Her eyes dared him to say otherwise, despite their sometimes volatile relationship. Through it all, the love had survived, and always would. All of this was no more than one irregular heartbeat in the steadfastness of their lives together. She truly believed that. She lifted her face for his kiss, and he crushed her mouth with his own.
‘I may be a successful lawyer, but my wife is much cleverer than I could ever be,’ he mumbled against her mouth.
‘That’s because I’m a Tremayne at heart,’ she told him, just in case he thought she was still harbouring secret yearnings for Philip Norwood after all this time.
‘So are you going to write straight back to Wenna?’
‘Of course. We both will, and we’ll promise them a New World party to end all parties when we’re all together again,’ she said determinedly.
* * *
Celia was openly envious.
‘The lucky little devil,’ she said to her companions in their draughty billet when she heard the news. ‘My sister’s just got married in France to her Canadian Group Captain.’
‘There’ll be a right shaking of the old bedsprings going on in the old barracks by now then,’ giggled East End Gertie, making a rude gesture. ‘Unless she did it just to get her ticket back to Blighty, of course.’
‘What do you mean?’ Lizzie said, as dim as ever.
‘I mean, pea-brain, that married women can have babies – or didn’t anyone ever tell you about the birds and bees?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Gertie. I doubt that my sister would even think about having a family yet,’ Celia said.
‘And you’d know all about how to prevent it, of course, clever-clogs,’ Gertie sneered.
Celia looked at her in exasperation. ‘When are you going to stop this stupid inverted snobbery, Gertie? We’re all in the same boat—’
‘Don’t you mean the same dung-heap?’ the other girl grinned, and then shrugged. ‘Oh well, I dare say you’re not so bad, Pengelly – for a country girl, that is. So when are you going to tell us a bit more about this man of yours that you keep so secret? You’re next in the wedding stakes, I suppose.’
Celia’s nerves jangled, and she gave a forced laugh. ‘I’m waiting until after the war before I tie the knot.’
Lizzie spoke up slyly, taking Gertie’s lead. ‘I don’t reckon he exists. I reckon you just made him up!’
‘Maybe I did,’ Celia said, turning her head away to hide her stinging eyes. ‘But you’ll never know, will you?’
A sudden knock on their billet door saved her from answering any more probing questions. The farmer’s son was calling her name imperiously.
‘There’s a telephone call for you, Pengelly, and Father says you’re to be quick because he wants to use it himself.’
‘The old fart probably wants to call his lady friend,’ Gertie jeered. ‘You take as long as you like, Pengelly.’
Celia was glad to escape. They were coarse and irritating, though they had all got used to one another by now, and rubbed along fairly well. In a perverse kind of way she would miss them when they all disbanded.
Like a hole in the head, she amended grimly, hearing their raucous laughter. It followed her across the farmyard to the house, where she thankfully closed the door and picked up the phone in the passageway.
It was Moonie.
‘Celia, I’ve got some news,’ she heard him say, and her heart leapt.
‘Stefan?’ she breathed.
The silence at the other end was minimal, but even so, she knew instantly that the news wasn’t going to be about Stefan. She smothered her disappointment with a huge effort.
‘I believe we’ve located your brother,’ Moonie went on, and paused while she gasped audibly into the receiver.
‘Is he safe? Is he well?’ she spluttered.
She quickly grabbed the nearest stool and sat down heavily on it before she fell down with shock. She couldn’t help the agonised thought, coming so soon after Wenna’s news, that maybe the Pengellys had used up all their luck now.
‘Before I say any more, Celia,’ Moonie said, ‘let me assure you that he’s safe.’
She gripped the phone, feeling as though her stomach was turning somersaults with relief.
‘Thank God. Where is he? Was he wounded? What happened to him?’ she babbled out all at once, her usual coolness gone in an instant.
‘Take it slowly, my dear. I’ve been in contact with some Norwegian partisans, and it seems he was shot down over Norway, as we’ve long suspected. Unfortunately the man your family had already heard about has since died, and was unable to tell us any more. But I understand that your brother was pretty badly cut about, Celia, so be prepared.’
‘Just as long as he’s safe,’ she whispered.
He went on unemotionally. ‘He was picked up and cared for by some farmers. The woman looked after him very well, by all accounts.’
‘A woman?’ she repeated stupidly.
‘It was a brother and sister who farm in a small way, I’m told. Strictly between you and me, Celia, I gather Olly has begged for her to accompany him to England, where he’ll be taken to a military hospital for some time. I don’t know if it will be sanctioned for her to go with him.’
‘Is she a nurse or something?’ Celia said.
‘Some sort of a healer, they say. Lucky, wasn’t he?’
Bloody lucky, thought Celia. But that was Olly. Always falling on his feet. Always the darling of the gods. Smelling of roses when everyone else was in the proverbial dung-heap… Without warning she burst into uncontrollable tears, because she loved him, and she thanked God he was safe, even if it meant she had used up all her own luck in the process.
So the woman was a healer, was she? Some sort of a crank… but how could she think that, and she a Cornishwoman! Her throat was tight with tears.
‘I’m sorry, Moonie. I’m finding it hard to take it all in. Just give me a minute, will you?’
‘Take as long as you like.’
‘I can’t do that. The farmer here wants to use the phone. Can I call you back in a little while?’
‘Of course. I’ll be here all evening, and I still need to say more to you.’
She hung up and went back to the billet, not wanting to face anyone right now. She couldn’t quite believe it was actually true that Olly would be coming home. While she knew she should feel like singing, she prayed for her mother’s sake that it wasn’t all a cruel hoax… but it couldn’t be, if Moonie had got the information from the partisans on their elaborate short-wave wireless system. She trusted him totally.
Still, she tried to think rationally. It had been a long time, and as yet she didn’t know what Olly’s injuries were. Moonie’s voice had been cautious, and she knew they couldn’t expect to see the same happy-go-lucky Olly who had gone away.
Everyone knew that war changed people. Nobody ever came out unscathed. Her mother would know that. So would everyone of her generation; they had seen it all before.
She felt more rational by the time she managed to speak to Moonie again, ignoring the instruction from the farmer not to make it too long or the cost would be docked from her wages.
It soon became clear that Olly wouldn’t have survived without these Norwegian farmers who had found him, though Moonie had no more information about them.
‘They’re angels, that’s who they were. Guardian angels,’ Celia said.
‘Apparently so. Look, Celia, I’ve got a few days’ leave, and I’ve got clearance to give your family the news myself. I can be at your home tomorrow afternoon. Can you be there?’
‘You make it all sound terribly ominous,’ Celia said, her first elation slipping into anxiety now.
‘I don’t mean to, but it’s quite complicated, and I’d prefer to explain it in person, and I’d like to see you again, of course. But for the moment, I advise you to keep the news to yourself. So go and tell your boss that you need some leave, and I’ll see you at New World tomorrow afternoon.’
She hung up the
phone with shaking hands, her mind in a whirl. She wondered uneasily just how serious Olly’s injuries were, and how much he wasn’t telling her. But then the most important point of all flooded her senses. Olly was alive. For the moment, her joy eclipsed everything else, even the searing knowledge that there was still no news of Stefan. She had been so sure she would have heard something by now…
She was still catching her breath when the farmer came out of the parlour and asked curtly if she had finished her business. He was a boorish man who had no truck with women farm workers, and she hated him.
‘I have to go home on family business tomorrow,’ she said coldly. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.’
‘Don’t bother, miss,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve been a thorn in my flesh ever since you arrived, and I’ll be more than glad to inform the authorities that you’re no longer needed here.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said sarcastically. ‘That will save me the nuisance of doing it myself.’
* * *
Celia didn’t want to go home to New World too early. She would be too afraid of blurting out everything before Moonie arrived, and it was clear that however traumatic the news they had to hear was, he wanted her and her parents to be together when they heard it. She was getting increasingly nervous. Olly was alive, but that was all she knew. It didn’t bode well.
Tomorrow was Saturday and Nick would be at home. Presumably Moonie had worked that out for himself. She tried not to imagine terrible injuries, and concentrated instead on packing her things and telling the other Land Girls she was going home for good, and that she intended having a long lie-in before she left in the morning.
‘Bimey, gel, what’s old sour-face going to say about that?’ Gertie exclaimed.
‘I’m damn sure he’ll be giving three cheers to see the back of me,’ Celia retorted.
‘Well, we won’t,’ Lizzie said. ‘We’ll miss you, Celia.’
‘Go on. You won’t have time to miss me! You’ll have twice as much work to do without me around,’ she said, touched by the words, and throwing a pillow at the girl to soften the unexpected emotion she felt.
It must be because of everything that had happened so suddenly, she thought. Wenna’s news, and now Olly’s…
But where did that leave her? Out of nowhere a small voice inside her said that two out of three wasn’t bad. There was probably a law of averages that said there always had to be one who didn’t get everything she wanted—
Her spinning thoughts were halted as a pillow was hurled back at her, and suddenly the feathers were flying, and the three of them were laughing and spluttering and coughing, and the tears went unnoticed.
* * *
Later, she couldn’t have said how she spent the whole of the next day until she got back to New World in the mid-afternoon. She remembered parts. She stayed in bed until it was unreasonable for her to stay any longer, and besides, she was far too jittery to be idle.
She bought a midday snack in a local cafe, idled along the seafront at Penzance, watching the boats jostling in the harbour, and then took the bus as near to New World as possible, before walking the last mile home.
By then, her suitcase felt as if it weighed a ton, and her mother’s eyes widened at the unexpected sight of her. Although it was a chilly early March now, Celia’s face was as red with exertion and worry as if had been midsummer.
‘For pity’s sake, honey, come inside. Are you ill or is this an unscheduled leave? You should have let us know you were coming, and Daddy would have come to fetch you—’
‘Please don’t fuss, Mom. I’m home to stay, that’s all. Me and Farmer Giles have parted for good, and that’s all I’m prepared to say right now!’
It served two purposes, and Skye knew better than to ask too many questions when her daughter was in one of her scratchy moods. She would explain things in her own time, and right now she looked as if she needed to rest and recover.
In fact, Celia was feeling increasingly guilty at having to keep the news from her mother that Skye would so dearly love to hear. She should never have agreed to keeping it from her until Moonie arrived.
‘Is Daddy here?’ she asked swiftly now.
He had to be here when Moonie came. She felt the panic rising. It was important that they were all together to face whatever Moonie had to tell them…
‘He’s in his study. Is something wrong, Celia?’
She shook her head, and then they both looked up as they heard the sound of a car door slam. A taxi had pulled up and Captain Moon was alighting from it.
Skye frowned, not knowing who the visitor was, but Celia ran outside at once, and took both his hands in hers. Her heart pounded, and she looked at him searchingly, but he kissed her cheek and spoke reassuringly.
‘It’s all right, my dear. I promise you everything will be all right. Let’s go inside and talk to your parents.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘And he’s actually here in England?’ Skye gasped, when Moonie had related everything he knew – much more than he had already told Celia.
‘My latest information is that he’s in a sanatorium south of Bristol that specialises in his injuries,’ Moonie said carefully. ‘I must warn you, Mrs Pengelly, that it may be some time before he’s allowed home. When he is, of course, I doubt that he’ll see active service again.’
‘I should damn well hope not,’ Nick said angrily. ‘The boy enlisted under age, and he’s seen enough active service for any man.’
‘But that’s what he is, Nick. A man,’ Skye said with huge pride and dignity. ‘And I’m terribly proud of him.’
‘We all are, Mom,’ Celia put in. She turned to Moonie. ‘But what about these Norwegian people? Did the farming woman come with him after all?’
‘Apparently. I gather your brother refused to be moved without her.’
Celia spoke uneasily. ‘Well, I thank God he’s safe, of course, but I hope this doesn’t mean he’s become dependent on some crank healing woman.’
‘Can we visit him?’ Skye asked swiftly, wanting to prevent Nick from saying anything scathing, and knowing she and Celia would both be remembering the old witchwoman on the moors at that moment. There was a cranky old healing woman if ever there was one, she thought feelingly.
‘I have the address of the sanatorium,’ Moonie said. ‘There are no restrictions on visitors.’
There was an awkward silence for a few minutes. Moonie had said all he had come to say, and he sensed that these folk would be burning to get away to visit their son as soon as possible. Besides, it wasn’t for him to urge caution, to advise them not to bombard the boy with emotions and tears.
Seeing his face, Celia spoke swiftly. ‘You’ll stay with us for a while, won’t you, Moonie? I’d like to show you my little piece of the world.’
‘Just overnight, if that’s all right with your parents. I have some visiting of my own to do in the area.’
‘Of course you must stay, Captain Moon,’ said Skye, but she was already mentally packing a small suitcase with which to travel to the Somerset sanatorium.
She simply couldn’t think about entertaining. This was Celia’s friend and colleague, and it was up to Celia to make him welcome. All Skye could think about was that Oliver was safe, and as soon as his wounds had healed, he would be coming home. God had been good to them, and for the first time in ages, she felt a great urge to be inside a church and thank Him properly. She had said many prayers in her lifetime, in many places, and she knew that they all counted. But this time, no other place but God’s house would do.
‘Do you mind if I spend some time alone?’ she said to Nick, once Celia and Moonie had left them, and the tears of relief had dried. ‘I know it’s not your feeling, Nick, but I need to go to church to give thanks for Olly’s survival.’
‘I need that too – if you don’t mind,’ he said quietly.
She put her arms around him and felt him shake. Then she lifted her face for his kiss, and they went out of the house to
gether, their arms entwined.
* * *
Olly was recovering more quickly that the doctors and nurses had believed likely when they first saw the extent of his still suppurating wounds. Without the initial application of Birgitta’s herbal remedies, he would almost certainly have died, and even so, it had taken all the doctors’ skills to deal with the wounds – just as it had taken all Olly’s mental energy to insist that Birgitta came to England with him.
By now, he knew he could never thank her enough for all she had done for him. He knew he owed his life to her, and that he could never love anyone as much as he loved her. He knew all the guff about a patient falling for his nurse, but this was different. This was the love of his life.
She was sitting by his bedside, her silvery hair falling over her face, when he realised there were people entering the ward who weren’t wearing the obligatory medical uniforms. He sighed, not wanting visitors. Not wanting anyone but the beautiful Norwegian girl he adored. And then, as if in a dream, he heard his mother’s voice.
‘Olly. Oh, Olly, darling—’
He turned his head carefully, aware of the sting of the stretched, tender skin on his cheeks where the scars were still vivid enough to reveal the extent of his injuries.
‘Mom? They didn’t tell me you were coming—’
He had been strong for so long, but now his face crumpled and the unmanly tears trickled over his scars making them smart still more as he saw his parents and sister.
To Skye, he was no longer a hero, but simply her boy, her baby, and she rushed forward and held him in her arms.
‘Hey, hold on, Mom. It hurts,’ he said weakly, though the hurt didn’t really matter. In any case, it was a very little hurt compared with the searing pain he had endured.
‘I’m sorry, darling,’ Skye said in a choking voice. ‘It’s just so wonderful to see you—’
‘You too. But don’t drown me in tears. I’ve had enough water to last a lifetime…’
They were crowding him, words pouring out of them all now in their relief at finding him coherent, and apparently still capable of teasing, despite everything. He loved them all, but he had been too long in an isolated Norwegian farmhouse to be able to cope with too much attention too soon.
A Brighter Tomorrow Page 30
