Authors: Penny Jordan
'Ian Holmes has mentioned that having the house centrally
heated would be a benefit to Edward, and that maybe we ought to
consider approaching the Ministry, to see if something might not be
done about relaxing the rules a little in view of the fact that Edward
is a casualty of the war, but, even if we could get permission to
purchase the materials we need for such a task, at the moment I doubt
if we could afford it.
'We do the best we can, Chivers and I between us, making
sure that both Edward's bedroom and the library always have a good fire.
'Chivers has managed to find us two men who now work here
full time… One of them, Dan Holcombe, is actually a fully
trained carpenter and he is proving a marvellous help in repairing and
restoring the house. The other, Sam Oldfield, is a little bit slow
mentally, but strong enough to do all manner of jobs which were outside
Chivers's and my own capabilities. He is wonderfully gentle and adores
David. His mother is widowed and lives in the village so that Sam is
able to walk from there to work and home again each day, while Dan
Holcombe is living in the small flat above the stables which he has
somehow or other made habitable for himself. He is a very quiet man in
his late fifties with a pronounced London accent. He says very little
about himself and I suspect that there is some sad tragedy in his life.
'It seems that his family were killed during the Blitz and
that after his discharge from the Army he could not bring himself to
return to London and his old life…'
Liz hesitated before putting down her pen. For the first
time since she had started writing her diaries, she had found it
difficult to commit her thoughts to paper. She read what she had
written and then read it again with shadows in her eyes. Her fingers
touched the smooth page, trembling a little as she traced the words, '
Today,
young Vic left us
…'
Was it really only this morning that they had got into the
car with her driving, Vic sitting a little nervously in the passenger
seat in his new suit, his hand reaching out anxiously every now and
again to touch the wallet where he was keeping his tickets and other
papers?
Both of them were silent during the drive, but it was a
good silence, between two companions who were comfortable with one
another. Every now and again one or other of them would break it, Vic
normally to warn her of some danger to the flock… some
disease or parasite which he might not already have mentioned to her.
It had been Ian Holmes who had taught her to drive, at
Edward's insistence, and this was Ian's old car.
She had thought at first that a car was a luxury they did
not need, and that besides with petrol rationing they would hardly ever
be able to use it. Even though it was second-hand, it would still take
the last of Aunt Vi's money, after the ram had been bought, but Edward
far-sightedly had pointed out that they would not always have rationing
and that in the brave new world everyone was talking about the ability
to drive and it could well become a necessity rather than a luxury.
Much to her surprise, she had discovered that she quite
enjoyed driving.
They had set off just before dawn, since young Vic's boat
was due to leave Southampton at four in the afternoon, which meant that
he had to be ready to embark at noon. She had sensed that Edward would
have preferred her not to drive Vic to the boat but to let him make his
own way there. She knew that Edward resented Vic, that he was jealous
of him. She knew in fact that Edward bitterly resented her spending
time with any other men, with the exception of Ian. He was becoming
increasingly morose, increasingly possessive, yet when she felt
impatient with him, she forced herself to remember how much she owed
him and how painfully he suffered physically and emotionally from his
wounds.
Contrarily, after a poor summer which had left her garden
bedraggled and her larder without its normal store of fruits and jams,
the last few days of September had been warm and benign.
They reached Southampton in good time and made their way
to the docks. They had to stop several times to make enquiries as to
where they could find Vic's vessel.
'Emigrating?' one man asked them, obviously mistaking them
for a married couple. 'Can't say as I blame you… There's not
a lot left for the ordinary man in this country these days. At least
that's what it seems like. You go off to fight for your country and
what happens when you get back? Like as not your wife's gone off with
some Yank, or they've got someone else… someone who never
lifted a finger to protect this country when it needed it, sitting
snugly in your old job…'
There was a lot of unrest in the country, Liz acknowledged
as they thanked him for his direction and she drove cautiously into the
open dock yard.
People were no longer content to be told what was good for
them and how they should live. The war had changed things, many of them
for ever.
The number of large vessels tied up along the dockside
surprised her, as did the number of people milling around, families
with small children saying tearful farewells…
She had read in the papers and heard on the wireless news
that many people were emigrating, making new lives for themselves in
Commonwealth countries such as Canada and Australia and New Zealand,
but to see so many people surrounded by their belongings, obviously on
the point of leaving their homeland for ever, made her feel suddenly
very insecure and emotional.
She tried to imagine how she might feel if she was leaving
England for ever… leaving Cottingdean, which had come to
mean so much to her, and she gave a tiny shiver.
Was it wrong to love a house so much? To feel so at one
with it that it was almost as though in some way she and the house were
indivisible, as though it was her spiritual home? Normally pragmatic,
she chided herself for the foolishness of her thoughts. Cottingdean
was, after all, only a house—a very beautiful and precious
house, but only a house. David, Edward… they were what was
really important.
Since they had arrived in good time, she suggested to Vic
that they look for somewhere to have a quick meal. He demurred at
first, but gave way beneath her insistence.
They drove into Southampton itself, parking the car along
with some others on a half-cleared bomb site.
It amazed her to see how much building work was going on
in the city, and she paused to gaze enviously at the industry of half a
dozen men working on the foundations of a new building, wishing
momentarily she might have their energy and expertise for just long
enough to repair a little more of the crumbling fabric of Cottingdean.
They had a quick lunch at a Joe Lyons, where Vic insisted
on paying the bill, and she tactfully let him.
There had always been a bond between them since David's
birth, and, although he was her senior by a couple of years, in many
ways to Liz it was as though he was the younger brother she had never
had.
He was an inarticulate man, with little to say for
himself, but one only had to watch him with his flock to sense his
tenderness and compassion.
Liz knew she could trust him absolutely with the task she
had set him, but she still felt a little guilty at separating him from
all that he knew… at sending him out into a world with which
he was totally unfamiliar. She also felt, she discovered, as they
headed back to the docks, in some small way envious and resentful of
his freedom.
Much as she adored David, much as she loved Cottingdean,
much as she was grateful to Edward, there were times when she ached for
the freedom to just be herself… to escape from her
responsibilities—and then she would remind herself that it
was those responsibilities, and in particular Edward, which had enabled
her to live as she did… that without Edward her life and
David's too would have been very different indeed…and she
would be overwhelmed by a fierce tide of guilt and pain and would push
her rebellious thoughts to the back of her mind, forcing herself to
lose them in a sudden exhausting burst of hard physical work that would
drive everything else but the knowledge that all her time, all her
energy, and much of her love was needed if she was ever to come anyway
near fulfilling her self-imposed task of bringing Cottingdean back to
life.
Between them she and Chivers had already achieved a great
deal, or, as Ian Holmes was inclined to say wryly, 'had worked
miracles'… Certainly, when David had been born, she could
never have envisaged a time when she would not only have her large
vegetable and fruit gardens productive and under orderly control, but
that also she would have gone a long way to restoring the gardens' long
double herbaceous border to something of its original
beauty… Here she had been helped enormously by Sam, who,
despite his handicap, seemed to have a natural affinity for anything
that grew, as well as a knowledge about plants which constantly amazed
her.
It was Sam who from here and there produced the cuttings
and plants which were beginning to fill the empty spaces in the
border… it was Sam who had spent long back-breaking hours
cleaning away the weeds and thick thorny briars, so that today when she
had returned home she would be able to spend a precious solitary hour
in her gardens, admiring all that they had done, absorbing its peace
and tranquillity.
Between them Chivers and Dan had set to work inside the
house, using whatever materials they could 'find' to repair the worst
of the havoc. The roof no longer leaked, the kitchen range produced hot
water, the damp patches had begun to disappear from the walls, and Dan
had proved unexpectedly inventive in managing to do a great deal to
repair the old plaster ceilings so that little by little the house was
gradually coming to life again.
She could tell that young Vic was nervous as they parked
the car and walked along the dock. She slipped her arm through his,
squeezing it reassuringly in a sisterly fashion, while a tiny corner of
her mind had a second's shocking awareness of how very different his
body felt from David's soft baby flesh, and Edward's wasted, damaged
frame. Just for a moment she remembered Kit… Something that
happened rarely these days. After all, there was nothing about him that
she wanted to remember, but just for a brief, searingly painful breath
of time she had felt, in touching young Vic's muscled, male body, a
frisson
of memory… of sensation… of how it had felt to be
young and in love…to desire a man, to…
Quickly releasing him, she turned her head away, looking
out to sea. These were foolish thoughts for a woman of her age and in
her situation. Very foolish thoughts. Especially when she had not in
fact enjoyed Kit's physical possession of her.
When the passengers were finally allowed to board, Liz
went on board with Vic. He was sharing his small cabin with another man
travelling alone, and once Vic had stowed away his things in the
cabin's minute storage space they went back up on deck, both of them
silent, both of them engaged with their own private thoughts.
Vic broke the silence first, turning to her to say
anxiously, 'Tom Hudson is a good farmer, but it won't be like he's
looking after his own…'
'I know that, Vic,' Liz assured him gently. 'Don't worry.
I'll make sure the flock is properly cared for.'
The intercom crackled into life, announcing that it was
time for all those who weren't sailing to disembark. Vic walked with
her to the gangway, and then, once there, just as she was about to turn
to him and wish him good luck with his mission, to her astonishment he
took hold of her, gripping her almost too tightly as he gave her a
clumsy but hardly fraternal kiss.
Almost instantly he released her, his face red, avoiding
her eyes as he made a stumbling apology, but the shock of that
unexpected embrace, of the sensation of a male mouth moving against her
own, however lacking in experience its touch might have been, awakened
so many memories that for a moment she couldn't speak. Had he somehow
subconsciously read her mind earlier—had she however
unintentionally somehow given him the impression that she
wanted…? She swallowed, angry with herself, fighting to take
control of the situation as she gave him what she hoped was a
reassuring smile and said briskly, 'This is a very emotional time for
you, Vic, leaving England for the first time.'
'Yes.'
His assent was muffled as he turned away from her. He was
embarrassed, she knew, suddenly awkward with her. She couldn't let him
leave like this… not when she owed him so
much—David's life and possibly her own.
She reached out and touched him, trying to convey both
comfort and understanding as she felt his forearm muscles bunch under
her fingertips.
'I'm going to miss you, Vic,' she told him softly. 'But it
would be selfish of me to keep you at Cottingdean, especially when we
need that ram so badly. Who knows?' she added with false brightness.
'You might even bring a pretty Australian bride back with you as well
as one of Woolonga's prize rams!'
He was smiling back at her now, valiantly trying to match
her distancing conversation as he told her drily, 'A ram's of more use
to me right now than a wife…' He hesitated and looked at
her, and the look in his eyes made her look sharply away, her stomach
muscles quivering in silent tension. She had seen that look in a man's
eyes once before. Then she had mistaken it for love… Young
Vic could not love her, must not love her..-. If he did she would have
to send him away and they needed him too much, Cottingdean needed him
too much. And besides…
She closed her eyes, trying not to imagine how sweet it
would be to go up to him and lean against him, to let him take her in
his arms and to whisper to her that there was no reason why both of
them should not go in search of their golden fleece… That
this could be their special private time… That…