose

Cathy stared at the sheet of paper in stunned silence.

“Do you know his surname?” Eddie took it back and produced a pen from inside his jacket. “I need to put it in the letter and on the envelope.”

“It’s
. . .
er
. . .
Willis,” she mumbled. “He’s in the Quartermaster Corps.” She watched as he filled in the blank space on the letter in slow, painstaking script and then did the same on the envelope.

“There,” he said, sealing it up. “I’ll post it on the way to the station. Which train do I need to catch?”

“She’s in Wales.” Cathy trotted out the words as if someone else was controlling her mouth. She felt totally out of her depth, incapable of fathoming this man’s mind. “She’s gone to her uncle and aunt.”

“Ah,” Eddie said, pushing back the chair. “Better get going then. It’s quite a way, that, quite a way. Thanks for the food. You’ve been very kind.”

“Wait a minute!” she sprang to her feet. “Do you think this is wise? Are you sure you know what you’re taking on?” She tried to put herself between him and the door.

“Don’t try to stop me.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it frightened her. “I know what I’m doing.”

Chapter 17

Eddie didn’t make it to the farm that night. He got as far as Aberystwyth, only to be told that the last train to Devil’s Bridge had left half an hour ago. So he booked into a little guesthouse across the road from the station and lay on the bed, rehearsing what he was going to say to Eva.

He wondered how she would react once she’d got over the initial shock of seeing him. He got up and peered into the small square of mirror above the washbasin. He looked so different, he wasn’t sure she’d even recognize him. It was quite a while before he’d been able to look at himself. After going all those months in the jungle without once seeing his own reflection, he was frightened of what he was going to look like. But Granville, the orderly who had nursed him back to health in the American hospital camp, had made sure it had been done gently. He had washed Eddie, shaved him, and cut his hair before allowing him to look at himself.

It had taken several seconds to comprehend that the death’s head staring back from the glass was his. Cheekbones poked out of skin the texture of old leather. The bloodshot eyes had huge dark crescents underneath. And his hair. That was the biggest shock. Dark brown when he left home, it was now shot through with a wide streak of white.

But even at that moment Granville had managed to make him smile. Removing the mirror with a wry smile, he said, “You know how much Bela Lugosi had to pay those Hollywood makeup artists to make him look like you? Come on, it’s time for your cup of blood!”

Over the past couple of months he had grown used to his gaunt face, but he could tell from the way Cathy had reacted and the odd glances from people on the train that other people still found him frightening. He wondered if he should warn Eva before meeting her. Get her to come to Aberystwyth rather than just turning up unannounced at the farm. But what if she was so horrified to discover he was alive, she upped and left without a word? She could disappear, taking David with her, and he might never find her again.

He put on his jacket and went for a walk, trying to think it through. In a couple of minutes he was on the promenade, the waves crashing against the rocks below. The sound and smell of the sea still had a strange effect on him. He was filled with a mixture of panic and euphoria, remembering his helplessness as he drifted in the empty ocean and the joy at the sight of his American rescuers.

He thought of Granville again, of the kindness that had been so hard to accept after the routine inhumanity of captivity. Granville. The memory of those last days in the American hospital camp set off a surge of impotent fury, which led—inexorably—to thoughts of Eva’s baby.

He stared at the sun, a red ball sinking into the sea. It was as if all this was meant to be.

He was up early the next day, determined to be on the first train to Devil’s Bridge. He knew from the stories Eva had told that the farm was not an easy place to get to. The old man at the ticket office looked at him suspiciously when he asked for directions. He said something in Welsh, then disappeared through a door. Eddie waited for a couple of minutes, but he didn’t return. There was no one else to ask, so he wandered up the narrow main street until he spotted the village’s one and only hotel. For the price of a pot of tea he got the information he needed.

It was a long walk, but with each mile he felt his mood lift. The thought of seeing his little boy again, of making up for the indifference he had shown him when he was a baby, was uppermost in his mind. He felt an almost overpowering urge to shower the child with love. And he would do the same to Eva and her baby, if she would let him.

As he approached the farm, he could hear sheep bleating and someone whistling on the hills up above. But there was no sound coming from the farmyard. He walked up to the front door and lifted the heavy knocker. His mouth was dry. All his carefully rehearsed words had evaporated. The door was opened by a gray-haired woman who looked at him suspiciously. He recognized her from David’s christening.

“Mrs. Jenkins?” he asked. “You’re Eva’s aunt, aren’t you?” She looked at him blankly. “It’s Eddie.” He coughed, his voice catching in his throat. “Eddie Melrose. Eva’s husband.”

“
Iesu mawr!
” Rhiannon cried out, her hand flying to her mouth.

“I’m sorry: I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ve only just got back and I
. . .
” He stopped short as a chubby little boy with blond hair appeared from behind her. “This must be David!” Eddie beamed at the boy and bent down to scoop him up in his arms. David screamed and clung to Rhiannon’s legs, shouting words Eddie couldn’t understand. Rhiannon scooped him up, placing a protective hand across his head as she held him to her.

“I’m your Daddy, David.” Reaching into his bag, Eddie pulled out a teddy bear. “I’ve brought you a present!”

David twisted his head around and eyed it suspiciously. He looked at Rhiannon, who nodded. In a flash the child reached out and snatched the bear from Eddie’s grasp. Clutching the toy to his chest, he buried his head in Rhiannon’s shoulder.

“We
. . .
we
. . .
thought
. . .
” Rhiannon stuttered.

“Yes, I know,” Eddie said gently. “I’m sorry if I scared you both, but I was so desperate to get here.” He could see the confusion in her face. “I know all about the baby,” he said. “It’s all right—I’m not going to make a scene. Can I come in?”

He followed her into the kitchen and immediately caught sight of the basket where Louisa lay fast asleep. He wanted to go and look at her, but saw David run across and hover over her as if standing guard. He walked toward him and squatted down so that his head was level with the boy’s. “Is this your baby?”

David nodded.

“What’s her name?”

“Lou,” the child mumbled.

“Can I have a look at her? I promise I won’t hurt her.”

David frowned and looked over to where Rhiannon was standing. Following his gaze, Eddie saw the fear in her eyes.

“Please—you mustn’t worry.” He smiled. “I don’t blame Eva for what happened. She thought I was dead.” He reached out, stroking the tiny hand that lay curled up on the knitted blanket. “I’d like to adopt this little one, if Eva will let me.”

Rhiannon’s mouth gaped. “Adopt her? But she’s
. . .
”

“Yes, I know.” He glanced at David, then back at Rhiannon. “It doesn’t matter.” He straightened up, feeling the ache in his back from bending over. “Where’s Eva? I need to talk to her in private, if you don’t mind.”

“She’s out with the sheep at the moment.” Rhiannon looked away. Clearly she didn’t know what to make of him. “Can I make you a cup of tea while you wait?”

“No, thank you.” Eddie made for the door. “I’ll go and find her.”

Rhiannon followed him through the farmyard, her face creased with worry.

“Please don’t upset yourself.” Another man would have patted her arm or put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. But he was not the man he had once been. “I’m not angry with Eva. I just want us to be a family again.”

Eva was counting the sheep when Beth, the younger of the farm’s pair of border collies, began barking furiously. Someone was coming. She shaded her eyes against the sun, frowning at the distant figure. It wasn’t the right shape or size for her aunt. It looked like a man: a farmhand looking for work, perhaps, or a hiker who had strayed off the path. She whistled at Beth, who had now lost control of the sheep.

“Eva!” The sound of her name carried on the wind.

Who was it? One of the shearers? But they weren’t supposed to be coming until next week. She frowned, peering at the approaching man. With the sun behind him, it was impossible to make out any of his features. It wasn’t until he shouted her name again that she thought she recognized something in the voice. Beth was barking madly, running around her in circles. Now she could see the uniform, the thin body inside it. The way he walked was just like
. . .

“Eva!”

She felt sick, dizzy. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She was seeing his ghost. Her legs turned to melting wax, and she fell with a thud onto the dry, overgrazed turf.

“Eva! Sweetheart!”

The specter hovered over her as she opened her eyes. She closed them again, wishing it away. Cathy had warned her about this. Overdoing it. Spending too long outdoors in the hot sun
. . .

“I’m so sorry, darling: I didn’t mean to frighten you!”

She felt a hand stroking her forehead. And there was a faint smell of perspiration. Could he be real? She snapped her eyes open, crying out at the sight of him. “Eddie! Oh my God! Eddie!”

She must have passed out again then, because the next thing she remembered was being carried into the farmhouse. She caught a glimpse of her aunt disappearing through the back door with Louisa in her arms and David trailing behind her. She was put down on the couch in the living room and lay there, staring at the ceiling, unable to move. She could hear footsteps and the sound of cups being placed on the low table beside her.

“I’ve put a drop of brandy in your tea,” Eddie said, cradling her head as he slid her into a sitting position, then stepped back and sat down across from her. “I think it’ll do you good.”

She reached out mechanically for the tea, sipping it down. It burnt her lips, but she didn’t feel it. She stared at Eddie, frowning. Her mind would not accept what her senses were telling her. It was like trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle with pieces that didn’t fit.

“I should have warned you I was coming,” he said, “but I was afraid you’d run away.” She studied his face. He looked older. Years older. His eyes looked bigger, but that was because he had lost so much weight. Although the dark shadows beneath them made him look ill, their expression was softer, kinder than she remembered.

“I’ve seen the baby,” he went on. “She’s beautiful.”

Tears sprang unbidden into Eva’s eyes. She opened her mouth, but no words would come out. She looked at Eddie. His eyes were brimming too. She had never seen him cry. He stumbled to his feet and came to her, clinging to her, his tears soaking into her blouse.

“I’ve missed you so much!” he gasped between his sobs. “I never thought I’d hold you again!”

She felt numb. She stroked his head as if comforting an injured animal. He had seen Louisa. He knew, then. Why wasn’t he shouting, raging at her for what she had done? “I
. . .
” she faltered, her voice hoarse, “I
. . .
don’t understand.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “I
know everything.” His voice bore no edge of malice. It was matter-of-fact. “Cathy told me.”

“Cathy?” Eva stared at him, bewildered. “You’ve met Cathy?”

“She came to the house the day I arrived home.” He shook his head with a wry smile. “I gave her a hell of a fright.”

“And she told you? About
. . .
” Eva couldn’t bring herself to say Bill’s name.

“She filled me in on some of the details, yes. I’d already got the gist of what happened from a letter he’d sent to the house.”

“A letter?” Eva’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yes. He said he was in France and was arranging for the baby to be sent to America by the Red Cross.”

“Where is it? The letter?”

“Here.” He reached into his jacket pocket. “And this is a copy of the reply I sent him.”

Fresh tears filled Eva’s eyes as she read Bill’s words. When she saw what Eddie had written back, she cried out in shock. “Adopt her? And you sent this letter without even asking me first?” She lashed out at him, beating his chest with her fists. He grabbed her by the wrists, his grip powerful despite his spare frame.

“It’s all right!” He relaxed his grip and held her to him, stroking her hair as her body convulsed with sobs. “You’re angry, and you’re in a state of shock. I understand.” He cupped her chin with his hand, making her look at him. “But I want you to promise me something before you decide what you’re going to do.” He paused, waiting for the tears to subside. “I want you to hear my reasons for doing what I did—for sending that letter.”

Eva blinked, fumbling for a handkerchief. Impotent rage gave way to silent determination. Her mind marshaled the facts as she wiped her eyes. Bill was alive. He was making arrangements for Louisa. There was an address to write to. She could find him.