Song of the Skylark

by Erica James

  To Clarissa’s surprise, Ellis reached into the pram and lifted Nicholas out. Half expecting Nicholas to object, she made to take the child from Ellis, but he didn’t so much as wriggle or draw breath in readiness to cry. Instead, he rewarded this handsome stranger with one of his heart-melting smiles and poked a curious finger at his face.

  ‘He likes you,’ Clarissa said.

  ‘Sure he does, everybody likes me.’

  ‘How wonderful it is to see you haven’t changed in the slightest,’ she teased, ‘you’re as modest as ever.’

  ‘Don’t be fooled, I’ve changed. We all have. War does that to you. Look at you, a widowed mother now.’

  For a moment neither of them said anything and in the silence, as if without a care in the world, a robin sang out from the branches of the cherry tree that was in full blossom.

  ‘Why didn’t you write and tell me where you were going to be stationed?’ Clarissa asked at length.

  ‘I didn’t know exactly where I’d end up. Plans change in the blink of an eye in this game. I thought I was on my way to somewhere on the south coast. Not that I would have been allowed to tell you, had I known. I didn’t even know what ship I was going to board to cross the Atlantic until I set eyes on it; it was our old friend the Belle Etoile.’

  Clarissa felt a pang of poignant nostalgia for those four days spent on board the luxurious liner – four days that led to her life being changed beyond belief. It was inconceivable that any of them would experience that same level of luxury ever again. ‘I’d read that the liner had been put into service,’ she said. ‘It must have been a very different crossing for you.’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘There were no cocktails and no one to dance with, certainly.’ He shifted Nicholas into a more comfortable position and set off down the garden towards the apple tree where Leon had fixed a swing to one of the branches for Thomas and Walter.

  Clarissa fell in step beside him. ‘I can’t believe you’ve been posted here,’ she said. ‘What are the chances?’

  ‘It’s fate,’ he said, turning his head to look at her.

  She said nothing in response; she knew him too well to fall for such a comment, and waited for him to laugh sardonically and say ‘Fate be damned!’ But he didn’t.

  ‘Do you know what your first mission is?’ she asked.

  ‘I have a fair idea. But I’m not going to tell you. So don’t fish.’

  With Nicholas beginning to wriggle now, Clarissa offered to take him. Relinquishing her son, Ellis put his hand in his shirt pocket and pulled out a silver chain with a St Christopher pendant attached. ‘It’s not much of a present for a baby,’ he said, ‘but I like the idea of him having it. It was given to me by my grandmother when I was born.’

  ‘Don’t you want to wear it?’

  ‘Why, to protect me when I’m flying?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because fate will decide whether my number’s up, not a necklace.’ He pushed the sleeve back on his jacket and looked at his watch. ‘I’d better scoot.’

  ‘So soon? But we’ve had hardly any time to chat. I haven’t heard from Effie in a while. Have you?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ he said, ducking his head and kissing her cheek. ‘I promise to return when I can.’

  He returned a week later on an afternoon when Clarissa was alone – Mrs Cook had taken Nicholas to the shops in the pram and then to visit a friend with him. Leon was at the airfield on his shift and Thomas and Walter were at school. The sun was shining brilliantly from the clearest of skies and Clarissa was digging in the garden, preparing the vegetable plot for planting potatoes. Wearing a pair of rubber boots, a pair of Leon’s cast-off overalls and with her hair tied up with a cotton scarf, she smiled at the expression on Ellis’s face when he saw her.

  ‘So this is what the Brits mean by digging for victory?’

  ‘If I didn’t think you’d be so hopeless with your soft pilot’s hands, I’d ask you to help,’ she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You think I can’t dig?’

  ‘A privileged boy like you, I’ll bet you’ve never picked up a spade in your entire life.’

  The challenge was irresistible, just as she knew it would be, and with a glint in his eye he threw off his cap and leather flying jacket and rolled up his sleeves. ‘Right,’ he said, grabbing the fork that was balanced against the wheelbarrow, ‘show me what needs digging.’

  ‘Help yourself to that end of the plot, and we’ll see who reaches the middle first. And mind you dig thoroughly – I don’t want the crop of potatoes ruined because you didn’t get your back into breaking up the clods of earth.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, giving her a salute.

  ‘Let’s see if you’re still saluting me in an hour’s time.’

  Within minutes Clarissa realised she had misjudged Ellis; he was ploughing through the earth with a powerful efficiency that had her surreptitiously watching him with new respect.

  ‘Stop watching me and get back to your digging, Dallimore!’ he ordered, ‘or I’ll change my mind about taking you to the dance at the airbase a week on Saturday.’

  ‘Who says I want to go to a dance?’

  ‘Sure you do. Every girl for miles around will want to go.’

  ‘But in my case I don’t think it’s really appropriate, do you?’

  He stopped what he was doing and narrowed his eyes. ‘When would be appropriate?’

  ‘I don’t know. It just seems …’

  ‘Wrong for you to enjoy yourself as a widow?’ he finished for her. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘How about I make a pact with you to guarantee you don’t enjoy yourself?’

  She smiled. ‘You mean you’d promise to be your usual horrible, sneering self?’

  ‘Yeah, I could easily arrange that. Or you could see it as voluntary work to raise the spirits of a bunch of pilots a long way from home missing their loved ones, not to say terrified they might not return from their first mission the following week.’

  She gave him a long, searching look and knew he was being serious. ‘I’ll see if Mrs Cook will look after Nicholas for me.’

  They finished the digging and went inside to wash their hands. There was some home-made ginger beer in the pantry, and after pouring two glasses, they went back out to the garden and sat on an old blanket on the grass where the blossom had begun to fall from the cherry tree.

  ‘I hear Artie spent Christmas with you here,’ Ellis said. ‘What’s more, he very nearly ended up delivering your baby.’

  ‘Did he tell you that?’ asked Clarissa.

  Ellis drained his glass and lay down on the blanket. ‘Of course not, it was Effie. I haven’t heard from Artie in a while. I miss him. I miss him badly.’ His tone was abruptly pensive, as if mourning a time when the world was a very different place. ‘But then I guess he’s got more important things to do than write to me,’ he went on. ‘The action in Monte Cassino is hotting up now. The reports I’ve read make for grim reading.’

  ‘Is there anything in the news that isn’t?’

  ‘True. As for Effie, she’s on her way over here.’

  ‘No!’

  He smiled up at her. ‘Yeah, I thought that would surprise you. She’s coming to do her bit, to sing to the troops. Heaven help them, I say.’

  ‘I hope I get to see her. She will come here, won’t she? Oh, she must!’

  ‘Try stopping her,’ Ellis said dryly.

  ‘Why didn’t she write and tell me?’

  ‘She wanted it to be a surprise for you, except I’ve gone and spoilt it. But then, I’m known for spoiling things.’

  Delighted at the news, Clarissa lay back on the blanket next to Ellis and stared up at the pale sky through the blossom. She smiled. ‘Effie coming here,’ she said happily, ‘I can’t believ
e it.’ In her mind she was picturing Effie the first time she saw her, standing at the top of the stairs of the dining restaurant on the Belle Etoile knowing that every eye was on her, and loving it.

  Ellis turned to look at her. ‘Clarissa,’ he said, ‘can I ask you something?’

  She twisted her head. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why am I not irresistible to you?’

  Caught up in a mood of jollity at the prospect of seeing Effie again, she laughed. ‘Now why on earth would you ask me that?’

  ‘Because I’m curious. You once kissed me in a way that suggested we might become more than friends.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it was you who kissed me.’

  ‘I clearly remember the way you responded.’

  ‘I did so out of politeness.’

  He raised himself up onto his elbow and smiled down at her, his finger tapping her on the nose. ‘You’re such a liar.’

  She batted his hand away. ‘Oh, all right then, I admit it, I was nothing but a gauche young girl taken in by the dazzle of your arrogant charm.’

  ‘Couldn’t you find it in your heart to be that gauche young girl again? I had such fun teasing you.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re quite the most dreadful man I’ve ever had the misfortune to know.’

  He tipped his head back and laughed.

  Then from behind them came the sound of somebody very ostentatiously clearing their throat. ‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’

  Clarissa slipped out from beneath Ellis, and saw to her horror Henry Willet, briefcase in hand, staring back at them.

  ‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ Henry said pompously, when both Clarissa and Ellis were on their feet and she’d introduced him. The look of disgust he gave Ellis was matched only by the expression of contempt he gave Clarissa.

  ‘I guess not,’ Ellis said quite calmly, but making no attempt to shake Henry’s hand which was extended before him. Instead he smoothed back his hair and went over to where he’d earlier left his cap and flying jacket on a garden chair. ‘If you have business to conduct, I’d better leave you to it,’ he said, taking out a packet of cigarettes and lighter from one of the jacket pockets.

  ‘No, don’t rush off,’ Clarissa said, willing him to stay. She didn’t feel comfortable at the thought of being left alone with Henry. Why was he here when he’d made it clear on Christmas Eve that any future dealings they had would be conducted in his office?

  His cigarette lit, and blowing a ribbon of smoke into the air, Ellis looked at Clarissa with narrowed eyes. ‘It’s getting late,’ he said, ‘but perhaps I’ll stick around a while longer so I can see Thomas and Walter when they come home from school.’

  ‘And Mrs Cook would love to see you again,’ Clarissa added, giving him a grateful smile. ‘How about I make us some tea?’

  ‘That would be splendid,’ said Henry, looking and sounding as if it would be anything but.

  Inside the house, while Clarissa occupied herself with boiling the kettle and setting out cups and saucers, Henry opened his briefcase and produced some papers. ‘It’s nothing much, Clarissa,’ he said, ‘but if you could just sign these I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Just the usual thing, declarations of income for the Inland Revenue.’

  ‘I don’t recall signing anything like that before,’ Clarissa said, going over to take a look.

  ‘It’s slightly different this year in that …’ He paused and adjusted his spectacles. ‘There’s now your war widow’s pension to take into account.’ He held the pen out towards Clarissa. ‘I just wanted to make things as trouble-free as possible for you.’

  ‘Perhaps you should give Clarissa time to read through them,’ Ellis said from across the table, casting his gaze in the direction of the papers.

  Henry’s reaction was to slide them away from him and nearer to Clarissa.

  ‘Ellis is right, Henry,’ she said, ‘I should read them, shouldn’t I? It’s only sensible. Especially as it’s something so official.’

  ‘Of course. I merely wanted to make things as painless as I could, knowing how difficult this time of mourning must be for you.’ His eyes slid meaningfully from Clarissa to Ellis, then back to her.

  ‘And I appreciate that, I really do,’ said Clarissa. She held out her hand for the papers. ‘I’ll look over them this evening when Nicholas is in bed and post them back to you tomorrow. Unless you’re in a hurry and need my signature right now?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ said Ellis, his fingers drumming the table, ‘but in my experience, in business, anybody who requires a signature in a hurry is to be regarded with the utmost suspicion.’

  Henry gave him a look of hatred. ‘You’re right,’ he said, his nostrils flaring, ‘this really is nothing to do with you.’ He shoved the papers back into his briefcase and fastened it. ‘Clarissa, I’ve acted on your behalf, and on your grandparents’ behalf, and never with a word of complaint from anyone.’ He puffed his chest out. ‘I really don’t take kindly to being treated in this manner, as though I were trying to do something underhand. If you’d rather I didn’t handle your affairs any more, please just say so, and you can find yourself a new solicitor. I shall see myself out.’

  ‘Far be it from me to offer you any advice, but there goes a man I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw him,’ remarked Ellis as they listened to the sound of Henry driving off at speed.

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with you,’ Clarissa said thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what it was he was so anxious for me to sign?’

  ‘And which he patently didn’t want you to read.’

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  May 1944, Skylark Cottage, Shillingbury

  ‘How long do you think this awful war will go on for?’

  ‘For some of us it might end sooner than we’d like.’

  Clarissa turned sharply to look at Ellis, knowing what he was referring to – next week was when he and many others would finally get to do what they’d been sent here to do. ‘You’re worried about next week, aren’t you?’ she said.

  Ignoring her question, Ellis pointed to where he was looking. ‘Those birds that are singing like they have nothing better to do, and swooping in and out of the grass, what are they called?’

  ‘They’re skylarks, and they’re looking for somewhere to nest in amongst the meadow grass. They’ve become my favourite bird; I love their song.’

  ‘I could get to like them, too,’ he said thoughtfully.

  Clarissa smiled. ‘They’re the reason I chose to live in this cottage; I couldn’t resist the name: Skylark Cottage.’

  They were standing at the end of the garden and leaning against the fence. It was late afternoon, and a gentle breeze was rippling the surface of the meadow. Off in the distance the low rumble of a tractor was just discernible, as well as the bleating of lambs in the lower fields of Colonel Brook’s estate. This was what Britain and the Allies were fighting for, Clarissa thought; for freedom. Whereas Germany was fighting to destroy freedom.

  It was moments like this that she clung to, when war felt a very long way away, when it was almost conceivable to believe that what she read in the newspapers and heard on the wireless wasn’t real. When she could almost believe that Artie wasn’t in danger, or that Ellis wasn’t about to embark on a dangerous mission that could end his life.

  She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun and, as she so often did, sent up a prayer to keep safe those she loved – her beautiful and precious son, Nicholas, Thomas and Walter, Leon and Mrs Cook, and, of course, Artie and Ellis.

  She would never have thought it possible to love two such very different men in the way she did, but somehow it had happened. Probably she always had loved them, even when she married William, for without a doubt, Artie and Ellis had each stolen a part of her heart that she now ac
cepted she had willingly surrendered for the rest of her life.

  ‘You’ve gone quiet on me,’ Ellis said, ‘what are you thinking?’

  She turned again to look at him. ‘I was thinking of you and Artie, how different you are from each other, but how much I care for you both.’

  He reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes. ‘What do you mean by that word, care?’ he asked, when he had the cigarette lit.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, can’t you ever just accept a statement without tearing it apart?’

  He frowned. ‘And can’t you ever really say what’s in your heart?’

  ‘What, like you?’

  He inhaled deeply on his cigarette, then looked at her through the ribbon of smoke he blew into the air. ‘What would you say if I told you I loved you?’

  ‘I’d say you were playing a game with me. It’s what you do best.’

  ‘And prevaricating is what you do best. ‘Supposing I genuinely thought you and I could have an interesting life together?’

  ‘Interesting,’ she repeated. ‘What a peculiar way to describe a marriage between two people who supposedly love each other.’

  ‘How would you rather I put it?’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t, frankly. Not when we both know that it’s Effie who you’re going to marry.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Ellis,’ she said gently, ‘your life is back in America, with your family and the business you’ll be expected to run one day. My life is here in England with my son. I feel rooted here, this is where I’m meant to be.’

  ‘Things change, Clarissa.’

  ‘I know that, better than anyone. But I know this is home for me. It always will be.’

  ‘No negotiation on that, then? You wouldn’t consider leaving here to be with a man who thinks you’d be an ideal partner for him?’

  She shook her head.

  He drew long and hard on his cigarette once more, then exhaled deeply. ‘And your decision wouldn’t have anything to do with Artie, would it?’