Huskily, he said: ‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ and she smiled then, shyly, and said it was wonderful to see him, too; everyone had been so worried.
But Liam did not particularly want to know about everyone, just her.
‘How are you? I know you’ve been very busy, I had your letters – ’
A bright smile dismissed her own problems. ‘Oh, I’m very well – really. Looking forward to a break, soon, but otherwise all right. Things have calmed down a little, I’m glad to say.’
‘Not before time.’
‘Mmm. But I know they’ve been busy, here.’
‘Still are, I should think,’ he murmured, and felt the tension along his jaw. ‘But I’m out of it for a while, thank God. Just so pleased to be here, you’ve no idea.’
A smile touched the corner of her mouth. ‘Oh, I think I have,’ she said.
Dark, ash-grey lashes cast flickering shadows beneath her eyes as she looked away, and along her cheekbones, he noticed, was the faintest blush of colour. It seemed to deepen even as he watched, but he could not tear his eyes away: she was so beautiful, even the tiny frown lines between her brows seemed perfect to him.
That she could abandon great responsibility, just to see him; that she could care, even a little, were thoughts that swelled his heart with such love, such gratitude, it was overwhelming.
She seemed to sense it anyway. Her fingers tightened and she bowed her head, and when she looked up her smile was a little too brave, her eyes a little too bright.
She whispered his name; tears sprang to his eyes. Blinking them away, he swallowed hard to clear his throat.
‘I didn’t expect visitors,’ he said at last, biting back the words he longed to say. That he loved her, had always loved her, and how much her presence underlined it. He had not been wrong; he had not harboured false illusions; his youthful sense of her affection for him was true. Time had changed nothing.
Time had changed nothing. The words repeated themselves, but with a different meaning. Even as he raised his hand, touching blunt fingers to the softness of her cheek, he knew that what he felt went far beyond what could be acceptable to her. She was his sister. His older sister. In the past three years, who knows what other loves and loyalties had claimed her? He knew men, knew that beauty as remarkable as hers could not have failed to attract attention, and anyone who knew her well must surely love her. Whom did she love? Was there a man somewhere, a young officer, probably, whose life she had saved? Or a doctor with whom she worked?
She held his hand to her face, then, very gently, took it away. ‘Should I write to anyone?’ she asked. ‘Tisha, perhaps – or your mother? I’m not sure either of them know yet.’
The question brought him back to reality, setting different considerations running like hares. Like hares they scattered, leaving him empty-handed and panic-stricken.
Abruptly, he shook his head. ‘I don’t want anybody to know. Not just yet.’
She stroked his hand. ‘That’s all right, I understand. But I’m afraid that as next-of-kin, your mother will be informed soon, if she hasn’t been already.’
Heart racing, he closed his eyes, imagining his mother distraught, flying to his side instantly, now that she knew where he was. ‘I don’t want to see her. Not yet.’
He heard Georgina sigh. ‘Very well, don’t worry. Would you like me to write to her anyway, putting her off for the time being? I know travelling can be difficult these days – detours, endless delays, changes in the middle of the night – she might be quite pleased not to have to rush the visit.’
‘Would you do that?’ In the rush of relief he was almost weeping again. ‘Tell her I’ll write to her myself, very soon.’
‘I will. And I won’t say anything to Tisha until you feel more up to seeing her. How’s that?’
‘That could be a long time,’ he muttered in an attempt at a joke; but he was thankful. Having thought of no one but Georgina for days, he was beginning to realize that the ramifications of being in hospital in London were endless.
The sudden ringing of a bell in the corridor rattled his eardrums; wincing, he saw Georgina glance at her watch. At the far end of the ward, some visitors were standing up, pushing chairs back into place.
‘I’ve got to go.’
‘So soon?’
She smiled. ‘It’s the end of visiting time. I was late arriving. Anyway,’ she added, patting his hand like a nurse, ‘you’ve had quite enough talking for one day. Time to rest.’
‘That’s all I do,’ he protested.
‘And all you should be doing,’ she said firmly, but she was smiling, too. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon be on the mend – soon be up and around, chasing all the nurses!’
He laughed. ‘Is that part of the cure?’
‘It certainly seems to be,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘I can usually tell when a man’s feeling better, by the blushes on my girls’ faces!’
Laughing again, feeling good because of it, he enquired teasingly: ‘And what about you? Do they make you blush, too?’
‘Oh, no! They don’t try anything with me – I’m the one who cracks the whip!’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘It’s true,’ she insisted. ‘I don’t stand any nonsense.’
Although she was laughing too, Liam believed her. It cheered him immensely.
‘I really must go, or Sister will have my head for outstaying my welcome. But I’ll come again soon, if I may? Is there anything you need? Anything you’d like me to bring?’
He shook his head. ‘Just yourself.’
Her lips parted, and he thought she was about to say something else. With sudden warmth she pressed his hand and bent, quickly, to kiss his cheek. Brief, light, the touch of her lips was hardly there; but once she had gone he pressed his fingers to the place and then, lingeringly, against his mouth.
Coming off duty later that night, still basking in the afterglow of that reunion with Liam, Georgina had to force herself into professional briskness before telephoning her father. It would not be wise, she thought, to reveal the depth of happiness and relief occasioned by that visit.
Robert Duncannon’s first concern, as it had been that morning, was for his son, and his sigh of gratitude, followed by a lengthy silence, was eloquent indeed. Giving him a factual report on Liam’s condition, Georgina could not hold back her sense of satisfaction.
‘He’s still very ill – I looked at his notes. But I must say he looks better than I expected. And remarkably cheerful.’
‘How long before he’s well again?’
The question jarred, driving her thoughts ahead to where they did not want to go. ‘Before they can send him back again, you mean?’ It was bitterly said, but she made no apology. ‘I don’t know. He’s back, he’s safe – can’t you be satisfied with that for the moment?’
‘I need to know.’
‘Well I can’t tell you.’ Without thinking, she was suddenly the professional nurse, lecturing a subordinate. ‘It depends on the severity of the infection and the constitution of the patient. The germ has a nasty tendency to linger, even when, to all intents and purposes, the patient seems quite well. It could be two or three months, or it could be more. Why do you want to know?’
‘Then there’ll be convalescence,’ her father said, ignoring the question, ‘followed by retraining. So I imagine,’ he mused over the crackling line, ‘we’re looking at five or six months. That should give us plenty of time.’
‘For what?’
‘Why to get this mess sorted out, of course. It’s been impossible so far, and this is the first chance anybody’s had to get that young idiot on one side and really talk to him. I’ll be honest, Georgie, now I know he’s all right, and not about to peg out on us, I’m glad he’s ill. It keeps him in one place, and for long enough, to try and get him to see some sense.
‘It’s bothered me, you know,’ he added gravely, ‘all these years it’s bothered me. Perhaps now we can take steps to resolve it.’
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Georgina sighed again, hearing it echo over the intervening miles, and for a long moment said nothing. She understood what her father was saying. He was concerned, mainly, for Louisa; if he could effect a reconciliation between Liam and his mother, it would also expiate some of his own guilt. Not a bad aim, and one with which she concurred, but she had other loyalties too, and other sympathies; and as a nurse she was concerned for the well-being of a man who needed to recover mental as well as bodily strength. After all he had recently undergone, she could quite understand why Liam felt unable to cope with the emotional problems his family represented.
‘I think we’re going to need a lot of patience, Daddy. We’re going to have to give him time. Yes, I know he’s had three years,’ she said quickly, in response to Robert’s exasperated gasp on the line, ‘but I’m not talking about that. I’m saying he needs time to get over the last few months. He’s been through so much – if you’d been able to talk to the boys on my ward, you’d know how much – and he’s been very ill. He needs time to get over that.’
There was a long sigh. ‘All right, I understand. Louisa isn’t going to be able to get here straight away, so perhaps it’s just as well.’ On a note of weary resignation, he said: ‘I know you said you’d write to her, but I’m beginning to think I should go to York myself, before they get an official envelope and think the worst. That might finish poor Edward completely. And that wouldn’t help at all.’
‘Oh, Lord.’ In the excitement of the day, Georgina had barely considered that aspect. ‘But what if they’ve heard already?’
‘I doubt it. The wheels of bureaucracy turn slowly, my dear, and that list I received this morning from Horseferry Road had only just come in from Boulogne.’ After a short pause, Robert said heavily, ‘I’ll go to York first thing in the morning. Break the news gently, and persuade Louisa to stay where she is for the time being.’
Assuring her that he would also speak to Tisha, he told her that she must leave the family matters to him, and get some sleep; she worked far too hard as it was. On a grateful farewell, Georgina replaced the earpiece and stood for a moment, thinking about him. Although her concern was primarily for Liam, her father’s, genuinely, encompassed them all; even Edward, of whom he was not inordinately fond. But as he said, to lose Edward now would only complicate matters, negate even further what small chances there were of settling things.
Edward’s illness was rather more serious than Louisa cared for her children to know. They could do nothing, she said, and knowing would only make them worry, so she had asked Georgina to keep the information to herself. But Edward had suffered two minor heart attacks already, and any major shock was likely to be detrimental to his precarious health. Possibly even fatal, so it was important to play things down. Important, too, for Liam, who needed to regain his balance.
If her presence was a comfort to him, Georgina thought as she made her way back to her room, then she would do her best to visit regularly, even if it meant changing shifts and begging favours. That way she could keep a check on his progress, and as soon as he was in better health, press him to apply for temporary home leave. It seemed to her that it would be preferable to have Liam meet them again on old, familiar home ground, rather than have Louisa trailing here, to London. But that would be something to discuss later, with Liam. Much later, she told herself sharply; for the time being it was enough to have him safe.
And accessible, she thought with warmth and pleasure later, when she was in bed. Despite his illness, despite the exhaustion written into every line of his face, it had been so good to see him. That pleasure would draw her back, no matter how she tried to disguise it. Devotion to duty, to other people’s needs, the habit she had acquired of always putting others first, was not a bad thing, except where it divested her of the ability to please herself. In the course of the war, her own happiness had been neglected, if not altogether forgotten; it seemed strange now, to look forward to something so mutually enjoyable.
By Friday, however, warned to expect some serious cases on her ward, Georgina realized that Sunday afternoon visiting would be out of the question. Disappointed, she wrote to Liam what she hoped was a cheerful letter, saying that she had managed to exchange her day off for visiting day on Wednesday, which would make the journey to Wandsworth so much easier. And she would be due a short break of three days at the beginning of October. By then, he should be feeling well enough to enjoy a day out.
It was all very vague, but she felt it important that he should have things to look forward to; the mundane routine of hospital life could so easily become depressing. She did not tell Liam that her father had decided to pay a visit to York on his behalf, nor did she mention its successful outcome. Robert had telephoned her from the hotel to say that Louisa was tearfully relieved by his news, and that Edward, on his feet at last but still having to take life easy, had actually thanked him for coming to tell them.
It seemed that Edward, unlike her father, felt very strongly that the boy should take his time. ‘He’ll come to us when he’s ready,’ was a phrase that had apparently been repeated several times. Georgina loved him for his wisdom, was immensely relieved that Edward would keep some sort of rein on any wild impulses of Louisa’s. Robert’s, she would have to restrain herself.
Wednesday was a free day but she was awake as usual at six. She would have tried to sleep again, but a flutter of excitement set her mind rushing over the day ahead, thinking of Liam, what he might say, what she would say to him, and within minutes further sleep was impossible. Pulling on a dressing gown, Georgina went down to the kitchen to make tea and toast. Another sister was fumbling through the same routine, only half-awake and bitterly resenting the beginning of another day. She greeted Georgina grumpily and stomped off down the corridor. Watching her go, smiling a little, Georgina suddenly realized that she was like that herself most mornings; and most days off, unless she had shopping to do, she stayed in bed. She was surprised to find herself not at all tired and looking forward to the day ahead.
It was a pleasure to bathe and wash her long hair, to sit by the window in the sun, drying it; the only annoyance was having so little choice of clothes. Apart from her uniform, she kept only one outfit here for emergencies, a navy-blue skirt and jacket and matching hat, and a cream silk blouse. It was serviceable for most occasions, and yet she would have preferred something more frivolous, a pretty pastel dress, a hat trimmed with feathers, and silly, high-heeled shoes. It was that kind of day. And then she smiled at herself; even in her wardrobe at Queen’s Gate, she possessed nothing of that description. Most of her clothes were plain and practical, tailored to fit her personality; her shoes were good, with small, neat heels, hand-made by her father’s bootmaker.
‘While Tisha buys hers ready-made on Bond Street,’ she muttered aloud to the caretaker’s cat. ‘Perhaps I should do the same. What do you say, Puss?’
The cat purred and nodded, settling herself down on Georgina’s knee.
‘Or am I being foolish?’
She lunched early and alone in the communal dining room, then went along the High Street to buy something for Liam. Although the boys newly arrived from France loved nothing better than fruit, she suspected that Liam’s diet would not yet allow for pears and plums. After trying several shops, Georgina eventually found what she wanted: a little box of peppermints and another of chocolate neapolitans, both made by Terry’s of York. She hoped the memories evoked would be happy ones.
The journey by public transport to Wandsworth took longer than expected, and it was almost a quarter past the hour for visiting when she arrived outside the hospital gates. People were still streaming in, being met by convalescent patients before heading straight out again and up the road for town. Expecting Liam to be on the ward if not actually in bed, Georgina paid little attention to those passing faces, and had covered perhaps twenty yards when her name and the touch of a hand on her arm stayed that eager progress.
She turned and he was there beside her, so
much taller than memory served, with his hat set at a rakish angle and laughter dancing in his eyes.
The hat was swept off in greeting. ‘I was by the gate, waiting, and you walked right past me...’
Standing so close, looking up into that open smile which seemed to embrace her with such warmth and delight, Georgina could have sworn her heart turned over. Unprepared for the impact of his presence, she suddenly felt quite weak. A little breathlessly, staring up at him, she laughed and shook her head. And had to look away.
Recovering her voice, she said, ‘What on earth are you doing out of bed?’
Shrugging, laughing, spreading his hands in a gesture of innocence, Liam said he was fine, that he had been up and about for the last three days, and allowed out that very morning.
‘You’ve never been out since this morning?’ She thought it far too soon, would have ushered him back to bed had he been her responsibility,
‘Well, not entirely,’ he admitted, taking her arm and walking with her along the gravel path. ‘I had to see the ear specialist first thing, to have my ears syringed.’ He pulled a face. ‘It wasn’t pleasant, but it seems to have done the trick. My hearing’s improved already – I can hear the birds singing, and trains chugging up the incline, and people’s voices. It’s amazing, everything was so muffled before – as though my ears were stuffed with wool.’
His pleasure was infectious. With a little squeeze of his arm, she said she was pleased for him, glad that there had been no permanent damage. With small, shy, darting glances, Georgina felt the need to reassure herself that he was indeed whole and undamaged. She saw so much of injuries, both small and horrific, that it seemed no less than a miracle to have this beautiful, unmarked man walking beside her.
Liam's Story Page 43
