Sandra, lying on the bed, didn’t want to spend another evening alone wondering about her brother or Brad – and why he hadn’t told her he had been discharged – which was what she did whenever her mind wasn’t distracted. A futile occupation which led to more questions than it ever did answers.
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Don’t think too long. We’re going straight after the evening meal.’
Wondering what on earth she could wear, Sandra went for clean jodhpurs, thick socks, stout shoes and her heavy coat as the nights were cooler now. Her hair was glossy after being freshly washed, and she’d put a dab of flowery-smelling perfume behind her ears.
As she entered the Fox and Hounds, with its low ceiling and rustic beams, the pub was a blast of noise. Folk gathered around the piano for a good old singsong and, at the other end of the room, local farm workers were having a game of darts. Sandra scoured the smoke-filled room for a vacant table.
‘There’s one.,’ Evelyn made a beeline for the table at the far end of the room by the tiled fireplace embellished with ornamental brasses. The rest of them followed.
The music stopped and a voice was heard to say, ‘Crikey! More sodbusters.’ Sandra looked to the next table where soldiers sat with some ATS lasses. The girl who’d spoken looked peeved. She was the same lass from the dance in the village hall.
With a pang Sandra remembered that had been when Brad introduced himself.
From the corner of her eye Sandra saw Evelyn stand up from her seat, indignation written all over her face. ‘Not again!’
At that moment, Ruby and Roy mercifully entered the pub and came over to join them.
‘What a time we’ve had getting away,’ Ruby exclaimed as she removed her coat and sat down. ‘Roy’s sister arrived with the bairn. Did I tell yi’ she’d had one?’ Ruby prattled on and the moment passed. Sandra gave a sigh of relief as she saw the ATS lass carry on talking to a serviceman sitting next to her.
He was wearing an American air force uniform.
Sandra stiffened; she thought she recognised him. Adrenalin raced through her. He was the same Yank who’d been at the dance with Brad. He looked up and she saw a glimmer of recognition in his eye. Embarrassed that she was staring, Sandra averted her eyes.
Ruby, centre stage, was telling a tale about a mouse. ‘I was stacking sheaves of corn into stooks and I must have disturbed a mouse and it ran straight up me dungaree leg. I started dancing around ’cos I was scared the damn thing went up to me nether regions. Then some cheeky bugger farm labourer suggested I took me dungarees off.’
Everyone was hooting at Ruby’s perplexed face.
‘What did you do?’ Enid guffawed.
A voice spoke up beside Sandra. ‘Miss Hudson, isn’t it?’ She turned and looked up to see the American standing at her side.
‘Yes, and you are?’
‘Hal Miller.’
‘Pleased to meet you. You’re a friend of—’
A roar of riotous laughter exploded around the table and Hal cupped his hand around his ear. ‘Pardon me.’
‘You’re a friend of—’
More laughter.
Frowning, Hal looked around the room, then pointed to two vacant chairs by the fireside. He went over, sat down and Sandra got up and followed him.
Tall and fair, with wide apart eyes, Hal had an assured air. The idea he might know something about Brad sent a wave of nervous anticipation through Sandra.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked.
Sandra wracked her brain trying to think what Evelyn had bought her the last time.
‘Cider. Please?’
‘You’re sure that’s all you want?’
Sandra wasn’t because she didn’t know what else was on offer. ‘That’s perfectly fine,’ she answered primly.
Hal made his way to the bar where a busty barmaid fluttered her eyes at the American.
Sandra felt daft. Perfectly fine sounded so typically English, but she felt uneasy in his company. He knew Brad and probably knew about her.
Surely she hadn’t been wrong about Brad. He wouldn’t see her as a conquest to talk to his mates about, would he? Maybe now he thought of her as someone out of sight and out of mind.
Hal returned with her cider and a small glass for him.
The piano struck up again and servicemen, arms around each other’s shoulders, began to sway and sing uproariously.
Hal leant towards her. ‘I guess I feel I know you. I’ve heard so much about you.’ His voice was raised so she could hear him.
She felt the heat in her cheeks. What had Brad said about her? ‘From Brad?’
‘Yep. Pity the guy had to go.’
‘After he left the hospital, you mean?’
‘Didn’t you know?’
She shook her head.
Hal looked puzzled. ‘Brad and I… we go back some and talk about things that matter. He’s overboard in love with you. He was told to report back to Cambridgeshire. Last I heard he was going to write to tell you.’ Looking uncomfortable, Hal took a swig of his drink.
‘Well he didn’t.’ Sandra’s voice was sharper than she intended. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’
‘Gee. It’s not my place.’
Sandra wasn’t going to allow this conversation to end there. ‘It’s been weeks since I saw Brad and he hasn’t had the decency to be in touch. I need to know now what this is all about because it’s obvious he isn’t going to say.’
People sitting at a nearby table looked on as if they were witnessing an argument.
Sandra, her mind in turmoil, was past caring. She glowered at Hal.
She could see he struggled with his conscience.
Visibly reluctant, he told her, ‘Brad’s married. According to him it’s over. I know he meant to tell you and get it off his chest.’
The next day as they walked home, telling Frieda was difficult, but Sandra knew if she wanted to be able to look herself in the mirror again this must be done.
‘So, you see, Brad hoodwinked me just as Antonio did you.’
‘Hoodwinked?’
‘It means deceived.’
Frieda touched her friend’s arm. ‘I am so sorry, Sandra, I know how devastated you must be.’
‘I’m just sorry I wasn’t more understanding about Antonio. I know now all you wanted was someone who’d understand and listen, not some clever clogs who thought she knew better.’
‘You were right about Antonio. And you were worried about me.’
Sandra sighed. ‘Once again we are sisters of the same fate.’
‘I wish I was your sister.’
Sandra smiled at Frieda. She felt the same.
They walked for a while in silence, deep in their own thoughts. The chilly, blustery evening signalled that summer was over and autumn was truly here.
‘Sandra… I would ask Aunty Doris this question, but I haven’t told her about Antonio…’
‘Go on, what is it you want to ask?’
‘Do you think I will love anyone again as much as I did Antonio?’
Sandra searched her own feelings for an answer. How could she have been so wrong about Brad when she had believed he was special? Yet, he’d lied to her. Sandra felt used and cheated. She now understood Frieda’s predicament. It wasn’t easy to fall out of love even though the man involved was a scoundrel. Despite this, she steeled herself. Brad was married and off limits. Sandra must put him out of her mind.
Frieda deserved an honest answer. ‘I don’t know. But now I know what it feels like, I sincerely hope so for both our sakes.’
As they approached the path leading to the hostel, they stopped and without a second thought, Sandra hugged Frieda close.
She spoke in her ear. ‘No matter what life throws at us we’ve got each other to rely on. Night night.’
Frieda seemed too emotional to speak.
As she hurried up the path, Sandra heard her voice ring out behind her. ‘Night night. God bless.’
> There, beside two other letters on the hostel’s occasional table for post, was a crumpled-looking envelope addressed to her. The writing was Alf’s. For an instant she felt like rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. Hands shaking, she tore the envelope open.
There was a letter inside. She pulled the slip of paper out of the envelope and her fingers touched a small object. Bemused, she shook the envelope and the object fell into her hand. A chain and round disc with Alf’s name inscribed on it.
Alf was alive; the proof was in her hand.
She wanted to share her wonderful news. Sandra couldn’t help wanting to share it with Mr Carlton. She owed that to him for all his caring; besides, she needed to apologise for not attending classes.
When Matthew answered the door, Miss Hudson stood there looking rather hesitant. She didn’t meet his eyes. He worried that something was wrong.
‘Mr Carlton, I’m sorry I haven’t been turning up for reading lessons, lately…’
He wondered if her nervousness was anything to do with the American. But the affair was a private matter and none of his business.
Matthew concentrated on what he did best – helping those in need. His attitude was one of genuine concern for one of his parishioners. For that was what Miss Hudson now was.
‘That’s perfectly fine.’ He knew he sounded stiff and starchy but being formal was the only way he could handle matters with Miss Hudson. ‘I doubt you need any more instruction. You should be extremely proud of yourself.’
‘Thanks to you.’ She hesitated. ‘I have some good news and I wanted you to be the first to know.’ A radiant smile transformed her face. ‘I’ve had a letter from Alf!’
Matthew found himself grinning. ‘Come in, we’ve just finished tea. Mr Fairweather will want to know the good news.’
He led the way to the dining room where Mr Fairweather was pouring a cup of tea.
‘I heard,’ the vicar said. ‘Sit down and tell us all about it. There’s milk but we’ve run out of sugar.’ He handed over the cup of tea to Miss Hudson, who took it and, distractedly, took a sip.
Matthew felt glad at seeing Mr Fairweather be so charming to Miss Hudson.
‘Is this the brother that was interned in Switzerland?’ Mr Fairweather asked.
‘Yes, but he’s escaped and is now in Spain.’
‘He’s in Spain?’ Matthew repeated.
‘I’m so excited, I’ve only skimmed the letter and can’t take it all in. Would you read it to me please?’ She turned to Mr Fairweather. ‘I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind. Forgive me for interrupting.’
‘No… no, child. You need to know what your brother says. Read the letter out loud, Mr Carlton.’
Matthew watched Sandra fish the letter out of her dungarees pocket and hand it to him.
He unfolded it and read out loud.
Dear Sis,
I’m in Spain! At the British Consulate in Barcelona. The official has agreed to my request to send you this letter. I’ll be brief.
After a long journey which included a hike over the Pyrenees, I arrived here. After the formalities, I was informed I’m to be driven with two RAF pilots to Madrid, approximately some four hundred miles, to the British embassy. From there I’ll be sent to Gibraltar and repatriated to England by sea or air. Apparently, it could take some time but the hope is I’ll be home for Christmas.
Meanwhile, I wanted you to have my necklace. Keep it safe till I see you.
Sorry to cause you worry.
Your loving brother Alf
‘Child, you must be so relieved.’ Mr Fairweather’s round face pictured his delight. ‘May I see this necklace?’
As Sandra brought the necklace out of her pocket, Matthew detected her chin wobbled.
He kept decorum. ‘It’s good to see things turned out so well.’ And it does my heart good to see you radiating with happiness, a traitorous voice in his head said.
He’d talked about his feelings for Miss Hudson with the vicar. And told him that she was attracted to someone else. Matthew had needed guidance on the matter. After discussion, the vicar’s final words had been, ‘I will pray for you, Mr Carlton, that you’re able to be at peace about this matter.’ His look had been perceptive. ‘You are only human.’
The clock struck the hour and Matthew’s attention was drawn to the fact he’d need to leave if he was to be punctual for the WI meeting, where he was taking part in judging jars of homemade jam.
‘I’m afraid I must go. I have an appointment.’
Matthew rose and left the room, purposely avoiding Miss Hudson’s gaze.
32
November 1943
Frieda
Terrific assault by the RAF on capital of Nazi-land[…] Hun must regret the ruthless attacks on London, and Coventry[…] Berlin will be eliminated as Germany’s war centre.
It was breakfast time, and Frieda, swallowing a spoonful of porridge, felt her stomach plummet as she read the article in yesterday’s newspaper that lay on the table.
But what about the innocent people? her mind cried – Mama, Papa, her brother Kurt. Her appetite lost, she pushed the bowl of porridge away.
Aunty Doris bustled into the kitchen. ‘Morning.’ She looked at the table and clicked her tongue. ‘Sorry. You weren’t supposed to see that. I meant to hide the paper before I went to bed.’
Hiding the truth doesn’t make any difference to the truth, Frieda thought. But she knew her aunt was only trying to protect her.
‘Come on, love, eat some breakfast.’
Frieda heard the anxiety in her aunt’s tone. She wanted to please Aunty Doris but the resolve not to eat was stronger. She pressed her lips firmly together.
‘What would your mama tell you if she were here?’
Her vision blurred, Frieda sniffed. ‘She would be worried and say the same as you.’
In the dark, drizzly weather on the way to the Nichols’ farm, torch pointed towards the ground, Frieda tried to conjure up Mama’s face. When she couldn’t, she panicked.
Was that a sign that something was wrong?
As she splashed through the puddles, images of bombs dropping on her neighbourhood in Germany played in her mind. Willing the horrifying scenes away, Frieda tried to think of something pleasant.
She thought of Sandra, the wonderful news that her brother was alive and would be making his way home from Spain one day. It was just the glad tidings Sandra needed right now as the American’s betrayal had hurt her deeply.
It had been the same for Frieda for a long time. But now she felt magically cured of lovesick yearnings for Antonio. Perhaps it had been a crush, after all. Or, maybe the new farmhand who had started at the Nichols’ farm a fortnight ago to help with the horses had something to do with it. Blond, with baby blue eyes and thick, perfectly shaped eyebrows, Colin Gibson was the same age as her.
Her stomach curled with pleasure at the thought of Colin, his sweet and caring personality that made her feel special whenever their paths crossed.
For a moment, Frieda forgot the horrors of war-torn Berlin.
Since she’d received Alf’s letter, a weight had lifted from Sandra and she refused to allow her broken heart over Brad to bring her down.
But the state of Mr Nichol preyed on her mind as she cycled home by torchlight, the darkness all around her oppressive.
‘Poor man’s worried sick about his wife,’ Doris Leadbeater had said when Sandra visited the post office earlier to buy a stamp for Olive’s letter.
‘I never see her these days,’ Sandra had admitted.
‘She’s turned her face to the wall since her son was killed.’ Mrs Leadbeater gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘The same thing happened to me when my husband was killed on his motorcycle. I’ve never got over Jack’s death.’ She shook her head as she passed over the stamp. ‘But I’ve learnt to live with it.’
A noise caught Sandra’s attention and, looking to the left, she saw the red glow of a cigarette in the darkness.
A ma
le voice spoke in the shadows. ‘It’s me, Sandra – Brad.’
She stopped her bike and shone the torch in his face. It looked eerily white.
Adrenalin racing through her veins rendered Sandra weak. ‘Go away. I’ve got nothing to say to you.’
He moved towards her. ‘I sure don’t blame you after the way I treated you. Please hear me out. I’ve only got a two-day pass, then I’ll be gone. I want to set the record straight before I go.’
There was finality in his voice and it left Sandra wondering what he meant. Gone from here, or gone from England for good? She didn’t care, she told herself.
‘Nothing you could say would make things right. You lied to me. You’re married.’
As anger and blame hung between them, the atmosphere tensed.
‘Hal told me you knew. I didn’t lie, Sandra. I just hadn’t told you the truth yet.’
‘It’s the same thing in my book,’ she retorted. Yet, in her heart she wanted him to wrap his arms around her, tell her it was all a big mistake. She steeled herself. The man was a cad.
‘It matters that you understand. I know I’m a scoundrel, but I couldn’t go without telling you the truth.’
Despite the fury she felt, an inner voice told her to hear him out. Brad could have walked away and never come back.
‘An hour, Sandra, that’s all I ask.’
Sandra sat in the pub at a corner table by the fire where no one could see her – not that anyone was in the pub this early. Brad was talking to Ina Turner, the bar lady, a rather plump, plain-speaking woman whose husband was serving abroad. Mrs Turner kept looking at Sandra as Brad spoke, then she nodded.
Brad came over and, placing a pint of beer on the table, he took off his leather jacket and sat opposite her.
‘I told the landlady that you’ve missed your meal at the hostel and she’s agreed to make you a pot of tea and sandwiches.’
Sandra childishly refused to be swayed by the kind gesture. ‘I’m not hungry, thank you.’
There was an uncomfortable silence. Brad appeared unable to start the conversation. He stood and moved to the fire and warmed his hands.
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