On a very few occasions, she’d grown close to people, but never for long. Even Connie would eventually drift out of her life, she knew. Jocelyn Forester already had. The young girl with her boundless pleasure in life had brightened Daisy’s world for a brief period, but that light was now all but extinguished. Her single ally in Jasirapur had married and was once more living back in India. She hadn’t wed her Indian Army soldier after all, but a planter from Assam, who she’d met at a tea dance in Hove while she was staying with her Sussex relations. The news had caused Daisy a wry smile. Their correspondence had always been desultory and now war made communication even more difficult. She doubted she would see her friend again. And that was for the best. After the wretched end to her life in India, she couldn’t see herself exchanging girlish chatter with the colonel’s daughter.
She wouldn’t want to tell Jocelyn a lot of things—Gerald’s desertion, for instance. It would be unfair to place such a burden on her. And she could never speak of Grayson’s illicit help. Unfair again. But she was allowing her mind to run ahead and she shouldn’t. It was by no means certain that he’d be able to help. Despite his explanation, she had only the haziest idea what the SOE did. She presumed they must manufacture papers for the spies they sent abroad and wondered if someone would do that for Gerald. But he wouldn’t go as a spy, surely. The United States was a neutral country and presumably you didn’t send spies there. Or did you? There was little point in speculating. She must just wait and hope.
‘How did it go?’ Connie’s smiling face appeared in the doorway. ‘You did meet him, didn’t you?’
She bounced into the room and shut the door with a decided thud. Daisy hastily scrabbled something together that would satisfy her friend. It would have to be a severely trimmed version of events, but sufficient to stop Connie prying further.
‘You didn’t go, did you?’ Connie marched forward and even in the fluctuating light of the small bedside lamp, Daisy could see accusation writ large on her face. ‘You funked it!’
She looked steadily at her friend and said in a quiet voice, ‘I went.’
In an instant Connie had rushed over to the bed and was enveloping her in the warmest of embraces. ‘Well done! And so very sorry I was a doubting Thomas. I should have known you’d find the courage to beard the beast.’
‘Grayson isn’t a beast.’
‘No, but what you had to ask him was.’
‘Don’t heap me with praise.’ It was time to come clean. ‘I was only a little brave.’
Her friend looked suspicious and she tried to explain. ‘I went to Baker Street, I even went into the building where Grayson works and asked for him. But then I got cold feet and, when the receptionist rang him to come down and meet me, I ran away.’
‘So you didn’t see him after all.’ Connie’s face had gone pink. ‘You screwed up your courage so far and then you chickened out.’
‘I know, but don’t be cross. Eventually, I did get to meet him.’
‘But how?’
‘There was an air raid just as I left the building. I rushed to the underground station with everybody else—it was the nearest shelter. Grayson must have been coming after me. I imagine he wondered who his mysterious visitor was, and decided to find out. Anyway, when the siren went, he had to take refuge in the station too. And that’s where I saw him.’
‘How serendipitous. Is that a word? But there must have been a huge crowd down there. How did you find him?’
There had been a huge crowd and one of its number had almost killed her. From time to time, she’d thought about that moment. At first, she’d been sure the push was deliberate, but now she wasn’t so certain. It seemed such a foolish notion, lacking any kind of sense or reason, and she wasn’t about to worry Connie with the tale of a mystery attacker. She would be better to forget him.
‘I didn’t go looking. I’d no idea he’d be there. We just bumped into each other.’
‘There you are, serendipitous.’
‘I suppose so, but it took me an age to get round to asking him for help. In fact, I didn’t until we were walking back here. I don’t think he believed me at first when I told him Gerald was alive. But then he saw I was serious and he got angry. Very angry. I was on the point of giving up but, after the raid, he insisted on escorting me home and somehow things loosened up.’ That was the least embarrassing way she could put it. She wasn’t about to confess she’d flung herself into his arms. ‘And then I asked him.’
Connie’s eyes widened and she seemed to be holding her breath. ‘How did he take it?’
‘Amazingly well.’ Her conscience prickled again at how little Grayson would get in return.
‘So he wasn’t too angry then, or he’d have refused you.’
‘I hope not. In any case, he said he’d do what he could.’
Her friend squealed and Daisy hastily shushed her to silence. The bedroom walls were thin and the last thing she wanted were eavesdroppers.
‘That’s wonderful. Farewell, Gerald. Yippee to that!’
‘I’m not out of the woods, yet,’ Daisy warned. ‘I can’t be sure Grayson will be able to help, even if he’s willing.’
‘If he can’t, nobody can,’ Connie repeated her earlier conviction. ‘But why are you looking so glum? At least there’s a chance now of losing the loser.’
‘I hated asking Grayson. I felt I was exploiting his good nature.’
‘What you mean is you hated exploiting his feelings for you.’
She couldn’t answer. Connie had hit the nail on the head. ‘But then there was Willa too,’ she said distractedly.
‘What about her? What’s she done now—or not done more likely?’
‘I walked in to the most tremendous row when I got back here. Between her and Lydia, as always. Lydia was convinced it was Willa who got her into trouble, sneaking to Sister about her smoking. She’s been punished by having all her frees taken away for the next two weeks.’
‘Serve her right. Lydia Penrose thinks she’s Queen of the May, that she can do anything she likes and get away with it.’
‘I don’t believe it was Willa who told tales.’
‘Who then?’
‘I don’t know, but Willa would never have had the nerve. And she’s much too sweet-natured to harm anyone deliberately.’
‘And if the Penrose wasn’t so wrapped up in herself, she’d know that. So how did it end?’
‘Lydia slunk off with her cronies and Willa went to bed. To cry herself to sleep if I’m any judge.’ Daisy stared moodily into the distance. ‘I didn’t know what to do, Connie. She’s such a frail soul. She lost her brother only a few weeks ago and, if I’m not mistaken, someone else she was close to as well. And nursing doesn’t help her. I don’t think she’s cut out for the profession, and certainly not for the rough and tumble of this place.’
‘Perhaps the row will make her realise it at last,’ Connie said comfortably, ‘and then she can forget nursing and go home.’
‘I don’t think her home is very welcoming either.’
‘You can’t take the troubles of the world on your shoulders. Forget Willa for the moment and look forward to freedom. It’s around the corner and I’ve got just the thing to celebrate.’
With a magician’s sleight, she plunged her hand into her cape and from its folds pulled out a single bottle of beer.
Daisy laughed. ‘Where on earth did you find that?’ Alcohol was scarce at the best of times and at the Nurses’ Home non-existent. ‘Don’t you think a celebration might be a mite premature?’
‘You think so? Perhaps. But not for me.’
She looked at her friend more closely. ‘Is it you that’s celebrating? Now I come to think of it, you looked unusually sunny when you came in. So what’s happened?’
‘Dr Lawson.’
‘What about him?’
‘I’ve got myself a date.’
‘With Dr Lawson?’
‘Who else? With the scrumptious doctor.’ She pulled the regul
ation chair up to the bed. It was made of basket weave and groaned loudly as Connie’s plump form settled into its meagre space. ‘Don’t breathe a word though, will you?’ Her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘I don’t want the other girls to know. I don’t want them on my back, especially not Lydia and her crew.’
‘But how? I thought he was married.’
‘He’s as single as you or me. Well, me at least. And he’s delicious and no one else is going to touch him. It was the whizziest bit of luck, Daisy.’
‘Go on, tell me.’
Connie’s face was alight and she leaned forward until she was almost lying against Daisy’s shoulder. ‘There was a mix-up tonight on the medicine trolley, and I had to stay behind and help Sister sort it out. Just as I was finishing, Dr Lawson—I suppose I can call him Colin now, at least to you—anyway Colin walked on to the ward to talk to Sister. But then the phone went and she had to walk to the other end of the ward to answer it. So that left him and me with nothing to do but talk.’
Daisy was amused. ‘About what?’
‘He asked me if I was just coming on duty or off and I said I’d had to stay, but I was looking forward to getting my supper and he said, what’s the food like at the Home, and I said pretty bloody awful—well, without the bloody—and he laughed and said the doctors didn’t eat much better, but at least he wasn’t getting fat and being hungry a lot of the time meant he danced well! Which was an odd thing to say, and now I think about it, I reckon it was a definite ploy. And I said do you like dancing and he said he loved it and I said I did too and he asked me what I was doing Saturday evening and I said absolutely nothing—my fingers were crossed behind my back in case Sister decided to bung me another shift—and he said the West End is still jolly, plenty of dances and hundreds of people on the street even if you can’t see anyone and would I like to go with him to the Astoria? And I said, yes not half. Well, actually I said, That sounds delightful, Dr Lawson. And he said Call me Colin, at least off duty. And I said Call me Connie, at least off duty. And he said he loved my name. Which is more than I do, but how about that?’
Her friend came to a breathless stop. Daisy had been listening attentively and by the time Connie’s monologue was finished, she was wearing a broad smile. ‘And I thought Dr Lawson was my beau,’ she teased.
‘It’s too late now. You had your chance and you didn’t want him. In any case, you’ve got a husband,’ Connie teased back.
‘But not for long, I hope.’
‘Amen to that.’ She produced a bottle opener from a concealed pocket in her nurse’s apron and poured half of the beer into Daisy’s night glass.
‘What if he’s a brilliant dancer,’ she mused. ‘I’ll need to practise my steps. There’s bound to be a great band at the Astoria. I know Snakehips Johnson was due to play there but they were at the Café de Paris when it was bombed. Perhaps Art Gregory will come back. Where did that old turntable go?’
‘It’s still in the sitting room as far as I know. Beneath a dozen nursing manuals and a ton of dust.’
‘I must get it out. There were some Glenn Miller records somewhere too.’ She bounced up from the bed, bottle in hand, and began to dance around the small room with an imaginary partner, humming ‘Tuxedo Junction’ out of tune.
‘And what should I wear?’ She stopped dead. ‘I’ve nothing to wear.’ She saw the olive green dress that Daisy had taken off and scooped it up, dancing it against her ample form. ‘If I can get into this, can I borrow it?’
‘Of course you can, though I’m not sure it will be quite right for the dance floor.’
‘Needs must. It’s better than anything I’ve got in my wardrobe and it’s modest enough for Colin. I think he’d like modest, don’t you?’ And her friend prattled on, imagining how she would dance with her doctor, what she would say to him, what it might lead to, and then horrors, what if she had to work?
‘I’ll do the shift for you if that happens,’ Daisy reassured her.
‘You’re a brick. I hope you won’t have to, but I’ve absolutely got to go to that dance.’
‘You’ve got to go now. It’s already past eleven and we’re up again in six hours.’
‘Oh God! You’re right.’ She swallowed the rest of the beer in one gulp and made for the door.
‘And take the bottle with you,’ Daisy called after her.
The door shut and Daisy wriggled back under the covers. She couldn’t help smiling. Connie was so pleased. Dr Lawson, or Colin as he must henceforth be known, had been in her friend’s eye for some time she knew, although Connie would never admit to it. But this evening she’d come clean and with good reason. Her campaign to bag him had advanced hugely, and Daisy guessed that she was already making plans to introduce the hapless doctor to her family. She was happy for her friend, but envious, too, of Connie’s undemanding life.
CHAPTER 7
After Grayson watched Daisy out of sight, he turned north towards his flat in Spence’s Road. Despite the thick darkness, he walked briskly, hardly hesitating as he negotiated lamp posts, pillar boxes, pavements that veered suddenly to the right or left. His mind would not be still, one thought chasing another, while his limbs moved mechanically as though they belonged to a second man walking alongside. When Miss Strachan had announced his unnamed visitor, he’d had an instant reaction. Somehow he’d known, even as he’d walked down the stone staircase, that it was Daisy waiting for him at the bottom. He’d known that instinctively. There was a cord that joined them, had always joined them, since the moment he’d picked her up from the ship’s deck after that catastrophic fall. From the outset he’d recognised her fragility, but in time he’d come to know the strength that lay within, her refusal to be broken. Something bad had happened on-board ship, he’d guessed that, though at the time he’d asked no questions. It was much later he discovered she had lost her baby, another loss to add to those she’d already suffered. And there were more to come—her husband, for instance—though he could hardly be called a loss when she had never possessed him. Gerald Mortimer, Jack Minns, whatever he wanted to call himself, would never be possessed. He belonged to no one but himself, interested only in his own well-being and prepared to do anything to guarantee it. He was a worthless creature.
And he hadn’t changed. Daisy had looked well, had looked beautiful. Even in the dim light of the station, he could see the bloom on her cheeks and the glint of health in her dark curls. But beneath the surface, he’d known that something was wrong. There was a tension running through her like a thread of steel, pulling and pinching, shattering any peace she may have found. It had taken him some time to get to the nub of it. He’d allowed her to dally, talking about his work, her work, but all the time he’d been aware of her prevaricating. Eventually, she would get to what it was that had brought her in search of him. It had to be important. Their parting had been final and she wouldn’t otherwise have braved meeting him anew, nor flung herself into his arms when rescue seemed near. When he’d learned what ailed her, he’d said yes. He’d said yes immediately, even though he hadn’t a clue how he was to proceed. It was enough that she was in trouble and needed his help.
By the time he walked into his Baker Street office the next morning, he’d decided what he had to do. Mike Corrigan was already at his desk and looked up in welcome. The Irishman waited until his friend had slung his jacket over the battered coat stand and tipped the pile of papers he carried on to the desk, before he spoke.
‘Everything okay?’
His face must give him away, Grayson thought. His colleague had clearly sensed it wasn’t.
‘Things are difficult,’ he replied evasively.
He wasn’t sure just how much to confide. Corrigan was a close companion and he trusted him implicitly. The man could more than keep a secret. He’d worked for SOE for years, many of them in the field where he’d braved real danger. A badly scarred right hand and a pronounced limp were testimony to that. But this was an extraordinary situation and he didn’t want to involve
Mike in something that could land his friend in trouble.
‘How difficult?’
‘I met Daisy last night,’ he said baldly.
Corrigan knew all about Daisy. He’d followed the ups and downs of their relationship and Grayson knew he’d been unhappy for him when Daisy walked away. Unhappier still when he’d begun meeting the flame-haired Diana, a secretary working in the Foreign Office. She’s a nice enough girl, Mike had said, but she’s not the one.
Now he was looking quizzical. ‘And was meeting her a good thing?’
‘I’m not sure. In the long term, maybe. But for the moment, it’s not so great.’
‘You’re sounding like the Delphic oracle, my friend. What’s this about?’
He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to tell him Daisy’s startling news. Perhaps retelling would help him believe it himself. He was still finding it hard to accept that Gerald Mortimer was alive. And he wasn’t alone in that. Daisy was having the same difficulty, he knew. Last night he’d seen it in her clenched hands, her ramrod back, the constant twisting of her hair.
‘Her husband is back.’
Mike gawped. ‘But—’
‘I know. He’s risen from the dead apparently. He never drowned.’
Corrigan scratched his jaw in disbelief. ‘That must have been a shock for her, to put it mildly.’
It was putting it mildly, Grayson thought. Gerald had ‘died’ nearly two years ago and, by now, Daisy must be attuned to her widowhood. So how must it feel having the new life she’d so carefully constructed blown apart, having her feelings plundered once more and brought, raw and squealing, to the surface?
‘I can’t even guess how she must feel. Last night she appeared pretty definite that she never wanted to see the man again. Maybe a little too definite.’
When she’d spoken those words, he’d heard them with an upsurge of relief, delight even. Yet realistically, she was bound to react with anger to the miracle of her husband’s reappearance.
The Nurse's War Page 9
