The Granville Affaire

by Una-Mary Parker

  ‘Planning to care for the walking wounded now?’ Daniel’s words seeped poison and his dark eyes were unfathomable.

  Juliet suddenly flared with anger, almost hating him at that moment. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m stationed at Kingston House, on the number one ambulance unit. I can’t see what it’s got to do with you, though. I see you aren’t even in uniform,’ she added spitefully.

  Daniel cocked his head on one side and regarded her coldly, saying nothing.

  They stood staring into each other’s eyes, adversaries who had loved each other once, known each other intimately, but who also now had the capacity to hate and destroy each other. Their whole relationship hovered in the balance, and Juliet realized it could go either way.

  Then Daniel spoke. ‘It’s a pity you’re so damned selfish, Juliet.’

  ‘What do you mean, selfish?’ she flashed furiously, taking a step back from him.

  ‘You resented me putting my children first. You don’t know what it’s like to have children. They were in danger. I had to take them to Devon and that was why I couldn’t get in touch with you, but would you listen?’ he blazed. ‘No. All you could think about was yourself.’

  ‘You could still have let me know. I was worried about you,’ she stammered, wounded beyond words at him saying she didn’t know what it was like to have children.

  ‘No, you weren’t,’ he snapped coldly. ‘You were worried about yourself, as you always are. You’re the sort of person who would hurt anyone, as long as you got what you wanted. I could never do that to my children.’

  ‘What about your affair with me, then?’ she raged. ‘Wasn’t that hurting them? When you should have been with their mother?’

  Daniel looked at her steadily. ‘However much I loved you, I would never have hurt them, because they’d never have known about you. I read about you leaving your husband. No one man is enough for you, is he?’

  Something in her head snapped. ‘That’s not true! You don’t know anything about it. You don’t know anything about me either. You don’t know…’ she paused, stricken, a part of her wanting to tell him about his baby, but another part not wanting him to know this way, while they were fighting. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that!’

  Daniel looked down at her. His expression told her they had no future. A part of her understood why; it was true she’d been jealous and selfish over his children, because she’d been frightened of losing him. But another part broke inside her, split and drifted away, leaving her empty and defeated. She averted her head so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  ‘The trouble is, Juliet, you have no heart,’ he said heavily. Then he turned and walked away, down the avenue of plane trees, where the leaves were already tinged with gold.

  * * *

  Rosie heard the Austin Seven coming up the drive.

  ‘Granny, where have you been?’ she asked, rushing out of the house. ‘You said you were only going to the village to do some shopping, and that was hours ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I was longer that I meant to be, but I had a most enlightening afternoon.’ Lady Anne stepped calmly from the car.

  ‘The shopping’s in the boot, darling. I managed to get some sausages, by the way. Mrs Dobbs might be able to make us toad-in-the-hole for supper, if the hens have laid some more eggs.’

  ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘You know Piltdown Court? It used to be a boys’ school?’

  Rosie carried the week’s rations for the household into the house. ‘I know where you mean.’

  ‘It’s been turned into an Army convalescent home. The butcher told me about it, and how the young men like visitors, so I popped along.’

  Rosie looked at her in amazement. ‘What? Just like that?’

  Lady Anne nodded, taking off her straw hat and putting it with her handbag on the hall chest, before fluffing up her white hair. ‘I asked to see the matron; such a charming woman, and then I talked to some of the boys. They are lonely. Most of their families live miles away and it’s getting so difficult to get about these days. I told them I’d send you along to cheer them up.’

  ‘Me?’ Rosie looked horrified. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say to them.’

  ‘They’d rather talk to a lovely young woman like you than an old woman like me. Some need help with writing letters home, if their eyes or hands have been injured. Others like being read to. Mostly, though, they just want a good chinwag, and an opportunity to talk about their families. Visiting is every day from two o’clock until six. Piltdown Court is only three miles away, darling. You could cycle there in no time at all.’

  They’d reached the kitchen and Rosie dumped the shopping on the table. ‘You’ve quite made up your mind I’m going to do this, haven’t you, Granny?’

  ‘Why not? Nanny has nothing to do during term time, so she can look after Sophia and Jonathan, who have a nap in the afternoons, anyway. It’ll do you good. Get you out of the house for a bit.’

  ‘Should I take anything with me?’ Rosie asked nervously.

  Lady Anne shrugged. ‘Books, magazines, writing materials; I gather those sorts of things are very welcome.’

  Rosie still looked doubtful.

  ‘Look, my dear,’ said her grandmother. ‘You can’t do proper war work because you have the babies to look after, but this would be a big contribution. I wonder if Liza…?’ She paused, thinking about her fastidious daughter-in-law having to deal with those who had lost limbs or were horrifically burnt. ‘Well, no, maybe not,’ she concluded, drily.

  * * *

  Filled with trepidation, wondering if she should dress up and wear a little make-up or not, Rosie finally set off the following afternoon, her bicycle basket filled with some fruit from the garden, a few paperbacks and a couple of bottles of cologne that Charles had been given last Christmas, but refused to use.

  Piltdown Court had originally been a Georgian squire’s house built in 1732, of soft pink brick and cream-coloured stone. It was the sort of house Rosie had always imagined she’d live in one day, with its solid proportions, symmetric rows of windows and imposing facade.

  ‘My grandmother suggested I come and visit the patients,’ Rosie told the matron, blushing slightly as she spoke.

  The matron nodded. ‘You must be Lady Padmore? Lady Anne cheered up a lot of the chaps yesterday, and she said she’d send you along. Why don’t you go into Ward B, to start with? Many of them have families who can’t get to visit them and they are rather lonely.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The matron opened double doors into what had originally been the school common room, on the ground floor. Beds were arranged down both sides and there were long windows overlooking the estate’s park.

  ‘There you go,’ she said robustly, giving Rosie a gentle shove.

  Rosie suddenly felt horribly shy, her face red as she giggled and walked nervously towards the nearest bed. ‘Hello! How are you feeling?’ she asked the young man, even younger that her, who was propped up against pillows. In a flash she realized his left pyjama sleeve was folded up with a safety-pin.

  In the circumstances, her remark sounded stupid and banal to her ears and her heart sank. She wasn’t going to be any good at this.

  ‘All the better for seeing you,’ he retorted, admiringly, his eyes skimming her slender figure in its pretty printed cotton dress, and her white wedge-heeled shoes. ‘Whatcha got there, luv?’

  Glad of having something to do with her hands, Rosie picked out some plums and peach from her basket. ‘Do you like fruit?’ she asked diffidently.

  He grinned cheekily. ‘I’d rather have some chocolate. Or a packet of fags, ’cept we’re not allowed to smoke in this bloomin’ place; fire hazard they say.’

  ‘How about something to make you smell nice?’ She turned crimson as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

  ‘’Ere!’ He turned to the other men, twenty in all, who were gawping at Rosie. ‘She thinks I don’t smell nice! Bloody cheek!’ Then he guffawed. �
�OK, luv. Let’s have a sniff. Watcha got? I ’ope it ain’t essence of bloomin’ violet?’

  Everyone started laughing. This twenty-year-old with one arm was obviously the ward’s wag, liked by all, and cheery in spite of everything.

  Rosie started wending her way from bed to bed, wishing she’d brought something for each of the men. She couldn’t get over their bravery; one had even lost an eye, and another had a badly disfigured face. When she finally left, to a shower of cat-calls and appreciative whistles, she shouted over her shoulder; ‘See you all again, soon! And I’ll try and bring some chocolate next time.’

  Hearing the cheery noise, Matron came out of her office.

  ‘Very kind of you to give your time, Lady Padmore.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Rosie replied with sincerity. ‘It’s the least I can do. Can I go and see the patients in Ward C? My grandmother said they could do with some cheering up.’

  The matron narrowed her eyes as she looked at Rosie closely. ‘These boys have only minor injuries compared to the ones in the other wards. Do you think you can manage?’

  Rosie nodded.

  ‘Right-o! Come this way.’ Stout and steady in her starched uniform, she led the way up the grand staircase to a large, high-ceilinged room on the first floor.

  ‘Ready for this?’ she asked briskly.

  ‘Yes,’ Rosie replied firmly. The fact that Juliet was a nurse on a London ambulance had made her determined to prove that she, too, could be brave, and not flinch from hideously gory sights.

  ‘Here’s a young lady, come to say hello to you all,’ Matron announced, in a loud voice.

  Rosie took in the room, and the twenty beds, at a glance, managing to smile in a face frozen with horror. Several of the men had a part of their face blown away, the scarring not yet healed. Other’s lay swathed in bandages, covering their eyes. Others lay still and flat, hardly breathing, only just alive and too weak to even notice her presence. One young man sat propped in a bath chair; he’d lost both legs. Another had lost both arms, and was being spoon-fed by a nurse. There were faces contorted with pain, and boys, not yet men, who were screaming in pain and moaning, ‘Morphine! For Christ’s sake… gimme more morphine!’

  For a moment Rosie felt hot and sick, and she thought she was going to faint; from the sights, the sour smells of death and decay, the sheer mutilation of men no older than herself, and the horror of witnessing the reality of war.

  Again she reminded herself of what Juliet was doing, and she was damned if she was going to let her younger sister show her up as feeble and squeamish. She took a deep breath, fighting against the terrible odours and smiling bravely, as she went from bed to bed, lingering for a few words if the patient was conscious, stroking the hand or shoulder of those who weren’t. She felt enormously maternal as she made her way around the large ward; these men had once been little boys, like Jonathan, and God forbid he’d ever have to go through anything like this.

  When she got to the last bed, she saw the patient was a very handsome-looking young man, propped up on pillows. He looked up at her and, as she caught his eye, Rosie felt an unexpected jolt of attraction. Then she noticed, by the flatness of his blanket on one side of the bed, that he’d lost a leg.

  ‘Hello,’ he greeted her pleasantly, sounding like a younger edition of her father.

  Rosie went to his bedside. ‘How’s everything going?’ She was trying to master the art of what to say when first approaching a patient.

  ‘Can’t grumble, Rosie,’ he replied. ‘Not that I’ll be able to ask you for a dance any more,’ he added drily.

  Rosie’s brow puckered in concentration. ‘Have we met?’

  ‘My name’s Freddie Newport; I came to your splendid Coming-Out Ball, in Green Street.’

  Her hand flew to her mouth in sudden recollection. ‘Freddie! Of course I remember you.’ He’d been a regular in the Irish Fusiliers and they’d danced together several times. He’d been a bright and breezy young man, with exceptional good looks, ‘but no money,’ Liza had told her acidly. ‘I asked him because we needed extra young men.’ Rosie blushed now at the memory of her mother’s words.

  ‘So when did all this happen?’ she asked, purposely putting on a matter-of-fact manner, as she made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

  ‘A few months ago now,’ he replied abruptly, as if he didn’t want to talk about it. Then he smiled again and she realized how he’d aged in the past five years.

  ‘How’s your family? I’ve read a bit about Juliet, in the newspapers.’

  Rosie made a little moue. ‘Oh, she’s fine,’ she said casually ‘I see you like reading?’ She went to pick up the book lying by his side, as he, too, reached for it. Their hands touched. A strange tingling sensation shot through her. She looked up involuntarily, and as their eyes met something disturbing shifted and melted within her.

  ‘I like a good thriller,’ he admitted.

  ‘Then the next time I come, I’ll bring you a few,’ she said, her cheeks flushed. ‘Do you like Conan Doyle?’

  Freddie nodded. ‘And I’d love to have a few magazines. I hope to be moved to another ward downstairs in a few days so maybe they can push me out into the garden. You will visit me again, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will, Freddie.’

  He immediately reached for her hand and, because he looked so vulnerable and almost child-like in his desire to be comforted, she sat on the edge of his bed and let him cling on to her hand. ‘Tell me about yourself, Rosie. How are your family?’

  ‘I’m married, with two children. Charles is in the Guards, stationed Somewhere In England, as they say. I’m staying at my parents’ place, just a few miles from here.’

  ‘You married Charles Padmore?’ Freddie asked, thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied brightly.

  ‘Are you happy?’

  ‘Of course. And Sophia and Jonathan are divine. How long do you think you’re in here for?’ she added hurriedly.

  ‘A while yet. Then I’ll get a false leg and be out of here as fast as I can.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘And you’ll come and see me again?’ His eyes penetrated hers, making her heart lurch pleasurably. It seemed such a long time since even Charles had put his arms around her and she longed to be held close and loved.

  ‘I must be getting home,’ she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. ‘The children will be wanting their tea.’

  ‘But you’ll come again? Promise?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said gaily. ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘See you soon, Rosie,’ Freddie said softly, his eyes never leaving her face.

  As she pedalled furiously along the winding Surrey lanes, Freddie’s face was at the front of her mind, and his voice, so like Daddy’s, filled her ears. There was something vital and exciting about Freddie that she’d never noticed when she’d been eighteen; or was it her mother’s remarks about his lack of money that had caused her not to look at him, at all?

  * * *

  The blitz started at the beginning of September, the only warning a siren that sounded at eight o’clock in the evening.

  Juliet’s ambulance unit, consisting of a doctor and five nurses, was on stand-by. Four times they were called out to incidents in central London, while the bombardment went on relentlessly around them as they did what they could to help the injured before taking them to the casualty department in whichever hospital was the nearest.

  As soon as she came off duty at ten o’clock the next morning, she stripped off her dirty blood-stained uniform and climbed into a bath, while listening to the BBC news on the radio.

  ‘… Two hundred German Messerschmitts attacked London last night, in an air raid that lasted several hours,’ announced the newsreader. ‘Many buildings were demolished and the death toll is as yet uncertain. Rescue operations, in conjunction with the Fire Services, were able to save the life of many, by digging them out of rubble, while fleets of doctors, nurses and ambulances attended the scenes of disaster. It is feared the Luftwaffe may
strike again…’

  On impulse, because after last night she now knew that death stalked the city and each day could be her last, Juliet dialled Daniel’s number. She needed to hear his voice, even if he was unkind. More than anything she wanted to feel his arms around her, safe and protective.

  ‘Hello?’ a man’s voice answered.

  Juliet nearly dropped the receiver with shock. She hadn’t really expected him to be at Bywater Street.

  ‘Where else would I be?’ His deep-timbred voice sent wave after wave of desire through her.

  ‘I j-just wondered,’ she said falteringly. ‘It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Not as bad as it’s going to get.’ He sounded impersonal. She might have been talking to a mere acquaintance.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Really.’

  Why didn’t he want to know how she was? Why didn’t he ask where she’d been?

  ‘We were called out several times,’ she told him.

  ‘Many casualties?’

  ‘Hundreds have been killed, the rest have horrific injuries. I’ve just come off duty…’ How wonderful it would be if he suggested coming round to see her, she thought with longing.

  There was a silent pause on the line. ‘Right then,’ he said, sounding business-like.

  ‘Daniel…?’ she ventured. What was the matter with her? She was the one who was usually in charge. She was a woman who took control of situations; why was she simpering like a girl of sixteen?

  ‘What is it?’ His voice sounded harsh.

  ‘Nothing,’ she replied quickly. ‘I’d better go. I’m off to Hartley in a few minutes. Thought I’d have twenty-four hours’ peace and quiet down there before I go back on duty.’

  ‘OK, then. Good-bye.’

  Juliet said good-bye and hung up as if she were surrendering a lifeline. Tears of exhaustion and disappointment washed her cheeks. But what the hell had she been expecting? A ‘darling-I-love-you-when-can-I-see-you’ conversation? Daniel was finished with her; he probably had another girlfriend by now, anyway. It was time she forgot all about him.