by I'll Get By
‘Country people help each other out.’
‘So do Londoners. They’re so wonderfully brave and resilient in the face of the danger.’ Nick came into her mind and her mouth drew into a smile. ‘Sometimes they can be foolhardy too.’
‘Tell Esmé she and her son can live in Nutting Cottage. Chad and Sylvia have bought their own place now . . . one more convenient for Chad’s rounds. He does a duty drop-in every day at the convalescent home though. There’s no chance that you could come down with Es, I suppose? I haven’t seen you for ages, and I do miss you.’
A warm feeling lodged in her heart. ‘I miss you too, but I can’t at the moment. I’ll try and get a weekend pass in a month or two.’
‘What is it you do that’s so important?’
‘Secretarial work.’
‘Can’t you get a posting? I’m sure we could find room for you here. I could put the refugee children in the sitting room. Their mother came down to visit, and there was a scene when she had to return to London. Poor little girls were so unsettled after she left.’
‘Yes, I suppose they would have been. You don’t understand, Mummy. I like what I’m doing. It’s challenging.’
‘What’s challenging about typing up other people’s letters? It all sounds rather dreary to me. I suppose it’s that boyfriend of yours . . . the one with the odd name.’
‘Rennie? What a coincidence that you should mention him. His mother rang me earlier . . . something to do with Foxglove House. By the way, Rennie is fighting overseas and his mother is now acting as trustee.’
‘Ah, yes . . . of course, he would be. It’s hard to think of war down here, though it’s only a hundred and twenty miles away. It’s something to do with the entail, I expect. Who can understand all this legal mumbo-jumbo that goes on? Denton got a letter just the other day. Apparently an estate that’s no longer viable to maintain can be disposed of.’
‘Oh . . . good.’
‘I’m sure the solicitor can explain it to you much better than I, but that’s the gist of it. In another year you’ll be of age. If you decided to dispense with it, act sensibly. There will be hidden costs.’
Johnno gave a huge yawn then a few fretful whimpers of discontent.
‘Your latest nephew is beginning to wake up.’
‘I’ll leave you to it then. Ask Esmé to ring me when she’s able. I’ll try and talk some sense into her.’
Johnno managed a long, warbling high note and waved a fist around before cramming the whole hand in his mouth and taking great smacking sucks on it.
‘That bad, huh?’ she whispered, and lifted him from his pram. His little flannel nightie, the yoke smocked in blue knots, was damp. She took him upstairs and laid him on the bed to change his nightie and tackle his napkin.
Folding the corners into a kite shape like she’d seen her aunt do, she brought the ends across and the last one up through his legs. She pinned it in place. ‘There,’ she said, and kissed him. ‘You mustn’t munch on your fist, you’re not old enough for solids.’
When she lifted him the nappy slid down his legs on to the bed. ‘You did that on purpose, you rogue. Stop showing your manly bits off.’
There was a chuckle from behind her, and she turned.
‘I’ll show you how to do it properly. Who were you talking to on the telephone?’
She could have lied, but she didn’t.
‘It was my mother. I was asking her advice.’
‘And she planned it all out for you . . . my life and that of my son.’
‘You frightened me, Aunt Es. She only wants what’s best for you and Johnno.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. I scared myself. Shock affects people in different ways. For me, it was as if the world had come to a halt. I’m well aware that Leo is missing . . . but he’s not dead. He’s alive . . . I know it. What was Livia’s plan?’
‘She’s sending Chad to persuade you to return to Eavesham. You and the baby can live in Nutting Cottage, which is now vacant. That’s the first place Leo will think of if he can’t find you here. My mother wants you to give her a ring.’
‘I will . . . in a day or two, when I decide what I want to do.’
‘It would be better for the baby.’ But her aunt already knew that.
A week later there was a rattle of a motorbike outside and a young man presented himself at the door. ‘I’m Eddie Richards . . . I was the Doc’s wingman.’
It took a moment for Meggie to think of who the Doc was, and the man’s face was vaguely familiar.
‘We met once before. You were taking a flying lesson and I was rude to you, I think. For that I apologize, Mrs Thornton.’
‘I’m not Mrs Thornton. I’m Margaret Elliot . . . Doc Thornton’s niece. And it was me who was rude to you, I think.’
He gave a faint smile, as though he remembered their meeting. ‘Sorry, of course you are, I recognize you now. It seems a long time ago that we met, and now we’re much older. It’s nice to see you again, Miss Elliot.’
Esmé came down the stairs, the expression in her eyes wary. ‘Thank you for coming, follow me into the sitting room if you would. I’ll get us some tea.’
‘I’ll make it,’ Meggie said.
As she walked away, she heard, ‘I was with the Doc when he was shot down. His chute didn’t open properly and he ditched into the channel. His cords caught on the tail of his Spit and it pulled him under when it sank . . .’
So Leo had drowned. How could Eddie Richards be so matter-of-fact about it, and so insensitive in telling his wife what had happened.
Eddie Richards’s report knocked the stuffing out of her aunt, and robbed her of hope. The colour ebbed from her face and she buckled at the knees.
When Meggie heard her sobbing her heart out that night she got into bed with her and held her tight. She couldn’t bear knowing her aunt’s heart had been broken.
‘I could kill that man with my bare hands for telling you that.’
‘It’s all right, Meggie. He needed to tell me and I needed to know.’
‘Leo has given you Johnno to love,’ was all she could think of to say, but despite that, she was in tears herself.
When Chad arrived a few days later Esmé was packed ready to go.
Dear, sweet Chad . . . so responsible and kind to his twin sister, as he had been since their time together in the orphanage as children.
‘Oh, my poor, dear Es,’ he’d said and had held Esmé tight while she cried and cried.
Leaving them together, Meggie walked to the garage and fetched the car. It was difficult to start, but finally came alive with the help of a man polishing a motorbike in the adjoining garage, who fiddled with this and that under the bonnet, and then said with great satisfaction when the engine fired, ‘There she goes. The engine’s been lying idle and needs a bit of coaxing. Drive her around the block a bit.’
She remembered Leo calling the car a cantankerous old cow, his accent flattening the vowels a little. She smiled and whispered. ‘If you’re still alive you’d better find your way home, Leo. Es needs you.’
They piled her luggage into the back of the car, and tied the pram Leo had been so proud of on the top.
‘There’s an extra can of petrol in the boot,’ she told him.
Meggie hugged her aunt and whispered, ‘Don’t you give up on him.’
She had a strong feeling that Esmé still held a little hope inside her, for she found Leo’s clothing neatly folded in the drawers, and his best uniform hanging in the wardrobe along with a change of clothing, as if it had been placed there, waiting for its owner to come back. There was an envelope addressed to him on the dressing table.
Not that Meggie didn’t believe Eddie Richards’s account of what he’d seen, but he’d been in a fast moving aircraft dodging the enemy planes and was probably as exhausted as he’d looked.
Was her aunt being stupid, choosing to believe that Leo was still alive? Was she? Meggie didn’t care. All she knew was that she’d rather hope he was aliv
e than know that he wasn’t.
Seventeen
As Meggie’s mother had told her, the Foxglove estate, which was no longer affordable as a country house and was entailed to the Sinclair bloodline, could be sold if permission was gained from the courts.
Constance Stone said, ‘I’ve spoken to your stepfather, Doctor Elliot. He suggests that I prepare a case to put before the court, with your permission. By the time it’s gone through the system you will be of age I expect. The law acts slowly in such matters, especially when dealing with the estates of minors.’
Meggie felt a small quiver of remorse, but mostly relief. It was no longer the grand country home her father had grown up in, but a sad, decaying house she couldn’t afford. She’d never really felt pride of ownership in it . . . but then she’d never known her father . . . only her grandfather, who’d suffered from delusions. Meggie thought he’d been disillusioned, and must have certainly been depressed to have tried to take his own life after his actress wife had left him.
She frowned for a moment, chasing away the last image she’d had of Major Sangster, dead in his chair in Nutting Cottage. He’d just told her that he’d fathered her and she’d gone to make him some tea to calm him down. When she’d come back with it he was dead. It had been years of nightmares before she could think about that without being scared.
Her mother, who’d detested the old man, had made a bonfire out of the chair he’d died in, and his bed.
Her mind came back to Constance Stone and the problem of Foxglove House. ‘I don’t want to sell it while it’s still providing a useful service for our war casualties and bringing in a regular rent.’
‘Once the entail’s lifted it can be disposed of at any time, though the government department responsible for caring for the wounded has a lease arrangement that will carry it over the period of the war. You will, of course have to manage the business side of it yourself once you turn twenty-one. There are options. You might decide to still leave it with us to manage, or you can place it in the hands of a rental agency, that will charge a percentage fee for the service.’
She nodded. ‘We’ll see what the circumstances are at the time. Have you heard from Rennie lately?’
‘Yes . . . he’s well.’ Constance dug the point of her pen into the pad of blotting paper in front of her. She looked slightly embarrassed. ‘There’s something I must tell you, dear. Rennie is due for some leave soon. When he does, he intends to get married to Pamela.’
Relief rolled over her, yet she couldn’t help but be peeved with him for leading her on. ‘Couldn’t he have told me himself?’
‘Actually, it was my idea, and he agreed it might be a kind thing to do. He’s very fond of you. We all thought that your affection towards him was a sort of hero worship though.’
She wasn’t going to let him get off scot-free. ‘I wouldn’t go that far. Perhaps Rennie thought I was one of those loose types of women, and lost interest when he discovered I wasn’t.’
Constance Stone looked horrified. ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s the case. Rennie is not that sort of man. He’s a gentleman like his father.’
Who had once pinched her on the buttock and laughed when she’d passed him in the corridor with her arms filled with files. It had been so unexpected that she’d nearly dropped them. She had it on good authority from Nick that all men were that sort of man, but refrained from saying so.
‘Rennie thought you were a sweet girl, if a little naive. He’d just had an argument with his fiancée and she’d broken off the engagement. It was flattering for him to know a young girl like you admired him. Now they’ve sorted their differences out he and Pamela have realized they still love each other. Anyway, for what it’s worth I’d like to tender an apology on behalf of my son.’
‘It’s not worth much if the delivery method of the message is anything to go by? For goodness sake, I had a bit of a crush on him, that’s all. Rennie encouraged me in the beginning. He soon changed his mind and put me straight, and we agreed to remain friends.’
‘That’s what he told me. Nevertheless it caused quite a bit of reactive consternation in the family, especially when he asked us to employ you. After all, you are a client. We thought then that he might be serious about your relationship.’
‘Why should that have caused consternation? I come from a perfectly respectable family.’
‘I’m not suggesting you don’t. It’s just that you were rather young at the time, my dear, and having a relationship with a client makes for bad business practices.’
She snorted.
‘There, now I’ve made you angry, and that was not my intention.’
‘I’ll be honest with you, Mrs Stone. Yes, I am a little angry. I feel insulted by the way you brought me here on a pretence of business, which was rather underhand, and a waste of my time and yours.’
Meggie thought it might be better to be gracious now her first attempt at love had failed. It was galling to be given marching orders by a man’s mother. ‘You needn’t have worried. Rennie was only being kind to me. He knew I wanted to become a lawyer, and thought I might gain some useful experience in a legal office, that’s all.’
‘And you did very well.’
‘I enjoyed it, but I doubt if I’ll take it up as a career because I rather like office work now I’m doing it. Perhaps I’ll become a legal secretary, which would satisfy my mother.’ Or perhaps she’d start her own business specializing in the training and supply of secretarial services. She’d only just that minute thought of it, and it had possibilities.
‘We’ll be quite happy to furnish you with a reference if need be. Rennie didn’t want to hurt your feelings, and intended to write you a letter. I thought it would be better if I prepared you first.’
‘Rennie didn’t ask you to talk to me about our relationship, then. You just assumed it was all right for you to do so.’
‘He’s my son, Miss Elliot.’
How crushing this was. Meggie had already counted to ten twice, and now started on the third time. This woman was as insensitive as a steamroller.
‘If you’d like me to pass on a message when I write to him, I’ll be happy to.’
The two-word message she instantly came up with was too vulgar to say out loud. A man of Rennie’s age who hid behind his mother was weak in her book, and be damned if she was going to use his mother as a go-between.
But no – it wasn’t something the Rennie she knew would do. Anyone would think she was a troublesome fly to be brushed off in such a way.
‘I don’t think so, Mrs Stone. I’m capable of passing on my own message the next time I see him.’
She rose to her feet and smiled, said out loud, ‘twenty-nine, thirty,’ and let her have it, convinced that Leo’s method of anger control was outmoded. ‘Lord but you’re an interfering woman. You should cut Rennie free from your apron strings. I’m quite sure he can manage his life without you.’
‘You’re very rude, Miss Elliot.’
‘I could be ruder. I do hope you’re not going to charge me for this consultation after you brought me here on false pretences, since it’s been a waste of my time . . . and of yours.’
Constance Stone was still spluttering when Meggie closed the door and walked off.
The empty house weighed heavily on Meggie’s shoulders. When she thought she heard creaks or footsteps overhead she kept creeping up the stairs to find it was either in her imagination or the cat prowling around.
Having someone living upstairs had been comforting, now the place seemed to be full of ghosts and she was lonely without her aunt and uncle living above her.
Meggie had a talk to Judith and suggested that they move upstairs. ‘If my aunt decides to come back I’d like to keep the place lived in. Leo might come back, yet. He’s a strong swimmer and may have made it to shore.’
‘But surely he would have turned up by now. Didn’t they exchange the names of prisoners of war?’
‘Perhaps he’s lost his memory,’ Meggie came
up with.
They both knew the odds against that had happening were close to nil.
‘Eddie Richards said he was nearer France than England when he went down. He might be injured and be in a hospital or in a prison camp on the Continent. We might be able to find out.’
With hope in her eyes Meggie gazed at Judith. ‘How?’
Judith chuckled. ‘Despite your high IQ you can be so dim sometimes, Meggie. We work in intelligence. Find out if you can make it work for you. Ask the charming Lord Cowan. I’m sure there’s more to him than meets the eye, and he’s fond of you. He can’t keep his eyes off you when you’re outside the office, and you lap it up.’
Meggie blushed. ‘I do not.’
‘I know we’re not supposed to discuss these things, but do you ever wonder what he’s up to when he’s not in the office? I’m sure you and Gordon Frapp are a front for whatever he really does.’
Meggie remembered Nick going off for several days when she’d first started working for him, sailing to Dunkirk with the small fleet to help rescue the stranded troops, she’d thought, but he’d never said. His face had been grey with fatigue when the operation had finally finished. Another time she’d fished a bullet from his arm. Where had he collected that? She grinned, recalling his explanation. Was he some sort of secret agent? It would certainly suit his personality.
‘Yes . . . perhaps you’re right, Jude.’
Oh Lordy! Nick wouldn’t help her if he’d found the Blessing file among the other files. She had to get it back!
She went into work ten minutes early. There was a red carnation in a vase on her desk, another in his buttonhole. His office door was open a chink.
It creaked when she cautiously pushed it open, only to find him relaxed in his chair, eyes closed, long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles and propped up on the desk.
Meggie could see the gleam of his eyes through his lashes. ‘Have you been here all night, or are you pretending to be asleep?’
He opened them and the smile he offered her was pleasant. ‘You’re just in time to make your boss a cup of tea.’
