However feeble the hope, she told herself that she had to believe it or she would end up completely mad. The alternative was to think that it was her own Cornish feyness providing what she so longed to know.
She shivered, not sure she wanted to believe that either. But whatever the reason for the thought or the vision or whatever it had been, she walked on with an ever-quickening step.
Seb saw her coming. He was taking a break outside, and he greeted her with a scowl on his handsome face.
‘Sorry, cuz, you’ve caught me at a bad moment. It’s no joke to find out that a young whipper-snapper is better at doing your job that you are.’
Despite her own tormented feelings, Celia couldn’t resist a small smile at the indignity in his voice.
‘If you mean Butch, why shouldn’t he be good at it? He’s had enough tuition from experts, hasn’t he? You and Adam should be proud that he’s such a good apprentice.’
‘And when did you become such a diplomat? You’re wasted down here in the sticks, Celia.’
She didn’t miss the sharpness of his reply. It matched the way she used to be, what seemed like a hundred years ago. Now, she simply didn’t have the energy to be sharp – and even as she thought it, she knew it was a terrible way to feel for someone of her age. It was the way old women thought, and she mentally and physically straightened her back.
‘This is where I belong – for now, anyway,’ she amended. An image had flashed into her mind at that moment of where she dearly wanted to be, and it wasn’t here.
It wasn’t anywhere remotely near here. It was among the foothills of mountains where sweet-scented wild flowers grew in profusion, and where the air was as clear as wine…
‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ Seb said at once, seeing how her face suddenly crumpled. ‘This isn’t like you at all. You’ve always been the strongest one among us.’
‘Have I?’ she said, her eyes stinging. ‘Well, perhaps I don’t want to be strong. Perhaps I just want somebody to lean on, the way people have always leaned on me—’
Without warning, she was in his arms and sobbing on his shoulder. He had always felt affection for her, and she knew that, but thankfully she recognised that there was nothing in the least sexual in the embrace. There was just sweet, much-needed comfort. Eventually she drew away from him.
‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice tight. ‘We two old crocks should stick together, shouldn’t we?’
‘Old crocks?’ he said, the old aggression back. ‘Since when did a Tremayne ever become an old crock? My father resisted that until the end, and so will I – and so will you.’
‘But I’m not a Tremayne, am I?’ Celia said, ready to argue. ‘There’s not many left with the name now.’
‘Tell that to the stars,’ he retorted. ‘Once it’s in your blood, you never lose it. Nor the name of Killigrew, either. Your mother’s plans are going to see to that, aren’t they? She’s a woman after old Morwen Tremayne’s heart, and so are you. Don’t let anybody ever tell you different.’
‘My God, Seb, you’re the one who’s wasted here,’ she said in honest amazement, never having heard him be quite so passionate about their heritage.
She didn’t dare let herself get emotional about the fact that he had mentioned the stars. She had to keep the faith. She only had to look into the sky at night and see their star to know that the love she and Stefan shared was still bright, still strong and everlasting.
She swallowed. ‘Hadn’t you better get back to work? I’ve come up here to see how things are going, not to have a pep talk – but I thank you for it all the same, Sebby.’
She hugged his arm to take the sting out of her words. He was her cousin and her friend, and she needed him now.
‘Come and see how young Butch is getting on, then,’ he said roughly. ‘He’s our rising star now.’
* * *
Christmas 1943 was a frugal affair as far as normal fare went, but like people everywhere, the Pengellys and their family were determined to make the most of it. As always, Skye and Nick were determined to host the day for as many of the family as could turn up. Wenna was out of the country now, and ‘somewhere in Europe’, according to the sparse letters she was able to send.
But, amazingly and without warning, Olly arrived home on Christmas Eve, amid tears and laughter from his mother and sister, and a manly hug from his father.
‘Did Wenna get leave?’ he asked, once the first excitement of reunion had tempered a little.
‘No,’ Skye said, feeling the familiar tug at her heart. ‘It would have been so marvellous if we could all have been together again.’
‘Not only for us, Mother,’ Olly said. ‘I’ve brought somebody with me for the holidays. I hope it’s all right.’
‘Of course it is. You know that.’
‘Have you got a lady friend at last, Olly?’ teased Nick.
‘It’s not a lady – and he’s more interested in Wenna than me, Dad. He’s gone to see Aunt Betsy right now, but I said I’d go and fetch him later. It’s Wenna’s Canadian. We ran into one another a few weeks ago and discovered we both had a seventy-two hour pass, so I invited him here. I hope that’s all right.’
‘Wenna’s Canadian?’ Celia said quickly.
‘Group Captain Harry Mack. She must have mentioned him to you. He was recuperating at Aunt Betsy’s when she came down here some time ago, and he was besotted with her. They’ve been writing to one another for some time, I gather.’
Celia stared. Her parents seemed to know all about this affair, while she had allowed herself to become so insular that she hadn’t even been aware that Wenna had had a beau after Austin had been killed in action.
She knew she should remember it, but sometimes her memory was so hazy that she could recall nothing from before the nervous breakdown. It was frightening, and something she didn’t care to mention to anyone.
But she did recall that Wenna had said she was never going to lose her heart to anyone again after the trauma of Austin’s and Fanny Rosenbloom’s deaths. So it would be interesting to meet this Group Captain Harry Mack and see how far the association had gone.
Even as she thought it, she knew how much she had changed too. In the past she would have known a sibling rivalry for Wenna’s new man, while now she only felt a protective need to look him over, to ensure that he wasn’t taking advantage of Wenna’s vulnerability. She had changed, as they all had. War did that, tearing people apart, changing lives, making some of them strong and some of them fall to pieces…
‘Are you all right, Celia?’ Olly said now. ‘You can come with me to collect Harry, if you like. He asked me to call him Harry while we’re on leave,’ he added, ‘even though his rank is much higher than mine.’
Celia smiled at his obvious pride in having become an associate of this man. Olly had grown so much in stature and maturity, she thought with a rush of affection. He was no longer her little brother. He was a man.
‘Yes, I’d like to come with you. Mom knows I don’t like being indoors for too long, and in the new year I’ll be out in the fields all day long, I dare say.’
‘Good God, when Mother told me you were going to be a Land Girl, I didn’t believe it. You haven’t changed your mind about mucking out the cows and dishing out pigswill then?’
Skye forestalled her with a laugh. ‘When did you know your sister change her mind about anything she had set her heart on, Olly? She’s a true—’
‘If you’re about to say I’m a true Tremayne, I’d rather you didn’t,’ Celia cut in swiftly. ‘I’ve heard it so often, I sometimes begin to wonder just who I really am.’
‘It’s meant as a great compliment, darling,’ her father told her. ‘Anyone who ever knew old Morwen Tremayne – and your own grandmother – knows that.’
‘I know it too,’ Celia muttered. ‘I just want to be myself, that’s all. I’m nobody’s reincarnation, and I don’t want to be. I’m sorry if that offends anybody.’
‘It doesn’t, honey,’ Skye said softl
y. ‘Because I have so often thought the very same thing.’
* * *
‘Mom’s remark didn’t help. It just makes me feel even more that we’re all somehow one and the same person,’ Celia said to Olly a while later, when they were bumping along the lanes towards Truro in their father’s car to collect Harry Mack. ‘It’s spooky, isn’t it?’
‘Only if you let it be,’ Olly said. ‘This isn’t like you, Celia. I know you were unwell some time ago—’
‘I had a nervous breakdown, Olly,’ she said brutally. ‘I’m not afraid to say the words, and I wish other people wouldn’t hedge around them either. Thank God for Lily and David, who don’t patronise me by pretending it was something as simple as a summer cold.’
‘All right, so you’re over it now, and you don’t want to hang on to it like a comfort blanket. That’s good. Forget it, and live for the moment. It’s all we’ve got, anyway.’
His accurate summary took her by surprise. ‘You’re such a philosopher all of a sudden, aren’t you?’
‘Takes one to know one,’ he said with a grin. ‘But you know I’m right. The past is behind us and tomorrow’s still an unknown quantity. So we’ve just got to dig in our heels and make the most of today.’
She was touched by this new, mature Oliver. He was all of twenty years old now, but he had the wisdom of Solomon compared with the muddle in her own mind lately.
And yes, he was right. She couldn’t reach Stefan now, except in her heart, and they could only live each day as it came, until they knew what the future might hold.
‘I love you, Olly,’ she said, the words leaving her lips before she could stop them.
Immediately, she gave a rough laugh to hide her embarrassment. ‘Oh Lord, just forget I said that! What kind of a soppy, halfwit sister tells her strapping brother that she loves him, for God’s sake?’ He squeezed her hand for a second until he put his own back on the steering wheel again.
‘The best, that’s all. And you’re no halfwit. For the record, I love you too, but if you don’t want me to run this damn vehicle over a cliff, you’d better change the subject or you’ll have us both blubbering. So has anybody heard from the ghastly Daphne child yet?’
‘We had a home-made Christmas card,’ Celia said, glad that he had so cleverly turned the conversation. ‘She’s full of importance now that she’s going to live in America when her mother marries her GI.’
‘God help America then. If they’re not careful, it will be Daphne for President in a few years’ time,’ Olly said solemnly, at which they were both convulsed.
* * *
‘We’ve met before,’ Group Captain Harry Mack said, shaking Celia’s hand. ‘Don’t you remember?’
The instant she saw him, she remembered the pub in Norwich, and the motley crowd of servicemen singing and laughing, and this handsome Canadian plying her and Moonie with the unexpected luxury of wine. And Harry Mack mistaking her, ever so briefly, for the girl he obviously adored, her sister Wenna.
‘I do indeed,’ she said. ‘How nice to see you again.’
‘I hear you’ve been ill. Are you better now?’
The easy manner with which he said it was as refreshing as a summer breeze to Celia. There was no guile about this man, and she responded instantly.
‘Well enough to look forward to a change of occupation. I’ve just completed my training for the Women’s Land Army.’
Harry whistled approvingly. ‘Good for you. There’s nothing like good country air for putting some healthy colour back into a person’s cheeks. I should know.’
‘Do you come from a country background then?’
‘Canada’s one huge backyard,’ he said engagingly. ‘I miss the wide open spaces at times, but I’m getting used to it here – and there are compensations, of course.’
‘Though unfortunately she’s not here for the holidays, old bean,’ Olly put in, pushing his luck with the familiar RAF jargon, in Celia’s opinion.
‘But at least I can be with her family, and feel her presence in her home,’ Harry said.
‘Good Lord, my mother would say those words are worthy of a true Cornishman,’ Celia said, caught by the simplicity of the statement.
‘Well, thank you for the compliment, ma’am,’ he said with genuine delight, but his teasing words told Celia it was a mark of how deeply he felt for Wenna. She only hoped her sister appreciated the fact.
Chapter Twelve
‘My sister’s working on a farm near Penzance,’ Wenna reported to her friend, when the letter finally caught up with their ENSA unit in northern Italy.
‘She must be mad,’ Rita said baldly. ‘All that muck and animal stink wouldn’t be my cup of cocoa, I can tell you. You can keep the country as far as I’m concerned.’
‘That’s because you’re a city girl.’
‘You left it for the smoke, didn’t you?’
‘That’s different. I had a career opportunity,’ Wenna said. She realised how grand she sounded, and gave a half-smile. ‘Oh well, all right, I suppose I did. It doesn’t mean I don’t love the country too, though.’
‘What else does she say?’ Rita asked lazily. She wasn’t really interested, but anything was better than being confined to barracks now that their tour was over, and they were preparing to return to England.
‘They had a lovely Christmas, and my brother had a friend staying at New World with him.’
‘Not peculiar, is he?’ Rita sniggered.
‘No, he is not,’ Wenna said crossly. ‘As a matter of fact, it was Harry.’
‘Your Harry?’
Wenna sighed. She had long since given up protesting to Rita that Group Captain Mack wasn’t her Harry. Besides, by now, she was fairly certain that he was – or could be, if they ever got the chance to see one another again.
As yet, it was no more than a long-distance relationship, built mainly on correspondence, but the memory of his voice was strong in her head whenever she read his letters, and to Wenna, that had to mean something significant.
Already, she knew he was more than a friend, and, inevitably, the searing pain she had felt when Austin had been killed in action was fading from her mind, no matter how much she had tried to cling on to it.
‘So?’ Rita persisted. ‘Was it your Harry your brother took home to Cornwall for Christmas leave?’
‘Yes, it was my Harry,’ Wenna said softly. ‘And I wish I’d been there as well to see everybody. My mother always makes a big thing of Christmas, and invites all the family. My stepfather’s widowed brother is courting again too,’ she added, ‘so it looks as if we’ll be having another wedding in the family sometime.’
That was another surprising bit of information from Celia, thought Wenna. Adam Pengelly had kept this very quiet – but then, he was a very quiet man, and rather a dull old stick in Wenna’s opinion. His new lady friend was also widowed, and fifty-something like himself, according to Celia, and they were clearly looking for companionship rather than passion.
Wenna wondered fleetingly how fulfilled a marriage it would be… and without warning her thoughts turned to Harry Mack again, and the look in his eyes that had told her instantly that he desired her. Her heart began to beat considerably faster. The woman that Harry Mack married certainly wouldn’t enter into a quiet, middle-aged marriage…
‘Where’s your brother stationed now, Pengo?’ Rita was saying. ‘Is he still in Wiltshire?’
Wenna had a job to drag her thoughts back from the erotic image of being held tightly in Harry Mack’s arms and tasting his kisses on her lips, and was irritated with Rita for obliging her to let the image fade.
‘I don’t know. You’d hardly expect him to tell anybody, would you?’ she snapped. ‘He’s with Bomber Command now, though, and Celia says he’s dropped a few heavy hints that he might be involved in the invasion – if it ever happens. But now that he’s come clean about getting into the air force under age, Olly’s become a stickler for the rules. He’s quite a character, my brother.’
/> She’d never truly thought about it before. But she realised she admired him tremendously for his tenacity in getting what he wanted. Olly always did, she thought.
Celia too, seemed more like her old self now, she thought thankfully. For a time, the nervous breakdown had been a worry for all of them. It was so unlike Celia, whom Wenna had always considered so much stronger than herself.
One of the other girls in the concert party popped her head around the barrack door as Rita went out.
‘Pengelly, there was another letter for you. It must have been left on my bed by mistake, and I’ve only just got back from the ablutions. Sorry,’ she said.
Wenna took it absently. Such things happened, and it was nothing to get het up about. And then her heart leapt as she recognised Harry’s writing on the envelope, and in an instant she knew that whatever feelings she had for him, they were definitely far from platonic. She’d never really believed that old chestnut about absence making the heart grow fonder, but she was beginning to believe in it now. She opened the letter with shaking hands. It was two months since Christmas, but the letter had only just caught up with her.
“I couldn’t believe we had missed one another,” Harry Mack wrote. “It was so poignant, being there in your home, touching the things you used to touch, breathing in the atmosphere you knew so well, and imagining other times when you would have joined in singing the Christmas carols around the tree and raising your glass of hot punch for the toast to absent friends. You must know who I had in mind when your mother made that particular toast. I was so happy to be there, and yet so sad without you. It was like stumbling about in the dark and being unable to see the sun and be completely warmed again. You see what effect you have on me, my sweet girl? I dream of you, Wenna, and whenever I hear the words of a love song, I hear your voice in my head.”
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