Flora's War

by Audrey Reimann

  ‘I still think it may not be true,’ Robert said. ‘It’s all circumstantial evidence. Your husband and my mother had a fling before they were married. It can’t have amounted to much. They both married soon after.’

  Lucy looked immensely sad. Her face was drained of expression and feeling as she added quietly, ‘The affair still continues. Phoebe–’

  ‘What about Phoebe?’

  ‘Three days ago, late in the evening, Mike went down to the stables to move the last row of hay bales, before the new lot was stacked in the loft. Phoebe wanted to ask her dad something. She said it couldn’t wait. She would go and find him.’

  ‘And–?’

  ‘She came home in tears. She’d gone up to the hayloft.’ The hayloft could only be entered from the outside stone stairway.

  Robert repeated, ‘And?’

  ‘They were there in the stable below. Your mother and Mike. Phoebe couldn’t give away her presence. She just had to lie there, listening to their talk. As well as the other …’

  ‘Meaning …?’

  ‘Yes. It frightened Phoebe – seeing them. She wouldn’t give me the details. I didn’t want to hear them. I was as upset for Phoebe as I was for myself.’

  Robert put his hands to his face. ‘Oh, no!’

  Lucy continued. ‘When they had … had finished, Mike said, “And will my son be helping me tomorrow?” and Ruth replied, “I don’t know. He’s getting out of hand.” Then she said, “I wish there were some way to tell Robert that Gordon is not his father”.’

  Robert had a painful lump in his throat. ‘I’m sorry.’ He was sorry – sorry for Lucy and Phoebe, who believed it to be true. Mother would enjoy having a hold over Hamilton. Mother had absolutely no scruples or sense of fair play.

  Lucy was crying. ‘I’m more sorry than you are, Robert.’

  ‘Who are you going to tell?’ He was not afraid for himself but for Father, who loved him.

  ‘Nobody.’ She blew her nose again and gave him a watery smile. ‘There’s nothing to be gained.

  ‘Will you leave?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I have to stay here.’

  ‘You won’t tell? Why?’

  She pressed her lips together to stop herself from crying. ‘You don’t live with a person for eighteen years and feel nothing for them. I love him.’

  Robert hung his head. His world was falling around his ears. He’d have to leave before Father found out any of this. That was why, the following day, he had tried to stowaway. Now, sitting in his bedroom, Robert could still not believe that he was Mike Hamilton’s son, but then he had always had the feeling that he was not even his mother’s son. All at once he wanted Nanny. Nanny would tell him all she knew.

  He found himself walking through the estate towards Ivy Lodge. There was a key to Nanny’s house hidden underneath a stack of plant pots in the potting shed. He would let himself in and leave his farewells in a note to her. And as he walked through the fading summer twilight he realised that he did not know when Nanny might be home. She had gone out to Canada two weeks ago, to a family wedding. She had sailed and might even still be en route. If he found himself on the same continent, as well he might, he would try to contact her.

  He knew that Nanny had a stack of letters from her sister, going back years, in an attaché case under her bed. He would look for the address and telephone number of her sister and surprise Nanny by calling her from San Francisco.

  At ten o’clock in the morning, in Bancroft, Nanny put John’s jacket on a hanger and held it out for Flora’s inspection. ‘It still smells of mothballs,’ she said. ‘Where shall I hang it?’

  ‘On the deck in the fresh air.’ Flora put the creases in Uncle John’s suit trousers. She laughed. ‘For the rest of the day, I should think. When did it last go to a wedding?’

  Tomorrow, Peter was marrying Valerie, the love of his life, whom he had met, courted and proposed to within the space of a week. The family were driving down to Toronto later that afternoon. There was a mountain of work to get through first.

  Nanny handed the jacket over and said, ‘Probably the last time the suit saw the light of day was at his own wedding. What are you wearing?’

  ‘A yellow silk outfit. It has an A-line dress and a matching hat.’ Flora took the suit out on to the veranda to hang it from the roof support. ‘Let’s sit out here with our coffee, Nanny,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘It’s not too hot. We’ve finished pressing.’

  Nanny came out on to the deck and leaned over the rail. ‘Shall I make the coffee?’ she asked. It was wonderful being here, seeing Flora looking so well and confident and – Nanny glanced at her again – so beautiful. Flora still had the delicate features, fragile skin and tall, willowy figure that Nanny remembered, but now, underneath the surface, she was all strength and capability.

  ‘I’ll do it. Sit down,’ said Flora.

  ‘Thank you, dear.’ Nanny sat for a moment, content. Everything was coming right for all of them. It was a delight being with Alex, so like Robert in looks and yet supremely confident in himself and his abilities. He ran the sawmill for John, and though Flora did the books, Alex was as capable of doing it all. Unlike Robert he was a decision-maker; he learned fast and was light years ahead of Robert in maturity. Lacking a father, he had modelled himself on his uncle John, adopting his mannerisms and authority.

  Peter was about to return to Bancroft to take up a position in the local hospital, and his bride was willing to learn the lumbering business. That was, Nanny speculated, between babies. But they were a united family. There would be no squabbles in the Murray clan. It was very different from Ingersley where, since Ruth had come into the Campbell family, they fought to the death for every crumb of individual advantage.

  Flora went about her daily round with practised ease, and now Nanny saw her through the open door, making coffee. The telephone rang in the living room and Flora smiled as she went to answer it. Nanny heard her say, ‘Yes. It is. Yes – she is.’ Her voice died away, making Nanny look up quickly at Flora’s white face as she said, ‘Who shall I say–? Just a moment.’

  Flora came out on to the veranda, all colour gone from her face. ‘It’s for you, Nanny,’ she said in a small, childishly hurt voice as she dropped into a deckchair. ‘It’s Robert.’

  Nanny could not feel her own limbs. All strength went from them as she went back to where the telephone dangled from its cord. ‘Robert?’

  ‘Yes! Nanny, it’s me.’

  It was good to hear his voice, but terrifying that he was here. This was the last thing she had expected. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘San Francisco. I jumped ship.’

  Nanny’s legs went from under her. She dropped on to the telephone seat, the hand set clutched between the nerveless fingers of both hands. ‘You’ve done what? Why? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I did it again. Three weeks ago. Ran away. Father’s patience snapped. He got me into the Merchant Navy on a Drambuie boat.’

  ‘You are docked in San Francisco?’ she whispered.

  ‘No. I told you. I jumped ship.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Sorry, Nanny. I knew where you kept your letters. I stole the one on top. I didn’t pry. I took the top one. It had the name and address on it. It was a simple matter to find the phone number. I’ll post it back to you when you return.’

  On top of the pile she had always kept Flora’s first letter, the one with the funny little drawing of a weeping willow tree on the back of the envelope. Nanny did not know how she was going to appear normal, but she must, for Flora knew nothing of Robert’s chequered past. She had to keep on talking until she regained her composure. ‘It doesn’t matter. Keep the letter until you come home.’ There was a silence at the other end and she knew he did not intend to return. He could not lie to her. She said, ‘You can’t come here …’

  ‘I don’t want to. I can’t expect to run to you, darling Nanny, every time I get myself into a mess. But … Nanny …?’
/>   Nanny’s strength was reasserting itself. ‘You will have to return to the ship, Robert. What will your father say?’

  Robert said, ‘I had to get away. Phoebe told me something that made it impossible for me to stay any longer.’

  ‘What did Phoebe tell you?’ The new-found strength left Nanny. Her arms began to tremble. She pressed them to her sides.

  Again there was a pause before he said, ‘I can’t come back, Nanny. I can’t tell you why. I have to think things over. I’ll write to you at Ivy Lodge. Tell Father I’m all right. I don’t want him to worry about me and I don’t want him or anyone to come looking for me.’

  Nanny said in a weak, croaking voice, ‘What about money?’

  ‘I have enough for six months. After that I’m going to earn my living singing and playing. I’ll work my way around America.’ He laughed. ‘I won’t have a permanent address for a bit. Hey! Nanny! Start listening to the radio. Country and western and blues. I’ll call myself Rab Campbell and I’ll come for you when I am famous.’

  Nanny put the phone back and sat in numbed silence with Flora at her side and one arm about her shoulder.

  ‘You all right?’ Flora asked. She dropped to her knees in front of Nanny and spoke softly. ‘I heard you say he’s in San Francisco. I feel I should go to him – find him, bring him here to Alexander, come clean … I can’t tell you how I’ve wanted this moment.’

  Tears coursed down Nanny’s cheeks. ‘No, no! It would be quite the wrong thing. Robert and Gordon would be harmed. They must never know. Oh dear! I’m sorry! Nobody but you and I know that there are two boys. Nobody else knows the whole story.’

  1961

  Three years had passed since Robert had disappeared. There had been no word from him and Ruth was confident that he was dead. She was sure he would never return. Nanny and Gordon exchanged knowing smiles whenever his name was mentioned, but in the only amicable agreement Ruth and Gordon had come to during the last few years, his will had been changed. Gordon had worded it precisely. As it now stood, in the event of Gordon’s death Ruth would have sole charge of the estate until the ‘rightful heir’ reached the age of twenty-one.

  Everything was going right for Ruth. Nanny was living happily in Ivy Lodge, visited daily by both herself and Gordon. Edward was growing up, and Ruth was busy as a Justice of the Peace. She still ran the estate and did it far better than Gordon ever could or would. It was true that they had financial worries, but they had a workable arrangement. Gordon and she led separate lives. Gordon spent all his time sailing and she … In spite of the headaches and insomnia that now plagued her, she had always had her special way of relaxing.

  It was June, her favourite time of the year, when the nights were at their longest and you could read a newspaper, if you had a mind to, at eleven o’clock at night. From nine o’clock there came a magical twilight when the sky faded from the spectacle of sunset to the misty, silent and pearly evening light.

  At this time of the year the water of the Forth estuary would be platinum and silver and the tides mild and freshly crunching across sands of palest gold. The sky became mother-of-pearl and the air itself like champagne, cool, fresh and invigorating. Standing at the water’s edge on such a night, it was impossible to feel older than sixteen.

  On such a night, with the hay not ready for cutting, there was little for Mike to do. Ruth went to the paddock carrying her saddle and bridle. She tacked up Big Red and led him through the gate, which she closed after elbowing Mike’s horse out of the way. ‘OK,’ she said to Major number 2, ‘I expect you will be joining us down on the beach later.’

  She mounted and they went at a slow walk to the stables, where she found Mike brushing out the hayloft, opening the slatted shutters wide to let the pure, fresh air through. She stopped in the yard and called to him, ‘I’m going down to the beach. Want to come along for the ride? We’ll only be about half an hour.’

  Mike came to stand on the top step, his eyes alight with anticipation, though he merely said casually, in case anyone were about, that he would try to join her later. Ruth waved and walked on, smiling to herself, knowing that Mike would be there. They were getting older, she fifty-two, Mike fifty-seven, and these days she liked to keep him guessing. It had been at least three weeks since the last time but the excitement was in her tonight, the midsummer madness upon her – the adrenaline rush an afternoon in court gave to her.

  She smoked a Senior Service cigarette as she trotted Big Red down the beach, aware that the animal did not get enough hard riding. She threw the stub away at the old slipway and rode back listening to the hastening beat of her heart, feeling the silkiness between her legs and the unmistakable tightening inside at the prospect of their coming together. It was a beautiful night, the sky silvery and the light ethereal.

  She slowed to a walk through the remaining area of soft sand and into the secluded bay below the buckthorn. ‘Whoa!’ She tightened the bit, drawing Big Red to a halt, seeing, less than half an hour after she had spoken to him, Mike Hamilton on Major coming down through the buckthorn to her. He halted before her and said, ‘I thought we’d swim first …’

  She laughed. It was she who demanded; she who must be humoured. ‘It won’t be dark for …’ she looked at her watch ‘… an hour.’

  ‘There’s nobody about,’ he said. Ruth fell into line beside him as they trotted side by side down the silent beach.

  ‘Where’s Phoebe?’ Ruth said.

  ‘Still with my dad,’ he said. ‘Dad’s place is more convenient for her work.’ Phoebe was a counter clerk at the Royal Bank of Scotland. ‘She’s never home these days. Where’s Edward?’

  Ruth’s present to Edward on his seventeenth birthday had been a red MG. Both she and Gordon had tried to dissuade him, for he drove as recklessly as he rode, as if he needed something to fight against. She smiled to think that there was no denying Edward’s heart’s desire.

  ‘He’ll not be back until the early hours. It’s a different girl every night since I bought him the car.’

  ‘That won’t suit you,’ Mike Hamilton laughed. ‘Chip off the old block, eh? Where’s Gordon?’

  ‘Went out on the tide. He makes a night of it in good weather.’

  ‘So we have the place to ourselves and all night to enjoy it.’ They turned at the slipway and cantered back along the water’s foaming edge. There was no breath in them now for talking. Not until they halted did Ruth say, ‘Want to have me out here in the open?’

  ‘You need ask?’

  ‘I have a feeling that tonight …’ she began, but he was off his horse, helping her down, fastening the horses on a long lead to the buckthorn behind the rocks. The rocks below the tide line were rounded, flat-topped and smooth; those above it, where the horses were tethered, jagged.

  The tide was going out. They tore off their clothes and ran, hand in hand, plunging through the cool shock of the waves into deeper, calmer water. The breeze was light in this sheltered bay and it blew across Ruth’s shoulders, raising goosebumps, making her nipples stand out hard and firm. After a few minutes of noisy puffing and blowing, Mike came wading towards her. He put his arm about her shoulder, then stooped and bent to suck on her breasts and tease with his fingers under the water where she stood with her feet planted wide apart for balance. She was being lifted from the sea bed by the swell of the water, supported by its strength until her feet rose in front of her and she was wildly aware of the hard fingers that were inside her, straight and firm, moving in and out with a motion that drove her lustful body crazy.

  ‘You devil,’ Mike whispered. ‘You’re daring us to be seen. Gordon could come round those rocks any minute.’ The arm of the bay hid from view any sailing craft, but a boat could appear suddenly.

  ‘Gordon will be in Fife – tied up in Crail harbour by now.’ She could barely speak for the heat that was blinding her while she thrilled to his probing fingers. ‘Quick, Mike,’ she gasped. ‘Not in the water. Let’s get out. Take me fast and hard … oh, please’
, her voice had become husky with need of him, ‘I want you …’

  He needed no second telling or encouragement. He had the body and desires of a young man with twice a young man’s stamina. In fun he dragged her from the water and made her run towards the flat, dry sand between two smooth, sea-washed rocks. ‘Over the rock,’ he said, easing her down to lie on her back. He spread her arms wide while he grasped her ankles and pulled her legs apart, lifting them to rest upon his shoulders until she locked her sandy feet behind his neck. With few preliminaries, for he knew that she liked him to use force, he pressed forward into her, forcing her knees apart until his face was inches from her hot centre and she was gasping and pleading with him to take her. ‘Now … Mike … now!’

  He held her fast at the hips with his large, horny hands. She could not move, though he was going slow and deep into her. She liked the feel of rough, hard stone on her skin as she lay on the rock, head back, wet hair chilling, groaning and thrashing in her ecstasy and having to stifle the urge to cry out lest she attract the attention of anyone on the water.

  She put a salty hand to her mouth and bit hard on it. She would make no sound while Mike tightened his hold on her with hard, callused hands and thrust harder and faster and made his own grunting noises as she came, over the top, in a great tightening wave of pleasure and pain. It was always fast with them the first time. He was an expert. Later he would take his time, teasing her until she felt she might die of passion. But for now it was over. He sat beside her on the smooth black stone, saying, ‘Into the water then we’ll dry off.’ He laughed and said, ‘We are worse now than we were twenty years ago.’

  Ruth said, ‘Into the water, then.’ She stood up and put on her French knickers and the wispy net brassiere.

  ‘What on earth …?’ Mike said, watching her.

  ‘Put your underwear on,’ she laughed, ‘if you are afraid we’ll be seen from the water. Nobody can see us from the land without binoculars.’

  They swam and made love again in the way she liked it, with Mike behind and on top of her while she clung to the rock like a cat on a wall.