His lady was standing quietly by now and saying nothing. He reached out his hand and drew her into the circle.
‘This is Birgitta, Mom and Dad,’ he croaked. ‘She rescued me and brought me back to life. She’s my angel, and I hope you’ll all love her as much as I do.’
Celia saw the girl lower her eyes, and knew at once that nobody on earth could love her as much as her brother did. She hoped fleetingly that it wasn’t a case of a young man falling for his nurse, but her sixth sense told her it was far more than that. Lucky Olly, as ever, she thought next – but without rancour, because if anyone deserved to find love, he did.
He would have to remain in the sanatorium for another few weeks, but then he could go home, providing he continued to have nursing care. And since he insisted that the only nursing care he would accept was that of Birgitta and his family doctor, the staff knew better than to argue with this strong-willed young man, and let him have his way.
* * *
‘It’s wonderful that Olly will be coming home,’ Lily said to Celia, when the glad news had spread throughout the family. ‘Do you think he and this Norwegian girl—’
‘Oh yes,’ Celia said with a smile. ‘There’s absolutely no doubt about it. You only have to see them together.’
‘So it seems as if Wenna has got her man, and Olly has virtually come back from the dead. What of you, my love?’ Lily said next. ‘What’s your news?’
Celia turned away, not wanting her cousin to see the raw despair in her eyes. More than ever she was certain that the famed Tremayne luck had all been used up, and there was none left for her. She was the one who had lost out in the game of chance, the one that fate forgot. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried not to sound bitter.
‘What news could I have?’ she said.
‘Well, David says many German towns have fallen to the Allies now, and the terrible concentration camps have been liberated – not that I’m implying that your Stefan would have been incarcerated in one of those, of course,’ she added quickly. ‘But it’s all over bar the shouting, as they say – isn’t it? Oh Celia, I’m sorry—’
She was aghast as she saw the girl’s face, as white as their own china clay. Celia had always been so strong, so flippant and brittle, taking everything life threw at her in her capable stride. Except this.
‘Oh, take no notice of me, Lily. I’m all right, really. I just get these moments, that’s all,’ Celia said with a huge effort to gain control of her emotions. ‘Sometimes I have this image of myself in years to come, like one of those poor elderly spinster women from the last lot, full of useless memories and little else.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Lily said briskly. ‘You’re made of sterner stuff than that. You’ll find a new love some day—’ At Celia’s aggrieved look, she knew at once it was the wrong thing to say.
‘Have you written him off as well then? That’s the difference between me and everybody else, Lily. I haven’t, and I never will. I’d rather grow old without him, than ever think I could love someone else.’
* * *
The news that Hitler was dead came at the end of April, at the same time that Berlin finally fell to the Allies. German towns and cities everywhere were flying white flags now, and Allied soldiers were organising the movement of refugees.
Oliver had returned home to New World with Birgitta by his side, and it was tacitly assumed that she was going to stay in Cornwall for the foreseeable future. Olly still didn’t want to see anyone but the family. They all accepted that he needed time to adjust, and were prepared to give it to him.
Wenna’s concert party had already been disbanded, and she too had arrived home, awaiting her husband’s discharge papers to come through at the earliest opportunity. Then they would make known their plans to depart for Canada.
Learning of Hitler’s death sent the whole country into rapture, even though it was morally wrong to feel happy at the death of a man. But this had been such an evil man that no one could be anything but relieved at reading the huge black headlines in the Informer and every other newspaper telling of Hitler’s suicide, with his mistress dead beside him.
The war wasn’t officially over yet, but tentative celebrations were already being arranged in many households. New World had always been the scene of great parties, and the Pengellys anticipated a gathering of the whole clan when the peace treaty was finally signed, as it surely must be soon.
Whether in sorrow or in happiness, families needed to be together at such times, and when Birgitta asked shyly if her brother Rolf could be invited to join them, Olly added his voice to the request, and perked up so much at the suggestion that Skye and Nick agreed gladly, knowing how huge a part these two had played in their son’s recovery. It was arranged that Rolf would arrive in Cornwall at the earliest opportunity.
During the first week of May, it seemed as if David Kingsley telephoned New World almost hourly as the news came through that everyone had been waiting for.
‘The Germans are surrendering everywhere,’ Skye exclaimed. ‘Italy, Holland and Denmark – and now Norway.’
Birgitta’s eyes blurred with tears at the news.
‘I am too full to speak, Mrs Pengelly. It is hard for me to express the feelings in my heart at knowing that my country is free again.’
‘Will you want to return, Birgitta?’ Skye said, knowing it would break Olly’s heart if she did.
She shook her head. ‘Not until Olly is tired of me.’
‘Can pigs fly?’ he said, laughing at her puzzled look and taking plenty of time to explain the Englishness of the joke.
* * *
Their happiness was almost too much for Celia to bear. She begrudged them nothing, but for her there was only a deep void in her heart as the news broke that the peace treaty had finally been signed and it was all over. Six years of war had ended in a small schoolhouse in Rheims where the Allied Supreme Commander, General Eisenhower, had his HQ.
‘There are still the Japanese to contend with, of course,’ Nick said, cautious as ever, but nothing could dim the joy of knowing that victory celebrations could begin, bonfires could be lit all over the country, and the organised and disorganised street parties could finally take place.
Rations that had been hoarded for weeks could be brought out and displayed on tables groaning with food, while flags flew and balloons soared skywards all over the country. In every city and town the lights were turned on again, and searchlights lit the sky in jubilation instead of fear.
‘I’d love to be in London right now,’ Wenna said wryly. ‘The people will be out in force to see the royal family come out on the balcony of Buckingham Palace – and Prime Minister Churchill too, I dare say. There won’t be an inch of space among the cheering crowds in Piccadilly.’
‘Do you miss it, honey?’ Skye asked her. ‘And Fanny?’
Wenna took a deep breath. ‘In some ways I miss her more now than when she died. It’s knowing that all this will be going on, I suppose, and that she’d be there in the thick of it. She did so love a knees-up, Mom.’
They hugged one another, both remembering the brash, vivacious woman who could cuss like a trooper and had the proverbial heart of gold.
‘And what of that life, honey?’ Skye persisted. ‘Will Harry be agreeable to you going back on the stage?’
Wenna took a deep breath. ‘I won’t be, Mom. There won’t be much call for singers in the wilds of Canada… I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.’
‘You didn’t have to. I guess I always knew.’
‘And you don’t mind?’ Wenna said cautiously.
‘We all have to go where our hearts are, Wenna, and yours is with your husband. Of course I shall miss you, but you’ll go with my blessing.’
* * *
The world was celebrating the peace, and so was Berlin. The bombing and destruction had all but obliterated many fine buildings, centuries old, and reduced much of that beautiful city to rubble. Those whose homes had survived, whether h
ovel or mansion, could count themselves among the lucky ones. There were thousands who could not.
Frau Vogl learned of her country’s final surrender with unaccustomed tears in her eyes. She was not given to showing emotion, but now that it was all over she could remember her son, and wonder what it had all been for. It was a feeling that was echoed by her husband, even though it was unsaid. Herr Vogl was a man who would remain loyal to the Fatherland, and she respected him for that, despite her maternal sadness at the loss and waste of a young life.
But there was another young man in the household who had needed all their care and attention in the time he had been with them. Not that Stefan von Gruber was such a young man, except when compared with themselves. But when he had succumbed to the vicious attack of pneumonia shortly after his arrival in their home, his life had hung on a thread for many weeks.
The Vogls had discussed the matter thoroughly, and finally decided not to even try to inform the Cornish family that he was safe and well until they knew for sure which way the illness would go.
Now he was well and strong again, and it was time for him to leave them. It would be a wrench, for he had become almost as close as a son to them, but he had chosen his path in life, and it was his to follow.
Stefan himself was well aware that he owed his life to the Vogls and their family doctor. His delirium had been so intense that he had hardly known whether the hammering in his head and the flashes of light that burned his eyes came from inside his head, or from the British bombardment of the city.
When he had slowly started to recover, he was filled with a weird kind of superstition that was worthy of his Cornish sweetheart. Through the darkened window of his bedroom he had watched the searchlights criss-cross the sky and picked out the British planes dropping their death-laden bombs. He had tried not to imagine one of those bombs hitting this house and obliterating them all while he lay helpless.
He had watched the skies like a hunter searching for its prey, his mind tormented and muddled as he sought to find one bright star, while hardly knowing why he did so. Fighting to remember some words from long ago that reminded him that as long as that star still shone, something very precious would survive in this hell.
Now he knew what it was. Now, his mind was lucid and clear, and he knew that if God, or fate, or luck, was on his side, Celia would still be waiting for him. But, still with that feverish near-Cornish superstition, he had decided not to contact her until he returned to their special place.
He had money now. The Vogls had generously seen to that, and his self-confidence had returned. His mind was alert in a way it hadn’t been for months, and he knew exactly what he had to do, and where he had to be before he saw Celia again.
As the train took him over the border into Switzerland with a sense of freedom so new it was almost painful, the sight of the mountains ahead gave him a feeling of almost sexual ecstasy. He vowed that once he and Celia were reunited, nothing in this world was ever going to separate them again.
* * *
Harry Mack arrived at New World a few weeks later, to the delight of his bride. He treated Olly like a hero, until Olly told him in embarrassment that he’d far rather he didn’t. Rolf had arrived from Norway, but stayed only a short while, saying he would return for his sister’s wedding before Wenna and Harry departed for Canada in the late summer.
‘It’s far too soon for Olly and Birgitta to marry, of course,’ Celia said to Lily, her closest confidante now. ‘But how can you destroy their happiness by telling him to wait a while? They wouldn’t take any notice, anyway.’
‘Would you?’ Lily asked. ‘The three of you have always gone your own way and got whatever you wanted.’
‘I hardly think that applies to me.’
‘You haven’t given up hope, have you?’
Celia shook her head slowly. ‘Of course not, but it’s sometimes hard to hold on to a dream. I keep torturing myself with the thought that surely Stefan would have got in touch with me by now if he was still – still able to.’
She didn’t dare say “if he was still alive”, because it was tempting fate to put such thoughts into words.
‘David says that Germany’s in a terrible state,’ Lily told her, quickly changing the subject. ‘It’s practically in ruins, and people are still emerging from shelters, not even aware that the war’s been over for a few weeks. Perhaps—’
‘Don’t even say it,’ Celia said sharply. ‘Stefan’s not the sort of man to hide in a shelter for weeks on end without knowing what’s happening.’
But what sort of man was he, she thought, if he was still alive and hadn’t bothered to contact her? Was his love so shallow after all? She couldn’t believe it, but neither could she dismiss it. People changed. And there was always the possibility that he had met someone else.
She had always steadfastly refused to think about such a prospect, and she pushed it out of her mind now. Instead, she reflected on Lily’s sensible comments that they must all look to the future now, or it would all have been for nothing.
Olly and Birgitta would marry and live happily after, presumably at New World. Wenna and Harry would go to Canada and raise horses or whatever they did out there. Her mother would begin in earnest on her china clay history booklets and her plans for the open-air museum that would attract hundreds and thousands of visitors to Cornwall in the bright new tomorrow that was now today. And Butch Butcher would be their surrogate son.
And she – where did that leave her? Celia Pengelly, who had once been the brightest and most self-confident of all of them, who had thought she had the world at her feet…
She caught her breath on a sob as she neared New World, and then slowed the car to a stop at the side of the road, scattering dust and gravel everywhere.
‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ she yelled at the carrot-headed vision that had suddenly loomed up in front of her on the road, dancing about in a frenzy and waving its arms hysterically. She ignored the fact that her thoughts had been too taken up with misery to see him, or anyone.
‘Have you lost your senses, Butch?’ she yelled again when he seemed too stupefied to speak for a moment. She leapt out of the car and shook him by the lapels. ‘I nearly ran into you, you idiot.’
‘There’s been a phone call for you, Celia,’ he screeched, his face as red as his hair. ‘He’s going to try again in an hour or two – though he says he’s having a terrible time getting through – and you’re to wait indoors for him.’
Her eyes blazed with sudden hope, and if he could have done so, Butch would have backed away at their brilliance. But she still held on to him so tightly he was almost choking.
‘He? Did you say he? Who was it? Tell me at once!’
Common sense should be telling her not to get over-excited, but common sense was the farthest thing from her mind now. Of course, it might be Moonie… or Ethan in Ireland… or someone giving her the news she dreaded…
‘Mrs Pen says it’s your feller—’ Butch croaked.
He howled with rage as she let go of him so quickly that he had to stagger crazily to keep his balance. Celia hardly noticed. She almost fell back into the car and screeched it into gear. She couldn’t wait for Butch to get inside, and left him there, hollering after her. She heard none of it.
All she could hear in her head were the magical words: “Mrs Pen says it’s your feller”…
‘Stefan,’ she almost sobbed. ‘Oh, please God, let it be really you.’
Once home, she slammed the car door behind her and rushed into the house, shouting for her mother.
‘Hey, sis, where’s the fire?’ said Olly with a grin, coming out of the drawing room with his arm slung loosely around Birgitta’s waist.
‘There was a phone call,’ Celia stuttered.
‘Was there?’ he said, unconcerned. ‘I wouldn’t know. We’ve just come in from a stroll, which is all I’m allowed.’
She turned away from him, resisting the childish urge to stamp her feet in
frustration. ‘Where’s Mom, Olly?’
‘I’m here, Celia,’ she heard her mother say quietly.
She whirled around, clutching at Skye’s arms, all the hope in the world mirrored in her eyes. Almost too afraid to ask, and yet needing so desperately to know…
‘There was a phone call for me,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Butch told me.’
Her mouth trembled and her legs began to give way. She felt so dizzy that she swayed and would have fallen if her mother’s arms hadn’t held her so tightly.
‘Hold on, my darling. It’s everything you hoped for. It was Stefan, and he’s going to try again later, just as soon as he can, but the telephone system between here and Europe is so appallingly overloaded now, of course—’
Celia heard no more. She slid to the floor, and a few minutes later found herself lying on the sofa, with people fussing around her. Someone put a glass to her lips, and she pushed it away. She didn’t need it. She just needed answers.
‘Tell me I wasn’t dreaming,’ she whispered. ‘After all these years of hoping and praying – tell me it was really Stefan, Mom, and that it wasn’t all some cruel hoax.’
‘It was no hoax, honey. It was definitely his voice.’
Celia hid her face in her hands, not wanting any of them to see the raw emotion on her face that she knew she couldn’t hide. Such acute joy was almost agonising, and she didn’t want to share this moment – the moment when she thanked God deeply for sending her lover back to her – with anyone.
Then reality came rushing back. She still didn’t know if he was well, or where he was. All she knew was that he had telephoned. Someone else had heard his voice first, and she was beset with the most ridiculous feeling of jealousy because of it. She was desperate to hear his voice for herself, to be reassured that he still loved her and wanted her. That every night, when she had searched the heavens for their star, he had looked for it too, or thought of it, and planned for the day when they would see it together once more.
A Brighter Tomorrow Page 31
