She didn’t remember anything after that until she had woken up in a hospital bed and told she had been sedated for two days, and that she was suffering from severe exhaustion that threatened her physical and mental state.
‘You mean I’ve had a nervous breakdown,’ she had stated to the military doctor, staring him in the eyes and daring him to deny the stigma attached to the words.
‘You’re suffering from nervous exhaustion, Lieutenant Pengelly,’ he prevaricated, making her sigh with impatience.
Why couldn’t they call a spade a spade and be done with it? They were only words, for God’s sake. It was her body and her brain was being sent into turmoil, and whatever label they put on it didn’t alter her sense of panic and anxiety and disorientation.
But she could still argue with the best of them when it came to dismissing incompetents.
‘How can I be suffering from nervous exhaustion?’ she had said perversely. ‘I’m not fighting in the trenches or dropping bombs on enemy territory. I’m doing a desk job, that’s all.’
‘But we both know it’s a job that requires immense concentration and expertise,’ he said, giving her all the status she deserved. ‘My dear young lady, we all have our limitations, and when one has personal worries as well as everything else required of us these days, we can all reach the end of those limitations. That’s when the mind as well as the body closes down and demands that we take a rest.’
God, he was good, Celia had thought. Patronisingly good, of course, but good nonetheless. How much he knew of her “personal worries” she didn’t know, but if Moonie hadn’t confided all her fears for Stefan, she had probably blabbed it all herself before being doped up to the eyeballs.
Now she was being sent home, and no doubt all the family was feeling sorry for her, and were ready to tiptoe around her the way they had done around Sebby for the first few days after his arrival. But contrary to what everyone might expect, she was guiltily glad to be out of a job she hadn’t volunteered for in the first place – and she was never going back.
She sobered at the thought. She would have to do something else, of course. She was able-bodied, even if she’d been half out of her mind for a while, and she was still only twenty-four years old. Her country still needed her, she thought cynically.
But one thing she wasn’t going to be was a nurse. She’d seen enough of that in the short while she’d been in the military hospital. She admired them all enormously, but she couldn’t stomach some of the things they had to do. She couldn’t go back to being a tram conductress either. Her father would hate that, and stuffed shirt though he might be in many respects, she wouldn’t put him through that indignity again.
As the train took her homewards, away from the cities and through the green fields that could still look amazingly peaceful and so very pastoral, even in the midst of a war, she remembered how she and Wenna and Olly had relished visits to their Aunt Em’s farm in Wadebridge all those years ago. It had been such fun in those far-off, halcyon days, following country pursuits; feeding the chickens, rounding up the cows for milking, and pulling up carrots and turnips to make Aunt Em’s famous stews.
She remembered it all, the sights and sounds and smells, with a warmth of affection for her aunt that she had all but forgotten. And long before the train arrived in Truro, Celia knew what she intended to do with the remainder of her war.
* * *
‘You’re going to join the Women’s Land Army?’ Lily asked Celia after a few weeks, when she had settled into an uneasy routine of vainly trying to make everyone see that she wasn’t about to fall apart, and was dutifully making the round of family visits. ‘Good for you. What does your mother say about it?’
‘I think she understands. I have to have some training first, but I shall ask to be posted in this area – on the grounds that I’m still a bit feeble-minded and need to be near home,’ she added airily, to take the sting out of it. ‘Dad’s not too keen on the idea,’ she added, ‘but that’s to be expected. I knew you’d be sensible about it, though, Lily.’
‘Oh, that’s me, darling. Always the sensible one, and leaving the glamour to somebody else!’
Celia looked at her sharply. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? You never used to bother about such nonsense.’
‘About my looks, you mean? I don’t bother now, but perhaps I should have thought about it a bit more.’
With one look at her downcast face, everything clicked into place in an instant. Celia drew in her breath.
‘You’re not going to tell me you think David’s straying, are you? I can’t believe that—’
‘Why not? What makes him so different from other men? He always had a passion for your mother, but I knew all about that, and it meant nothing. It was never going to upset our applecart. Now, well, perhaps my plainness does mean something… God forgive me, but I never meant to unload such things on you, Celia, in your delicate state of health.’
‘You’re not plain – and I was never delicate, any more than you were. We’re the tough Tremaynes, remember?’
Lily’s mouth twisted. ‘So they say, but neither of us were born Tremaynes, were we? We got diluted somewhere along the way.’
Celia brushed aside her weak attempt at humour. ‘The name doesn’t matter. We believe in self-preservation. We’re survivors. Look at Sebby – look at me! And I can’t believe you’re not going to fight for David. You have confronted him with whatever it is you suspect, haven’t you?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Why the hell not?’ Celia sucked in her breath, realising how belligerent she was becoming. ‘Oh Lord, I’m sorry, Lily. I shouldn’t speak to you like this. You’re my elder, and I’ve got no right.’
‘Never mind about calling me your elder,’ Lily said, more sparkily. ‘I’m not in my dotage yet, and you have every right to tell me what I should have been telling myself.’
‘So why do you think there’s something wrong?’ Celia said carefully. ‘Don’t tell me if you don’t want to, mind, but since you’ve got this far…’
‘It’s a relief to tell somebody. I’d tell your mother, but she was too full of you coming home to worry her. Oh, I don’t know – perhaps I’m just seeing things that aren’t there. He works late every night, or so he says, and when he comes home, he seems so distracted, and he’s always too tired to—’ she gave an embarrassed little laugh – ‘well, I can’t tell you everything, you being an unmarried girl, but you might guess what I mean.’
‘Oh, Lily,’ Celia said, ignoring her own blushes. ‘Do you think Stefan and I never made love? Do you think I never long to have him in my arms again? I long for him and ache for him every single day. I miss him so much, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again—’
Without warning, the tears overflowed, and she was held tightly in Lily’s arms. The comforter badly needed comforting, she thought ashamedly, although by now she wasn’t sure who was supposed to be comforting who.
‘Forget about me,’ Lily said eventually. ‘Have you thought about going to see Ethan, to make contact with that prisoner of war working on his farm who he thought might be Stefan’s relative? I know I thought it was a bad idea at the time, but now I’m not so sure.’
Celia shook her head. ‘I wrote to him about it, but the Germans have been moved to a different camp, and Ethan didn’t know where. He couldn’t tell me anything more, anyway, so that idea was a no-nstarter, like every other one.’
Their conversation dried up, as each brooded on her own troubles, and by the time Celia left she could see how Lily’s shoulders were drooping again. On an impulse she went straight to David Kingsley’s office and demanded to see him.
‘Celia, my love, it’s good to see you starting to look more like your old self,’ he began with a smile. It quickly faded at her reply.
‘I doubt that you’ll think so when I tell you why I’ve come,’ she snapped, never one to mince her words. ‘What the hell are you playing at, David?’
* * *
It was odd, but championing someone else’s cause put her own miseries in the background for a while, and even went a little way to putting it all in perspective. David had been so uncharacteristically abject when she told him in no uncertain terms that he was in danger of ruining a good woman’s life that she could almost smile about it later.
The shock of realising that Lily had been aware of his shortcomings, and that now Celia knew all about them too, had blanched his good-looking face and made him stutter like a schoolboy caught stealing apples.
‘My God, Celia, Lily has no grounds for suspecting me of philandering. It’s pressure of work that keeps me here—’
‘Oh, not that old thing! I’ve heard plenty of excuses, and that one doesn’t wash any more.’
‘Really? And what gives a young woman like you the right to censure me, or even question me?’
‘Love gives me the right, David. Love and family loyalty. And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, then you’re denser than you look – and you look pretty dense right now, if I may say so.’
He gave a rueful grin. ‘You always did have a knack for words, didn’t you? You’re in the wrong business, Celia. You should come and work for me.’
‘No thanks. And don’t change the subject. Are you honestly telling me Lily has nothing to worry about except being neglected?’
‘Cross my heart and may God strike me down dead this minute if I’m lying to you.’
Celia relaxed as she saw his elaborate attempt to reassure her, but she couldn’t dispute his sincerity.
‘In my experience, God rarely does what you ask him to on the spur of the moment,’ she said dryly. ‘But I’ll believe you, partly because I’m fond of you, and partly because I badly want to on Lily’s account. Don’t let her down, David.’
‘I won’t. I promise. And if I do seem secretive and distracted at times, it’s in a professional context, not personal. My whole working life is concerned with finding out information from my various sources, and I’m constantly having to suppress anything of any importance in the interests of government security. You of all people must know there’s something big in the wind, and it’s enough to play on any newspaperman’s nerves.’
Celia flinched. She knew all about living on her nerves by now, but she also knew what David was getting at. For months now, the planned invasion to liberate France had been an open secret. The only uncertainty was when. Every reporter would want to be the first to know.
She looked at him squarely. ‘I can’t tell you anything, and I wouldn’t if I could. That part of my life is over.’
Without warning, she began to feel stifled. The varying smells of a newspaper office might be full of nostalgia to her mother, but to Celia they were nauseous, and reminded her too vividly of the small decoding office where she and Moonie had worked for so many long hours. She stood up abruptly.
‘You won’t forget everything I’ve said, will you, David? Lily needs you. But don’t tell her I came here today.’
‘It’s our secret.’
‘And I suggest you explain things to her more openly. Don’t keep all your worries to yourself. She has a right to share them.’
She knew she shouldn’t be talking to him like a Dutch uncle. He was fifty-six years old, and showing it. But she had never been slow in speaking her mind – and the next day, a telephone call from Lily told her she had been right to do so.
‘I just want to say that everything’s all right again. I challenged him, Celia, and now I know how wrong I was. Thanks for making me bring it all out into the open, darling.’
‘I’m glad,’ Celia said cautiously, knowing her mother was within earshot. ‘I’ll see you again soon, Lily.’
‘What was that all about?’ Skye asked, when she had replaced the receiver.
‘Oh, Lily was a bit worried that Frederick had a temperature, but he seems to be all right now,’ she invented. Wild horses wouldn’t make her reveal that she had gone to David and told him what was what.
‘I think I’ll go up to the pottery and see how things are, Mom,’ she said next. ‘For some reason I can’t seem to stay indoors for long.’
‘Do you want company?’
‘Not unless you’re desperate to come. Do you mind?’
‘Not at all. I’m planning to sort out the old Christmas decorations today, so I’ll see you later, honey.’
Skye watched her daughter leave, her own eyes troubled. Celia was still suffering, no matter how bright a face she put on it. But although Skye ached to get back the old closeness they had once shared, she knew it wouldn’t come yet. Celia needed time alone, and the last thing she needed was to be fussed over. It had never been her style.
* * *
Celia relished the vastness of the open moors and the weird sense of being alone in the world, or even on some other planet, as she contemplated the wildness of the scrubland and the soaring sky-tips ahead of her. Their sky-tips, she found herself thinking with an odd sense of possessiveness, now that her mother had managed to acquire the land back where it rightfully belonged. Killigrew Clay it had always been and would always be.
She found herself twisting the pearl and garnet ring on the third finger of her left hand that Stefan had given her. Businesslike, she had worn it on a chain around her neck all these months, but since her bout in hospital she had experienced the need to feel its cold unfamiliarity against her finger, as if to reassure her that he was still alive, still somewhere in the world. To remind her that some day they would be together and able to live the normal life of two people in love.
Her throat closed painfully, knowing that even when this war was over, in many eyes they would still be regarded as old enemies for some time. It had happened in her mother’s war, and who was to say it would be any different in this one?
She gazed unseeingly ahead for some minutes, forcing herself to remember that she and Stefan had already made tentative plans. They would live in Switzerland, the beautiful country where they had first met, fallen in love, and been everything that a man and woman could be to one another. They would start their own hotel business and begin their own proverbial happy-ever-after, so beloved of story books…
A sob caught in her throat as the plaintive sound of a seagull far from the coast echoed the futility of such hopes and dreams. Why should they be the lucky ones, when so many others had lost sweethearts and lovers?
She was still some distance from the pottery when she saw the small, ungainly figure hobbling towards her. Old Helza frequently terrified walkers on the moors with her unexpected appearance, as if she metamorphosed out of nowhere whenever she chose. But she no longer terrified Celia. As she stood very still, it was as if she had been waiting for the old crone, and they both recognised the fact in an instant.
‘So what is it you want of me, girlie?’ Helza cackled, her wizened old head on one side as usual. ‘Is it a potion perhaps, to settle the raging in that pretty head o’ yourn?’
‘My head is fine, and there’s nothing I want from you,’ Celia retorted. ‘Unless you’re able to see in your crystal ball – or whatever evil instrument of witchcraft you use – just where my fiancé is right now.’
Helza’s button-like eyes flashed. ‘Mebbe I can, and mebbe I won’t. And what makes ’ee think all witchcraft be evil, Miss Snot-face? ‘Tis the oldest religion in the world—’
Celia heard nothing beyond her first sentence. ‘What do you mean, maybe you can?’
The cackling laugh rang out again. ‘Got your attention now, eh? Well, I don’t give no help to non-believers, so you’ll just have to go on wond’ring about your man.’
‘I do believe,’ Celia said desperately. ‘My great-grandmother Morwen Tremayne and her friend Celia – the one they named me after – they believed, and they consulted your sister or mother, or whoever she was.’
She began to feel the sweat trickle over her skin as the old crone stared at her. She was furious for letting herself be mesmerised by the witchwoman, but she couldn’t
seem to help herself. If Helza could truly give her some inkling about Stefan’s whereabouts, she would go to any lengths to find out. In that instant, she knew she was just as vulnerable as that earlier Celia had been, nearly a century ago.
‘Show me your palm,’ Helza said abruptly.
Celia breathed a sigh of relief, even while she hated the fact of her own hand being grasped by Helza’s claw-like one. But it was preferable to being invited into the hovel with all its weird potions and smells. With her panicky sense of being stifled anywhere indoors right now, Celia knew she couldn’t have stood it for more than a moment.
The old woman studied the lines and contours on Celia’s palm, tracing them with her cracked nail and making her squirm. She longed to snatch her hand away and end this farcical confrontation. But she couldn’t. She was as transfixed as if their two hands were gummed together.
‘I can’t tell ’ee any more than ’ee already know,’ Helza said at last, and the spell was broken as Celia furiously rubbed her palm against her skirt.
‘Well, so much for your magical powers,’ she snapped.
She was disorientated with disappointment. But had she really expected this madwoman to say she had seen a vision of Stefan in some castle stronghold deep in the German countryside, where he was being incarcerated from indulging in any suspected subversive activities…?
Her head spun wildly at the thought, and she realised that Helza was already hobbling away from her.
‘Wait,’ she called weakly.
Helza turned and called back, her thin voice carrying on the breeze. ‘You don’t need me to tell ’ee what your own senses know, missie. There’s only one man in your life, and your heart line is strong and unbroken. Bide your time, and you’ll be together again.’
She was gone, while Celia was still asking herself whether she had in fact seen a vision of the place where Stefan was. Or had it all been a hideous fantasy because she wanted so much to believe that, because of his status in the community and what she knew would have been his dignified refusal to co-operate with the Nazis, he had not been severely punished?
A Brighter Tomorrow Page 20
