Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars

by Jean Grainger

  ‘Hmm. I’m not too sure. Leslie is nicer, more honest and trustworthy, but I think there’s a certain element of danger about Clark, which is kind of attractive. But since neither of them are from Cork then I’m afraid I’d have to turn them both down, should they ask me,’ she chuckled as they walked along the side of the Lagan towards Belfast Central Station.

  ‘Is that a rule of yours? Any man you might be interested in has to be from Cork? I wish you’d mentioned that earlier,’ he replied, mock-indignant.

  ‘Oh, it’s not just a rule of mine. It’s a rule of all Cork people. We don’t believe in inter-county relationships. As for international, well that would be simply unthinkable. Why do you ask?’ Juliet’s eyes were wide and innocent though her voice was flirtatious.

  ‘I see I’ve got a tricky one on my hands here. You are fishing, Miss Buckley, don’t think I don’t know that. But, fair enough, you want me to come out and say it, so I will. I think you are beautiful and funny and interesting and not like anyone I’ve ever met before, and I would really like to get to know you better. Now how’s that for honesty? Though if you prefer the element of danger, I could always…’

  He grabbed her playfully by the waist and pretended to push her over the bridge. She screamed and giggled until two elderly ladies passed them and stared disapprovingly at such unseemly antics.

  ‘It’s still early; your bus doesn’t go for another half an hour. Would you like to go for a cup of tea, or drink, maybe?’

  His words were casual, but she knew he was nervous, hoping she’d agree. The more she got to know him the more intrigued she became. On one hand, he was a charming joker, always ready with a quick line to make her smile, but under that flirtatious exterior there was a sincerity that she found appealing. For all his patter, she felt he was to be trusted. She could hear Solange’s voice in her head telling her as she always did, ‘Fais confiance à tes intuitions.’ And in this instance, she had a good feeling about Ewan McCrae. He’d been honest with her so she decided he deserved the same in return.

  ‘I’d love to go for a drink,’ she said, and squeezed his arm.

  The pub was busy and the windows were steamed up. Ewan deposited her at a small table in the corner while he got their drinks. He guessed Juliet didn’t drink and suggested a soda water while he got himself a pint of beer.

  ‘Would you like to try a sip?’ he said, offering her his glass as he sat down. ‘It’s better in Scotland, of course, but this stuff’s not too bad.’

  Accepting the glass, she grimaced as she swallowed the dark bitter liquid. ‘How on earth can anyone enjoy that?’ she spluttered. ‘It’s disgusting!’

  ‘I suppose alcohol is an acquired taste,’ he grinned. ‘Don’t worry, stick with me, and I’ll have you drinking gin for breakfast in no time.’

  Juliet didn’t want him to think she was a total innocent, so she said, ‘Well, I do drink wine, actually. I really like a nice claret.’

  ‘Wine indeed! I can see I’ve a lady of sophisticated tastes, which does beg the question why you agreed to come out with such a savage as myself?’ His crooked smile disarmed her.

  ‘Not really sophisticated, it’s just that Solange gave us watered-down wine with our dinner on Sundays. She drinks a glass of claret every evening, always has done, so although Daddy hardly ever drinks, there is always wine in our house.’

  Ewan took a long draught of his beer. ‘This Solange, she sounds interesting. I just can’t imagine a wine-drinking French lady living in deepest rural Ireland. Her arrival must have caused quite a stir.’

  ‘I suppose it did at the time, and no doubt people had an opinion on it. People in Dunderrig have an opinion on everything. But by the time we were old enough to realise that Solange was different to everyone else’s mammy, she was part of the community. Our family was always considered a bit odd anyhow, especially after our mother took off. Solange was just part of the peculiarity that is the Buckleys of Dunderrig. They used to love us coming into the shops though; I do remember that, because James and I always speak in French with her, never in English, so the locals were fascinated that we were fluent in the language of a country we had never been to. We still only speak to her in French. She’s wonderful. Our mother showed no interest in us and when she finally left, Solange took care of us. In fact, from the moment of our birth she has been our mother in everything but name. She’s beautiful, all the local farmers nearly go mad for her, but she’s not interested. She was married to our father’s best friend, he was killed in the last war, and she never really got over it.’

  Ewan seemed to love listening to her talk; her lilting Cork accent always made him smile. ‘Go on,’ he urged, ‘you still haven’t explained how she ended up in Cork.’

  ‘Well, Jeremy – that was her husband, he trained with Daddy – was killed a week before the armistice. Poor Solange had lost both her brothers at Verdun and her mother had died and her father had been murdered by the Germans. Daddy had been moved further along the line but after the armistice, he went looking for her. He knew that Jeremy would have done the same for him, so he offered her a home with us. I can’t imagine what it would have been like without her. Our father is nice and kind, but he’s not exactly what you’d call emotional. Maybe he never was, but I think the war also affected him very deeply. He doesn’t suffer from shell-shock or anything like that, but he just can’t really talk about it, even now. He’s so against this one, I’m living in fear that he’ll summon me home if things really do start. Do you think it will?’

  Ewan shrugged. ‘Who knows? We’re ready to go at a moment’s notice, and as it is, there’s a lot of surveillance going on. After the sinking of the Athenia, they knew the Germans meant business. It all looks peaceful enough, but there are U-boats out there. The navy are coping, but the problem is the air-force. The planes we have are no match for them.’

  ‘What is it like? Flying, I mean?’ Juliet’s eyes sparkled.

  ‘Och, it’s magical. It’s all I ever wanted to do. In a way, this war has made my dreams come true. Without it, there’d be no chance of me getting into a cockpit let alone flying. When Dougie and I were wee lads, we used to save up all our pocket money to buy Flying Aces. It was an American magazine, but there was this wee shop on Princes Street in Edinburgh – a real old boy ran it, and I’ve no idea how he got them, but every couple of months, he’d have a few issues in stock and if we had enough money between us, we’d rush to buy one. Things were very tight what with Dad being gone and Mum having us lads eating her out of house and home, so it was a rare treat. We’d cut the pictures out and stick them on the wall of our bedroom. I used to make believe I was a pilot, but I never in a million years imagined it would become a reality. My dad loved planes as well, you know. He was a carpenter, and he’d make wee model planes for us, my brothers and me…’ Silence descended between them as they sipped their drinks.

  ‘Do you remember him well, your father?’ Juliet’s voice was gentle.

  ‘Aye, I do. I remember him going off down our street and us boys running after him. It was well into the war by that stage, the spring of 1918. He’d been rejected at first because he had flat feet, but by the end they would take anyone. We were so excited we couldn’t understand why Mum was crying. I must have been four or five, and I never saw him again. I remember the day the telegram came. Everyone on our street had someone at the front, so when the lad from the post office cycled down the street, everyone just stopped and hoped it wasn’t for them.’

  Juliet reached over the table and put her hand on his. Their eyes locked, and he smiled. ‘I suppose I’d better get you home if I ever want to stand a chance of being allowed to take you out again, hadn’t I?’

  They walked easily, hand in hand, to the bus stop. As her bus approached, he got on behind her. Surprised she turned around. ‘You didn’t think I was going to let you see yourself home now, did you? Is that what those Cork boys are like?’ he joked as he paid the fare.

  She
argued half-heartedly, delighted he was escorting her but feeling like she should protest. ‘But it’s in the opposite direction to your base – how will you get back?’

  ‘Och, don’t you worry about me, I’ll sort something out. There’ll be bound to be one or two of our lorries out and about. I’ll jump aboard one of them.’

  She sat close to him in the seat of the bus as it made its way through the dark Belfast streets. She wished the journey would never end.

  He walked her to the gate and as she turned to say good night, she found herself in his arms. He was so much taller than her she had to crane her neck to see his face. His hands rested gently on her hips, and she could feel his body heat. Instinctively, she wound her arms around his neck.

  ‘Ah, my lovely Juliet,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Mr Hitler may have a lot to answer for but if he’s the reason I met you, then he’s done at least one good thing in his life. Can I see you at the weekend? I’m on call for the next forty-eight hours, so I’m confined to the barracks, unfortunately. The Royal Air Force has no compassion for men who need to see their girls.’

  ‘So am I your girl then?’ she asked, the smile on her lips belying the seriousness of the question.

  ‘I hope so. I’d love it if you were,’ Ewan replied, all traces of joking gone.

  ‘I’d love it, too.’

  At her words, Ewan bent his head, hesitantly at first, and touched her lips lightly with his. Juliet closed her eyes as the sensation sent her senses reeling. The feel of his warm breath on her face as he withdrew to gaze at her was like a drug, drawing her into a world where only they existed. His hand travelled up her spine and rested on the back of her neck while he caressed her cheek with his finger, tracing her jaw and down her throat.

  She had never felt desire like this. She wanted him to kiss her, deeply and intimately, and never to stop. She pulled his lips to hers once more, this time with more urgency as she moulded her body to his, hungry to have him. As he kissed her, his lips and tongue gently but insistently exploring her mouth, she was glad of the strength of his arms wrapped tightly around her. Their bodies touched and at every point of contact, she felt fused to him as if they were one. She knew she should pull away, she barely knew him, but she just couldn’t. She pressed her body against his causing him to moan with pleasure. On and on they kissed, their hands exploring each other’s bodies. Juliet would have happily lain down on the grass in her aunt’s front garden and made love with Ewan there and then.

  Groaning with frustration, he stopped and pulled away from her. ‘Stop…stop. If we don’t stop now…’ His breathing was ragged.

  ‘Then don’t stop,’ she whispered.

  Just then, the garden was flooded in yellow light as curtains opened upstairs. Auntie Kitty had obviously waited up. Terrified that her aunt would see them, Juliet quickly arranged her blouse, which had come undone when Ewan had put his hand up her back. Embarrassed by her own rush of passion, she mumbled a hurried goodbye and tripped up the path to the front door. She let herself in quickly and glanced in the mirror to make sure she didn’t look dishevelled. Oh God, she thought, Ewan must think I’m a wanton hussy. Then giggled, realising her mind had dredged up an old phrase of Mrs Canty’s. Solange’s words to her had been very different: Do not let your education dictate how you live your life, my darling. Glancing out the window as she went up the stairs, she saw he was still standing outside; his back to the house, looking up and down the road – wondering, no doubt, which direction would give him the best chance of finding a passing RAF vehicle to give him a lift back to base. She crept down the stairs again and silently opened the front door. Walking quietly down the path, she came up behind him and stretching up on her tiptoes, placed her hands over his eyes.

  ‘Good night, Ewan,’ she whispered. ‘I’d love to see you at the weekend.’

  Turning to face her, he beamed with delight. ‘Good night, my lovely Juliet. I’ll pick you up on Friday at six. Now go home before you get me arrested for indecency.’ He kissed her on the cheek and was gone.

  Chapter 23

  Dear James,

  I’m promising myself that no matter what this letter is not going in the waste-paper basket like all the ones I’ve tried to write before. I hate this. We will probably never agree on the subject of Edith, but you are my brother and my best friend, and I’m fed up of us being like this. I never said a word to anyone by the way, not even Solange though she pressed me to, about her or Otto or anything, just in case you thought I might have. So apart from this mention obviously, just to say I don’t understand it or approve of it, I do accept that you have a right to do what you want and see whom you want, so I propose that we just stay away from the topic of our mother. What do you think?

  My news is that I love Belfast. Auntie Kitty is so kind and welcoming, and her house is beautiful. I have a big room overlooking a really lovely park. It’s so strange to be in an Irish city, as we see it anyhow, and yet it’s very definitely English. All the talk here is about the war, they are worried they will be a target for Hitler because of all the shipbuilding (maybe I’m not supposed to say this in a letter – this place is full of signs warning people against talking with phrases like ‘Loose lips sink ships’ and ‘Be like Dad, Keep Mum). It’s gas. It’s just as well we in the Free State are neutral if keeping your mouth shut is vital to win a war. Dunderrig would fare very badly I fear with the amount of wagging tongues down there! So, how are things there? Solange writes every week, but I miss hearing your version of events.

  Is Daddy still okay about the art thing or is it a bit awkward? What are you going to do? You know what I think, follow your heart, and he’ll see it makes you happy and will come round to the idea. That’s all he wants for us though he has a funny way of showing it sometimes.

  I do have some more news, but I’m a bit shy of telling you. (I know you’re smiling at that idea.) Well, the thing is that I’ve met someone, a boy, well, a man actually. His name’s Ewan McCrae and he’s from Scotland and he’s twenty-five years old. He has the most lovely accent you ever heard, and he is tall and dark and so good-looking I can hardly believe it, and on top of all that, he’s great fun too. Don’t worry, he's a perfect gentleman; I’m not falling for some cad, Lord knows I’ve met enough of them up here, too. Even Auntie Kitty loves him; he fixed a leaky pipe in the bathroom last week so he can do no wrong in her eyes. And you’ll never guess what his job is… He’s a pilot with the RAF! How exciting! And as if that wasn’t enough, he is a twin as well! His brother Dougie is stationed somewhere in England, so we are both separated from our other halves. It’s nice to be with someone who understands. I talk about you all the time so he says it feels like he knows you. I really hope you can meet him someday. It feels so odd to have someone who has come to mean a great deal to me in the last few months but you don’t know him. We go to the pictures or out for tea, and we go for long walks all around the city. Last Sunday, we climbed up Cave Hill and from the top you can see all over Belfast, on a clear day they say you can see all the way to Scotland. He says that when the war is over, he’ll take me there, though to be honest, I don’t know if this war is ever going to really start, let alone end.

  I wonder if I’ll ever bring him to Dunderrig. I’ve told Solange all about him, and I don’t know if she’s told Daddy. I doubt it, since he hasn’t demanded I return home. He’s bad for writing so he usually just adds a scrawl onto the end of Solange’s letter. Do they teach them that in doctor school? There’s no way Master Cotter in Dunderrig National School would have allowed that awful handwriting!

  I’ve become good friends with a group of girls that live in digs at the end of our road. They are in the Wrens (Women’s Royal Naval Service) and they are great fun. We go to dances sometimes, and Ewan brings his pals from the RAF base and it’s wild. I’d love to see you. Do you think you could come for a visit? Auntie Kitty wouldn’t mind a bit, her house is enormous.

  Write back straight away,

 
; Love,

  Juliet.

  Dear Juliet,

  I was just thinking the same thing. I miss you too. I know you said we shouldn’t talk about the Edith situation but I am really confused, and I need to talk to someone about it. I can’t tell Dad or Solange obviously so you are the only one I can ask for advice. So can you please try to think of this as a question from a friend where you don’t know the families involved? A hard thing to do I know, but try. Dad is silent on the subject of my career. He really wants me to do architecture now or something, but I just want to paint, and I think he is hoping that if he lets me at it I’ll get bored and change my mind. I won’t.

  Edith and Otto have offered to get me a place at the National College of Art in Dublin and to pay for my tuition and put me up and everything. It’s an amazing offer, and it’s what I want, more than anything, but if I agree, it means leaving Dunderrig and Dad and Solange and everyone, and I know they’ll see it as my having chosen Edith over them. It seems that no matter what I do I’ll upset someone. I know you don’t want to hear this, but she did have her reasons for leaving and for not contacting us. She explained it to me and if you want, I’ll explain it to you, but only if you want to hear it. Please tell me what to do.

  This Ewan McCrae had better treat you well, or he’ll have me to deal with, you tell him I said that too! Unless he’s bigger than me then say nothing ha-ha! Seriously though, I’m glad you’re happy. Since we’re on the subject, remember I told you about Ingrid? Well, when I knew her before. she was living in London and just visiting Dublin occasionally but now she had to leave England altogether or risk being locked up for the duration as they say, since she’s a foreign alien, so Otto brought her over to Dublin. She and I are together now, I can’t believe it really, she’s amazingly beautiful and confident and everything. I can’t really talk to her about this though, she wouldn’t understand. She just thinks I’d be mad not to take Edith up on her offer.