by Emma Fraser
‘Irena?’
Suddenly, without knowing how, she was in his arms and sobbing against his chest.
Two days later, she was in the library immersed in a book when Richard threw open the door.
‘Smith said I’d find you in here. The squadron has been stood down for the day and a gang of us are going for a picnic and we – I – would like you to come too.’
‘I don’t wish to intrude,’ she said stiffly, embarrassed that he’d witnessed her falling apart the other night. When she’d stopped crying, she’d told him about Piotr and Magdalena. He’d listened without saying anything, then taken her home, calling for Mrs Smith to make her a hot-water bottle and help her up to bed.
‘Eleanor and Lucy are coming too. They’ve packed a picnic.’
Undecided, Irena chewed her lip. She’d liked Lucy and Eleanor, but it didn’t feel right to spend time with Richard, particularly as he’d made it clear he was attracted to her. Then again, judging by the number of women vying for his attention, it appeared that he flirted with every woman he came across.
‘Come on – you owe me after dragging me away from the club. Martha had already agreed I could see her home.’
‘Marion,’ she corrected. ‘And I didn’t ask you to come after me…’ She tailed off when she saw he was grinning. It couldn’t hurt. They’d be going their separate ways soon enough. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’d love to.’
They set off in two cars, Irena with Richard and Eleanor in one, while Lucy was in the other with Julian and Scotty. Despite the low cloud, it was warm with only a slight, pleasant breeze.
After a while, they pulled up beside a field. ‘This is it,’ Richard said. ‘There’s a river about a mile from here. It’s sheltered enough to swim in.’
‘I haven’t a bathing costume,’ Irena protested.
Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘We don’t tend to bother with costumes, at least the lads don’t. The girls swim in their underwear.’
‘Don’t tease, Richard,’ Eleanor said, tucking her arm through Irena’s elbow. ‘You can have mine, darling girl. I don’t mind swimming in my underwear. I’ve known these boys for ever.’
That afternoon was one of the happiest Irena had had since the war started. They swam, the women squealing as they submerged themselves in the cold water, while the men pretended an immunity to the freezing water that fooled no one. Richard’s body was more muscled than his lean frame in uniform had led her to expect. To her mortification, he caught her staring at him and grinned. She looked away, furious with herself for even noticing.
When they’d finished swimming, they dried themselves in the sun and sipped champagne. There was no talk of war. Instead, the conversation ranged from films they’d seen, to books they’d read and concerts they’d attended. More than once she looked up to find Richard’s eyes on her and was dismayed by the jolt of pleasure it gave her. She tried to bring Piotr’s face into focus but his image slipped from her mind like a fish.
She lay on her back and closed her eyes and, instead, let herself imagine that she was back in Poland, in the park behind the university, with her friends as their lazy chatter, not dissimilar to this, ebbed and flowed around her.
She sensed someone sit down next to her and opened her eyes. Water dripped from Richard’s wet hair and followed the curve of his cheekbones, down to his mouth. He really was a remarkably beautiful man.
‘Penny for them?’ he said, throwing himself back on the blanket.
She knew she was blushing. ‘I was just thinking that it wasn’t too long ago that I was doing something similar in Poland. It feels as if it happened to a different person.’
He propped himself up on his elbow. ‘The war changes us all. I doubt if any of us will be the same when this is over. We’re all going to have to find a way to live with our demons.’
So he had demons too.
‘Why didn’t Bill come with us today?’ she asked, remembering the sandy-haired pilot at the club.
‘Poor bugger bought it yesterday. Somewhere over France. He wasn’t the only one. We lost three planes.’
She sucked in a breath. ‘Oh no! I’m so sorry. I liked him.’
Anger flashed behind his eyes. ‘There were fifteen of us in the club to begin with. There are only five of us left.’ Suddenly he smiled. ‘That’s why we have to make the most of the time we have.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on, I’ll race you in.’
Later, after everyone had been dropped off, Richard suggested that they go to see a film. Irena couldn’t think of a reason to refuse and besides, there was something reassuring, almost comfortable, about being with him. She was beginning to suspect that behind the languid, couldn’t-care-less attitude, was a man who cared deeply.
The cinema was packed and, as it had been in the club, it was difficult to see clearly through the thick cigarette smoke. She and Richard found two seats together near the front.
The Pathé newsreel started up. Planes filled the screen and everyone hushed as the cheerful voice of the narrator filled the cinema. ‘A day that will go down in British history. Here are our boys showing the Hun what we can do.’ The camera focused on a Spitfire attacking a yellow-nosed Messerschmitt and moments later the enemy aircraft went down in a plume of smoke. ‘Time and time again our boys went back to the fray, returning to base only to refuel and rearm before heading back into battle. The Hun didn’t know what he was letting himself in for.’
Irena felt Richard stiffen next to her. When she glanced at him he was staring straight ahead. The newsreel flickered on, showing dog fights as the narrator continued to boast about what they were calling the Battle of Britain. When the film finished, a couple behind them stood and, looking at Richard, started clapping slowly. Soon the rest of the audience were on their feet and clapping too. One by one several men in RAF uniform stood and the woman behind them tapped Richard on his shoulder. ‘Stand up, lad. People want to see you.’
Reluctantly, Richard got to his feet. The applause intensified and several men whistled and cheered. Richard responded with a mock salute. As the feature film started, and everyone sat down again, Richard grabbed Irena’s hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
She didn’t try to argue. Instead, she followed him out of the auditorium and into the dark street. She said nothing as she walked alongside him, struggling to keep up with his long strides.
Eventually he stopped at a bridge crossing the River Thames. He stared out over the water, seemingly preoccupied with his thoughts. She waited for him to speak.
‘It’s all hokum,’ Richard said finally. ‘The whole lot of it.’
‘You should be proud.’
‘Proud? Yes, we’re proud, but that’s not the whole story.’ He reached into his pocket, brought out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one. When she shook her head he took one out and tapped it on the back of his hand. ‘What they don’t tell the public is that the RAF lost over a thousand planes over that period. They say “planes” not “pilots” because they don’t want Joe Public to remember it’s men that are in the burnt-out wrecks. Over five hundred and forty of them bought it, if you’re interested. It’s not to say they don’t care about the pilots, they do – but only because there aren’t enough of us. The death of one experienced pilot is worth the loss of ten planes to them. They have to be replaced and quickly.’ He lit his cigarette and drew smoke deep into his lungs. ‘Some of the chaps they send to us only have a few hours’ flying time and no battle experience whatsoever. There was one lad who joined the squadron two weeks ago. He was eighteen. You’d think to see him in his uniform that he’d been given a present. All shining and gleaming. He went out with us like that and he came back a shaking mess. Nobody said anything – that wouldn’t do. The second time the lad went up I could tell he didn’t want to go, but of course he had no choice. I kept him near me, but there was a dog fight and we got separated and he was shot down. We’re supposed to fly in a V formation, that’s what they teach us, but we know that’s not
the right way. Bloody Group thirteen were late to the party because their commander insisted that they couldn’t take off unless they were in the right formation. Damn rules. Those chaps haven’t a clue. We should do it the way the Poles do. Break away and go in close and fast.’ He paused and looked out over the river. ‘There are only three things a pilot has to know: keep the sun behind you, go in and get out fast and never fly in a straight line for more than thirty seconds.’ He sucked in a breath and attempted a smile. ‘Sorry, don’t know what’s got into me. I keep forgetting your brother is a pilot. It can’t help my telling you this shit.’
She touched his shoulder. ‘I know what it is like to be scared, so scared you think you will die from the fear. I also know that a person can’t feel like that all the time. Eventually feeling scared to death becomes normal.’ She placed her hands on the rail and followed his gaze out over the river. ‘It’s only the absence of fear that makes you truly realise that you’ve been frightened all the time. But there are worse things than feeling scared.’ She bit her lip. ‘Much worse things.’
He reached for her hand. ‘Tell me what it was like. You can, you know.’
She returned the pressure of his fingers. ‘One day, perhaps. But not yet. Come on, I’m working tonight. Let’s go home.’
Chapter 28
Edinburgh, 1989
Back in Edinburgh, Sarah took a taxi straight to the hospital. Her parting from Matthew had been cool. She’d decided on the flight not to say anything to her mother about what she’d learned in London. There was no point in getting her all agitated and upset – at least not until she knew more. If Irena was still alive she was determined to find her – although she wasn’t sure how. Then she’d tell Mum.
After leaving the Astley Ainslie, Sarah dropped her bag at her flat and set out towards the Old Town and the university. Although she should drop in at the office she wanted to chase up the Irena lead.
But how to find someone who could tell her something about the graduates, particularly the Polish ones? She headed down George IV Street, towards the Central Library. Her job as a copy editor often involved checking up on facts, so she was a well-known figure there.
After a few false starts she found a member of staff who was able to help.
‘We hold a medical directory – it lists all the qualified doctors, their specialities and where they are working currently. I’m not sure how up to date it is but it could be a start?’
The book, it couldn’t really be called a formal directory, contained the names of the doctors currently working in hospitals across Edinburgh. There were three with Polish-sounding surnames, one of whom worked at the City Hospital, the other two at the RIE. Next to their names was the date they had been entered onto the medical register. To Sarah’s disappointment, most of the dates were after 1950.
She considered phoning the RIE’s switchboard and asking to be put through to the doctors, but as the hospital was only a short distance from the library, and thinking she might learn more if she talked to them in person, she jotted down the names and, after thanking the librarian who had helped her, left the library and headed back towards Lauriston Place and the Royal Infirmary.
Seeing the hospital brought back sickening memories.
It had been four in the morning when she’d been called by the A & E nurses and told that her mother had been brought in by ambulance and was seriously ill. She’d thrown on her clothes, terrified that she wouldn’t make it in time. When she’d got to the hospital, her mother had still been unconscious and the sight of her, in that hospital bed, her mouth pulled down at the side, had made her want to howl. She’d only been allowed a few minutes with Mum before they’d taken her up to the ward and she’d whispered to her that she loved her – words she’d never been able to say before or since and didn’t even know if her mother had heard.
She took a deep breath and went inside.
The large Victorian hospital was as grand inside as it was out. In the wide, high-ceilinged entrance hall was a desk with a middle-aged woman in a blue overall standing behind it. Judging by her anxious smile and the pristine state of her uniform, she had to be new.
‘Hello,’ Sarah said. ‘I wonder if you can help me.’
The woman, whose name badge identified her as Jane Kennedy, pointed to a sign on the counter, and grinned. The WRVS welcomes you to the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh. We are here to help you. ‘That’s what we’re here for. What can I do for you?’
‘I believe you have a Dr Wilinski and a Dr Sobíeski on your staff?’
Jane pulled a buff-coloured A5 book towards her. ‘If they are they’ll be in the hospital directory. I haven’t been here long so I don’t know all the doctors’ names yet. There’re so many of them and they keep changing – at least the junior doctors do.’ She flicked through the book, running her finger down a list of names. ‘Oh, you’re in luck. Found them. Which one do you want?’
‘You couldn’t put me through to Dr Sobíeski, by any chance?’ Sarah replied, aware she couldn’t say she didn’t know.
‘I don’t think he’ll be in his office. The doctors here are really busy. But I could put you through to his secretary, if you like. She’ll be able to get hold of him for you.’
At that moment an older woman arrived at the desk. ‘You can go for your tea-break now, Jane.’
‘I was just going to put this lady through to Dr Sobíeski’s office, Mrs Gray. I’ll do it before I go, shall I?’
Mrs Gray snatched the receiver from Jane’s hand. ‘You can’t just call the doctors – or their secretaries! We’d have people bothering them all the time if we did.’ She turned to Sarah. ‘I suggest you write to Dr Sobíeski, care of his secretary, and make an appointment.’
Jane gave Sarah a regretful smile and shrugged her shoulders. The two women turned away and started talking in low voices.
Shit. So near and yet so far. But she was damned if she was going to write any letters. And even more damned if she were going to wait weeks for a reply.
She noticed Jane had left the directory on the table. Sarah glanced around, slipped it under her arm and walked away. As soon as she was out of sight she rifled through the pages until she found Dr Sobíeski’s name. It listed him under ‘ward eighteen, surgical’. Dr Wilinski was listed under ‘ward three, medical’.
When she returned to the desk the older woman was talking to a porter and, as casually as she could, Sarah replaced the booklet on the reception desk.
She took the lift to the third floor. To the left and almost immediately outside ward eighteen was a door with a nameplate: dr SOBÍESKI.
To her frustration there was no reply when she knocked. She tried the door but it was locked. Taking the stairs she went back down to the second floor and after getting lost several times, managed to find her way to the medical block and Dr Wilinski’s office.
She knocked on the door and, without waiting for a reply, opened it. Two women were sitting at a table that ran the length of the room, bent over a pile of case notes. One was wearing a blouse and skirt, the other a white coat. They looked up in surprise.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ Sarah said, ‘but I’m looking for a Dr Wilinski.’
‘I’m Jozefa Wilinski,’ the woman in the white coat said, raising an enquiring eyebrow.
‘Do you have a moment?’
‘What is this about? Are you a relative?’
‘No. I’m trying to find someone who could tell me about the Polish School of Medicine. I was hoping you might know or point me in the right direction.’
Dr Wilinski stretched her arms above her head and smiled. ‘Good God! I thought my father and I were the only people left who gave a rat’s arse about it.’
Sarah’s breath came out in a whoosh. ‘No. Let me assure you, I give a lot more than a rat’s arse about it. Do you have a few minutes?’
Chapter 29
‘This is my father, Dr Marian Wilinski.’ Jozefa introduced Sarah to an elderly man, who immediately pushed him
self out of his armchair by the fire. ‘Father, this is the young woman I was telling you about – the one who is interested in the Polish Hospital.’
After talking to Sarah, Jozefa had arranged for her to meet her father, but not until today. In between visiting her mother, and hoping to appease her boss, Sarah had spent the last three days catching up on work.
‘Forgive me, my dear, but these days it takes me longer than I care to admit to get to my feet. Old age with a hefty dash of arthritis, I’m afraid.’
His voice was still heavily accented. Although he stooped slightly he must have been tall as a young man as he still topped Sarah by several inches. He held out a gnarled hand with over-long fingernails. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Davidson. My daughter has told me you’re interested in the Paderewski Hospital.’
‘Yes. Please, don’t let me keep you standing.’
