The Granville Affaire

by Una-Mary Parker

  Rosie frowned, perplexed. ‘But that was years ago. You can’t still be in love with him? When did you last see him?’

  ‘Two or three years ago. We were in the same restaurant and he was lunching with his wife. We didn’t speak; in fact he cut me dead.’

  ‘But didn’t you say Gaston had met him?’

  Juliet nodded.

  ‘And you’re wondering why he hasn’t been in touch? Maybe,’ she continued earnestly, ‘if you saw him again, you’d realize you weren’t still in love with him, at all. Are you sure you’re not clinging to the past?’

  Juliet’s pale eyes were filled with pain. ‘I’m in love with him, Rosie, and I always will be. We were so close. I’ll never stop missing that closeness. We were like one person, at times. No one has ever matched up to him, and no one ever will. It was his baby I lost, you know. That was the last straw.’ She paused and took a deep breath. She’d never tell anyone how many men she’d slept with in order to try and recapture the intensity of passion she’d experienced with Daniel. ‘I’ll never find another man like him,’ she said instead.

  ‘I’d no idea it was his baby you were having. Was he the love of your life?’

  Juliet grimaced. ‘God, how I loathe that expression! It’s the ultimate cliché.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Rosie looked abashed. ‘It must have been terrible for you.’

  Juliet lit another cigarette. ‘It’s probably God’s Punishment for the way I treated Alastair, causing his suicide,’ she said drily. ‘Nevertheless, I still literally pine for Daniel. The longing never leaves me. My heart practically stops when I think I’ve seen him in the street; and then I feel sick with disappointment when it turns out to be a stranger. I dream of him, sometimes, too.’

  Rosie looked concerned. ‘You sound obsessed.’ Her tone was anxious.

  Juliet closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Maybe I am,’ she said in a small voice, defeated for once. ‘All I know is that I still love him more than anyone else in the world. What else can one do?’ she shrugged, removing her cigarette from its holder, and stubbing it out in a glass ash tray. ‘No one’s interested in a Moping Milly. It helps to pass the time to go out with lots of friends, but it doesn’t stop me remembering.’

  Rosie looked at her sister, trying to quell her secret satisfaction at realizing that Juliet’s didn’t have an enviable life, after all. She might be a great beauty, and a Duchess, with a fantastically fashionable and beautiful home, lots of money, and masses of friends and admirers, but she wasn’t happy.

  Not that Rosie wanted her to be unhappy, but it did somewhat redress the differences there had always been between them.

  * * *

  ‘How diabolically clever,’ Louise exclaimed in horror. ‘Now they can bomb London, without any loss of life to themselves?’

  Dr Shane Hunter nodded. ‘The V-1 is a pilotless plane, filled up with sufficient fuel to reach London and no further, and stuffed with bombs. When it runs out of fuel, it plummets to the ground and explodes.’

  They were on a brief break from the children’s ward of St Stephen’s Hospital in Fulham, and were having a cup of tea in the hospital canteen.

  Louise thought about this. Then she asked, ‘How do they get the plane to take off, if there’s no pilot?’

  Shane grinned. He was a lean twenty-nine-year-old, with an engaging smile and laughing eyes. ‘I haven’t the faintest! The navigation instruments are obviously pre-set.’

  ‘Then that must be what I heard last night. My sister and I were asleep when the siren went, and we were discussing whether it was worth going down to the shelter or not… because the raids have been quite light recently… and then we heard what we thought was an aircraft in trouble. The engine was spluttering and just about to conk-out. A minute later there was that horrible whistling sound, and then an explosion.’

  ‘That was a doodlebug, all right,’ Shane replied, nodding vigorously.

  Louise giggled. ‘A what?’

  ‘A V-1. They’re called doodlebugs. Listen, are you doing anything on Saturday night? I rather fancy going to the cinema. They’re showing For Whom The Bell Tolls, at the Kensington Odeon.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m longing to see that,’ she replied eagerly, enjoying this new relaxed and easy relationship, liking the way Shane treated her with his friendly banter and teasing. She admired him as she might an elder brother, and at times she was deeply moved by his tender manner when dealing with a sick and frightened child, and his compassion, one day, towards a mother whose little girl had died.

  His friendship was important to her, too, for she still sorely missed her own beloved Rupert. There were moments when she felt like flinging herself on a train and heading off to Wales in her desperation to see him again, but she knew she mustn’t. For one thing, she could never go through the agony of parting from him a second time.

  Aunt Tegan had written to Liza, to say the boy was well and happy, and greatly adored by his adopted parents, who had called him Tostig, which was Welsh for ‘sharp’.

  The letter, though reassuring, had plunged Louise into a tearful depression for several days, and she almost wished her mother hadn’t shown it to her. Torn between being glad that Rupert was well and happy, and secretly devastated that he could be so without her, her arms literally ached with emptiness.

  Mixed up with thoughts of Rupert was Jack. She wondered endlessly where he was and what he was doing; no doubt he’d joined the armed forces by now. There were frightening moments when she couldn’t remember his face; what had he looked like? There were no snapshots to remind her. She had no pictures of Rupert, either. If she wasn’t careful, she feared they’d both disappear into the past, and then she’d only have vague memories to comfort her.

  One evening, Shane took her to supper at the Blue Cockatoo restaurant, on Chelsea Embankment.

  ‘I think we deserve a treat,’ Shane announced, ‘after the terrible week we’ve had.’

  Louise nodded in agreement. A little girl had died on the ward, as a result of her injuries from a doodlebug landing on a row of terraced houses where she’d lived, and there were other children who had been badly hurt in similar incidents.

  ‘Let’s have a drink, or two!’ he added, eyes twinkling conspiratorially, as if he’d suggested something naughty.

  Louise smiled, feeling relaxed. ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Shall we make gin our choice of poison? With lime?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘The food’s not great here, but it’s nice to be able to sit in this little garden, isn’t? Especially as it’s such a warm night.’

  The menu was limited so they settled on carrot salad, with hard-boiled eggs, as their main course, and rhubarb tart with custard to follow.

  Shane looked up at the clear sky, still pink from the sunset. ‘Let’s hope Jerry doesn’t want to join us,’ he remarked. ‘I’ve had enough of air raids, this week.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Louise replied fervently. ‘I never knew I appreciated silence until I came to live in London.’

  ‘Have you always lived in the country?’

  She described her childhood to him, realizing that they knew nothing about each other. ‘Then we all went down to Hartley in 1939, and it’s still the family home,’ she concluded.

  Shane looked interested. ‘So why did you come to London? Surely you could have worked in a hospital in Guildford, or Dorking? It’s much safer than being here.’

  Louise felt the blood draining from her face. No one had asked her that question before. ‘I – I just wanted to,’ she stammered awkwardly.

  ‘Why?’ His probing eyes were studying her face closely. ‘Don’t you get on with the rest of your family?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Of course I do. We’re all very close. But my eldest sisters are in London, and so I decided to come up here, too.’

  ‘Do you like being in town better than the country?’

  ‘No,’ she replied vehemently, and realized, too late, that she’d already said too much.

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p; His eyes were sharp pin pricks of curiosity. ‘That doesn’t make much sense, Louise.’

  ‘That’s… well, that’s just the way it is,’ she floundered, flushing deep red, now. She was sure if he knew the truth he’d no longer want to be her friend. This secret shame was something she was going to have to bear for the rest of her life, except with those she was truly intimate with.

  But Shane was a doctor, experienced at patients pretending they were fine, for fear of being told there was something wrong with them. He could tell Louise was hiding something, and as long as that barrier was there, he knew their relationship could never move forward.

  He chose his words with care, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘We haven’t known each other very long, Louise, but I hope, one day, you’ll feel close enough to me to tell me the secrets of your heart. As I shall tell you the secrets of mine; whenever you want. Do you think, one day, you’ll be able to trust me? I’m a very good listener, you know. And I trust you implicitly.’ A grin spread over his face.

  Louise looked down at the table cloth, her eyes brimming, unable to speak.

  Shane reached over and very gently laid his hand over hers. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to. I’ve no right to try and invade your privacy, and I apologize for trying.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ she murmured, dashing a tear away as it spilled down her crimson cheek. ‘But you’re not going to want to know me any more.’

  His grip tightened. ‘That will never happen,’ he said firmly.

  ‘You’ll be nice because you’re a doctor, and trained to be nice,’ she burst out brokenly.

  His mouth tipped up at the corners. ‘Forget I’m a doctor and try me as a man,’ he suggested.

  Louise took a deep jagged breath. Then she looked at him defiantly, her words coming out in a rush. After all, what did she have to lose? His respect? His friendship? That would hurt her more deeply than she suspected, but it would be a great relief to talk to someone who was not a member of the family.

  ‘When I was fifteen I fell in love with a boy in our village, who was also fifteen,’ she began, her heart thumping. ‘I was naïve and foolish… I’d only just learned the facts of life by reading a novel… and I had a baby, a little boy. He’s been adopted by a couple in Wales. And that’s why I can’t go back home, except for the odd weekend. My family sent me away, to avoid a scandal, but Jack… he ran away and then everyone guessed what had happened between us.’

  Shane held her hand tighter than ever, and his expression was filled with such compassion, her tears flowed faster.

  ‘Louise, I’m so dreadfully sorry. It must have been heart-breaking for you.’ He shook his head. ‘I think it’s barbaric the way unmarried mothers are treated. Just when a woman needs love and support, she’s treated like a criminal and I believe that’s absolutely wrong.’

  ‘You don’t think I was wicked?’ she blurted out through her tears.

  ‘Of course I don’t. Mark my words, Louise, in twenty, thirty years’ time, it will no longer be a sin to have a baby out of wedlock,’ he said fiercely.

  ‘That’s the way it is now, though,’ Louise said, sniffing. ‘My mother was furious. As if she hated me. Saying I’d ruined my life. Daddy was sympathetic, but he wouldn’t let me keep the baby.’ She gazed into Shane’s face with a woebegone expression. ‘You know, I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing him. I called him Rupert, after Rupert Brooke, but he’s called Tostig now.’

  ‘I’m sure a part of you will always miss him, but at least you gave him life, Louise. Be thankful that no one pushed you into having an abortion.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘It was talked about, but my sister, Juliet, put her foot down.’

  ‘Good for her. I like the sound of your sister. How are things with your family now?’

  Louise had stopped crying, leaving her young face blotchy and vulnerable looking. ‘Fine. It’s all been swept under the carpet as if it never happened. That’s what my family’s like.’

  ‘That’s what most English families are like. How about another drink?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said gratefully.

  When he’d ordered more drinks, he took her hand again.

  ‘Do you think, now that everything’s out in the open between us, that we can become – more than friends?’

  Surprised, Louise looked into his intelligent face, and the sharp grey penetrating eyes that didn’t miss a thing. Shane made her feel safe, and maybe something more.

  ‘Yes, I think we can,’ she replied, smiling shyly.

  * * *

  Sunday, June the nineteenth, 1944 was a beautiful summer day, all blue and golden and glittering, without a cloud in the sky.

  Louise and Shane were off duty, and he’d picked her up from Juliet’s house after breakfast and they’d taken a bus to Kew Gardens, carrying between them a picnic luncheon prepared by Dudley.

  Meanwhile, Rosie and Salton, spending the weekend at Hartley, sat in the garden with Lady Anne, while Sophia and Jonathan played on the lawn, and Liza helped Mrs Dobbs cook roast chicken for lunch. Over on the tennis court, Henry was giving a tennis lesson to Amanda and Charlotte, occasionally shouting, ‘Hold your racket up, Charlotte. Not hanging around your ankles.’

  It was a day when Juliet had gone on duty at ten a.m. As she walked down the steep Kingston House ramp to join the rest of her unit, she wished she could have stayed at Hartley. It seemed all wrong to be spending the day underground when it was so warm and sunny.

  When the siren sounded an hour later, their unit was the first to be called out. There was a surge of energy as everyone scrambled on board, but still she had no premonition of what they were about to face.

  ‘Where are we heading?’ she asked the others, hanging on tightly to her seat, as they driver headed east, swerving around bends in the road and racing on the straight, bells clanging.

  Dr Gearing replied. ‘The Guards’ Chapel. Wellington Barracks.’

  ‘Very near Buckingham Palace,’ she observed.

  ‘That’s not the point,’ he said grimly.

  ‘What’s up, then?’

  ‘The chapel’s had a direct hit from a doodlebug.’ He paused, before adding. ‘It was packed for Morning Service,’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Juliet said slowly.

  It was worse than anything she could have imagined.

  The four walls were still standing, but the roof had collapsed on to the congregation.

  Buried under great mounds of masonry and a glittering glaze of broken glass were bodies. Three hundred of them.

  Afterwards… after the hopelessness of trying to help, after seeing the severed limbs and lakes of blood, Juliet was left with flashback memories of the worst catastrophe she’d attended.

  A woman in Army uniform, one of the still barely alive, was calling for her friend. ‘She was right next to me,’ she wailed. Juliet blocked her view as best she could as the rescue team lifted her on to a stretcher; the friend was still right next to her, but she was headless.

  Then there was the body of a man, buried into the brickwork high up on one of the walls; his arms outstretched, as if crucified.

  They did all they could, working for hours alongside other ambulance units. Numbed from the sheer horror of it all, Juliet forced herself to carry on, knowing that the hideous images would be imprinted on her brain for ever.

  ‘If it had been hit an hour earlier or an hour later, the chapel would have been empty,’ a member of the Civil Defence Service mourned, as he strived to coordinate the police, the Fire Service, and ambulance units, while at the same time directing people wanting information to the Incident Enquiry Post.

  With her uniform covered in blood and filth, and her eyes rimmed with grime, Juliet eventually emerged from the scene of carnage, amazed that a normal world still existed. The All Clear had sounded and streams of volunteers had come to help; even civilians, coming out of shelters, offered to help clear away the debris.

  Stretcher parti
es worked in shifts, entering the scene of devastation to collect more bodies. The WVS were handing out cups of hot sweet tea and biscuits and Juliet was relieved her mother wasn’t there to witness one of the worst atrocities of the Blitz.

  The glittering morning, so fresh and clean, had turned into a blood-soaked Sunday afternoon.

  With her head bowed, she walked slowly back to the ambulance. Suddenly a strong hand gripped her elbow. Thinking it was Dr Gearing wanting her back, she spun round and looked up.

  Straight into the face of Daniel.

  * * *

  Henry came out of his study, looking grave. ‘Ian’s just telephoned,’ he announced to the rest of the family as they sat in the garden after lunch. ‘The Guards’ Chapel’s had a direct hit, during Morning Service.’

  Lady Anne gave a little cry of distress. ‘Oh, it’s wicked if people can’t even pray in safety.’

  ‘I was supposed to have been on duty this morning,’ Liza exclaimed, ‘but Cynthia Askey wanted to swap weekends with me, because her daughter’s getting married next Saturday. How dreadful! I feel I should be there to help.’

  ‘Juliet’s on duty today,’ Rosie observed, nervously.

  ‘Do you want me to take you back to town, darling?’ Salton asked, stroking her shoulder. He looked at Liza. ‘I could give you a lift, Mrs Granville, if you’d like to go back, too?’

  ‘There’s no point in you all rushing back,’ Henry pointed out. ‘In fact, with these damned doodlebugs, London’s become distinctly unsafe again.’

  Amanda stretched her bare tanned legs, as she lay on the grass, sunbathing. ‘I’m old enough to enroll next week. I’m thinking of joining the WRENS.’

  Henry looked at her doubtfully. ‘I’m afraid, darling, as you’re so short-sighted, you’ll never pass the medical, for any of the armed forces.’

  She stuck out her bottom lip. ‘I want to do something more interesting than nursing; that’s for sissies. What about a job in the War Office? That might be a good start to my political career.’