Two hours later, with the hotel bedroom door locked and the Do Not Disturb notice hanging from the handle, he took her in his arms and found her so gentle and loving and eager for his caresses that he could forget the war for a few minutes and forgive the demanding side of her nature – the side that had always wanted to dominate and have power over him. He needed her body.
Afterwards he lay with an arm protectively around her while she rested her head over his heart, her injured arm loose across her stomach. He had told her all he could tell – that he was going to be away from her for months, possibly as long as a year – and she had cried a little and clung to him and whispered words of undying love. He was grateful and glad to be loved. He smiled when she begged him to flee from the enemy, not put himself in any danger. He traced his finger over her face, along the clean lines of her jaw, to her delicate ear, and then ran his hand through the fair, tousled hair. He said, ‘Ruth, why can’t we always be like this? You make me so very, very happy …’
She smiled back at him, then eased herself into a sitting position so that he lay flat and she could look down at him. ‘Gordon …?’
‘What?’ He stretched contentedly and tried to pull her down on top of him.
‘Come here. I didn’t want to tell you before. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to disappoint you.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m having a baby. It was conceived on the last night you were …’
His head lifted quickly, startled. ‘Are you sure?’ His face paled. ‘Have you seen the doctor? Had it confirmed?’
‘There’s no need. I’m as certain as anyone, even a doctor, can be.’
He sat up. ‘Oh, Ruth!’ A flush of excitement and pride spread across his face even as he knew enormous fear – for Ruth, for his baby. He could not marshal his thoughts. He was going to be a father. After all this time, he was going to be a father. He held her close and kissed her gently, on the forehead, the cheeks, the throat. ‘Should we have made love? Won’t it disturb the baby?’
She pushed him back a little way, reached for her nightgown and carefully slipped it on. ‘It won’t do any harm at this stage.’ She smiled and added, ‘Besides, if I were not already pregnant, I would certainly be after this morning.’
‘No. No. Don’t!’ He hated it when she spoke that way. It was coarse.
‘I was teasing,’ she assured him. ‘But in another couple of weeks I shall have to take care.’ She swung her legs over the side of the bed and felt for her bedroom slippers with a long, delicate foot while he watched, fascinated. She turned and said gently, ‘I didn’t tell you before because I needed your love. Just as much as you needed me.’
Gordon kissed her then started to dress as elation lifted through him. He had fathered a child. A son, perhaps – but what did it matter? A girl or a boy. His girl or boy. He turned to Ruth, who was now fully dressed and looked as chic and calm as any mannequin. He said, ‘There are no signs. You are sure?’
‘I am very healthy, darling. It is only the size of …’ She made a small space between her left thumb and forefinger and smiled at him.
He must not get over-anxious or excited. He’d been down this path before. He said, ‘You will take great care? Your sister–’
‘Elizabeth lost all of hers. I’ll be careful. Nanny will look after me.’
‘Nanny! Oh, goodness. Have you told her?’
‘No. I wanted you to be the first to know,’ she said. ‘Besides, I hardly see her these days. She delivers babies, drives an ambulance and has volunteered her services as relief district nurse,’ Ruth said. ‘But this gives us a reason to keep the Armstrong Siddeley. We also get a bigger petrol ration.’
‘We’ll tell Nanny when we get home.’ He would not have been able to contain himself if he’d been Ruth. But perhaps Ruth was a little afraid. He said, ‘You will see a new side to Nanny once she has a baby to care for. She will overrule everyone.’ He smiled, remembering Nanny, as protective as a mother hen. ‘The baby always comes first with Nanny. Will you mind?’
‘I’ll probably be glad,’ she laughed.
‘Where will you go for the birth?’ She must not take any risks, he thought. She should go to a cottage hospital in the Borders.
‘Nanny will deliver it at Ingersley. I’ll be perfectly all right there,’ she said. ‘It has been the birthplace of the Campbell family for generations.’
Gordon could barely keep still. He wanted to pace the room, to run outside and shout it from the rooftops. ‘We can stay here overnight. I’ll drive you back to Ingersley tomorrow and return the day after.’
‘Darling?’ She came towards him with arms outstretched. ‘I want to stay with you here until you sail.’
This was so unlike her normal demanding behaviour that Gordon was taken aback. ‘But the drive? You hate driving. And in your condition …’
She put an arm around his waist, clutched tight and whispered in her new, passive manner, ‘I won’t go home, Gordon. I’m quite capable of driving myself back when you are gone. I’ll take the journey slowly.’
He placed his hands on her shoulders and buried his face in her hair. ‘Oh, Ruth … Oh, Ruth!’
What once he had thought of as a calculating expression in the back of her eyes today he saw as concern for him as she asked, ‘You won’t miss Ingersley if you don’t see it this leave?’
‘No. Not with you here.’
‘You promise you won’t think of selling? You will want your son to have an inheritance?’
He felt tears pricking the back of his eyes. ‘Of course I do. I shall work hard to save the estate.’ He felt her relax, with a great outrush of breath like a sigh of contentment. He was so lucky. He said, ‘Speaking of Ingersley, darling, young Andrew Stewart is going to officer training at Portsmouth. He’s done us all proud.’
He felt her stiffen, then suddenly pull away to say, ‘How long for? Where is he now?’ in a hard, shrill voice.
‘Aren’t you proud of him?’ he asked, and when she repeated her question, ‘The course normally lasts six months. These days it could be as short as five weeks–’
She interrupted him. ‘But where is he?’
‘I saw him on deck when you arrived. He has a weekend leave, forty-eight hours, then he has to report to Portsmouth.’
‘So he won’t be coming back to the Rutland?’
‘No. He will be given another posting. They don’t return new officers to ships where their old shipmates are still serving as lower ranks.’ He smiled. She did not normally show any interest in the boy he had guided. ‘His mother will be as proud of him as I am.’
‘I delivered a letter for Andrew,’ she said. ‘I left it at the office. It will be given to him? Do they ever make mistakes?’
He pulled her close and kissed her again. ‘You are becoming very maternal, dear. Worrying about young Andrew Stewart. He’d have been given his mail when he collected his rail warrants. He’s a brave and courageous sailor. He will make a fine officer.’
The 9.30 train, crowded with sailors, had taken five hours to travel from Inverness to Edinburgh with delays all along the way. But at last it was pulling in to the capital. ‘See any signs of battle?’ Andrew asked Greg as he dragged his kit bag off the luggage rack.
Greg opened the compartment door and went ahead into the corridor. ‘No. Auld Reekie’s just the same as every place we’ve passed through,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘No wonder they call it the Phoney War.’
‘It’s all happening at sea, then.’ Andrew came to stand beside Greg as the train entered the tunnel. ‘And you’ll be back in the thick of it …’
Greg hauled his kit bag up on to his shoulder. ‘Staying the night at my place?’
‘Yes. I’ll come up with you now, to dump this.’ Andrew lifted his case. His fore and aft peaked cap tipped forward. He grinned and put it straight. At Invergordon he’d been kitted out in petty officer’s uniform and given a green all terrain bag for his luggage. He had what was
left of today free. Tomorrow he would travel down to Portsmouth to join the course, which started on Monday morning. ‘I’ll be late back tonight,’ he said as the train came to a stop at Waverley Station.
Greg leaned out of the window and unlatched the door. ‘So will I,’ he laughed. ‘But I have three nights. You’ve only one.’
Andrew followed him down the platform. And now they saw the difference. It was still light outside but here, where the glass roof that covered the great station had been covered and protected, it was almost dark, lit only by flickering lamps, which created a pool of light here and there, briefly revealing the faces of those who searched for friends or family in the steamy, sooty gloom. There was a bank of sandbags in front of the waiting room and ticket office. Greg went striding ahead with only the round naval cap to distinguish him from the crowd. The station clock was lit and showed the time to be 2.30.
Greg stopped and said, ‘I’ll take your kit. Meet me in the Black Bull at nine o’clock tonight.’ He slapped Andrew hard on the shoulder. ‘Make the most of it. You might not see her again for a while.’
Andrew returned the comradely punch, waved Greg off then found his way to the WVS canteen, where uniformed lady volunteers served the servicemen and women who were joshing and hailing complete strangers like long-lost friends. He queued for tea, took it to a corner table, and there, ignoring the sailors who shared the table with him, he took out the only letter that had been waiting for him at the regulating office in Invergordon.
He opened it, flattened it on the table and saw that it had been written by, of all people, the woman he so disliked, the new Lady Campbell. He read: Please inform Leading Stoker Andrew Stewart that his mother is at present a patient in the Morningside Nursing Home. After this came the address and, Mrs Stewart will be convalescing for the next few weeks after a severe attack of influenza. Please inform Leading Stoker Andrew Stewart that it is unnecessary for him to make the journey to Ingersley.
This last sentence was both odd and superfluous; Ingersley was the last place he’d want to be unless Ma was there. He drank the tea quickly and went out to the telephone kiosk, where he put in a call to Mr Davidson’s house. He had been unable to get through at nine o’clock this morning. Now he drummed his fingers on the black metal coin box while he waited. There was no reply. He pressed button B, got his money back and tried again. Still no reply.
‘Blast!’ he said under his breath to cover his anxiety with anger. ‘Where are they?’ They could be at some church thing, or rehearsing. But why had she not written?
He left the gloomy station and stepped out into daylight and the freezing air of a January day. He ran up the ancient stone steps that led, wide and steep, to Princes Street, where he caught a tram to the Morningside convalescent hospital. There, he found Ma in a three-bed ward on the third floor, sitting propped up, tucking into a plate of ham and chips. She looked thin and pale, but was full of good humour.
‘Andrew!’ she cried in delight. ‘You’re an officer.’
‘Not yet, Ma.’ He kissed her. ‘Acting petty officer. But I’m going for a commission!’ and while he stole chips and bread and butter from her tray he told her all about the forthcoming months in Portsmouth. ‘I’ll probably get a week’s leave when it’s over,’ he said as he swilled down a cup of tea. A nurse appeared bringing another tea tray, for himself.
‘Ta!’ He smiled at her and saw a pink blush come to her face. Then he said to his ma, ‘So. Tell me all about it. How long have you been here in all this luxury?’
‘Three days,’ she said. ‘It is luxury.’
‘Who’s paying for it?’
‘Lady Campbell.’
‘She’s had a change of heart then,’ he said. Ruth Bickerstaffe had never done a good deed in her life, in Andrew’s opinion. There must be a reason for this uncharacteristic act. ‘When do you go back?’ he asked, and followed it quickly with, ‘I don’t want you to go back. Leave Ingersley if it’s making you ill.’
‘Lady Campbell came down to the ward to see me.’
‘Ward?’
‘At Ingersley. It’s a hospital.’
‘Right. I remember.’ He said, ‘You must have been very ill.’
Ma had gone even paler. She closed her eyes for a few seconds then leaned back against the pillows to get her second wind. ‘Lady Campbell came down to see me in the ward of ten beds that used to be the drawing room. She said, “Mrs Stewart, influenza is a serious illness, ye ken.”
I said, “But wee Bessie’s gone doon. How can ye manage?”
She said, “Your health is mair important, Mrs Stewart! Besides, we are at war. We all have to go short of something, ye ken.”’
Andrew grinned at Ma’s attempt at a cut-glass accent but said, ‘Some hope of her going without anything.’
Ma’s face was all alive, remembering. She told him not to be so cynical, then she was off again, retelling what she saw as her moment of glory. ‘It was a surprise. She said, “I’ve been forced out of my ain hame, Mrs Stewart. I must needs look after myself under vairry cramped conditions. You ken that ladies with no children will be obliged to work? We cannae justify having servants when the country needs all the workers it can get.”’
Ma heaved herself up high against the pillows. ‘“We must all make sacrifices. I must do for myself.” I said, “What do you want me to sacrifice, Lady Campbell?” and she said, “I shall find you a position, Mrs Stewart. Until the war is over. I know many places that are looking for lady cooks and paying vairry good wages, too. I shall make certain that your conditions and accommodation are equal to Ingersley”.’
Andrew gave a dry laugh. ‘They’ll have to be a damn sight better, Ma – or I’ll see her and tell her …’
‘You’ll do nae such thing,’ Ma said, and went on, ‘She said, “I will close the South Lodge. Your home will be waiting for you when this terrible war is over.”’ Ma smiled. ‘She’s on the billeting committee. She’ll keep our house off the list, I’m sure of it.’ A look of worry crossed her face briefly. ‘What do you think?’
‘She’s up to something. I’m sure it’s nothing trivial,’ Andrew said.
‘She’s going to visit me when she has something fixed up. And Andrew …?’
‘What?’
There was a look of pride on Ma’s face as she waited a few seconds before announcing, ‘She paid me off handsomely. A hundred pounds in notes and I’ll be getting twice as much in wages. Four pounds seventeen and six a week if I get into one of the good army billets.’
Andrew dared not upset her. ‘She’s up to no good, Ma. But it can’t affect us and I’m glad you’re getting out of it. Take no notice of what she suggests. I want you to find a good house. I’ll pay the rent. Expense no object.’ He implored her, ‘Don’t use your own money. I’ll be on twenty-four pounds a month. And on my next leave, Flora and I are getting married!’
Ma’s face split into an enormous smile. ‘Did she say yes?’
‘Aye.’ He picked up her hand and whispered so only she could hear, ‘We both want children and a happy home. We want you to live with us, in Edinburgh.’
‘Och! Not many lasses want their mother-in-law–’
‘Flora hasn’t got anyone else in the world but you and me, Ma,’ he said. ‘I need to know you are looking after one another – and waiting for me to come home.’
He gave her his new address in Portsmouth and left the hospital to take a tram to Portobello. It was growing dark by 4.30, and the buses and trams ground slowly up Lothian Road. Andrew felt a quick thrill of recognition sweep through him when he made out the frozen white branches of the weeping tree in the graveyard under the castle. The tram turned the corner and the dynamo picked up pitch and speed as they went faster towards the East End of Princes Street. He pressed his face to the window to see where they were, but the monuments on Princes Street had either been taken down or sandbagged into neutrality, for he could not pick out one recognisable feature as they trundled on, leaving Princes Street for
the pitch blackness of the road to Portobello.
It seemed odd, not seeing people about. Houses and shop windows were blacked out. Here and there he saw a faint flicker of light where a lone pedestrian flashed a pencil torch beam for a few seconds while he crossed a road or turned into a close. It was, as Flora had told him in her letters, dangerous to be out at night. The tram’s speed could not have been more than fifteen miles per hour, for it was not until an hour later, at nearly six o’clock, that he got off at the power station in Portobello.
He walked along the deathly cold esplanade, where there was reflected light from the moon over the water. Then he was there – and knocking anxiously at Mr Davidson’s door.
There was no sound – no reply to his knock. His anxiety grew. He tried the back gate. It was bolted. He climbed the wall and dropped six feet down into the back yard. The house was still. He put a bare hand on the window pane to melt the ice, and when he had cleared a patch he saw that the blackout curtains were not pulled and no fire glowed in the kitchen.
Alarmed, he climbed the wall again and headed towards St Philip’s church. That, too, was closed but he could hear someone moving in the church hall. He rattled the door. A man who must be the old verger drew back the bolt and ushered him inside quickly so as not to show a chink of light. The place was deserted. Andrew asked, ‘Do you know where I’ll find the organist, Mr Davidson?’
‘He was not at church last week,’ the verger said. ‘We are having to make do with the Sunday school pianist.’
‘What about Flora? The girl who keeps house?’
‘Nobody’s seen her. They say she’s left. That’s why he can’t get to church.’
Left? How could she just leave? Where had she gone? She had nobody. Worry was gnawing at him as he went back to the house. Stamping his feet, clapping his hands together to warm them, he waited – but not for another half-hour did he remember Flora’s mentioning the woman next door, who took an inordinate interest in her movements.
Flora's War Page 18
