‘You may have to take over Billy and Catrina.’
‘I doubt Auntie Megan will let me do that and she’ll be back the minute she finds out about this.’
‘There’s always voluntary work.’
‘Join the middle-aged, middle-class Mrs Llewellyn-Joneses of this world in “good works”, ministering to the “deserving poor” and running fetes and bazaars. No thank you.’
‘If you’d remained a district nurse I would never see you.’
‘Like I hardly ever see you.’ She couldn’t resist the gibe, but that didn’t stop her from regretting it the moment it was out of her mouth.
‘I’m glad I finally met the famous David Ford,’ he said evenly, deliberately changing the subject.
‘And was he what you expected?’
‘He didn’t quite fit the mental image. I’d heard he was good-looking but I didn’t expect someone so young. All I can say is, if he’s typical, American brass is cut from a very different cloth to British. He’s also surprisingly direct for an officer. He told me I have quite a family.’
‘He was very fond of all the children, the evacuees as well as ours.’ She listened hard but the corridor outside the office was deathly still.
‘And you.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘As a friend,’ Bethan countered.
Andrew knew he should leave it there but some devil prompted him to take it further. ‘Close friend.’
‘I told you, Andrew, he helped all of us with our problems not to mention extra rations he and Dino –’
‘Were here and I wasn’t.’ He didn’t attempt to conceal his bitterness.
‘We’ve been over this a dozen times. You told me you didn’t believe the gossip about David and me. If something’s happened to make you change your mind, why don’t you just come right out and say it?’
He almost shouted, ‘I want to believe you but I can’t because I’m insanely jealous.’ ‘He seems a nice bloke,’ he finished lamely.
‘He is,’ Bethan agreed shortly. ‘And I’m fond of him in the same way I am of my brother Haydn.’ Daring Andrew to say more, she continued to watch him as he squashed his cigarette end into the ashtray on the sister’s desk.
‘Dr John?’ A staff nurse knocked on the open door. ‘Sister’s asking if you could take a look at Mrs Ronconi.’
‘I’m there.’
More concerned with what had been left unsaid than said about David Ford, Bethan reached into her pocket for her own cigarettes.
Too terrified to think of what was happening to Diana, she tried to concentrate on what Andrew had said. It wasn’t his fault that she’d been coerced into giving up her job – and it did make sense for the time-consuming post to be filled by a single woman rather than a married one with two small children. But sense couldn’t alleviate her boredom, nor dull the growing conviction that nothing she did mattered and could probably be done – and better – by anyone of a number of other people. She was a good nurse, and she wanted to nurse, yet Andrew had almost sneered at her for staying with Ronnie tonight. What did he want her to do, mark time – until – when?
She hated to acknowledge it, even in her private thoughts, but there had been an edge and excitement to wartime living that she missed. Never knowing when she might be called on to deputise for the doctors as the stretched medical services were put under even more strain. Organising get-togethers and scratch meals from practically nothing for family and friends at short, and often no notice, to celebrate allied victories and unexpected leaves. Waiting for news from the various fronts along with everyone else in the town and being swept up in the universal elation when it was good …
‘Bethan.’
She looked up to see Huw Davies, helmet in hand, standing in the doorway.
‘I’m sorry, there’s no real news. I would have telephoned if there had been. All I can tell you is that Diana has survived an operation and Andrew’s with her now.’
‘I was just passing.’
‘And they let you in. Come in, sit down. I might be able to rustle up some fresh tea.’
‘No thanks, love. I only wanted to know how Diana is. I saw the open wound on her head …’
‘It’s far too soon to know if there’ll be any permanent damage.’
‘And Ronnie?’
‘Still out for the count, which is probably my fault. I think I got carried away and gave him too much.’
‘He needed too much the way he was thrashing around.’
‘Have you any idea what happened?’
‘We picked up Tony Ronconi, drunk, in Leyshon Street. He only had on a pair of trousers, nothing else, not even underpants, and he was gabbling about killing Diana.’
‘Tony! I don’t believe it …’ she faltered. It was an open secret in the family that Diana’s eldest son, Billy, hadn’t been fathered by her first husband, Wyn, but was the result of a fleeting and disastrous liaison with Ronnie’s younger brother that had ended when Tony had left to join the army. A full two years before Ronnie had returned from Italy and fallen in love with the newly widowed Diana.
‘Mrs Evans saw Tony go into Diana’s house tonight.’
‘He didn’t go in invited, Huw. Diana would never –’
‘I know that and you know that, love, but it’s the rest of the world I’m concerned about. You know what the Graig is for gossip. And that’s why I think I’ll stay here until Ronnie comes round. The sooner I know what really happened in that house tonight, the sooner I can nip any nastiness in the bud.’
*……*……*
Tony was sitting at the table in the single room, which was all Gabrielle’s mother had been able to rent after fleeing from East Prussia to Celle just ahead of the invading Russian Army. Originally a bedroom, the room now did service as kitchen, bathroom and living room in addition to its original function; but as Gabrielle’s mother was so fond of reminding her daughter, ‘we might be reduced in circumstances but we are still von Stettins and – as such – have standards.’
A makeshift curtain in front of a shallow alcove hid the buckets and bowls they used for washing, along with their towels, flannels and water pitcher. A scarred, rickety old cupboard fit only for firewood, with broken doors and drawers that no one could open, held the battered pots and pans which the Red Cross had given them as their share of the refugee charity handouts. Their few clothes were housed in cardboard boxes but everything was spotlessly clean and there were still a few touches of elegance and style to remind them and their visitors of lost splendour.
The table in the centre of the room was always draped with a hand-embroidered linen cloth – and never the same one two days running. The rug covering the stained floorboards was handmade Bokhara. At mealtimes the silverware and porcelain were antique heirlooms, part of a small hoard of family treasure Gabrielle’s mother had consigned to bunkers deep in the Hartz mountains for safekeeping, ‘just in case’ the war got too close to the home she always referred to as Schloss von Stettin. The single German phrase she had taken care to translate to ‘Castle von Stettin’ for Tony’s benefit, to let him know exactly ‘who’ he – a pathetic unworthy sergeant – was daring to court in her daughter.
‘More coffee, Tony?’ Grafin von Stettin’s voice, soft, silvery, reverberated towards him, making him feel even more ill at ease. The Grafin’s formal manners invariably made him feel like a great, clumsy oaf. Try as he may, he couldn’t get used to balancing on worm-eaten chairs or sipping acorn coffee from wide, shallow Continental coffee cups, before a table laid with delicate porcelain that he was terrified of breaking.
‘No, thank you, Grafin.’
He looked to Gabrielle, cool, beautiful, desirable, and a graphic image of her naked sprang, unbidden to his mind. Her breasts, perfect, pale globes tipped with rosy pink nipples, the gentle curve of her rounded thighs, the dark triangle between her legs – then, suddenly, he realised the Grafin was reading his thoughts. Blood rushed to his face – he fought to loosen his collar – a voice int
errupted. A voice that had travelled over a great distance and one that had no place in this bizarre room with its broken furniture and relics of a more leisurely and opulent lifestyle.
‘Could fry eggs on his head.’
‘Silly bugger, sitting out half-naked in the street at night. Serve him right.’
‘We should send for the doctor.’
‘He’s been sent for.’
‘He’s not bloody well here, is he?’
Someone heaped heavy things over him – his body – his face. He felt as though he were being smothered. He fought to reach Gabrielle sitting across from him at the table but every time he took a step forward she floated backwards. He continued to struggle but it was futile – he simply couldn’t get to her. She was slipping and fading away before his eyes and he was powerless to stop it. Then suddenly she wasn’t Gabrielle at all, but Diana. Pale, beautiful, standing at the foot of the stairs in Graig Street in her bottle-green robe. She smiled and held out her hand to him. He went to take it, then screamed. From the crown of her head to her feet she was bathed in blood. Thick, crimson blood that welled constantly from a hole in her skull and still she continued to hold out her hand – and smile.
*……*……*
Alma laid her book on the bedside cabinet and checked the clock. She’d read a dozen pages in the last half-hour without a single word registering. And it had been a full hour since she’d last heard Charlie pacing around the living room, and he still hadn’t come to bed. Switching off the lamp she lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes.
The first image that came to mind was Charlie’s face as he’d said, ‘It might be better for you and Theo if I move out.’
Better! How could it possibly be better? Did he really believe that after all the misery of their three-year separation it would be better for them to live apart now? Didn’t he realise that when it came to him and Theo she had no pride, no regard for gossips, or even the law? If a position as mistress was all he was able to offer her, then she would accept it – and to hell with gossip and convention. She wanted him – no one else – and if he could only give her a part of himself then that part was better than the whole of any other man.
The one, the only, thing she couldn’t bear was the thought of never seeing him again because if that happened she knew she wouldn’t want to live. Not even for Theo.
Before the war she had flattered herself that she understood Charlie, and the grief that had almost destroyed him when he had been forced to leave Russia and all hope of finding his family. But then, before the war they had been close. Each had known what the other would say before it was said. She had asked him not to sign up for active service and later to turn down the offer of special duties, but she had asked – not demanded or begged. If she had been more insistent, would he have listened? And if he had, would things have been any different? Would he have had a normal soldier’s war, whatever that was? Spent five years in a POW camp, like Andrew, or fought in Italy alongside William and Ronnie – or, worse of all, died a hero’s death at Dunkirk like Bethan’s brother Eddie?
‘What ifs?’ … Stupid useless regrets for what might have been. Charlie was here, now, she had to talk to him before he left and it was too late.
Switching on the lamp, she slipped out of bed, wincing as her feet sought her slippers on the cold floor. Picking up her striped flannel dressing gown, she tied it around her waist and opened the door. The door to the living room was closed. She turned the knob and stepped inside. The standard lamp burned behind Charlie’s chair. A notepad and pencil lay loosely on his lap between his relaxed fingers. He was asleep.
Treading softly so as not to wake him she reached for the blanket folded on the sofa intending to drape it over him. Then she saw the envelope lying on the table. It bore two addresses: one in the Cyrillic alphabet she had asked Charlie to teach her when she’d seen him use it to work out costings for the business before the war, the other in English.
There hadn’t been time for her to master more than a few words of Russian and no time at all for the Russian alphabet, but there was no mistaking the addressee.
Mrs Maria (Masha) Andreyeva Raschenkova.
Alma stood and stared at it. For the first time she realised that if this woman was Charlie’s legal wife, her life would change absolutely and irrevocably. Whatever else, Masha was Charlie’s first love and, knowing him, he would be totally and completely faithful to her. There would be no room in his life for a mistress even if she had been a wife of sorts to him for seven years. But where did that leave her – and Theo?
Chapter Five
Slowly and carefully so as not to disturb Billy, William withdrew his arm from beneath the small boy’s head and shook it in an attempt to ease his cramped muscles. After glancing at his wristwatch, which was just about readable in the dim glow from the nightlight, he looked across to where Tina was cuddling Catrina and saw that although the child’s eyes were closed, his wife’s were open. Nodding towards the door, he crept stealthily towards it. Turning the knob quietly, he stepped through to the landing.
‘It’s four o’clock,’ Tina whispered as she followed him.
‘I know, and I haven’t slept a wink, have you?’
She shook her head. ‘But at least the children have.’
‘Fancy some tea?’
‘I don’t fancy going into that kitchen. I wonder why Bethan hasn’t telephoned.’
‘Because she hasn’t any news.’
Tina fell silent. Something in Will’s tone reminded her that there was news besides good and she realised she’d been hoping – no expecting – to hear that Diana was going to be fine.
‘The children all right?’
‘Sleeping, Constable … ?’
‘Hopkins, sir.’
‘Is my uncle around?’
‘Sergeant stopped by to pick him up, sir. He was needed elsewhere.’
‘For something more important?’ Tina enquired acidly.
‘I wasn’t privy to whatever it was, Mrs Powell.’
‘Come on, Tina, let’s sit down.’
‘My orders are not to let anyone in the kitchen until after the detectives look it over in the morning, sir.’
‘That’s all right, we’ll go into the parlour.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not even allowed in the kitchen to make tea.’
‘In that case we’ll have to make do with something stronger.’ William produced a hip flask from his top pocket and offered it to the constable.
‘Not allowed on duty, sir.’
‘No one’s here to see. Go on …’
The boy didn’t need any more urging. He finished the capful William handed him and looked disappointed when William took the flask along with himself into the parlour.
‘This wasn’t quite what I had in mind for my first night back,’ he said, sinking his face into his hands as he sat alongside Tina on the sofa.
‘I still can’t understand what happened. There’s no way Diana could have fallen through that window. The chair was in the way.’
‘There’s no point talking about it …’ He shot up as he heard voices at the door. Diving out into the passage, he looked from Huw to Bethan.
‘Let’s go into the parlour,’ Huw suggested, sniffing the air in front of Hopkins and giving him a hard look.
‘There’s no real news.’ Bethan covered Tina’s hand with her own as she sat next to her. ‘All I can tell you is that Diana’s survived the operation but she has a skull fracture and we won’t know the extent of her injuries until she comes round, which could take days or even, I hate to say it, weeks.’
‘And Ronnie?’ Tina asked.
‘He came round but he became hysterical when I told him he couldn’t see Diana so we had to sedate him again.’
‘I’m sorry, love.’ Huw patted Tina’s shoulder clumsily as he looked to William. ‘But we’ve got to be practical. Bethan and I thought it might be an idea to move the children.’
‘Now?’
‘It’s best they leave before the neighbours are about. If you two pack their things we’ll take them to my house. I know Myrtle’s not up to looking after them and I have to work, but we’ve three spare bedrooms as well as a parlour we never use, so I thought that perhaps you two could stay there with them until your mam comes back, Will. Knowing her, she’ll want to take care of Billy and Catrina for the time being, and as Dino’s bought that house in our street Billy and Catrina won’t have far to move when Megan does come home. In my opinion, the less upset they have to cope with after this night the better.’
‘They and you are welcome to stay with me,’ Bethan offered.
‘Thanks, Beth, but as Uncle Huw said, it makes more sense to take them to his house. Mam will be home like a shot when she hears about this and she’ll want Billy and Catrina with her.’
‘Are you going to telephone her?’
William looked at his watch again.
‘I am, but not this early. What do you think, Uncle Huw? Eight o’clock.’
‘Knowing Megan, big as you are, she’ll put you over her knee if you make it any later.’
‘Then we’d better get Billy and Catrina’s things together,’ Tina said.
‘Andrew had to make a call down the police station. As soon as he’s finished, he’ll be here to pick us up. Could you and Will pack their clothes, Tina? You know where Diana kept – keeps them?’
‘Yes, I do, and thanks, Beth,’ Tina said gratefully.
‘Good, the sooner we get started the sooner we can move them out of this house.’
*……*……*
‘We tried to get you an hour ago, Dr John.’
‘I was operating.’ Andrew refused to elaborate further. The worst part of being a small-town doctor, and the only aspect he truly resented, was the universal assumption of Pontypridd’s inhabitants that they had the right to demand his undivided attention at any hour of the day or night and this was proving to be an exceptionally long night.
‘He’s in the cells. If you’d like to follow me, doctor …’
The duty sergeant reached for the keys behind the reception area and unlocked the door that led to the stairs and basement.
Pontypridd 07 - Spoils of War Page 8
