Authors: Lily Baxter
‘A person can only take so much and I think she’d reached her limit. She hasn’t eaten enough to keep a fly alive. Maybe she’ll pick up now you’re here.’
‘I’ll go and see her now, and then perhaps we could both have something to eat. I had a sandwich at Waterloo but it was awful.’
‘Look on the bright side,’ Annie said with a grim smile. ‘At least you won’t have to pretend to enjoy your granny’s rock cakes today. The poor soul hasn’t felt like baking, and we can’t barter for extras from Farmer Drake now we’ve run out of the embrocation. Mind you, Elzevir’s been much better for being sober.’ She headed for the stairs. ‘I’ll put your things
in
your room and then I’ll see what I can find in the pantry, but don’t expect anything fancy.’
Miranda went to the small sitting room and found her grandmother, as Annie had predicted, sitting in her chair staring out over the garden to the sea with Dickens curled up asleep on her lap. ‘Granny.’
Maggie turned her head and Miranda was shocked by the gauntness of her face and the dark shadows underlining her eyes. Granny had always looked younger than her years but suddenly she looked her age and more. Miranda rushed over to put her arms around her. ‘I’m here now. I came as soon as I could.’ Dickens leapt to the floor, waving his tail in affront, and went to sit on the windowsill where he proceeded to wash himself.
‘There’s no need to strangle me, dear,’ Maggie said, sounding a little more like her old self. She returned the hug and then pushed Miranda gently away. ‘Sit down and let me look at you.’
Miranda pulled up the stool and sat down. ‘How is Jack taking it, Granny?’
‘Badly, I’m afraid. He’s got a couple of days’ compassionate leave left, but I’m afraid he’s in no fit state to fly a plane. He stays in his room, pacing the floor or standing on the widow’s walk staring into nothing. He won’t eat and I doubt if he sleeps much either. I’ve never seen him like this, Miranda. It frightens me.’
‘I’ve never known you to be scared of anything, Granny. If you give up then who do we turn to?
Maybe
Jack needs you to give him a proverbial kick up the arse.’
Maggie recoiled visibly. ‘Miranda. I never thought I’d hear such vulgar words coming from your lips. You’re obviously mixing with the wrong sort of people.’
‘I’ve been out in the real world, Granny. I’m not the prissy young snob that I was when the war started. They used to call me Goody Two-Shoes when I first arrived at Henlow, but I’ve lived that nickname down now.’
‘I’m not sure I approve.’
‘But at least I’ve got you talking. Annie’s very worried about you.’
‘She’s an old woman and she fusses.’
‘And you are the one who keeps this family together. Please go upstairs and talk to Jack. He’ll listen to you.’
Maggie stared at her for a moment, and then she rose to her feet. ‘You’re right, Miranda. I’ve been thinking too much about my own feelings and not enough about poor Jack. I’ve neglected your grandfather too.’ She twisted her lips into a wry smile. ‘Perhaps I needed a kick up the arse too.’
Miranda was sitting at the kitchen table finishing off her boiled egg and soldiers. Eating a nursery meal in such familiar surroundings was both nostalgic and comforting, even if Annie seemed to think that she was still a child. She looked up expectantly
as
the door opened and her grandmother walked in and slumped down at the table opposite her.
‘How is Jack? Is he all right?’
Maggie nodded dully. ‘He will be, in time. I think I’ve persuaded him to come down later but perhaps you’d go up and see him, Miranda. He might be able to speak more freely to you than to me.’
‘The hens are laying well,’ Annie said, standing arms akimbo. ‘You can have yours boiled, poached or scrambled, Mrs B.’
Miranda left the table and hurried from the kitchen, leaving them to argue about how her grandmother wanted her egg cooked. The sound of their raised voices was an encouraging sign and she hoped that perhaps things would slowly return to as near normal as was possible after such a terrible loss. If her grandmother and Annie ever stopped their verbal sparring, life at Highcliffe House would never be the same again. She headed for the stairs with a feeling of relief mixed with trepidation. She must face Jack but she felt suddenly at a loss for words.
He was outside on the widow’s walk and he had his back to her. She glanced round the room and her heart contracted as she saw Isabel’s things scattered about on the bed and the small nursing chair in the far corner. The dressing table was littered with makeup, hair brushes and combs and a framed photograph of Jack and Isabel on their wedding day. A suitcase, half packed, lay open on the floor. They
must
have been planning to move into a place of their own before the fatal air raid. Miranda swallowed hard and braced herself to face Jack. She went to the window and threw up the sash, bending down in order to step outside into the sunshine.
‘I thought that Mother would send you up next,’ Jack said, without looking at her. ‘She told me that you were here.’
Miranda stood beside him. ‘You must miss her terribly. I know it’s stating the obvious, but I don’t know what else to say.’
‘I still can’t believe that she’s gone.’ Jack clutched the parapet. ‘Sometimes I think I’ll chuck myself off the cliff into the sea and end it all.’
‘I can understand that.’
He turned his head to stare at her in surprise. His eyes were swollen and red-rimmed and he had two days’ growth of stubble on his chin. ‘What am I going to do, Miranda?’
She had never seen him like this before and it was a shock, but she made an effort to hide her feelings and she managed a smile as she rested her hand on his. ‘Try having a wash and a shave as a first step. I’m not being horrible, Jack, but you don’t smell too good.’
His dark eyes filled with tears and he twisted his lips into a rictus grin. ‘Trust you to be practical, kid.’
‘That’s me, Jack.’ She stepped back into the bedroom and waited until he was safely inside the room before closing the window. ‘I don’t want to
interfere
, but might I clear away some of Izzie’s things while you’re in the bathroom? Just to tidy them up, Jack. You know she wouldn’t want to see you living in such a mess.’
He hesitated for a moment, staring at the open suitcase. ‘She was such a tidy girl. She’d started packing because she’d found a flat in town. She telephoned me at the aerodrome to tell me about it and she was so excited …’ His voice broke on a sob. ‘Sorry. I still can’t bear to talk about it.’
‘She was happy. You made her happy and that’s what you’ve got to hold on to.’
‘But she’s gone and I’ll never see her again. I’ll never know if our child was a boy or a girl. I don’t think I can carry on without her.’
Miranda took a step towards him but she realised that this was not the time for overt sympathy. She wanted to give him a cuddle and tell him that everything was going to be all right, but she knew that it was untrue. Jack had loved Isabel deeply and the pain of losing her and their child might fade in time, but would never quite go away. She laid her hand on his arm. ‘She wouldn’t want you to give up, Jack. You’ve got to keep up the fight. You can’t let a tyrant win.’
‘When did you grow up, Miranda? Just yesterday you were a little girl.’
‘War does that to people, and I’m on your side, Jack. I’ve been transferred to Warmwell, starting tomorrow. We’ll face this together.’
His lips twisted into a travesty of a smile as he moved to the door and opened it. ‘I suppose I’d better tidy myself up before I go downstairs.’
‘Good for you.’ Following him onto the landing, she heard Annie’s voice calling her name with a degree of urgency. Miranda leaned over the banisters. ‘What is it?’
‘There’s a young lady to see you. Says her name’s Fliss or it could have been Phyllis, my hearing isn’t what it used to be.’
Miranda was already halfway down the first flight of stairs before Annie had finished speaking.
Chapter Twenty
FELICITY MADDERN WAS
standing in the hallway, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
‘Fliss,’ Miranda said breathlessly. ‘Has something happened to Gil? He hasn’t taken a turn for the worse, has he?’
‘No. It’s nothing like that.’ Felicity stood awkwardly, clutching her handbag with gloved hands. ‘I tried to contact you at Henlow but they told me you’d come home on compassionate leave.’
Miranda’s heartbeats had slowed from racing madly to almost normal. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be patient with Felicity who obviously had something to say but was having difficulty in finding the words. ‘Come into the drawing room and you can tell me what’s on your mind.’ Without waiting for an answer she led the way, opening the door and ushering Felicity into the room. ‘Make yourself comfortable and I’ll get Annie to make us some tea.’
Felicity slumped down on the nearest chair. ‘No, please don’t bother. I’d rather get this off my chest first.’
‘Okay.’ Miranda took a seat close to her. ‘Fire away.’
‘Gil thinks that you’ve forgotten him. He told me he wrote to you but you didn’t reply.’
‘But I’ve written to him every day. Didn’t he tell you that?’
Felicity averted her gaze. ‘Mummy found out that someone was forwarding your letters to Gil and she intercepted them. I wanted to tell him but he’s going through a bad patch, and I didn’t know how he’d take it.’
‘But you said he wasn’t any worse.’
‘It’s not his physical condition. In fact he’s improving daily and the doctors are quite optimistic, but of course they won’t commit themselves to anything. It’s Gil’s mental state that’s worrying me. He’s terribly depressed and I’m certain it’s because he thinks you’ve given up on him.’
Miranda leapt to her feet. ‘That’s awful and it’s absolutely untrue. I asked for a transfer to an aerodrome nearer home so that I could visit him in hospital.’
‘Really?’ Felicity relaxed visibly. ‘I’m so glad, Miranda. I think my mother was wrong to keep you from seeing Gil. He’s crazy about you and if anyone can cheer him up, it’s you.’
Miranda stared at her, frowning. ‘I’ve got to start at Warmwell tomorrow but I could come with you today, if you think you can get me into the hospital without some dragon stopping me. I can imagine
that
your mother has had sentries posted at all the doors.’
‘That’s not so far from the truth.’ Felicity rose to her feet. ‘Could we leave right away?’
‘Yes, of course, but we’ll have to hurry if we’re to get the midday train.’
‘No need. I’ve been saving my petrol ration and I drove here in the hope that you’d come to the hospital with me. I can’t wait to see Gil’s face when he sets eyes on you.’
His wheelchair had been placed beneath an oak tree in the hospital grounds. The early spring sunshine sent a dappled shade through the branches where tight bronze leaf buds were beginning to unfurl. He was well wrapped up against the blustery wind, and an open book lay on his lap, but he was staring into space, apparently lost in thought.
Miranda approached him slowly, and was suddenly nervous. It had seemed so right when she agreed to accompany Felicity to the hospital, but now she was having second thoughts and wondering if she had done the right thing by coming to see Gil. Giving him hope might prove to be a cruel deception, particularly when she was still unsure of her own feelings. Maybe she ought to have listened to his mother’s warnings. Miranda was tempted to turn and run in the opposite direction, but although she could not see his face she could sense his helplessness and feel something of the desperation
that
must accompany such a disability in a previously strong and active young man. She drew nearer. ‘Gil.’ She had spoken in a whisper but he turned his head and a smile suffused his face.
‘Miranda. You came.’
‘I would have been here sooner but things were difficult.’
He gulped and swallowed, shaking his head. ‘You’ll have to forgive me for being such a fool, but I get emotional over such little things these days. It must be my second childhood or something.’
She knelt on the damp grass beside him, taking his good hand in hers. ‘You’ve been incredibly brave, and you’re looking heaps better than when I last saw you.’
‘It’s the nurses’ obsession with fresh air that’s done it. I’m wheeled about the grounds like an infant in a pram.’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry. That sounds pathetic.’
She squeezed his fingers. ‘No, it doesn’t. You’ve been to hell and back and I wish I’d been able to help.’
‘You are helping. Just seeing you has made me feel better.’ He withdrew his hand gently, his smile fading. ‘How are things with you?’
His tone was suddenly polite but impersonal and he seemed to have retreated into himself. She shivered even though it was not a cold day, and she rose to her feet. ‘I’m not the important one, Gil. It’s how you are that matters.’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ll live. I might not walk again but I’ll survive.’
The bitterness of his voice shocked her. ‘Stop it. Don’t talk as if you’ve given up. That’s not the Mad Dog I know.’
‘Mad Dog died when he ditched his kite in the sea.’
‘That’s rubbish. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You can’t give up now. I won’t let you.’
He shot her a sideways glance, squinting into the sunlight. ‘Do you really care, Miranda? I mean it’s nice of you to visit the halt and the lame, but you can return to your normal life. I can’t.’
‘I do care. I care terribly and I’ve written to you every day even though you only replied to one of them.’ She was angry now; too angry to bother to conceal his mother’s attempts to keep them apart. ‘But it seems that my letters never reached you.’
He stared at her, unblinking. ‘What?’
‘Your mother decided that I would be a bad influence. She thought that I might lead you on and then abandon you, or something like that. I asked your friend Lionel to forward my letters to you so that Mrs Maddern wouldn’t recognise my handwriting.’ She dug her fingernails into her palms in an attempt to stop herself crying with frustration. This was supposed to have been a happy reunion which would jolt Gil out of his depression, but things were not going well. ‘Perhaps I’d better go. I seem to be making matters worse.’ She was about to
walk
away when he reached out and grasped her hand.