She swallowed as she stared down at the letter, knowing how inane were her last words. Of course they should know.
‘Go on, Mom,’ Celia said, going swiftly to her mother’s side. ‘She’s not seriously hurt or – or anything?’
Skye’s eyes were flooded with tears now. ‘They found her scrabbling through the rubble at the Flamingo Club. Trying to find Fanny. She never did, though.’ She drew a shuddering breath, seeing from Celia’s horrified eyes that she didn’t need to explain any more.
‘I have to go to Wenna,’ she went on distractedly. ‘She’ll need me, and she’ll have to come home now.’
‘Mom, you can’t go to London! Dad will never let you!’
‘He won’t be able to stop me because I’ll be gone before he gets home. You can hold the fort here, can’t you, honey?’
Celia recognised the determination in her voice, but it was still her duty to try and stop her.
‘You know I can. But I can’t bear to think of you being in danger from these awful bombing raids—’
Skye was suddenly calm. ‘I’ve been in danger before, darling. And now I’m going to pack a bag, as I don’t know how long I’ll need to stay. Explain to Daddy for me, won’t you?’
‘Well, at least telephone this agent person first, Mom,’ Celia said in alarm. ‘You can’t just go off like that!’
Skye nodded. ‘You’re right, of course,’ she said, thankful for her daughter’s common sense. ‘I’ll do that right away. And then I’ll get ready to leave.’
She asked the operator for the telephone number on the agent’s headed notepaper with a trembling voice. She remembered Martin Russell from the last time she had gone to London to comfort Fanny after her beloved husband, Georgie, had killed himself, his mind tormented by the treatment his fellow Jews were receiving in Germany. God, this bloody, bloody war that ripped people and families apart…
The voice that answered was crisp and efficient, but it changed at once when she said who she was.
‘My dear lady, I was so sorry to be the bearer of bad news about Penny.’
In her agitated state Skye had to force herself to remember he was using Wenna’s stage name, and that this man would naturally refer to her as such in the different world they both shared.
‘Thank you for contacting me,’ she said huskily. ‘But how is my daughter, truly? Are there any physical injuries?’
‘No more than a considerable number of cuts and bruises that will heal,’ he assured her carefully.
‘And what about her voice?’ Skye asked.
Her beautiful, beautiful voice…
‘I saw her yesterday, and she can whisper now. They say the voice will return to normal now that it’s started to come back,’ Martin Russell said, still cautious. ‘She had a terrible shock, discovering the Flamingo Club razed to the ground like that. Especially as Mrs Rosenbloom had returned to the place earlier. Penny left the Underground and went there to find her, but there was no hope for her, of course. No hope at all. I’m sorry. Very sorry.’
His voice became jerky, and even though the words were short, Skye remembered that he had known Fanny Rosenbloom a long time. Probably longer than she had known her herself.
‘Will you please tell Wenna that I’m leaving for London today and I’ll be there to see her as soon as possible? And Mr Russell – I shall be bringing her home to Cornwall with me.’
She hung up before he could argue about that. It was none of his business, and besides, where else would Wenna go? She had made her home with Fanny at the club for several years now, but this was where she belonged.
The peace and tranquillity of Cornwall would restore her spirits, the way it always did, and always had, for all of them. It was their own private sanctuary.
* * *
By the time she reached London and found a taxi to take her to the hospital it was evening and getting dusk, and for the first time Skye felt real fear in her heart as she saw the full devastation of the Blitz. She had never imagined it to be quite like this – so many buildings demolished, and whole streets looking as though an earthquake had struck them.
Dust lay over everything. A strong whiff of burning still lingered on the air, bitter, pungent, and unforgettable. Remnants of possessions could be glimpsed amongst the debris – a child’s shoe, a toy, a torn jacket, the burnt pages of a book – bringing the whole scene into heartbreakingly human focus.
‘You got somebody in the hospital, lady?’ the taxi driver asked her chattily.
‘My daughter,’ Skye said, her eyes as dark as midnight with fear and anxiety.
‘In the Forces, is she?’
‘No, she’s not,’ Skye said, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the images of destruction all around her. ‘She’s a – a singer in a nightclub.’
And dear Lord, but how useless that sounded, when all around her now, she could see young men and women in uniform scurrying about their business as night drew on. She was proud of Wenna, but right now, it seemed the most ineffectual job in the world for a young woman to be doing in wartime.
Clearly the taxi driver didn’t think so. ‘That so?’ he said admiringly. ‘We need gels like her to keep up the lads’ spirits. There’s more ways of winnin’ a war than sticking a gun up a Jerry’s backside, if you’ll pardon me French.’
Skye swallowed again, blessing his generous heart, and thinking that he would never know how much he had done to restore her morale at that moment. People like him, in the midst of it all, could put things in their proper perspective.
When they reached the hospital she gave him a bigger tip than she had intended, and went to find Wenna’s ward. Before she entered it, she was faced with the dragon of a Ward Sister and had to explain who she wanted to see.
‘Is she all right? How soon can she come home?’ Skye said all at once. ‘And what about her voice?’
‘Her cuts are healing nicely, and she can speak fairly clearly now. The temporary loss of voice was due to shock and not from any physical injury,’ the Sister said efficiently. ‘As for going home, the sooner the better. I need all my beds for the wounded.’
She swished away, leaving Skye feeling like a fly that had been squashed against a wall. Hateful woman. And then she tempered the ungracious thought, remembering that other war when she too, and all of them, had hidden their emotions beneath a wall of stoicism.
She strode down the ward until she reached the bed where Wenna lay, her lovely dark hair lank against the starched white pillow, her blue eyes looking listlessly the other way.
‘Wenna, darling,’ her mother said in a choked voice.
She turned at once, her expression disbelieving, the tears spilling out of her eyes at once. And then she gave a huge cry as she reached out towards her mother, and was at once enveloped in her arms.
‘Oh Mom, I don’t know how you got here, but it’s so good to see you. It’s been so terrible. I couldn’t speak, and I was so afraid – and Fanny – poor Fanny – oh, you don’t know—’ she sobbed almost incoherently.
‘Darling, I do know,’ Skye said gently, overwhelmed with pity for her girl. ‘That nice Mr Russell wrote and told me everything. I know Fanny’s dead, and I know you lost your precious voice for a time – but in case you haven’t noticed, you’ve got it back now,’ she added, with a tease in her own at the sudden tirade.
‘I have, haven’t I?’ Wenna said, unable to stop the sobbing all the same. ‘Just as if it mattered about my stupid voice. I’m never going to sing again now that Fanny’s gone. I’ll never have the heart for it.’
Skye held her tight and let her cry it out. It was a long time before the paroxysm ceased, and when it did, Skye wiped both their eyes and spoke sternly.
‘Now you just listen to me, honey. Do you think Fanny would want you to say such things on account of her? Don’t you think Fanny would be the first one to tell you to stop feeling bleedin’ sorry for yourself and to get on with things? She’s probably somewhere up there right now, looking down at you and u
rging you not to let the buggers get you down. Can’t you hear her saying it?’
She felt Wenna sniffling against her, and knew that several other patients were grinning their way, surprised to hear a well-dressed lady with an American accent speaking in such broad terms. But it wasn’t herself speaking, thought Skye. It was Fanny, telling her what to say and how to say it. And forcing Wenna to give a wan smile at the end of it.
‘She really is up there, isn’t she, Mom? Or could she be somewhere much warmer? She was always a bit of a wicked lady, but in such a lovely, human way.’
‘I’m quite sure Fanny’s up with the angels, honey,’ Skye said with a catch in her throat. ‘And once this war is over, she’ll expect you to carry on doing what she groomed you for. You’re not going to let her down, are you?’
After what seemed like an endless moment, Wenna shook her head slowly.
‘I know you’re right, but I’m not even thinking about any of that now. Fame and fortune seem such paltry things compared with just being alive, don’t they?’
‘You’re absolutely right, darling, but you’ll think differently about your career when you’ve had a good long rest. I’ve told Mr Russell you’re coming home to Cornwall, and I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll find somewhere to stay for tonight, and we’ll take the train home tomorrow.’
She knew Wenna was about to argue, but before any more words left her lips the sound of the air raid siren wailed out, and the drone of many aircraft could be heard almost instantly. The heavily blacked-out windows blocked the sight of them, but they couldn’t obliterate the noise of the bombs and the retaliating anti-aircraft guns as the hospital shook on its foundations.
Skye, still holding Wenna’s hands, suddenly realised that it wasn’t only the hospital that was shaking. With every burst of ear-shattering sound, her daughter was reliving the night when Fanny Rosenbloom had been killed, and she shook from head to foot.
‘Take me home, Mom,’ she whispered. ‘Just as soon as you can arrange it.’
* * *
Celia stood in the fragrant garden of New World, looking up at the stars and breathing in the accentuated night-time scent of roses. The children had gone to bed, and her father was busy in his study. She treasured this time alone, when her thoughts always winged towards Stefan.
She fixed her gaze on one particular star, and remembered how her lover had told her that as long as that star still shone, they would be together in spirit.
A sudden burst of resentment split the serenity of her thoughts. It had been such a sweet, wonderful sentiment at the time, but now…
‘What use is being together in spirit?’ she said passionately, knowing that no one was around to hear her. ‘When I want you close, to feel you and touch you, and feel you touching and holding me—’
She bit her trembling lips, wondering if it was wrong to want him so much. Wondering if they would truly ever meet again, or if it was a futile longing that could never be fulfilled, and full of bitterness at the cruel irony of fate that placed them on different sides in this awful war.
‘Send me a sign, Stefan,’ she murmured inadequately to their star. ‘Anything, to let me know you’re still alive, and still want me as much as I want you.’
In the soft dark silence of the evening, she finally turned away with her shoulders drooping, and went back into the house. The telephone was ringing, and she guessed it would be her mother telling her what time to meet her and Wenna at the railway station.
‘Is that you, Celia?’ a man’s voice said.
She stared at the instrument stupidly for a moment. The line was not good and the voice was crackly and broken up. She didn’t recognise it immediately, but she knew very well that she hadn’t somehow conjured up Stefan by wishful thinking.
‘What’s up? Don’t you recognise your cuz-in-law?’ the voice went on teasingly.
‘Good Lord, Ethan,’ Celia spluttered into the telephone as the Cornish accent finally registered. ‘You’re the last person I expected to hear. There’s nothing wrong with Karina or Ryan, I hope.’
God help her, she thought guiltily, but she had to think hard to remember the names of her mother’s cousin Karina and her baby son. They had gone to Ireland to live right after Ethan and Karina’s marriage, to escape from the disgrace of everyone knowing there was a baby on the way. Too many terrible things had happened between then and now to make it of such great consequence, Celia reflected.
‘There’s nothing wrong,’ Ethan insisted. ‘But I’m glad you answered, Celia, because it’s you I wanted to talk to. Not that I’d have minded a word with Nick, of course. How is my brother? Still sorting out everybody’s problems, I daresay? And your mother – and Wenna. How’s Wenna?’
Celia was suddenly choked, remembering how Ethan had always been Wenna’s champion in the days when she had been a moonstruck child, and the gangly fourteen-year-old Ethan had stood up to their Tremayne boy cousins in her defence. How long ago it all seemed now since they were children… She shivered, and made herself answer his questions.
‘Everyone’s fine, though Wenna had a bad experience recently when her lady boss was killed in an air raid. Mom’s gone to London now to bring her home, and I thought you were her, telling me when to meet them…’
Her voice dwindled away, not knowing what else to say. With the intervention of time and distance and circumstances, they had grown apart, the way people did, even families.
‘Well, I’ve got some news that might be of interest to you, Celia,’ Ethan went on. ‘We’ve got a prisoner of war camp near here, and the German soldiers are sent out to work on the farms. We’ve got a few working for us. They’re supervised, and some don’t speak much English, but they’re sociable enough and one of them mentioned a name that you might know.’
‘Go on,’ Celia mumbled.
‘I believe he’s a distant relative of your von Gruber fellow,’ Ethan said casually, never guessing how her heart was leaping now, fit to burst in her chest.
‘Stefan!’ Celia breathed.
‘That’s the one. Wasn’t he the owner of some big vineyard and estate in Germany?’
‘That’s right—’
‘Well, it seems that the house has been taken over by the Gestapo, and because your man refused to co-operate, he’s been interned. The relative has no idea where he is now.’
Celia spoke quickly without giving herself time to think.
‘Ethan, as soon as Mom and Wenna get back, I’m coming over to see this man. I have to talk to him.’
His voice was dubious. ‘He won’t be able to tell you anything more, Celia. It’ll just be a wasted journey—’
‘He’s a link with Stefan, and the first one I’ve had in months. I have to talk to him,’ she repeated. ‘I’ll let you know when I can leave here.’
‘Well, all right,’ he said. ‘Karina will be pleased to see you, anyway,’ he added as an afterthought.
She hung up the phone, her hands damp and trembling. But her first sense of elation that she was going to speak with a relative of Stefan’s – someone who would have seen him since she had done – was fast fading.
Instead, the word Ethan had used was seeping into her mind. Stefan had been interned. Locked up in his own country for refusing to co-operate with the Gestapo. She had no idea what that might mean, but her heart was breaking at the thought of him being tortured, or worse. And his lovely home that she had only heard about, being used by those evil men, must have broken his heart as well.
As the sobs welled up in her throat, she turned around to find her father watching her.
‘Did you hear any of that?’ she blurted out.
‘Enough,’ he said, holding out his arms to her. She went straight into them, glad of their strength and comfort.
‘I can’t bear to think of Stefan being interned,’ she sobbed, when she had finally told him everything. ‘What will they do to him, do you think?’
‘I don’t know, darling,’ Nick said. ‘He probably hasn’t
done anything so terribly wrong, but presumably he has to be punished in some way. What I do know is that it’s foolish to let your imagination give you nightmares. There’s nothing you can do about it.’
‘I wish I could go to Ireland now, this minute,’ she said passionately. ‘This German soldier is the only link I have with Stefan.’
‘You can’t go right now,’ Nick said more firmly. ‘There are people who need you here, Celia. Your mother and sister will be back soon, and Wenna has been through a traumatic experience. It’s upset the evacuee children too, reminding them of what could be happening to their families. You have to be here to give them the stability they need, Celia.’
‘I know all that,’ she burst out in frustration. ‘But what about my needs? Don’t they count for anything?’
As if to mock her, they both heard a sudden noise from the landing above, and Celia’s head jerked up as she heard Daphne’s voice, tinged with an unusually fearful note instead of her usual brashness.
‘You ain’t leavin’ us as well, are yer, miss? Bleedin’ ’ell, we might as well ’ave stayed at home.’
Celia was choked, not knowing whether to laugh or cry or reprimand her at that moment. In the end she did none of it, and merely ran up the stairs and gathered the wriggling Daphne close and told her she wasn’t going anywhere right now.
Her time would have to wait, even if it sometimes seemed as if she spent her whole life waiting for something that was as out of reach as her shimmering star.
* * *
Skye and Wenna returned home several days later, and it was obvious to anyone that Wenna was far from her usual self. The shock of Fanny’s death had affected her deeply, and even though her voice had returned now, the scars of what she had heard and seen were imprinted too deeply in her heart to be dismissed easily or quickly.
A Brighter Tomorrow Page 7
