by Emma Fraser
‘I shouldn’t have left. I should have joined the resistance. I would have saved her.’
‘You did what you had to do, Aleksy.’ She was crying now. ‘We all did what we had to do.’
‘I need some time,’ he muttered and before she could reply, he walked away from her.
‘Give him a few moments.’ She hadn’t been aware that Richard had returned. He passed her his handkerchief and she blew her nose.
‘I should be with him. Make him understand.’
‘Make him understand what? That while he’s been here knocking the hell out of the Jerries the woman he loves was starving to death? How can anyone make sense of that?’
She drew a shuddering breath and tried to steady her voice. ‘Aleksy’s right. I should have made them leave.’
Richard took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘You can’t blame yourself. If this war is anyone’s fault it’s the Germans.’ He lifted his hand from her shoulder and rubbed his thumb across her cheek. ‘Come on, dry your tears. What’s happened to the brave, resolute young lady I knew in London?’
She blew her nose and handed him back his handkerchief. ‘I’m not brave.’ She sniffed. If he knew what she’d done, or more correctly, hadn’t done, he wouldn’t say that.
Aleksy was coming back. ‘If you need me I’ll be in the officers’ mess,’ Richard said and with a final squeeze of her shoulder, walked away.
‘I’m sorry, Renia,’ Aleksy said, his expression remote, his brown eyes empty. ‘I shouldn’t have said those things. It was the shock.’
He folded the note and placed it in his top pocket. ‘You haven’t told me about our father.’ His lips twisted. ‘Is he dead too?’
‘No, Aleksy. Tata is still alive. Or at least he was the last time I saw him, but the war has taken its toll on him too.’
She told him about their father’s arrest and her move to Rozwadow, about going into the ghetto and the typhoid scam, but she left out the bit about the Oberführer Bilsen’s interest in her. There were some things that her brother didn’t need to know.
‘I wish you hadn’t risked your life like that,’ Aleksy said when she’d finished. An image of the woman trying to hand her the child flashed into her head and she shivered. For a second, she was tempted to tell him about the Jewish woman and her child. She longed to lay down her burden – to admit what she’d done. But would Aleksy understand? Would anyone who hadn’t been in Poland then understand? She didn’t know if she understood herself.
‘You risk your life every time you go up in a plane. Everyone in Poland risks their life every day. But I ran away.’ Her voice cracked. ‘There are so many people left behind and we don’t know what will happen to them.’
He pulled her to him and hugged her fiercely. ‘What could you have done if you’d stayed? I might have lost you too.’ Aleksy held her for a moment longer before releasing her. ‘Couldn’t you have persuaded Tata to come with you? From what you have told me it is only a matter of time before he is arrested again.’
Maybe she should have tried harder to make Tata leave, but she couldn’t bear it if Aleksy thought she’d run away without caring what happened to their father. ‘I begged him to come with me. But you know how stubborn Tata can be.’
Aleksy slung an arm around her shoulder and hugged her. ‘At least you are out of danger.’
‘Yes,’ Irena said heavily. She was out of danger.
Too soon it was time to leave for their station. Aleksy walked with them to their borrowed vehicle.
‘Will you come and see me in Edinburgh?’ she asked. ‘When you get leave?’
‘Of course.’
Richard scribbled something on a piece of paper he’d torn from a small notebook. ‘This is my parents’ address in Edinburgh and the phone number. You’d be most welcome to stay.’
‘Thank you.’ Aleksy shoved it in his pocket.
The sound of a phone ringing came from the hut close to where the other pilots were gathered.
‘That’s a scramble,’ Richard said.
‘Scramble?’
‘It means Aleksy’s squadron has to get airborne.’
‘No! Tell them you can’t fly today, Aleksy.’
A tired smile crossed her brother’s face. ‘If ever I needed to fly, it’s today.’ He held Irena for a few moments before kissing her on the cheek. ‘Stay safe, Renia.’ He turned to Richard. ‘Look after her.’ And then he was running again, stopping only to pick his Mae West from a chair before clambering into the back of a jeep. As it sped away, Irena wondered if she’d ever see him again.
Richard saluted the retreating jeep. ‘As if she were china, son,’ he murmured, looking at Irena. ‘As if she were china.’
Chapter 31
A chauffeur-driven car was waiting for them outside the station when they reached Edinburgh. The rain was falling steadily, combining with the smoke from the chimneys to create a heavy smog.
‘Good evening, sir,’ the driver said to Richard.
‘Evening, Crawford. This is Miss Kraszewska.’
Irena held out her hand. There was an awkward moment where Crawford looked at Richard before stretching out his hand and giving her fingers the briefest of squeezes – almost as if he couldn’t bear to touch her.
‘You’ve confused Crawford,’ Richard whispered as the man put their luggage in the boot.
‘Why?’
‘He doesn’t expect to shake hands with my guests. He’s old school.’
None of it made sense to Irena.
‘What old school?’
Richard threw back his head and laughed. ‘It’s an expression. I’ll fill you in later.’ He slid her a glance. ‘That means I’ll explain.’
Although she was almost fluent in English, the expressions and idioms people used still bewildered her sometimes. Of course, they had nonsensical ones in Poland, too, but those she could follow. It was at times like this, she felt most dislocated. Despite the kindness the British people had shown to her, she doubted she would ever feel at home in this country.
They drove through cobbled streets before turning into a large square surrounded by elegant houses. They’d barely stepped out of the car before a woman in a dark suit ran down the steps to meet them.
‘Darling! It’s so lovely to have you home again.’ She lifted her face to receive Richard’s kiss before turning to Irena. ‘You must be Irena! Are you exhausted? Come inside out of the rain.’
Another woman, pin thin and with a worried, time-wrinkled face, met them at the top of the steps. When she saw Richard her face broke into a smile.
Richard picked her off her feet and hugged her. ‘Hannah! You’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.’
The older woman blushed. When Richard put her back on her feet she swiped him on the arm. ‘Away with you and your nonsense. Oh but, your lordship, it’s good to have you home.’ She stood back and surveyed Irena with a frown. ‘I don’t know what my sister has been feeding you in London, lass, but it looks to me as if you’re in need of fattening up. I’ll get back to the kitchen and get something sorted for you. Dinner won’t be until seven.’
As soon as Hannah scurried off and Crawford had relieved them of their coats, Lady Glendale led them into a large, high-ceilinged room where a fire was blazing in an elegant marble fireplace.
‘Take a seat by the fire, Irena,’ Richard’s mother said quietly. In the light of the room Irena was able to see her better. She was older than she had appeared out on the street, but she was beautiful in a way Irena suspected would never fade. Her honey-blond hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, but where Richard’s eyes were blue, hers were a deep chocolate brown.
‘As soon as you have warmed up, I’ll show you to your room so you can freshen up. Hannah will bring you a tray,’ Lady Glendale said to Irena.
‘Freshen up?’
‘Mother means a wash or a bath and change,’ Richard explained.
‘Thank you. And thank you for being so kind, Lady
Glendale.’
‘I think it is more appropriate if you call me Dr Maxwell if we are going to be work colleagues.’
‘How have you managed to get it all arranged so quickly?’ Irena had imagined it would take weeks.
‘Mother never wastes time when she has something that needs doing,’ Richard said, dropping a kiss on the top of his mother’s head.
‘It wasn’t very difficult,’ she replied. ‘There are several Polish medical students here already. All of us at the university think we should do what we can for those of you who managed to get away. We have decided that you must have your lectures with the Scottish students at the university, but you are to have your clinical training at the Polish Hospital. It’s part of the Western General, which is being used as a military hospital.’ She slid a mischievous smile at Irena. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find you plenty to do.’ Dr Maxwell stood. ‘Now I’m afraid you are going to have to indulge me for a few minutes while I find out what my son has been up to.’
‘Perhaps I could go to my room now and have a wash before dinner?’ Irena said. She felt awkward intruding on the family’s reunion.
‘Of course. Richard, would you take Irena up to the green room? I’m afraid all the maids have gone off to do war work of one kind or another. It’s only Crawford and Hannah left.’ She gave Irena another smile. ‘Although with Richard and his father away, there’s only me rattling around. Speaking of which, how is your father, Richard?’
Richard stood and held the door open. ‘He’s well. I’ll take Irena to her room and then I’m all yours, Mother.’
Irena luxuriated in a long hot bath, until she’d washed away every last speck of grime and dust. When she returned to her bedroom, there was a tray of tea and scones on her bedside table. Nibbling a scone, she brushed her hair before tying it into a knot. She peered at her face in the mirror, grimacing at the reflection staring back at her. There were still dark circles under her eyes and lines around her mouth she was sure hadn’t been there a few months ago. Although she’d put on a little weight while she was in London, she was still thinner than she could remember ever being. But then wasn’t that fashionable these days?
Why was she worrying about her appearance anyway? What could it possibly matter? Nevertheless, rightly or wrongly, she longed for a tube of lipstick to replace the one she’d finished, or some foundation – anything to put some colour into her too-pale complexion.
As she made her way back downstairs, just before seven, a gong sounded and Richard and his mother, their arms linked, walked into the hall. Richard had shaved and changed out of his uniform into a dark suit and white shirt and bowtie. His mother was wearing a short evening dress. They looked up at her, but if they noticed she was wearing the same dress as earlier, they didn’t comment.
‘Come along, my dear,’ Dr Maxwell said. ‘I’m afraid you missed the glass of sherry we always have before dinner, but I’m sure Crawford will have unearthed some wine to have with dinner.’
They sat at a long, polished mahogany table set with fine china and crystal. Crawford came around to her left and poured her a glass of wine, so red it seemed to glow. Irena took a sip and as the alcohol hit her stomach, she felt herself relax. Dr Maxwell waited until they had been served with a thick vegetable soup before she spoke.
‘I understand you were working in a hospital in Poland during the first months of occupation. That must have been a terrible experience.’
Richard raised his glass to his mother. ‘Mother has some idea what it must have been like for you. She served near the front line in the last war, you know.’
For a moment Irena glimpsed a profound sadness behind Dr Maxwell’s brown eyes, then Richard’s mother blinked and it was gone.
‘I believe it is so much worse what we do to one another now,’ Dr Maxwell continued. ‘At least in the last war – who would ever have thought we’d see two? – we didn’t have the weapons we do now. I see some of the aftermath in the Western General. I do a round there once a week, Irena, as well as work at the Royal Infirmary.’
‘Mother ran a small private hospital for years. She was one of the first women in Scotland to qualify as a surgeon after the war so they are pleased to have someone with her experience at the military hospital.’
‘I still have the hospital, Richard, although I tend to leave it in the hands of my very capable colleagues now that there’s a war on. Unfortunately, we need surgeons more than ever. In which field do you hope to specialise in, Irena?’
‘Paediatrics.’ Then before she could help herself she was telling them about the children in the ghetto and how so many had died from lack of food or safe water. Richard and Dr Maxwell listened in silence.
‘Oh, my dear, how awful. Did you tell any of this to my husband? He works for the War Office. I think he’d like to know.’
Richard was watching Irena closely, admiration and sympathy in his blue eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t want – or deserve – either.
‘Most of it. Not everything. You get so used to keeping quiet about everything. It had to be secret.’
And she should have remembered that. What had she done? If word ever got back to the Nazis about the help Henryk and Stanislaw were giving in the ghetto they’d be arrested and then their typhus scam would also have to stop. How could she have been so stupid? She reached out a hand. ‘Please don’t tell him. I mean, of course he should know what the Nazis are doing to us and particularly to the Jews. Someone needs to do something to help. But…’ She tailed off. Of course she couldn’t expect them not to disclose where they had got their information. And of course they would never do anything to put people in danger. At least not knowingly.
Richard had come to stand behind her. He rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment. ‘You can trust us not to give your chums away.’ He sat back down, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘None of us in the RAF like it that we’re not bombing that lunatic Hitler to smithereens. But the men in the war cabinet are so bloody cautious. Sometimes I wonder if they are ever going to let us fight this war they way we should.’
‘Richard!’ Dr Maxwell interrupted. ‘We have to trust that Churchill and people like your father know what they are doing.’
‘In the same way the British government knew what they were doing when they refused to accept your lot in the last war? They’ve changed their minds since then. It only took them twenty years to do so.’
‘What do you mean?’ Irena asked.
Richard waited until Crawford had cleared their soup plates and placed some fish in front of them before he answered.
‘Mother was with a unit of women who called themselves the Scottish Women’s Hospital. They were led by a Scottish doctor called Elsie Inglis – she’s dead now.’ He glanced at his mother, all traces of his earlier anger appearing to have disappeared. ‘But it’s your story, Mother. I think you should tell it.’
‘It all seems a little tame now compared to what you have been through, Irena,’ Dr Maxwell said quietly. ‘When the last war broke out, Dr Inglis gathered several women together: doctors, nurses, orderlies, chauffeurs – everybody and everything that was needed to set up a field hospital. However, when she offered their services to the British government they were less than impressed. In fact, they rejected her offer outright.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘But Dr Inglis was the sort of woman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. She went to the Serbian and French governments and offered to help them instead. Naturally, they were only too delighted to accept.’
‘Mother went out with one of the first units. To Serbia, if I remember correctly?’
‘Yes. Richard’s Aunt Dorothea – my husband’s sister – was there too. In the beginning she was an orderly in a unit in France. Later she came to Serbia as a chauffeur.’ The colour drained from her face and she raised her hand to her forehead.
‘What is it, Mother? One of your headaches?’
Dr Maxwell nodded.
Richard was instantly at his mothe
r’s elbow with a glass of water. ‘I shouldn’t have brought up the last war,’ he said to Irena as Dr Maxwell took a sip. ‘Mother doesn’t like to talk about it.’
Irena could understand only too well. There were many things she could never speak about.
‘When are you leaving tomorrow, Richard?’ Dr Maxwell asked.
‘I’m on the sleeper, so I’ll be here when you get home from the hospital.’
‘You have to go back so soon?’ Irena said. ‘I thought you were on leave?’
‘I am. Forty-eight hours.’
‘Yet you took the time to come with me to Dumfries?’
