Where the Heart Lies (35 page)

Ron’s contentment went deeper than pulling one over on Lord Cliffe, for his sons were making their peace, sadly accepting that they couldn’t regain those lost years, but wise enough to realise this new beginning could be far more enriching. Brendon was away in London on the tugs, and came down to see everyone when time allowed, and Pauline and Frank were slowly and painfully coming to terms with their terrible loss. Anne was at home, and making much better progress now she could be with little Rose, and Martin had even managed to stay for a few days before he’d been sent off to take charge in the setting up of another airfield further west.

The only fly in Ron’s ointment was the fact that he’d been refused a posting to the gun emplacements on the seafront, or even here on the cliffs. It seemed he was regarded as too old by the military, and although he’d wanted initially to vent his rage on the enemy for the death and destruction they’d caused, not only to his town, but to his beloved
family, time and common sense had cooled his thirst for revenge.

The other niggle was Rosie Braithwaite, who still kept him at arm’s length and refused to discuss whatever it was that had happened between her and Eileen Harris. Peggy hadn’t been forthcoming either, and it was frustrating. He’d considered going to see this Eileen woman, but had changed his mind when he realised it would probably only stir things up for Rosie, who, no doubt, wouldn’t appreciate his meddling. But long-kept secrets had a habit of rising to the surface when things were stirred up, and although it might take a long time to get to the truth, he didn’t doubt for a minute that it would all come clear sooner or later.

He shrugged off these minor inconveniences and hitched his gas-mask box over his shoulder, the long poacher’s coat flapping round his ankles as the wind blew in from the sea. Harvey was on the scent of something, his nose to the ground, tail windmilling as he raced back and forth, and Ron left him to it. Harvey had spent far too many hours in the house watching over those wains lately and needed the exercise.

It was very early morning, with the sun just breaching the horizon, pearling the sky and the tendrils of mist that still clung to the trees and veiled the far hills. It promised to be a lovely May day, and Ron breathed deeply of the clean air which held the tang of salt and the almost sensuous smell of
damp earth, lush grasses and the ripening of spring. The abandoned orchard was a beautiful sight now that the trees were covered in blossom and the bluebells and crocuses formed a carpet beneath them, and he knew that later in the year he’d be picking the sour little apples for cider and the elderberries for wine.

He tramped homeward, at peace with the beauty and tranquillity of these hills, glad that he could come here and be at one with them, for they soothed away the cares of this troubled world and made him feel whole again.

Julie was a keen letter-writer and looked forward to the replies from Lily and the other girls back in London, although they did make her homesick for the happy days they’d all spent working and living together, and the familiar sights, scents and sounds of the city she loved. Yet it was fun to catch up on the gossip, to read all about Lily’s latest boyfriend and Alison’s continued rebelliousness, which still got her into scrapes with Matron. They seemed to be coping cheerfully with the continued raids, even though most of the hostel’s windows were boarded up now, and there was a crater where the neighbouring house used to be.

She folded the letter she’d received from her oldest brother and put it away in the box she kept in her wardrobe. All three brothers wrote regularly, even though there was often a delay in their letters
getting to her, but despite her having written several times to Bill, there had still been no reply.

She sat in the early sunlight streaming through her bedroom window, and lovingly watched William as he lay on a blanket on the floor and floundered in his attempts to get his arms and legs co-ordinated enough for him to crawl. Bill’s lack of response had worried her before, but now she’d come to think it might be for the best. William was, to all intents and purposes, her baby now and she loved him deeply. He was still less energetic than Rose and slept a great deal, but he was beginning to thrive, and although the day might come when he’d have to have an operation, he was safe and well and contented with her – and she couldn’t imagine life without him.

Her starched apron crackled as she bent to lift him from the blanket. Holding him close, she kissed his soft cheek and ran her fingers softly through the golden curls that glinted in the sun. She hated leaving him, but she had no choice.

‘Mummy’s got to go to work,’ she murmured as he gurgled at her and made a grab for her flowing cap. She kissed him again and carried him downstairs, aware that she was in danger of being late at the surgery.

Anne was in the kitchen, her plastered leg resting on a footstool, her crutches leaning against her chair as she fed Rose. She looked up at Julie and smiled. ‘This will be the last morning I’ll be tied to the
house,’ she said cheerfully, ‘and I can’t wait to get this plaster off. It itches like mad.’

Julie chuckled as she put William in the playpen and handed him his favourite soft toy. ‘That’s where Mrs Finch’s knitting needles come in handy.’ She quickly poured a cup of tea from the pot on the table and sat down. The kitchen was unusually deserted. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Mrs Finch is getting dressed, Grandpa’s been out all night with Harvey and isn’t home yet, and Dad’s gone fishing with Frank. The girls are all on early shift, so they left ages ago.’ Anne looked down at Rose, who had almost finished her bottle. ‘Mum was up with the lark as usual, but she’s looking really tired, so I ordered her to go back to bed.’ She grinned at Julie. ‘She won’t stay there for long, of course, and is probably worrying about a thousand and one things and not resting at all.’

Julie had noticed Peggy had been unusually out of sorts lately and had put it down to the trauma of the past few weeks. However, it was very unlike her to go back to bed, and that was worrying. ‘I hope she’s not going down with something,’ she murmured as she watched William playing with his soft blue and white rabbit.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Anne as she finished winding Rose. ‘She’s just exhausted after everything that’s happened, and as long as we all help around the house, she’ll soon bounce back.’

Anne handed Rose to Julie so she could put her
in the playpen next to William. The two babies started gurgling and waving their arms and legs about. ‘They seem very happy with each other,’ Anne said fondly. ‘It’ll be a shame to separate them when I have to leave.’

‘But it won’t be for a while yet, will it?’

Anne dipped her chin, the colour rising in her face. ‘I haven’t told Mum yet, but Martin and I have decided that once I’m able to get about, it would be best for me to take Rose to Somerset until things quieten down. I’ll probably go next month.’

‘Oh, Anne, I can see that makes a lot of sense, but it’ll break Peggy’s heart to lose you both.’

Anne took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I know, but I have to think of Rose now, and Martin agrees with me that we’re just too vulnerable here so close to the Channel.’ She looked back at Julie, her lovely face shadowed with sadness. ‘I’ll be staying on the farm where my little brothers are living, so at least I won’t be entirely without my family. You will keep an eye on Mum while I’m gone, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will,’ said Julie. ‘But you’d better tell her soon, Anne. She needs time to get used to the idea of you leaving.’

Anne chewed her lip. ‘I know,’ she admitted softly, ‘and I’m dreading it.’

Peggy’s bare feet made no noise as she tiptoed back upstairs to her bedroom and closed the door. She
hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on the conversation, but now she knew Anne’s plans, at least she could prepare herself and try not to make it difficult for the girl to leave.

She sank back onto the unmade bed, her thoughts in a terrible jumble as she tried to come to terms with losing yet more of her family. It would be lovely for Bob and Charlie to have their sister and niece living with them, and Violet would take the same loving care of them as she did with the boys. But it seemed to Peggy that Violet was getting the best deal out of this blasted war, for she’d been handed a ready-made family to love and cherish – which left Peggy adrift and wanting.

She felt her throat thicken and the rise of a desperate need to cry, but she refused to let her emotions get the better of her. There had been enough sadness these past weeks, and she was determined to remain strong. Impatient with her inability to do anything much these days without either flying off the handle or bursting into tears, Peggy clambered off the bed and began to tug furiously at the sheets and blankets. This bloody,
bloody
war was turning her into someone she hardly recognised any more. She couldn’t be selfish, not when their safety was at risk, but she would miss Rose Margaret, for that little girl had stolen her heart.

‘Pull yourself together, woman,’ she muttered as she pummelled the pillows with unnecessary force and blinked back the ready tears. ‘If you carry on
like this you’ll be fit for nothing – and then where would we all be?’

Julie set out on that warm May morning, her bicycle tyres humming nicely on the road as she headed for Cliffe surgery. She enjoyed these few minutes of solitude first thing: they set her up for the day, and when the sun was shining and the sea glittered so prettily, she felt as if she was on holiday.

Walking in through the back door she encountered Michael in the kitchen. ‘Good morning,’ she said with determined cheerfulness.

‘Good morning, Sister Harris,’ he replied, his dark eyes sweeping over her almost with indifference before he turned his attention back to the teapot. ‘There’s tea if you want it.’

Julie didn’t want tea – she wanted him to talk to her like he used to. ‘Dr Sayers, about the rugby match,’ she began. ‘I won’t be able to go, so you’d better give me ticket to someone else.’

‘I see,’ he murmured, still not looking at her. ‘Probably for the best, in the circumstances.’

She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how his casual words had stung. ‘Yeah, I’m being kept very busy at the moment and two of me expectant mothers are due that day.’ She left him standing in the kitchen and had to go to the cloakroom to steady herself. She was angry and hurt, and it wouldn’t do to let Eunice see how badly her hands were shaking. When she’d mastered her
emotions enough to face Eunice, she went to fetch her casebook and daily list of patients.

Eunice was looking very pleased with herself, her make-up flawless, her freshly washed hair neatly curled back from her face in what the fashion magazines called ‘Victory Rolls’. It was clear she was pulling out all the stops in her quest to get Michael’s attention, and Julie suspected she’d been angling for that ticket to the rugby.

‘You’ll have Jessica with you this morning,’ Eunice said as she handed over the list. ‘She needs to learn how to take out stitches and dress ulcers, and I want you to supervise her.’

‘I see there’s a new patient on me list,’ murmured Julie. ‘Do you have his notes?’

Eunice handed them over. ‘Mr Hopkins is diabetic and has leg ulcers. He telephoned and asked if you could call in and change the dressings.’ Her blue eyes regarded Julie with an unspoken challenge – and perhaps a little glint of victory. ‘I will need a full written assessment of Jessica’s work by tomorrow morning,’ she added coolly.

Jess came bustling into the hall, fair curls bouncing under her cap, face alive with youthful exuberance as she greeted Julie. ‘Has Sister Beecham told you about me applying to train as a proper nurse?’ she asked breathlessly as they headed for the bicycle shed.

‘I guessed when she asked me to do a full assessment at the end of the day,’ Julie replied with a smile. ‘Well done you. I’m sure you’ll make a first-class
nurse.’ She liked Jess, for she was young, keen and bright, and had so far proved to be an excellent nursing aide. ‘Come on, we’ve got a long list today. Mr Hopkins is first on our list – he lives in Havelock Gardens and I’m looking forward to seeing the inside of his house.’

‘They’re ever so smart, aren’t they?’ said Jess as they cycled down the tree-lined street where the houses stood back from the road behind high brick walls.

They certainly were, and Julie was reminded of the leafy upper-class suburbs of London as they rode through the imposing gateway and along the sweeping gravel drive to the front door, where the porch was sagging beneath the heavy branches of an ancient wisteria.

‘Mr Hopkins is obviously not a gardener,’ muttered Julie as she leaned her bike against one of the wooden pillars holding up the porch and noted the weeds pushing through the gravel and the overgrown flowerbeds. ‘But then he is in his fifties, and the diabetes will have slowed him down.’

‘He’s certainly let the place go,’ said Jess disappointedly as she eyed the peeling paintwork and rotting window frames. ‘No wonder he keeps all his curtains closed. I dread to think what it’s like indoors.’

Julie’s rap on the knocker was answered by a man’s voice coming from the depths of the house. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s the district nurse, Mr Hopkins.’ She and Jess
exchanged amused glances as they heard him turn a key and draw back two bolts.

The door opened just enough for them to see a man in baggy trousers, scruffy cardigan and tartan slippers standing in the shadows of his hallway. He’d yet to shave, his greying hair was untidy, and his hazel eyes regarded them suspiciously.

‘Hello, Mr Hopkins,’ said Julie with a smile. ‘I’m Sister Harris, and this is Jess Miller, my assistant. May we come in?’

He stood back and quickly closed the door behind them. ‘They’re a nosy lot round here,’ he muttered as he led the way down the dim hallway. ‘I expect they’ve already seen you arrive and will no doubt make something out of it.’

Julie and Jess made no comment as they followed him. The wallpaper was peeling where patches of damp had seeped through, and there was a thick layer of dust coating the hall table and mirror. The rug was almost threadbare, and it had been a long time since the floor had been swept and polished. It was all very dreary and most disappointing.