by Caro Fraser
Meg’s sense of isolation was somewhat different. She listened to the nightly news bulletins and the reports on the various theatres of war, wondering which one of them Dan was in, glad to know from his occasional letters that at least he was alive. Maintaining an affectionate relationship with Paul was a strain; his very presence at Hazelhurst, ostensibly engaged in his nameless government work but with nothing to show for it, while there were weekly reports of local men killed or missing in action, had blunted Meg’s respect. When she wasn’t taking him for granted, she felt irked by him. The feeling was possibly a product of her own guilt, but it was real enough, and she found it hard to reciprocate his attempts at affection. She hated herself for her behaviour, but seemed helpless to control it. She tried to be kind, but invariably she failed. Their sex life barely existed, simply because there was no real desire on the part of either of them, and the effort only underscored the problem. And so matters limped unhappily along.
Helen had long been aware that things were not right between Meg and Paul. Several times she thought of saying something to her daughter, but a fear of being thought interfering always stopped her. In the end, she made it her business to be placatory and to try to disguise any disharmony for the benefit of the rest of the household.
One morning at breakfast, Paul announced that he was going into Alderworth to buy some pipe tobacco.
‘Rather a nice day for a stroll,’ he observed, folding up The Times and glancing out of the window at the June sunshine. ‘Anyone fancy joining me?’
‘I’d love a jaunt,’ said Diana, ‘but Morven kept me up half the night and I’m completely fagged.’
‘I’m afraid I’m too busy to come with you, Paul,’ replied Helen, ‘but I have some posters for the War Weapons Week that need dropping off at various places, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m sure all the shops will take them.’
‘Happy to oblige,’ replied Paul. He turned to Meg. ‘Care to come along, old girl?’
Meg’s instinct told her it would be a good thing to say yes, but she couldn’t bring herself to it. It wouldn’t be hard; conversations with Paul were always easy and friendly, if she allowed them to be, but that in itself could feel like a betrayal of Dan. Having her heart tug her in the direction of Dan meant, inevitably, constantly pulling away from Paul. Her mother’s glance hadn’t escaped her, however, and she said, ‘Darling, I’d love to, but the wind has brought some of the fruit canes down, and I need to see to them.’
Paul walked alone into the village and went round the various shops, dropping off the posters, his final stop the post office-cum-newsagent, where he handed the last poster to Mrs Bainbridge.
‘Oh yes, I told Mrs Slater I’d put one in the window. Not that anyone really needs reminding.’
‘And I’ll take a tin of St Bruno Flake, please.’
‘Certainly. Here you are. That’ll be two shillings.’ As she took the money, Mrs Bainbridge added, ‘Two hundred thousand pounds, they hope to raise. I think it’s wonderful how everyone’s pitching in. Our Denise is in the dancing display, and Leonard’s going in for the boxing tournament. Are you taking part, Mr Latimer?’
‘In the cricket match, yes,’ replied Paul. ‘And Mrs Latimer has roped me into the whist drive.’
‘Nice to have the time to get involved. Oh, by the way’ – she moved over to the post office counter – ‘there’s a letter here, addressed to a Miss Slater, care of here. Mrs Latimer generally picks them up, but you can save her the bother.’
‘Thanks.’
Paul took the letter without a word and put it in his pocket with the tin of tobacco. He walked until he reached the bus stop halfway between Alderworth and Hazelhurst House, then took the letter out and examined it. It was postmarked Scotland, and at first he couldn’t place the handwriting, though it seemed vaguely familiar. Then he realised whose it was. He stood thinking for a long moment, but in the end he didn’t open it. Instead he ripped it methodically into small pieces, dropped them into the litter bin, and carried on walking.
*
Because she didn’t receive Dan’s letter, it was by the merest chance that she found out that Dan would be visiting Woodbourne House on leave, when she called Sonia to see if she was in need of honey – Helen’s hives having produced another bountiful supply.
‘Yes, please,’ said Sonia. ‘We’re always most grateful, especially now we have the evacuees back. Perhaps we can give you something in return. We had one of the pigs slaughtered and butchered a fortnight ago – of course we have to give half to the government, but the rest is ours.’
‘What do you do with half a pig?’
‘Oh, everything. We’ve cured it for bacon and ham, made sausages and black pudding, all that kind of thing. We’ve even made our own lard.’
‘Goodness, you are clever! I must tell Mother. She’ll be terribly jealous.’
‘Well,’ conceded Sonia, ‘I can’t pretend I’ve had terribly much to do with it. There are two Italian POWs from the camp at Wormley working on the local farm, and one of them is a butcher. He did the slaughtering, and the curing. We have a good deal of bacon, and a couple of very nice hams hanging up in the barn. You can help yourself to some of that.’
‘Some lard would be good, too, if you can spare it. Butter goes nowhere these days.’
‘Come and fetch it any time you like.’
‘Well, it will have to be soon because they’re stopping petrol coupons at the end of the month.’
‘Oh, so they are. Well, that settles it. Come over this Friday and make a day of it. Colin and Sidney are back in residence, and Dan is spending a couple of days here on leave, so we shall be quite a gathering. It must be an age since you last saw Dan.’
‘Yes. For ever.’ Meg’s mouth felt dry. ‘We’ll come over just before lunch – make a day of it, as you say.’
‘Let’s just hope the weather holds. Goodbye till then.’
‘Goodbye.’ Meg hung up. To think if she hadn’t called – and she so very nearly hadn’t – Dan would have come and gone and she would never have known. Why hadn’t he written?
Paul came downstairs at that moment, on the way to his study, and barely gave her a glance.
‘Sonia’s invited us to Woodbourne on Friday.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t come,’ said Paul. ‘I have to go away tomorrow.’
‘What a shame.’ She paused. ‘Dan Ranscombe’s there on leave. I’m sure he would have enjoyed seeing you.’ She didn’t know why she said this. To taste the furtive pleasure of uttering her lover’s name, perhaps – or simply because it was what she would have said anyway, had everything been entirely innocent.
Paul’s gaze met Meg’s, and he gave a half-smile. ‘That is a pity. As a matter of fact, I’ll be away for longer than usual. A couple of months at least.’
Something jarred in Meg’s mind. In the past, before uttering those last words, he would have taken her hands in his, or pulled her towards him to bestow an affectionate, apologetic kiss, but his manner now was quite dismissive.
‘Oh. That’s a long time.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry, but there it is. Can’t be helped. I shall leave a telephone number through which you can contact me if you need to, as always.’
‘No, well…’ She made an effort. ‘It will be a miserable old time without you.’
‘I expect you’ll get by. You women are so self-sufficient these days, you hardly need a man about the place.’
‘That’s not quite true.’ She paused, caught in a moment of uncertainty. She took a step towards him, putting her arms around his neck for an awkward moment, and kissed his cheek. ‘We’ll all miss you.’
Paul scarcely responded, merely disengaged himself from her embrace and went into the study, closing the door.
*
‘Isn’t it going to be rather a squash?’ asked Helen dubiously, as she prepared to get into the car.
‘Not at all, Mother. You and Lotte will be fine in the back seat with Max, and Diana and the baby w
ill sit in front. Max, sit nicely next to Grandmama, and don’t kick.’ She gave her mother a glance. ‘You needn’t come if you don’t want to.’
‘Oh, no – I wouldn’t miss Sonia’s bacon-curing triumphs for the world. Is the honey in the boot?’
‘Six jars of it.’
‘I’m looking forward to comparing notes on our war efforts. Sonia does very well on the self-sufficiency front, but I like to think my efforts benefit the wider community. I was particularly proud of my idea for the house-to-house collection. A great success, though I do say so myself. And the thirty-eight pairs of string gloves I’ve knitted for those poor men on minesweepers in the Arctic – I rather imagine Sonia couldn’t begin to rival that.’
*
They could hear the throb of an engine as they came up the drive, and when they came in view of the house there was Lobb on the big lawn, operating a tractor-drawn cutter. Meg parked the car at the rear of the house, and everyone piled out.
‘What a lovely lot of hay you’re going to have,’ observed Diana, as Sonia came out to greet them.
‘Aren’t we just? Lobb is like a man possessed. He’s been dying to cut it for weeks, but we’ve only recently had a long enough dry spell. It’s too long for the motor mower, so he had to borrow a tractor from the farm. Oh, how pretty Morven is growing!’ Max came running up and she bent to give him a kiss. ‘I mustn’t forget my favourite boy, must I? If you go and see Mrs Goodall, I think you may find she has some sweets for you.’ Max scampered off towards the kitchen, Rufus and Domino at his heels. ‘Carrot fudge,’ she said to Meg. ‘One of Mrs Goodall’s wartime inventions.’
They made their way to the house, and as they came into the kitchen Sonia remarked, ‘I’ve decided that it will simply be mayhem if the children have lunch with us, as we are so many, so I propose that they have their lunch in the nursery – Effie is up there with Laura now – and we grown-ups shall have a civilised time of it in the kitchen.’ She turned to Mrs Goodall. ‘Where are Colin and Sidney?’
‘Mr Ranscombe took them off to the woods to build a den. He’s a proper boy scout, that one.’
Meg felt a shiver of relief. Dan was still here. She’d had visions of arriving and finding he’d left early, called away to his unit. But he was here, and she would see him. Tension she hadn’t been aware of ebbed away.
‘Well, lunch will be ready shortly, and we need to have everyone shipshape. Have they gone far?’
‘Just to them trees beyond the tennis court.’
‘I’ll go and find them,’ said Meg quickly. ‘I’m sure Max would love an expedition to the woods.’ She took the tin of carrot fudge from Max. ‘And no more of that before lunch, my boy.’
She and Max set off. They found Dan and the boys working in a clearing next to a stand of coppiced birch, with Star snuffling among the leaves nearby. Colin and Sidney were busy gathering ferns and brushwood, and Dan, cigarette in mouth, was hacking stems of birchwood and laying them in a row on the ground. Meg stayed silent for a few moments, drinking in the sight of him, the sinews of his forearms below his rolled-up sleeves as he worked, the blondness of his hair that seemed to grow a little darker each time she saw him. Then he turned suddenly, as though aware of her gaze, grinned, took his cigarette from his mouth and laid down his knife and the freshly cut stake.
‘Hello.’
She smiled. ‘Hello.’ Colin and Sidney looked up and briefly inspected the new arrivals, then carried on with their work. Max ran over and began to help the boys with their work heaping up branches and ferns.
‘I had no idea you were here till the other day,’ said Meg, as Dan stepped towards her. With the children nearby, they knew there was no possibility of so much as a kiss. ‘It was the merest chance that I telephoned Sonia.’
‘Really? I wrote to tell you.’
‘I didn’t get it. It must have gone astray.’
‘Possibly just as well. I went a bit over the top. I was missing you like hell. It must have been so much confetti after the censor had finished with it. Anyway, you’re here.’
‘Yes.’ She longed to hold him. She felt a shining happiness just being able to look at him. It was true, she thought – this was all they might ever have, here and now. She felt no guilt whatsoever.
‘Mr Ranscombe, when are we going to start building the den?’ Sidney’s peremptory tones indicated that he wasn’t best pleased at the interruption to their task.
‘I’ve come to fetch you for lunch,’ said Meg.
‘Sounds like it’s going to have to wait, boys.’ Dan pinched out his cigarette and put what was left in his shirt pocket.
Colin and Sidney groaned.
‘Come on,’ said Meg, ‘let’s go in and have a wash.’ She took Max’s hand. ‘How are you two?’ she asked Colin and Sidney, as they walked through the woods. ‘Happy to be back?’
‘Kind of,’ replied Colin. ‘But it wasn’t half exciting at home when the bombs come.’
Sidney danced along next to his elder brother, eager for attention. ‘Want to hear me make the sound of a bomb comin’ down?’
Colin gave an approving nod. ‘’E’s good. You oughter hear him.’
Sidney screwed up his face till he was puce and let forth a thin and frighteningly realistic high-pitched sound which built to a screaming intensity.
‘I say, that’s a bit too much like the real thing,’ said Meg, as the boys leapt around flinging leaves in the air to depict the explosion.
‘It’s good fun playin’ in the bombed-out houses,’ said Sidney, ‘only the wardens are always chasin’ us off.’
‘I should think so, too,’ said Dan. ‘You’re both better off down here out of harm’s way.’
‘Yeah, it’s not bad here. And wait till we get our den built,’ said Colin. The edge of the wood was in sight, and the three boys set off at a run, Star at their heels, Meg and Dan following.
*
After lunch Dan took all the children, including Max and Laura, back to the woods to finish building the den.
‘It’s terribly sweet of him to spend his leave playing with them,’ said Sonia, as the women settled down on the terrace to talk and knit.
‘He loves it,’ said Diana. ‘He’s just a big kid at heart. Always has been.’
Sonia, taking out her knitting, glanced across at Diana. ‘My dear, whatever are you doing?’
‘I’m unravelling an old jumper. Then I’m going to use the wool to knit something new.’
‘Goodness, how clever. I never thought of that. Effie discovered a bolt of pillow cotton at the bottom of the linen press the other day. It’ll do to make dresses for the girls. I had hoped Avril’s school would relax their uniform rule, but they refuse to, so that will take any number of coupons. And she grows out of things in no time.’ She counted her stitches below her breath, then added, ‘It’s quite wonderful how resourceful we have all become. Lobb has suggested we should get a cider press and make our own cider. Don’t you think that’s a splendid idea?’
Helen darted a glance at her sister. ‘Rather ambitious, wouldn’t you say?’
‘No more so than keeping bees. If anything, less so. I must compliment you on the quality of your honey, Helen.’
‘Thank you. The ham at lunch was excellent.’
Sonia smiled at her sister. ‘Kind of you to say so, though really the credit goes to Alfredo.’
‘Alfredo?’
‘One of the Italian prisoners of war working at Godley’s farm. He did the butchering and the curing. So clever. And such a handsome young man. We’ve become quite the best of friends. Strictly speaking, the prisoners aren’t allowed to have contact with locals, but Farmer Godley thought it would be a kindness to let him talk to me since I speak Italian. A little rustily, of course, but Alfredo was quite enchanted to meet someone who can speak his language. We had a lovely long talk about his home in Umbria, and he gave me a recipe for an Italian dish that Mrs Goodall is going to try out.’
‘I think you should be careful, my d
ear – fraternising with the enemy, I mean,’ said Helen, though it was evident from her expression that she envied Sonia her tame Italian POW.
After an hour or so Colin and Sidney came racing back to the house to inform everyone that the den had been completed, and that anyone who wanted to could come and see it.
‘I think we must all definitely see this wondrous creation,’ said Sonia, folding up her knitting.
‘I’ll pass,’ said Diana. ‘I’d better go to the nursery to see if Morven’s woken up from her nap.’
The den was a very professional affair, consisting of two low, sloping roofs made out of birch poles, supported by uprights at either end, and thatched with brush and ferns and grass.
Sonia gazed at it admiringly. ‘How splendid!’
Max and Laura were dancing around, their faces streaked with lines of black, pretending to be red Indians.
‘We’re going to store our treasure in it,’ said Colin. ‘Look.’ He opened a canvas bag and produced a handful of bullet casings. ‘We got lots of these. You can swap two of them at school for a cap badge. But this is the best.’ With some difficulty he tugged out a fragment of rocket tail. ‘We ain’t swappin’ that for nothin’.’
‘Dear me, it’s a rather grisly hoard, but it’s doing no harm, I suppose,’ murmured Sonia. ‘Just as long as you don’t have any unexploded bombs.’
‘Can we sleep here tonight? Mr Ranscombe says when he builds one of these he sometimes has to sleep in it for days on end, an’ build a fire every day an’—’
‘No, young man,’ said Sonia firmly, ‘you most certainly cannot. It’s fine to play in in the daytime, but you’re not catching your death out here at night. Now, I think Mr Ranscombe needs a rest. You’ve worked him hard enough.’
People began to wander back to the house.
‘Where’s Max got to?’ asked Meg.
Max and Laura had crept back inside the den to play, and Dan went in to fetch them, emerging with a giggling child under each arm. He set them down, and they ran off after the others. Meg was about to follow them when Dan held her back. ‘Hey. Come here.’
