by Emma Fraser
‘If you were my girl, I’d search heaven and earth until I found you.’
Her pulse skipped a beat.
‘How long will you wait for him?’ he asked quietly.
‘Until the war is over and all the men have returned.’ She scrambled to her feet and started packing up the basket. ‘Let’s go,’ she said.
Richard suggested they attend an open-air recital in Princes Street Gardens. Not ready for the day to end, Irena agreed.
By the time they returned, Isabel had gone to bed.
‘What about a night cap?’ Richard asked.
‘I’m a little tired.’ She was increasingly aware of the way he kept looking at her and her own reaction to him.
‘Please. Sit with me a while. I don’t always find it easy to sleep.’
‘Neither do I.’
His admission touched her more than anything else he’d said or done, so she took a seat by the fireplace. He placed a record on the gramophone and as the voice of Glenn Miller filled the room, he crossed over to the drinks tray and poured them both a whisky.
‘What keeps you awake?’ she asked.
He handed her the tumbler before lounging back in a chair. ‘I dream I’m flying. Sometimes it’s peaceful, just me and the clouds. Other times I’m being chased or my plane is on fire and I know I have to bale. The worst ones are when I see another plane being chased and I know he’s going to go down but I can’t do anything to stop it.’
Not so different to her nightmares.
His mouth curved in a smile. ‘Other times I dream I’m dancing with a beautiful woman in my arms. I don’t know her name but I know she’s meant to be there. Come to think of it, she looks like you.’ He leaned across, looking directly into her eyes. As he touched her face with his fingertip, a shocking wave of desire pooled low in her abdomen. She drew back and stood, placing her unfinished drink on the table. ‘I think I’ll go to bed now.’
He dropped his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to chase you away. That was clumsy of me. You’re like no other woman I’ve met and I don’t know how to be around you.’ He rubbed the back of his neck and she could see the genuine regret in his eyes. ‘I’m really not so bad once you get to know me.’
Despite herself she smiled. ‘And am I? Going to get to know you?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘I rather think you are.’
Chapter 34
February 1942
The numbers of students at the Polish Hospital continued to increase until they reached almost three hundred. Although Irena had little to do with them outside working hours, she would sometimes meet them in the doctors’ mess, where the talk was always of what was happening in Poland and whether their loved ones were safe.
As Isabel had suggested they might, the Russians had released thousands of Polish prisoners and, although many had joined the Russian army, some had trickled in to Britain, a few coming to work at the Polish Hospital. There was, however, no word from Piotr. She asked every new arrival about him, but no one was able to tell her anything. Now at night when she dreamed, Piotr’s face and Richard’s blurred together. Being with Richard made her happy, made her feel more alive than she’d done in months, but he also made her feel tangled up inside. She knew she was in danger of falling in love with him – whatever she’d tried to tell herself – and everything inside her shrank from the knowledge. So Richard’s departure back to his base in London had almost been a relief.
The newly arrived Poles brought terrible stories with them – about the camps they’d been held in and the conditions, but most alarmingly about the way the Germans were exterminating Jews. No one could believe it was true, even if one of the doctors swore his brother had evidence it was happening.
‘They take them to camps in Poland or Germany and separate them into groups: those who can work and those who can’t. Then they burn those who can’t – mainly the women, children and old people.’
‘How can your brother be sure?’ one of the other doctors asked sceptically. ‘Not even the Nazis would do such a thing.’
‘My brother knows Jan Karski. Jan told him that he went into one of the camps to get proof and escaped with it. He took it to the British government, the Americans too, but all they say is that they need more evidence.’
‘Perhaps he’s making it up. To make the British bomb the Germans in Poland?’
‘I’m telling you, I’ve heard only good things about Jan – there is no way he’d make up stuff like this. No one could make up stuff like this.’
Irena excused herself. She was expected at afternoon rounds on male surgical. But as she hurried along the corridor to the ward, she wondered. Could the rumours about the extermination camps possibly be true? She thought about the mother and baby – the casual way the soldiers had killed them as if they weren’t human – and she was filled with a dreadful foreboding.
Irena stood on the doorstep of Charlotte Square and shook the rain from her umbrella. As soon as she stepped inside it was clear that something was wrong. There was a suitcase in the hall and Hannah was standing next to it wringing her hands. Irena had never seen the usually stalwart housekeeper looking so distressed. Her skin chilled.
‘What is it, Hannah?’ she asked. ‘Is it Richard?’
When she nodded Irena’s chest squeezed. ‘Is he…?’ She couldn’t continue.
‘His plane took a hit. He managed to land in England. He’s alive, but hurt. I don’t know what her ladyship will do if he doesn’t make it. That boy is the very soul of her and of his lordship.’
A knot twisted high in Irena’s chest.
‘Where is Lady Glendale?’
‘She’s in her bedroom. She’s planning to get the train down to London tonight. Lord Glendale is making the arrangements.’
Irena unpinned her hat and tossed it on the hall table. ‘I’ll go to her.’
‘Yes. Please. I’ve never seen her in such a state.’
Irena ran up the stairs and knocked on Isabel’s door. She went inside without waiting for a reply. Isabel was sitting at her dressing table, a photograph in her hand.
Irena hurried over to her and knelt by her side. The photograph slipped from Isabel’s fingers and fell to the floor. Irena picked it up. It was of Richard in his RAF uniform standing in front of a plane. He was grinning directly at the camera, looking relaxed and pleased with himself.
The knot in her chest tightened.
‘Any news?’ she whispered, handing back the photograph.
‘His father phoned a little while ago. Richard’s in hospital. No one can – or will – tell me how badly he’s hurt. Apparently he was shot up over France but instead of bailing, he went after another plane and shot it down. He managed to make it back and land the plane. That’s all I know.’
Irena took Isabel’s hand, surprised to find her own was trembling. ‘Will he be all right?’
‘There’s no way of telling at the moment. His father doesn’t really understand what the doctors are saying. That’s why I must go. I can’t bear it that I’m not with him now.’
‘Of course you must go to him. Did you manage to get a ticket?’
Isabel smiled wanly. ‘It can be useful to have a husband working in the War Office.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’
Isabel took a breath and straightened her back. ‘No, thank you all the same. I shall be all right. Besides, you have your work. But I would be grateful if you would go to the Royal tomorrow and explain what’s happened. They will need to arrange for someone else to take over my theatre list in the afternoon. Let them know I might be away for a few days. I shall telephone them once I’ve seen Richard and have a clearer idea how long I’ll be away for.’
‘I’ll let them know. There must be something else I can do?’
‘You can pray.’ Isabel smiled faintly. ‘The train isn’t for another hour, but I shall leave for the station quite soon. I’ve packed an overnight bag. I have everything else I need at the London house.’
<
br /> Irena squeezed her hand. ‘Let me know how he is as soon as you can. Tell him… tell him I was asking for him.’
‘You care for him?’
More than she wanted to admit. ‘Of course. He’s been a good friend to me.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ll ask Crawford to call for a taxi.’
It wasn’t until the evening of the following day that Isabel phoned.
Irena had been unable to stop thinking about Richard while on duty and had almost given a patient plasma instead of saline. She’d given herself a mental shake and forced herself to concentrate. Back in Charlotte Square she’d wandered from room to room, picking up a book and putting it down without being able to remember a word she’d read.
According to Isabel the burns to Richard’s arms and legs weren’t serious, but he’d also sustained a fractured tibia, which would keep him from flying for a few months. It was a relief to know he wasn’t badly hurt but an even bigger relief to know he wouldn’t be flying for a while.
The hospitals in London were all needed for the wounded men sent back from the front so it was standard practice to admit injured soldiers to hospitals near their home once they had received immediate attention and his mother had arranged for him to have his convalescence at the Western so that she could supervise his treatment herself.
It was a couple of weeks before Richard was transferred to the Western. The day after he’d been admitted there, Irena slipped away from her ward and went to see him.
He was in the officers’ ward, sitting at a table with his injured leg propped up on a chair, and playing cards with the other men who were out of bed. Irena’s heart jerked. Apart from his broken leg he had cracked a rib and his chest was strapped. He also had a fading yellow bruise to his cheekbone and a multicoloured eye.
A nurse leaned over him to give him some pills in a plastic cup and he grinned at her and something bloomed inside Irena’s chest that felt suspiciously like jealousy.
He looked up and saw her and his eyes lit up.
‘I expected you yesterday,’ he said petulantly.
‘I wanted to give you time to settle in. I knew the doctors would be assessing you.’
He tossed his cards on the table and reached for his crutches. ‘Sorry, boys, you’re going to have to finish this game without me.’
Irena helped him to his feet and walked beside him as he hobbled over to his bed.
‘I’ve been waiting for you. The only good thing about being cooped up here is that I know you’re nearby.’
‘Been practising your flirting skills on the nurses?’
‘Don’t be coy, Irena. You know you’re the only one I want to flirt with.’
Her heart gave another little run of beats.
‘I should be getting back to the ward.’
‘Come on, Krash. An injured pilot and all that. Don’t you have an ounce of sympathy in your bones?’
‘If it’s sympathy you want then I’m not the girl for you.’
Realising what she’d said she blushed and jumped to her feet. ‘I need to go.’
She turned away, but not before she heard him say, ‘Oh, but I think you are, Irena, and I think you’re beginning to realise that too.’
Chapter 35
It was a couple of months before his plaster was removed and Richard was discharged home. Having him at Charlotte Square was wonderful and painful in equal measure. Irena found herself looking forward to seeing him and being with him made her happy, but when she was alone, she was tormented by guilt. She told herself that she’d done nothing to betray Piotr – it wasn’t as if she ever encouraged Richard, or even hinted that she welcomed his attention – and Piotr would have wanted her to find happiness, but it didn’t change the way she felt. She was as married to Piotr as if she had his ring on her finger.
As usual Richard was waiting for her when she returned from work – in the garden today – a newspaper on his lap and a half-finished crossword on the table next to him. She could tell immediately that something had disturbed him.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Bad news?’
‘Good and bad news,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve been given new orders. As soon as the army medic passes me fit to return to duty, I’ve to go to East Fortune to help train new pilots.’ He flung his newspaper on the ground. ‘I suspect my damn father is behind this.’
She drew up a chair and sat next to him. It was bound to be safer training pilots than flying fighter planes. However, if she had her way this war would be over before Richard ever had to get behind the controls of an aircraft again.
‘But that’s good news, isn’t it? You’ve been keen to return to work.’
‘I want to go back to my squadron – what’s left of it, at least. Training pilots is one thing, but I want to be up there with my men, teaching the Jerries a thing or two.’
‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough?’ she said.
‘It’ll never be enough. Not until we’ve killed every last Nazi. I hate not being with my squadron. These men are like brothers to me. They need me flying alongside them.’
‘I feel the same. I think of my people in Poland still dying in their thousands and there’s not one day when I don’t feel guilty that I’m not there with them.’
He reached for her hand. ‘And if you were, you might be dead. How would that help?’
‘I know, but it doesn’t stop the way I feel.’
‘Then you of all people must understand why I have to get back to my squadron? Why I need to be back in the real action.’
‘You keep telling me that the new recruits need to be taught by someone who knows how to fly in combat. What better person than someone who has done it?’
‘It’s not the same.’
‘Do you know you sound like a sulky child?’ she said, trying to lift his mood. ‘You should be glad that you have a chance to survive this war. I know your parents will be relieved. You’re their only child.’
But Richard wasn’t to be mollified. ‘If I find out that my father has pulled strings to get me out of active duty I’ll never forgive him.’
Irena was becoming exasperated. ‘It might only be for a short time. I suspect they won’t keep experienced pilots away from active duty for too long. If your father has pulled strings, then I for one am glad.’
The shadows left his eyes and he grinned. ‘Are you, Krash? That almost makes it worthwhile.’
She felt the heat suffuse her face. She hadn’t meant to say what she had, but the words had come out before she could stop them.
‘Does that mean you have come to care for me, even a little?’ he continued.
‘It means that I want you to stay alive.’
He leaned forward again and traced the line of her lips with the pad of his thumb. ‘It’s enough, for now.’
Although there was still no news of Piotr, Irena woke every morning with a lightness of heart she never thought she’d feel again.
Richard still hadn’t regained full use of his leg, but it was healing sufficiently well for him to get about with a stick which, needless to say, he hated. At the weekends, when Irena was free, they would take a tram and visit the National Portrait Gallery or one of the museums. She discovered that behind his easy, superficial manner he had a sharp brain and liked many of the same things she did. They talked about authors and artists, their debates often becoming heated – but they never spoke about what they would do after the war.
One afternoon when they’d walked to the foot of Arthur’s Seat and back, without Richard needing his stick, he turned to her.
‘I’ve to report for duty tomorrow. Will you miss me?’
‘I’m sure you’ll come to Edinburgh when you can,’ she said evasively.
‘Will you come to see me at East Fortune? It’s not far.’
‘If you like.’
He smiled. ‘I like.’
An invitation to attend a concert at RAF East Fortune came two weeks later. Irena arranged to have the day off and took a bus to the airfield. T
he short Scottish summer was coming to an end and, although it wasn’t quite six, it was already getting dark outside.
The driver let her, along with several excited women around her age, off at the bus stop outside the camp and she had to stand in line to show her invitation to the guard at the gate.
But she didn’t have to wait long. Richard appeared and taking her elbow steered her to the front of the queue, handing her invitation to the guard.
When they were away from the crowd he stopped to kiss her cheek. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come.’
