Summer House

by Nichols, Mary

  The airmen who were not bedridden spent much of their time lounging or walking about the grounds or being wheeled about by their comrades. The more active ones played croquet on the lawn or their own version of cricket: one batsman against the rest, which was played well away from the house. No one stopped him as he strolled up to them. Business was brisk and he soon had a handful of orders which he said he would leave in the summer house for them to pick up at their leisure. Then he went belatedly to help William with his haymaking but was told he wasn’t needed because Steve had arrived.

  ‘Mr Moreton was up here talking to the men this morning,’ Laura told Helen. The two women were in the kitchen drinking coffee over the remains of their midday meal. Stella had left them to put Robby down for his afternoon nap and Mrs Ward had gone off duty for the afternoon, before coming back to prepare the evening meal. ‘I can’t think what he wants with them.’

  ‘Oh, I can. He’s up to his usual tricks, selling black market goods. I wonder if… No, he wouldn’t be so brazen.’

  ‘Are you going to say something to him if he comes again? After all, he’s making use of us and some people might think we condone it. You know the penalty for black marketeering is fourteen years?’

  ‘Is it?’ Helen was surprised that it was so severe. ‘The trouble is, if he goes to jail, Mrs Moreton will be the one to suffer. It’s probably why no one has turned him in before now.’

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door and a voice calling, ‘Anyone at home?’

  Laura jumped up and turned as Steve came into the kitchen. ‘Steve! I didn’t know you were home. Come in.’

  ‘I’m already in.’

  He held out his hands to her and she grasped them, holding him at arm’s length. ‘How are you? When did you arrive? How long have you got? You look tired.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m fine and if I look tired it’s because I’ve been deprived of the sight of you. Hallo, Aunt Helen, how are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, Steven. Tell us what you’ve been up to while I make a cup of tea.’

  ‘Oh, the usual. Flying aeroplanes. Nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘We won’t talk about that then. We’ve just been discussing Ian Moreton and what to do about him, if anything.’

  He didn’t fancy that subject either but was too polite to say so. ‘What’s he been up to?’

  ‘Selling black market goods to our airmen,’ Helen said. ‘I wouldn’t say anything if it was away from the Hall, but he has come up here quite blatantly and you never know when the Air Ministry people might decide to come and check up on us.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Ken, see if we can come up with something.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He turned back to Laura. ‘When are you going to come out with me?’

  Laura looked at Helen, who laughed and said, ‘You know best when you can get off. I’ll look after Robby if that’s what’s stopping you.’ She put a cup of tea down on the table in front of Steve. ‘Sit down and drink your tea. I’ve got work to do.’ She smiled and left them.

  He turned to Laura and held out his arms. She went into them as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He kissed her, tasting the tea on her mouth, smelling the faint perfume of recently shampooed hair. ‘It’s too long,’ he said, at last.

  ‘What’s too long.’

  ‘The time between kisses.’

  She laughed. ‘You didn’t say how long you’ve got.’

  ‘Seven days and I want to spend every minute of it with you.’

  ‘You’ve got to go home to bed every so often.’

  ‘True. Wouldn’t it be grand if you could share it with me?’

  ‘Now you’re being silly.’

  ‘Am I? Perhaps I am. So, are you free this evening?’

  ‘Afraid not, but tomorrow’s my day off.’

  ‘A whole day. Where would you like to go?’

  ‘You choose.’

  ‘OK. I’ll put my thinking cap on.’

  She watched him pick up the cup of tea and drain it. ‘I’ll walk down the drive with you, then I must get back to work.’

  They set off hand in hand with the sun hot on their backs, followed by the wolf whistles of some of the patients who were strolling about the garden. ‘There’s still no shortage of patients,’ he said.

  ‘No, more’s the pity, but we’re learning all the time and Mr McIndoe is a marvel.’

  ‘Do you miss London?’

  ‘Not now. There was a time…’ She paused, leading him off the drive and across the grass towards the lake. He went without demur. ‘But then there’s nothing there for me now, no family, no close friends, and I’ve made Beckbridge my home.’

  ‘You wouldn’t consider going to Canada then?’ He made himself speak lightly.

  ‘Canada?’ she queried, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, with a certain Captain Donovan.’

  ‘You’re as bad as Helen; she said much the same thing. I only went out with the fellow once and we had an enjoyable afternoon, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to throw all this up…’ She waved her hand at the house and the airmen behind her. ‘…just because a handsome soldier asks me out.’

  ‘Oh, so he is handsome?’

  ‘Yes.’ She laughed. ‘You’re jealous!’

  ‘Too right, I am.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be.’

  He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but before he could ask her, they arrived at the summer house and stood looking at it contemplatively. It had been rebuilt, slightly to one side of where the original building had been, probably because the rubble and earth that filled the crater wasn’t stable enough for the foundations.

  ‘I’m sure the place has some significance for Helen,’ Laura said. ‘That’s why she had it rebuilt exactly as it was.’ She turned to face him. ‘Do you know anything about it?’

  He knew she was deliberately changing the subject. ‘No, but I think the older members of the village might. Does it matter?’

  ‘Only in as much as it makes Helen unhappy, and yet it is a sadness she seems to invite, as if she’s punishing herself. Doesn’t make sense, does it?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  She went inside and lifted the lid of the bench, but it was empty. ‘Thank goodness for that.’

  ‘Why, what did you expect to find?’

  ‘Black market stuff.’

  ‘You mean Ian? Surely, he’d never be such a fool as to try the same trick twice.’

  ‘Helen wondered if he might. Her civic duty has been doing battle with her reluctance to upset Joyce. She’ll be glad I found nothing.’

  They went outside again and stood looking at the water. Yellow flag irises bloomed among the bulrushes at the water’s edge and further out a handful of mallards dipped their heads in the water, making gentle ripples. He put an arm about her and she leant her head against his shoulder ‘You’d never know there was a war on, would you?’

  She had hardly uttered the words when a squadron of Spitfires zoomed across the sky, shattering the peace. ‘Oh, well,’ she said, as they both shaded their eyes with their hands to look up at them. ‘Back to the real world.’ She turned and he followed her to the end of the drive, where the iron gates had once stood.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, bending to kiss her lightly. ‘I’ll call for you at nine o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll be ready.’

  He strode off and she turned back to the house.

  Donny breathed a sigh of relief that he had seen them coming in time and emerged from his hiding place in the garden of the lodge. He hoisted the heavy kitbag over his shoulder and made his way across the grass to the summer house.

  Steve borrowed his father’s car and took Laura to Cambridge, where he hired a rowing boat. Most of them had been put up for the duration, but there were still some for hire, not taken by undergraduates because it was the long vacation, but by servicemen, mainly Americans, keen to experience all that England had to offer and that included weekends in Londo
n going to shows and touring the landmarks, visiting Stratford-upon-Avon, walking in the hills, and boating on the rivers. Cambridge was conveniently near their airfields, so it was a popular destination.

  Steve took the boat down towards Ely. Laura, relaxing in the stern, was content to let him do all the work, watching his muscular body as he wielded the oars. ‘You’re no novice, are you?’

  ‘I did a bit of rowing while I was here. It seems a lifetime ago now. Before the war.’

  ‘What did you study?’

  ‘History and English. Silly subjects for a farmer’s son, I suppose, but they were the subjects I was best at in school. I had some idea I might like to teach, but then I realised what a disappointment that would be to Dad, and shelved it. Anyway, the decision was taken out of my hands by the war. Besides, Jenny is the teacher, not me. I’ll take over the farm some day.’

  ‘Will you like that?’

  ‘Yes. There was a time when I rebelled against it – it’s what most sons do at some time or other, I suppose – but now the prospect of a rural life, governed by nature and the seasons appeals no end.’ He pulled into the bank under some willows, jumped out and tied the boat up. Then he held out his hand to help her out and retrieved the rug and picnic basket he had brought with him. ‘We are fugitives from the war,’ he said. ‘We are going to sit here to eat cold chicken and drink warm wine and pretend it doesn’t exist.’

  They settled themselves on the rug and enjoyed their picnic. But in the back of his mind were words he wanted to say, words that had to be got off his chest. ‘Going back to the subject of the rural life,’ he said, twisting a stem of grass in his fingers. ‘Are you really at home away from the bright lights of the city?’

  ‘Yes. Do you find that strange?’

  ‘No, but I wanted to be sure.’ He paused and then went on. ‘Laura, when I said I wished you could come to bed with me, I wasn’t trying it on, you know. I was thinking of something…more permanent.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What do you say? You know I love you, so will you consider marrying me?’

  ‘Steve, this isn’t the time. We’ve both got work to do and until this war is over—’

  ‘God knows when that will be and it isn’t an answer to my question.’

  ‘True.’ She paused. ‘Steve, you are my rock. Apart from Robby and Helen, you are the most stable thing in my life—’

  ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘Of course. Whenever I’ve been in trouble, there you’ve been, supporting me: the day Bob died; again when I was feeling especially down because I had to work in that factory and everyone was shunning me; the night Robby was born. And when I arrived in Beckbridge and was beginning to wonder just what I’d let myself in for, there you were—’

  ‘But…? There has to be a but after a statement like that.’

  ‘Steve, I can’t think about getting married now, really I can’t.’

  ‘Is there someone else?’

  ‘You know there is not.’

  ‘Except the ghost of Bob Rawton.’

  ‘No, it isn’t that, at least I don’t think so. I’m simply saying let’s wait.’

  He sighed. ‘You’re probably right. I might get shot down and it wouldn’t be fair to put you through that a second time.’

  ‘Steve, please don’t say that, please don’t tempt fate.’ She leant over to kiss his cheek. ‘You said we were going to pretend the war doesn’t exist.’

  ‘We can’t though, can we? It doesn’t matter where we go or what we say, we can’t hide from it. We might ban it as a subject but it won’t be banned. Damn it!’

  She laughed and edged herself over to him and snuggled her head into his shoulder. ‘It’s lovely here.’

  ‘Yes.’ He put his finger and thumb under her chin and tilted her face up to his. ‘When the war ends, however long it takes, I shall bring you back here and ask you that question again.’

  ‘You’ll wait that long?’ she queried.

  ‘For ever if I have to. At least, until and unless you marry someone else.’

  ‘There’s not much fear of that.’

  ‘Not even a handsome Canadian?’

  She pummelled him in the shoulder with her fist. ‘Tease!’ She sat up straight and began gathering up the remnants of the picnic. ‘It’s time we went back.’

  He sighed and helped her to her feet, realising she had not given him a direct answer – not then, nor earlier – but decided not to pursue it. He rowed them back up the river, returned the boat, picked up the car from where he had parked it, and drove her home.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ he asked, as he stopped beside the old stables.

  ‘I’ll be busy all day. There’s two patients to be got ready to go to East Grinstead and one coming from there who has to be made welcome and comfortable. I’ll be lucky if I have two minutes to myself. I’ll have the afternoon off the day after that, but as it’s Stella’s afternoon off, I’ll have Robby.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ he said, surprising himself. ‘We’ll take him with us.’

  They managed, during the week, to see each other several times, though never for so long as a whole day. They took Robby, now sixteen months old, out in a pushchair and were continually being stopped by people who had come to know Laura and who wanted to admire her son. He seemed a happy lad, not given to tantrums, and Steve began to think he wouldn’t mind being a father to him. If only Laura would consent to marry him. He conceded she might be right about waiting but it didn’t make it any easier to bear.

  If he imagined no one noticed his preoccupation with Laura, he was wrong. Everyone watched and waited. His mother seemed concerned, Jenny amused and his father unforthcoming, unlike his grandmother who was, as usual, outspoken. ‘It’ll end in tears,’ she said, one evening after he had come back from taking Laura to see Noël Coward in In Which We Serve at the Attlesham Odeon.

  ‘Why?’ he demanded.

  ‘You don’t know anything about her.’

  ‘I know as much as I need to know, more than anyone else round here.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it, boy. You mark my words, she’s not what she seems—’

  ‘Rubbish.’ He thought she had guessed that Laura had never been married, but as he had promised to respect Laura’s confidence he could not tell them he didn’t care a hoot about it. ‘We’ve got no secrets from each other. If you are referring to the fact that she went out with Wayne Donovan—’

  ‘Well, there is that,’ she said. ‘And that will certainly end in tears.’

  ‘I wish you’d stop dropping hints and say straight out what you mean,’ he said angrily.

  ‘Not for me to say,’ she said. ‘Ask your mother. Or ask Helen.’

  But he wouldn’t do that and so he went back to Scampton unsatisfied.

  Chapter Nine

  IT HAD BEEN light for a long time but you would never have known it; the pall of smoke was so thick. You couldn’t see the ships, though Wayne supposed they were still there. If he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see where to aim their fire. Nor could the supporting aircraft do their job. He didn’t know what was happening in Dieppe itself – he had heard heavy gunfire and explosions for hours, but here on the beach the tanks were bogged down. Only ten of the twenty-four tank landing craft had managed to disgorge their cargo onto the beach; the rest had been sunk even before they reached the shore. If the poor beggars in Dieppe were waiting for their help, they would wait in vain. He had his engineers do their best to get the twenty-odd tanks that had managed to land going again, but they were subjected to murderous fire and coils and coils of barbed wire. A few had managed to get off the shingle and make it into Dieppe but he had no idea what had happened to them after that.

  It was only supposed to be a raid, an in-and-out operation, to test the German defences and give them a fright, but it was not the Germans who’d had the fright. He’d been terrified, and still was, as shells and bullets spattered around him. Major-General McNaughton had been campaigning for mo
nths for his Canadian troops to be given something useful to do and he had got his way. But Wayne wasn’t sure that what they were doing could be classed as useful, nor sensible; he was beginning to think of it as a fiasco. They had set out full of good spirits, a force of over six thousand men: mostly Canadians, some British commandos, a few Americans and Free French, ferried across the Channel by a fleet of ships to be put ashore on an eleven-mile front to put the wind up the Hun. They had been told at the briefing that their task was to destroy the shore batteries, a radio-location station and German Divisional HQ in Dieppe itself. Above them, to give them air cover, had been several squadrons of Spitfires. In addition, sixty fighter squadrons and seven bomber squadrons had been put on standby to support them. They had felt strong and invincible, and that was borne out by the code-name of the operation. ‘Jubilee’ they called it. That was a laugh!

  Their troubles had started even before a man had landed. One of the Commando force had run into armed German trawlers and exchanged gunfire, which those onshore could not fail to hear, and the element of surprise had been lost. Now, here he was, kneeling on the shingle of a French beach, trying to free the track of a Churchill tank, and wishing he was anywhere but where he was, preferably in Beckbridge. If he was taken prisoner, he wouldn’t see the village or Laura again for a very long time. The ships were supposed to take them off, but he couldn’t even see them. He could hear them plainly enough. And the yells and groans of the men around him who were being mown down.

  ‘Pull out. Get yourselves back to the water.’ The command was passed from man to man.

  ‘What about the tanks?’

  ‘Leave them. Go on, now. Get back to the ships.’

  Most of the tanks were already bogged down but they did their best to demobilise them and then ran, dodging bullets, back to the water’s edge. There were a few boats waiting to pick them up, but not nearly enough. It put him in mind of the stories he had heard about Dunkirk. What a nightmare that must have been. ‘Come on!’ he urged his men. He went back and forth, urging on those who could walk, helping to carry those who could not, then stood up to his armpits in water, hauling them over the gunwales until the boats were filled to overflowing. ‘We can’t come back, Captain,’ he was told by one of the sailors manning the one nearest to him. ‘The rest of you will have to take your chances with Jerry.’