‘…I thought it an odd coincidence, until he said that he had had a letter from his old friend Bill – as he calls Liam – asking him to look out for me here. It was kind of him to do so, and we spent a pleasant hour talking about Dandenong and our mutual friend...’
That was in August 1917, and after October’s letter of condolence there was nothing more for several years. But in June 1922, she pressed Louisa to join her father in coming out to Australia for a holiday:
‘... I would dearly love to see you again, Louisa, if only to talk as we used to do so long ago. Surely the time has come for us all to put the past behind us – the saddest things, anyway – and work towards a better future. That is what I have spent the last few years trying to do. Liam has not been forgotten, and here amongst his old friends in Dandenong, you would be touched and surprised, I think, by the reverence accorded to his memory. It’s not a morbid thing, but a deep sense of respect for all those who made Australia’s name in the world, particularly at Gallipoli.
‘I have found it a deep and lasting comfort, and am so glad that I came here. There was nothing for me in either England or Ireland, and the impulse to come here, to see what it was that had so inspired Liam, was more deeply-felt than I can ever describe. It was as though I had to come, and I have not regretted it.
‘Lewis sets great store by the fact that Liam virtually introduced us, and he has used that fact unashamedly in all his attempts to persuade me to marry him. He asked me first a long time ago – before he left Egypt, in fact. But I could not answer him then. I am sure you understand why.
‘Fortunately, Lewis also understood that it had nothing to do with the injuries he sustained at Beersheba; and after all, what are they to me, after all these years of nursing? But a strong will and great determination has made his recovery far better than anyone expected, and I think we know each other well enough by now to be assured of a happy future together. There will be no children, of course, but that is a relief to me rather than a sadness, and anyway, there are children enough about the farm, a multitude of nephews and nieces, all delightful enough to satisfy us both.
‘His elder brother served with the 5th Battalion in France, and returned some time after Lewis, reasonably sound in wind and limb, but less well-disposed to company. He and his family live out at Warragul, but the children stay often with their grandparents, so I am getting to know them well. Lewis’s widowed sister lives here too, with her three children, so it is quite a little commune, or will be when we settle in to the new bungalow being built near the old homestead.
‘Mary – do you remember Liam writing about her? – has married and is living now in Sydney. We became quite friendly when I was working with her in Melbourne, but she rarely spoke about Ned. Lewis still talks about him, and Liam of course. We talk about Liam a lot.
‘I think you would like Lewis, he is very frank and open, and cares so passionately about growing things. Too much, probably, to be a very successful farmer, but he listens to his father these days, which he apparently did not, before! His family are good, honest people, and they have accepted me very well. I know my father is looking forward to meeting them, if only because they were so good to Liam before the war, and have been good to me, since.
‘I wish you would come with him, Louisa. Just being here would be so good for you, and the journey out and back would be a wonderful experience.
‘If it should be entirely out of the question, I do hope that the reason is not because you still blame me – or yourself – for what happened. I think we have all punished ourselves enough, and all the tears in the world won’t bring him back, or undo the circumstances in which we found ourselves.
‘Write to me, please, and tell me you understand. That is all the blessing I need before my marriage to Lewis.
‘My love to you, as always – Georgina.’
It was a letter that could not have failed to strike some chord in a woman whose life had contained more than its fair share of tragedy. And it seemed the letter had provoked a sympathetic response, because Georgina had written again, thanking Louisa for her generosity and expressing regret only at her inability to accept the invitation to Dandenong.
Louisa had apparently used Robin’s uncertain health as her excuse, but Zoe was of the opinion that embarrassment lay behind her refusal. Louisa was not, after all, married to Robert Duncannon, and it seemed she would not wish to advertise their unconventional relationship. Nor subject herself to questions about the connection between her son and Robert’s daughter.
So, Robert had set off alone. It was clear from his letters to Louisa that he planned to be away for up to six months. The wedding was set for the beginning of January 1923, and his last missive was full of that homely little ceremony in Dandenong, descriptions of the family, and his admiration for his new son-in-law. The fact that Lewis had always been a horseman, and had served with the mounted Australian forces in Egypt and Palestine, had given the two men much to talk about. The impression of that last letter was of a man cheered considerably by his daughter’s happiness, and full of hope for the future.
He died, three weeks later, of a sudden seizure, while out riding with Lewis.
Thirty-five
There was a letter from Lewis Maddox, written in a strong, upright hand, but nothing, apparently, from Georgina for several months. She had, it seemed, been devastated by her father’s death.
With personal experience to draw on, Stephen could imagine only too well the effects of that second blow, releasing all the shock and grief she had probably been unable to express after Liam’s death.
Zoe’s understanding was more detached, but even so she could imagine Georgina’s situation.
‘Nursing, in the midst of war, surrounded by the dying – grieving would be impossible, wouldn’t it? It was the era of the stiff upper lip,’ she remarked sardonically, ‘when they all pretended they were just fine, and carried on regardless.’ On an exasperated sigh she shook her head, then said: ‘But yes, I can see she would go to pieces when Robert died. She thought the world of him, didn’t she? I think, too, that it would be like letting go on all the other deaths, all that stress and anguish she’d suffered – not to mention losing Liam.’
‘Poor girl,’ Stephen murmured, drawing Zoe close into the crook of his arm.
‘Yes. Thank God she wasn’t alone. He sounds to have been a pretty decent sort, that guy she married.’
‘And a decent family, from all accounts.’ Turning over the Australian correspondence, Stephen recalled something his aunt had said, months ago, about Louisa receiving letters from Australia. ‘Do you remember? Joan said something about her keeping in touch with the people Liam had worked for, before the war. It never struck me before.’
‘No, because we didn’t know about Georgina!’ Zoe interjected. ‘But then she said – ’
‘That Sarah hadn’t bothered after Louisa died, because she was never much of a letter-writer!’
Zoe laughed. ‘Sarah wouldn’t have known Georgina. I mean, if she met her once or twice, it wouldn’t have been more than that, would it?’
‘And I doubt whether Sarah would have known about the relationship between Georgina and Liam – Louisa wouldn’t have advertised that, would she?’
‘No.’ After a moment’s thought, Zoe said: ‘Whatever Robin felt, I don’t think Sarah wanted to know about the Duncannons. I can imagine Robert’s death must have been, for her, anyway, the end of an embarrassment. No wonder she kept quiet about that half of the family!’
‘And it wouldn’t be the sort of complication that Louisa could explain to my father and Joan,’ Stephen added. ‘Not when they were young, anyway.’
They were both struck by the roundabout route they had pursued to reach that conclusion, and by the years which had elapsed between those final letters from Georgina, written mostly before 1939, and interrupted by the war.
It was hardly likely that she was still alive, but Zoe felt that Georgina Duncannon would still be remembere
d by someone in Australia.
‘Strange, isn’t it? She lived here for no more than a couple of years, and yet for me she left a lasting impression. She welcomed me when I first came here, I know she did.’
At her dreamy, slightly speculating expression, Stephen could not restrain a smile. ‘You’ve got something on your mind. What is it?’
‘Oh, nothing, really,’ she said vaguely; but a moment later, watching him return those letters to their envelopes, she said: ‘You know, I think I might try writing to them...’
‘Who?’
‘The Maddox family. There sounds to have been enough of them, and I bet somebody’s still running that farm...’
He was unconvinced. ‘Listen, the last time I was in Melbourne was twenty years ago, and it was growing fast. Whoever owned the Maddox farm probably sold out and made a fortune.’
‘Oh, don’t be so defeatist – Dandenong’s miles from Melbourne. And anyway,’ she continued, silencing him with a kiss, ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained. Look what I got when I wrote to all fifty-two Elliotts in the York phone book...’ She kissed him again, passionately.
‘In that case,’ Stephen murmured, minutes later, ‘I think I should forbid you even to try. Lord knows what you might come up with next time.’
‘A handsome hunk of an Australian?’ she enquired wickedly.
‘Guzzling Fosters and grunting G’Day,’ he retorted, laughing.
For a while the teasing continued, but a couple of days later, determined to prove a point to Stephen, Zoe put together a letter, enquiring about Georgina Maddox, nee Duncannon. Feeling positive, she posted it to that old address. Even the longest shots, in her opinion, were worth attempting. As she remarked to Stephen, there had been so many beneficial results already, perhaps the letter would produce one more.
With that he could not disagree.
They were invited by Zoe’s father to a lunch which lasted most of the afternoon, and on another evening to dinner with Zoe’s mother at her cottage in Sussex. Although the former meeting had initially caused him much apprehension, Stephen found James Clifford much as Zoe had described him. As affable as he was sharp-witted, his smiles and good humour helped to disguise, along with much conversational padding, the most pertinent questions. Although Stephen was familiar with interview techniques, he had to admire Zoe’s father for his expertise, while being thankful that he had nothing to hide. Afterwards, he was able to smile because he knew he had passed the test: James Clifford had given them both his blessing before they left.
‘Not that it would have mattered a jot,’ Zoe assured him. ‘I’d have married you, my darling, whether my father approved or not. But still,’ she grinned, ‘it’s nice that he likes you.’
‘I like him,’ Stephen said frankly. ‘And yes, it is a relief to know he thinks me capable of taking care of you.’ And flattering, he thought but did not say, to think he had the older man’s respect.
His reaction to Zoe’s mother, however, was less clear-cut. Marian was an elegant woman whose looks belied her age. Stephen found it disconcerting to realize that just as he was ten years older than Zoe, her mother was a mere ten years older than him. He remembered then that he and Marian were second cousins, and technically of the same generation; to quell the feeling that he was cradle-snatching, he had to remind himself that at twenty-seven, Zoe was no child.
Everything about Zoe’s mother had the high gloss of perfection. The thatched cottage was picture-perfect, its interior such a showplace of antique furniture and objets d’art, he was almost afraid to sit down.
While her mother poured sherry from a crystal decanter, Zoe went in search of an ashtray, pushing it ostentatiously towards him as she flopped down on luxurious cushions.
‘Stephen smokes, Mummy. You don’t mind, do you?’
The challenge with which this was said would have credited a far braver man than Stephen; but by the answering glance he knew that Mummy would mind, and very much. Despite her gracious acquiescence and several nudges from Zoe, he managed to hold out until after dinner, when his nerve had relaxed sufficiently to persuade him that just one might be forgiven. Even so, he took his cigarette outside.
On the drive home, he chain-smoked while Zoe giggled.
‘After we’re married,’ he said heavily, ‘I shall do my best not to offend her – but if she visits us in our own home, I’m afraid she’ll have to put up with my obnoxious habits.’
‘Have you noticed something? People keep asking us when we’re going to get married, and where we’re going to live – and giving us some very odd looks when we say we haven’t discussed it yet!’
‘Well, they’re two very good questions,’ he replied. ‘When and where?’
He glanced at her while she was considering that, not exactly dreading her reply, but hoping that she would want to marry soon. Marian’s references to bridesmaids and guest lists had given him a sinking feeling. Big weddings took time to arrange, as he knew from past experience, and in his job, dates were practically impossible to guarantee. And there was, of course, the major problem of his divorce: not a point that could be overlooked by the average man of the cloth.
The maturity of her reply took him by surprise.
‘Well, my darling, I would have liked to be married in church – but I don’t think it’s going to be possible, is it? At least not without an unseemly touting round for somebody willing to perform the ceremony. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, it’s the rest of our lives that matter, not just the place and the number of bridesmaids, and a guest list as long as your arm. Which is what Mummy’s envisaging.’ The sigh that followed, was, he realized, inspired by thoughts of Marian. ‘She’ll hate it, of course. Me being an only daughter, and all that. But quite honestly, I can’t think of more than half a dozen people I’d like to be there, so what does it matter?’
Stephen said nothing, but gently squeezed her knee.
‘It’s you and me that matter, isn’t it? Our promises to each other? I’m sure God will hear us, whether it’s in church, in the middle of a field, or in the local registry office...’
‘I’m sure He will,’ Stephen said quietly, thinking of nights far out at sea, the vastness of the ocean and the endless stars. Amidst all that mystical beauty, it was possible to feel closer to God than in the most fanciful or familiar church. One day, he wanted Zoe to experience that, to understand that naked sense of solitude and humility, in which the slender division between flesh and the spirit seemed so very fragile.
But, perhaps, he thought, she understood something of that already.
Thirty-six
The question of place and date was easily disposed of. Zoe said she could not envisage anywhere but York, and as they were both keen to set the seal of legality on their relationship, the date was set for a Thursday in the middle of September.
It left little time for the final detail of other arrangements, and Zoe’s mother was both furious and panic-stricken. September was always a busy time, and how could she possibly leave the business at such short notice? There would be clothes to buy, a wedding dress to arrange, and other essentials such as flowers and a reception. ‘Although how on earth you expect me to organize that, from here,’ she had wailed to her daughter, ‘I really do not know!’
Stephen sent a bouquet of flowers to his future mother-in-law by way of apology and reassurance. Leave everything to me, said the enclosed card; which she might not like, he thought, but at least she could absolve herself should the arrangements be less than she expected. Zoe’s father, however, had been far more amenable. ‘Use your discretion,’ he had said when they met at his home by the Thames at Sunbury, ‘and just send me the bills.’
While Zoe did her best to organize her work and a certain amount of shopping in London, Stephen returned to York to enlist Joan’s help. Delight at his news was not spoiled by thoughts of Marian’s celestial standards. ‘Well,’ she said firmly, ‘we’ll just have to make sure we don’t let the side down, won’t we?’ And with tha
t she set about making enquiries as to a suitable venue for the reception.
She had a surprising number of friends and acquaintances. Stephen had not realized the extent of her connections until she announced that an old friend from her ATS days, who lived in a glorious Georgian mansion just outside the city, would be willing to place her home at their disposal. ‘She does it regularly, for charitable functions,’ Joan explained, ‘and always uses the same firm of caterers. And I can vouch for their excellence. I don’t think we could do better.’
‘You’re a wonder,’ he declared, kissing his aunt roundly. ‘It sounds just right.’
And it was. Meeting Joan’s friend and viewing the house the week before, he was able to assure Zoe that even her mother would be impressed. ‘It’s a beautiful old place with a long drive and fabulous windows. You’ll love it. And the trees in the park are just beginning to turn – we should get some great photographs.’
Leaving his flat for the use of Zoe and Polly, Stephen moved out the afternoon before, to stay with Mac and Irene at the old family hotel on Gillygate. Mrs Bilton, it seemed, could not have been more thrilled; feeling a certain proprietorial interest in this forthcoming marriage, she insisted upon giving Stephen the best room, the large double that fronted Gillygate, with its own private bathroom. Across the corridor, Mac and Irene had an excellent view of the ramparts. The next morning, serving breakfast, she was quite fluttery with excitement, fussing over Stephen like a mother as he tried, without much success, to eat.
While Mac tucked into an old-fashioned English breakfast, and Irene’s brown eyes sparkled with laughter, Stephen picked at scrambled eggs. In honour of the occasion, Mac had trimmed his beard, which transformed him from rampaging Viking to distinguished Rear-Admiral, especially once he had changed into his best uniform.
In Stephen’s room he complained long and loudly, however, about the necessity for it. ‘If I’d known square-rig was the order of the day, you bloody con-merchant, I’d never have agreed to be best man!’
Liam's Story Page 66
