Authors: Mairi Wilson
“What’s through here?” Lexy asked.
“Mostly storerooms and suchlike now,” he said holding the gate open so she could walk through ahead of him, “but it used to house some of the medical staff before the new quarters across the road were built. Several of the doctors and their families lived here, at one time, before there was a move towards a healthier division between work and home life. Your parents, I believe, lived in one of these after they were married. Your mother would have been in the Nurses’ Hostel, of course, as a single woman.”
Lexy was intrigued. Again the buildings were single storey, whitewashed and fronted with verandahs in the style that was now becoming familiar to her. Had her parents really lived in one of these?
“Which one? Which one did they live in?”
“I couldn’t say, I’m afraid. But Gran would know. You could ask her, if you like. It’ll have been commandeered for storage, though, I’m sure, so if you’re hoping to find an echo of the past, you’ll be disappointed. This one might interest you, though. It’s not been changed too much, still used sometimes for courses and suchlike. The old schoolroom, for the compound’s children.” He tried the door but it was locked. “Oh. It’s usually open. That’s a shame. You might have been interested to see a good old-fashioned colonial school, given your own profession. Another time.”
Yes,
Lexy thought,
another time. Or …
“Robert, I … I was wondering …”
He turned and looked at her expectantly.
“That is, if you haven’t got plans … I wondered if you’d like to join me for dinner this evening.” She felt herself blushing, tried to sound offhand, but her heart was racing. Was she being too forward? Why didn’t he say something? She risked a look over at him. He was frowning. Not good.
“Lexy, I …” He cleared his throat.
“Oh please, it doesn’t matter. I know how busy you are and it was just if you weren’t doing anything. I mean, I thought you might be able to tell me more about … about my parents or Malawi or …” Lexy the gabbler had returned. “Sorry. It’s fine. Forget it.”
“Lexy, I should probably have said something earlier, but it didn’t come up … and I didn’t think … Audrey. Audrey and I are …”
“Oh!” Lexy’s hand flew to her mouth. “
Audrey.
Your PA? Well yes, of course, she is, and you and she. I see, yes … But she’s bla— I mean, col—”
“Coloured?” He was angry, that was evident. “Not one of
us
?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Lexy said, although she was horrified to think it just might have been. Not intentionally of course, but why else had she not even considered their having a relationship a possibility, despite noting Audrey’s evident adoration for her boss. But now it was just so
obvious
. “It’s just … just that she’s, well, quite young and … but that’s no reason. No. Not at all. She’s lovely. I’m sure you’re very happy.”
Shut up Lexy, just shut up.
Five days in this country and she’d turned into some kind of colonial idiot.
“I’m sorry, Robert,” she tried again. “I didn’t mean to offend you and I didn’t mean to proposition you either.” She tried to make light of it. “It was just a thought, just a bite to eat and really, it’s fine. Unless you’d
both
like to … No, no of course not,” she finished quickly as his face told her very clearly that wouldn’t be a good idea. “Well.” Bright and breezy now. “I think I should probably—”
“Yes,” he cut in hastily. “Yes and I should be getting back, too.”
They walked back to the hospital entrance in silence, Lexy squirming with embarrassment at having so badly misread the situation. What
had
she been thinking?
Any port in a storm
, perhaps? Her mother and her homespun wisdom were back, although
a still tongue makes a wise head
might have been a more helpful homily.
A taxi ride, a brief shower and an iced tea later, things looked a little better. She picked up the tea folder again. Perhaps reading about someone else’s humiliation would help lessen her own. Although a turned-down invitation to dinner was hardly in the same league as Ursula’s anguish. Flicking ahead, Lexy was surprised to see that the next diary extract was brief, blotchy and untidy, Ursula’s usual instinct for order and tidiness washed away by her plight. Adrenaline surged at the sight of extracts from Scotland, more letters from Evie, too … but she needed to be patient. Follow the trail as it had been laid down, step by steady step, to be sure she didn’t miss anything. She sighed. She was turning into Danny.
Blantyre, September 4th 1949
The night I once found so comforting is now torment, a punishment. It is endless and black and hopeless and dark and I cannot see how I can get through this. I told him and watched his face for the light, the joy I felt sure would come. I told him and waited for his arms to circle me and pull me close, for his laughter, tears, anything. He had to be happy.
Why wasn’t He would be
He said he loved me. These few precious weeks he said it over and over.
I can’t bear to live if
He does love me. I know it.
He must.
I feel hollowed out and empty and that’s the very thing I am not. One minute I’m filled with wonder at this miracle we have begun, the next I’m crying again like the fool I am.
He needs time. He’ll come back.
Perhaps I could have told him more gently, but I was so excited. Perhaps he’s worried about what people will say, but it’s not so unusual, during the war it was
and if we marry soon
We might even disguise it, premature baby or
Some of them will enjoy it if they
My reputation will help us.
No one would ever suspect me, Sister Reid, of something like that. We could hide the dates after and oh I don’t know but something. Impropriety. Scandal. How strange to think those words might be for me. Matron Proudfoot is unlikely to approve. And she’d know. She I’ll lose my position. But I could we could go away. I could work in another hospital.
Maybe I won’t work after the baby and Cameron looks after
He called me a stupid girl. Didn’t I know how to take care of things, he said. Surely with all my medical expertise And he laughed. But not how I’d hoped he would. Then he left.
He’s not coming back.
What am I going to do?
Cape Town, September 11th 1949
Another sleepless night. One I want to remember. The last under the velvet African sky. For some time at least. Perhaps forever. I can’t imagine returning to life in Blantyre. I am not the woman I’d wanted the world to believe me to be. I am a fallen woman. An abandoned one. No better than a Leith slut. About to become a deceiver, a liar, too. My friends as well, to save me.
These last few days have gone by so quickly. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to write, but now I don’t know where to start. So much has happened. I see it all so clearly in my mind but don’t think I can bear to see it on the page in front of me, permanent. Real. And after all, what is there to say? I’d try to find excuses, justifications. No point in that.
Evie left us yesterday and Helen is asleep in the bedroom behind me, so I’m finally alone on this narrow, flowerless balcony looking out over a dark sea. Tomorrow we embark. Then Scotland. Home. Only I’m not sure it will feel like that any more. If it ever really was. And we sail on the
Aurora
again. Full circle. Back to where I started, no better for my journey.
Upper Shire River Mission House
November 28th 1949
Dear Ursula,
I can’t tell you how pleased I was to hear from you, to know that you and Helen are safe and well and haven’t frozen to death back in the chill of our Scottish Highlands. You are both – or should that be all? – in my thoughts and prayers every day. It’s good that you have each other, but I miss you desperately. I wish I could be there too, to help and support, although pregnancy is something none of us knows much about, and even as a doctor’s wife, my exposure to childbirth is limited by the misplaced sense of decorum of the Mission clinic’s doctors. Idiots. Women need women around them at times like that. Still, you at least are a nurse so the medical aspects I’m sure will be familiar to you. Let’s all be thankful for that.
I smiled when I read about the morning sickness on the boat – how fortunate it was deemed nothing but seasickness by the ship’s doctor, although rather worrying in a broader sense that for all that time at sea one’s health might rest in the hands of someone who doesn’t recognise a pregnant woman when he sees one! Helen, no doubt, had plenty to say about that, and would have found it hard not to say it in public, I’m sure.
Reading your letter made me quite homesick, even though we only ever visited my mother’s croft for two weeks each summer. I used to love long walks on that beach as a child and then later as a newly married woman pining for my absent husband. I’d allow myself a little melodrama. I’d walk the shoreline in all weathers, letting the sea spray sting my face and the wind pull my hair and loving the way it made me feel so alive, so connected to myself, if that makes sense. What a place to be born.
Gregory was here last week for the Mission meetings. He was beside himself with happiness. He couldn’t stop talking about his plans for Helen and the child – he is, of course, convinced it will be a boy, so heaven only knows what will happen if it’s a girl. Although a man with Gregory’s capacity for love will adore and cherish whatever he is given. His face when he talked of it!
He will make an exceptional father, Ursula, my dear; you mustn’t ever worry about that. And he is utterly convinced by our subterfuge. I did feel guilt tug a little at my resolve, but really, I found myself wondering, does it matter so very much? Your child will be dearly loved. Gregory and Helen are desperate for a child and have not yet been blessed – and at the risk of sounding a little indelicate, it’s clear to look at them that their love is such it will not have been for want of trying! Such a gift this child will be, to us all.
Gregory was full of news from Blantyre and Zomba, but little of it really merits repeating. The Clubs continue, the gossip comes and goes, the trade fair for the Missions a huge success – clearly went a good way to alleviating any concerns the recent rumours may have caused as to Buchanan’s probity. The sooner Cameron’s association with the company is forgotten the better.
Dear Gregory works so hard. He is personally visiting each of the Missions to reassure them that everything is above board and that their trust in Buchanan’s is justified. And he looked so much better than when last I saw him. I put that down to the news of the baby. So we must, after all, be glad that business concerns keep him here because if he could, there is no question he would be on the next passage home to be with his beloved Helen and his unborn child – oh Lord, forgive us our deception.
So, we must be strong, all of us, and we must be silent on the truth of it. Helen will love your child as if it were her own and you will be godmother, as much a part of your child’s life as it’s possible to be, as anyone would expect one of the mother’s closest friends to be. And that too is something that gives me great pleasure, dear Ursula. Whatever the circumstances of the child’s conception, this child will be loved by us all, and it is through love of that child already that the rift between you and Helen has been mended. My two dearest friends, dear friends themselves again. How could we not love the child that’s brought us that?
Gregory did bring some less pleasant news which I feel I should impart to you, and I’m not sure he will have shared this with Helen. Indeed, I can see he is ashamed, but really it is nothing to do with him and we all know that. Cameron and his new wife are under investigation and she has started proceedings for divorce. It appears that Gertie’s husband’s death may not have been straightforward. Some talk of poisoning, or incorrect dosages of some sort with his medication. There is rather a lot of money at stake, and it seems there is a son from the man’s first marriage who has raised concerns over his father’s death and a new will made shortly before his demise, leaving everything to Gertie. Cameron has been interviewed by the police, I believe, and told not to leave Johannesburg, which can only be good news, as anything that keeps him as far from us as possible would be. I know this must be painful for you to hear, and truly my heart aches for you, Ursula. For all his wickedness, I know you loved that man, so I tell you this only to help you steel your heart against him, and if nothing else, it may make the prospect of returning to us a little less daunting, knowing he will not be here. Fear not, however. That man has more lives than a cat, and I am sure no harm will come to him. I cannot believe even Cameron would have a hand in murder. And in any case, that Chakanaya man is with him, and if anyone knows how to get around the authorities, it’s him.
Of life here at the Mission clinic, I have little to tell you. The orphanage continues to thrive, the clinic to be well attended and the new church is almost complete – how lovely a place it would be for a baptism! But enough – I’m getting ahead of myself. We hope to be here for a few more weeks, then return to Blantyre so will be there to celebrate your return in the autumn.
Stay safe in your Highland hideaway, dear Ursula, stay well. Know that I am with you in my heart and you are with me in my prayers.
Your loving friend,
Evie
Glasgow, May 21st 1950
She’s gone. He’s gone. I stood at the dock and waved, smiled, as if I were happy to see them go. Helen. Once again I find myself overwhelmed with jealousy for her and yet I should be so very, very grateful. But she again has what is dearest to me. Only this time it isn’t the love of a scoundrel, it’s my son. My son! Dear God, how could I have agreed to this? How will I live with it?