Twisted Strands (11 page)

‘I didn’t quite say that, dear,’ Sophia inclined her head towards him. ‘What I should have said, perhaps, is that I admire your courage. It is laudable and I would be so
proud to see you in an officer’s uniform.’

Unable to hold back any longer, Eveleen sprang to her feet, pushing back her chair with a violent movement so that for a moment it tottered, threatening to crash to the floor.

‘Proud to read his name in the lists of casualties? Proud to tend his grave?’

Richard, on the opposite side of the table, rose too. ‘Evie, darling, please—’

Now she rounded on him. ‘Don’t “Evie darling” me. You don’t care about me, about any of us, if you insist on this crazy notion.’ Her voice softened a little
as she turned to look down the table towards Brinsley. ‘I know I’ve disappointed you not being able to present you with a grandson, an heir for you, but—’

‘Eveleen . . .’ Suddenly Richard’s tone was firm. ‘This is hardly the time or the place.’

‘But,’ Eveleen continued, disregarding his rebuke. ‘I’m hardly going to have the chance now, if he gets himself killed, am I?’

Brinsley looked up at her, his dark eyes filled with the same sadness and hopelessness that she knew were mirrored in her own. They stared at each other for a long moment, so much of what had
happened between their families surfacing in both their minds. They shared secrets from the past, in which, though fully aware of them, neither Richard nor his mother were involved. For a brief
moment, it was as if Brinsley and Eveleen were alone together in the room, the other two forgotten.

Poignantly, Eveleen said softly, ‘I won’t have any more chances.’

Brinsley knew all about lost chances.

But now Sophia spoke, dragging them back to the present drama and pushing their unhappy memories into the background. The present was every bit as bleak as the distant past had been.

‘My dears, Richard will be an officer. He won’t be where the danger is. You’ll see,’ Sophia said, standing up and bringing the conversation, as far as she wished to be
concerned in it, to a close. ‘He’ll make us all so proud of him, I know he will.’ She moved down the table and kissed Richard’s cheek fondly, before turning and making her
way to the door out of the dining room. ‘Besides,’ she added, waving her hand airily, ‘they say it’s not going to last for long. He’ll be home by Christmas.’

As the door closed behind her, the three people left in the room regarded each other gravely.

The four people at Pear Tree Farm looked at each other with equally solemn faces.

‘So you’re really set on it, then?’ Mary broke the silence at last.

‘I’m sorry, but yes, I am,’ Andrew said quietly. There was apology in his eyes, but a steadfast determination in his tone. Nothing and no-one could change his mind.

‘You don’t love me,’ Bridie cried passionately and now the tears were coursing down her face. ‘Gran said you didn’t and she was right.’

‘I never said any such thing!’

‘What?’

‘Bridie, mi duck . . .’

The three of them spoke at once, Mary with indignation, Andrew with confusion and Josh with concern, trying to pour oil on what he could see would be very troubled waters any minute now.

Casting resentful glances at all three of them, Bridie muttered, ‘You wouldn’t go if you did.’

Andrew reached out and took her hand and even when she tried to pull free he held it firmly. ‘You are the most important person in the world to me, you know that.’

She wanted to tell him, wanted to blurt out what her grandmother had said, that he only loved her because she reminded him of the great love of his life, but the words would not come. If he was
going away, she could not let them part in anger, with misunderstanding between them. And, even at her tender age, she was mature enough to know that if she told him he would deny it. He would say
he loved her for herself. But she realized now that she was no more than a child in his eyes. A dear, beloved child, of that she had no doubt, for whatever reason – but only a child.

Bridie swallowed the bitterness and knew suddenly it was time to behave more like an adult than a silly little girl. She would be thirteen next month.

Time to grow up, Bridie Singleton, she told herself, echoing the very words that her grandmother had said to her so often. And if this war lasted any time at all, things were going to be very
different for everyone.

Andrew visited again on the last Sunday in August.

‘Now just you be ready next Saturday.’

Impishly Bridie said, ‘Next Saturday? Why? What’s happening?’

Andrew tweaked her nose. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten it’s your thirteenth birthday?’

Bridie could keep up the pretence no longer. She grinned. ‘I can’t wait,’ she confided. ‘Gran’s shown me how to put my hair up and I’ve been practising all
week.’

Andrew’s face softened. ‘We’ll go into Grantham to have your birthday photograph taken.’

Every year on the Saturday nearest to her birthday Andrew had insisted that she should have her photograph taken in a proper photographer’s studio. This year her birthday actually fell on
the Saturday. ‘And I should like to buy you something really special, especially as . . .’ He stopped, cleared his throat and changed the subject, but Bridie guessed that he had been
going to say, ‘Especially as I shall be going away soon.’ Instead, he continued, ‘Do you think your gran would let me buy you a smart hat to go with your new hairstyle?’

‘You can ask her.’ She laughed. ‘She’s more likely to say “yes” if it’s you doing the asking.’

‘I will,’ Andrew promised.

About mid-afternoon, they heard the sound of Richard’s motor car pulling into the yard.

‘Andrew.’ Eveleen crossed the yard to greet him affectionately. ‘It’s far too long since we’ve seen you.’ She drew back and studied him. ‘You look well
. . .’ she began and then she saw the look in his eyes, the look that was on the faces of so many men these days. A cross between excited anticipation and dread of the unknown. ‘Oh
no,’ she breathed. ‘You’re going too, aren’t you?’

Mary, hearing her words, said, ‘You don’t mean to tell me Richard’s been daft enough to volunteer an’ all?’

Eveleen grimaced. ‘Not yet, but he seems set on doing so.’

‘But what about the business – the factory?’

Eveleen shrugged. ‘He’s leaving his father and me to manage everything.’

‘Brinsley.’ Mary spoke the name softly and, in spite of herself, she smiled. A look of understanding passed between her and Eveleen as Mary moved to her side and asked in a low
voice, ‘Is he well? How does he look? Have you seen him lately?’

Eveleen took her mother’s arm and drew her a little apart from the rest. ‘We had lunch at their house last week. He’s fine.’ She smiled impishly at her mother. ‘As
handsome as ever. Almost as good looking as his son.’ They bent their heads together, laughing softly. But their laughter soon died as they turned back to the others.

All afternoon the talk was of the war and how it would affect them, so directly now that their menfolk were to be involved.

‘Mam, I was wondering. Would you allow Bridie to come to live with me for a while?’ Eveleen asked her mother when they were alone in the scullery washing up the tea things. Bridie
and Josh were doing the evening milking and Richard and Andrew were sitting by the fire which burned winter and summer, planning their uncertain future. ‘I would love to have her. She could
be a big help to me if Richard does go.’

Mary looked at her sharply. ‘Is this suggestion because you think she’s not happy here? Because you think her and me don’t get on?’

‘No, Mam, it isn’t,’ Eveleen said, pushing away the thought that deep down there was some truth in Mary’s surmise. ‘To be honest, I’m dreading Richard going
away. I shall miss him so and I’d really be glad of the child’s company.’

Mary was silent, plunging her hands deep into the washing-up suds as she pondered. ‘Just so long as you remember, Eveleen, that she won’t be a child for much longer. She’s at
that awkward age and it’ll get worse before it gets better. I well remember your own “awkward age”,’ she added pointedly and Eveleen smiled wryly.

‘I will look after her, Mam, but I thought she could work in the inspection room. She’s a neat little needlewoman.’

‘She’s good at bobbin lace,’ Mary remarked and added pensively, ‘it’s in the blood, isn’t it, from both sides.’

There was silence for a moment until Eveleen asked tentatively, ‘Does Andrew ever mention your mam and Uncle Harry?’

Mary emptied the washing-up bowl and dried her hands before she answered. ‘I asked him not long ago. I think they’re reasonably well in health, but lonely.’

‘Do they still live in their own separate cottages?’

‘I think so, but I think they both have lodgers who are employed in Harry’s workshops, so they’re not exactly alone.’

‘Just lonely,’ Eveleen murmured. Then as an afterthought she asked, ‘How old is your mother now, Mam?’

Mary wrinkled her forehead. ‘About seventy-five or six, I think. Andrew did say,’ she went on, ‘that Harry’s having trouble with his eyesight.’

‘Really? But he can’t be that old, surely?’

‘He’s a couple of years older than me. He’ll be fifty-six this year. But that job, sitting squinting at rows and rows of fine knitting all day. It’s bad for the
eyesight.’

They put away the plates and dishes and when the scullery was tidy Eveleen said, ‘Well, what do you think about Bridie, then?’

Mary nodded. ‘I’ll talk to Josh, but yes, I think we’ll have to let her go.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll miss the naughty little tyke, but don’t tell her I said
so.’

Eveleen said nothing, but she was thinking: If only my mam would do exactly that, would tell the child how much they’ll miss her, maybe poor Bridie would not feel so unloved and unwanted.
She had no doubt that Josh would voice it, but, coming from her gran, it would mean so much more to Bridie.

‘Now, which is it to be? The photograph first or lunch in the best place we can find?’

‘The photograph,’ Bridie decided. ‘Can I have it taken in my new hat?’

‘Of course you can.’ Andrew smiled at her fondly and then added with regret, ‘I wish you’d let me buy the whole outfit for you.’

Having gained Mary’s permission to buy Bridie a new hat, Andrew had tried to go further. A smart costume, the sort worn by girls of sixteen or so, had caught his eye in the shop.
‘Try that on, Bridie.’

Bridie pulled a face. ‘I don’t think Gran would let me wear that. It’s a bit old for me.’ In her determination to act in a more grown-up manner, Bridie had decided that
the best way to start was by acquiescing to her grandmother’s wishes. Perhaps she would even be able to persuade Mary to trust her a little more.

‘The young lady’s quite right,’ the thin-faced, middle-aged shop assistant agreed. She smiled, showing large teeth that dominated her face. She turned to Bridie. ‘You
have a very generous father, miss, but—’

Bridie frowned. ‘He’s not my father,’ she said swiftly.

The woman tried to purse her lips, though the action was difficult for her over the large teeth. She glanced disapprovingly from one to the other and they could guess the thoughts spinning
around her mind.

Andrew looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m her godfather,’ he said gruffly.

‘I see,’ the woman said stiffly. She sniffed and went on, ‘Well, it’s still most unsuitable for a young girl. How old are you, miss?’

‘Thirteen today.’

‘Quite. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t allow you to wear that sort of costume until you were at least sixteen. Besides, you would need to wear,’ she coughed discreetly and
added, ‘a certain undergarment to show the apparel to its best advantage.’

Bridie grinned mischievously, seizing her chance to embarrass the woman. ‘Oh, a corset, you mean.’ Then she capitulated with charm. Beside her, she heard Andrew trying to stifle his
laughter. ‘I’m sure you’re right. Perhaps in a year or so’s time. But I could, don’t you think,’ she went on, eager to have the woman on her side now,
‘have a nice straw boater?’

The woman nodded, her disapproval melting a little at the prospect of a sale. ‘I have just the thing, miss.’ She hurried away, returning a moment later with a straw boater decorated
with a ribbon. ‘If the gentleman agrees, we can supply you with different coloured ribbons so that you can change them to match the colour of your coat or dress or whatever you are wearing.
It will still be a most appropriate hat when you are a little older, miss.’

‘What a good idea.’ Bridie smiled, perching the boater on the top of her head.

‘If you’ll permit me . . .?’ the woman murmured. Gently she moved the hat forwards a little so that it rested against the roll of plaited hair at the back of the girl’s
head and tilted, almost provocatively, over her forehead. Bridie peeped out mischievously from beneath its brim to see Andrew smiling down at her.

He cleared his throat and his voice was not quite steady as he said, ‘You look adorable, Bridie.’

Neither of them noticed the look of disapproval return to the shop assistant’s face.

Andrew insisted on having several photographs of Bridie, but she could not persuade him to have his taken.

‘But I’d like one of you,’ she pleaded. ‘Won’t you have one taken with me? Please?’

But Andrew was adamant. ‘No. It wouldn’t – look right.’

Bridie pursed her lips, knowing that the woman in the shop had caused this. ‘Then what about one on your own? If you really are going to join up, I would so like a photograph.’

‘One in your uniform would be nice for the young lady,’ the photographer suggested. He was far more tactful than the woman in the shop had been. He smiled understandingly.
‘I’m going myself. I got my papers yesterday. I’ve to report next week. These,’ he indicated the camera and the plates he was taking of Bridie, ‘will be the last
photographs I take.’

Bridie stared at him and then swallowed hard at the poignancy of his words. Huskily she said, ‘Until it’s all over and you come back.’

The young man looked at her gratefully, but then shrugged. ‘I hope you’re right, miss, but who knows, eh?’ He cleared his throat and added more briskly, ‘There’ll
be a chance for you to get your photograph taken, sir, when you’ve got your uniform.’ He grinned now. ‘My mam won’t let me go unless I promise to send her one.’