Cardigan Bay

by John Kerr

  Sincerely,

  Charles

  Davenport shook his head as he reread the letter, thinking it stilted and full of clichés. But he doubted he could do much better. It would be awfully complicated if he were still in London – Jenny remonstrating with him in some tearful scene. But the impenetrable curtain of the quarantine had been drawn across the coastal counties, and it was impossible for a civilian to gain access to their camp or even to telephone. The time would pass, and she would find someone else. After folding the letter into an envelope and dashing off her address, he pushed back from his desk, handed the envelope to a young sergeant, and said, ‘See to it this gets in today’s post.’

  He hurried to the briefing in a large tent with the Union Jack and divisional flag hanging behind the podium. The CO of the division, wearing a casual green sweater and the protocol jaunty beret, strode briskly to the podium. ‘Very well, gentlemen,’ he began. ‘The reports on the latest round of exercises were acceptable, but no better. Now that we’ve got some decent weather, the men simply must be pushed. Live fire exercise wherever possible. As you are no doubt aware, SHAEF have pushed back the date for D-Day. May 1 is out, officially. So we’ve got at least another month to prepare and we’ll need every day.’

  ‘Well now, would you believe it?’ said Mr McDonough as he slid the newspaper across the counter.

  Mary glanced at the bold headline. ‘Oh, my God!’ she exclaimed. ‘Beg pardon,’ she added with a blush as she gathered her things and dashed out the door. Once she was home, she spread out the paper on her kitchen table and quickly read the sensational news:

  Borders Closed

  All Traffic to and from Ireland Suspended Indefinitely

  LONDON. 28 March, 1944. Reuters. British authorities announced today that all travel to and from the Irish Republic from Great Britain would be henceforth prohibited. Irish citizens present in Britain will be given twenty-four hours in which to return home by means of public transportation. Thereafter all public and private transportation between the two nations will be immediately and indefinitely suspended, such moratorium to be strictly enforced by the Royal Navy. According to the Home Secretary, such drastic measures were required by a ‘heightened climate of security and continuing Irish neutrality in the war’. The British action prompted a strongly worded protest from the de Valera government. A note released by the president declared the British measures ‘illegal in contravention of international law and an affront to the law-abiding Irish people’. Government officials warned that the travel ban could have disastrous implications for coastal industries and result in acts of violence. An unnamed critic of Irish neutrality, however, expressed the view that the border closure was a ‘justifiable reaction’ to the unwillingness of the Irish Government to ‘lend even the slightest support to the British people in time of war.’

  ‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, wouldn’t you know it,’ muttered Mary as she slumped in a chair.

  Later, at the end of a dreary day watching the April rain, Mary considered her situation. Only now, at last free from the irrational fears that had kept her from Charles, she was prohibited from travelling to see him, even if only to ask his forgiveness, to tell him goodbye, and that she loved him. Surely it was only a matter of weeks before the long-awaited invasion. She felt certain Charles would be taking part in it, though he’d stopped short of saying so. And with the invasion, she reflected, Eamon and his colleagues would act. Feeling a sudden chill, she rose from the sofa and walked to the glowing remains of the fire. Where was Eamon now? Had he vanished on the dark sea, to the blinking red light off her coast, to return to his homeland? Was it really possible that his fantastic conspiracy, the Scwartze Kapelle, might actually succeed, bringing an early end to the war? All at once, she realized that she was facing these grim, immutable facts – the coming invasion, with Charles going ashore in the assault, quite possibly never to return, Eamon’s participation in what must surely be a virtual suicide mission – with something like calm acceptance. No more tears, or desperation, or railing at God. Looking around the empty room, growing dark, she imagined Eamon in place, Bible open in his lap, which in a way Mary realized, he was. And with his help, she was looking at the world beyond the windows through a different lens.

  Sitting on the bed in her small but tidy room, Jenny stared vacantly at the wall, clutching Charles’s letter. Peg stood at the end of the bed, nervously grasping the brass rail. ‘Oh, Jenny,’ she said. ‘You poor thing. And Charlie seemed, well, such a fine fella.’

  Jenny nodded glumly and said, ‘Too fine for the likes of me. And I thought . . .’ The sentence died in a rueful sigh. Tossing the letter aside, Jenny, wearing only a slip, stood up and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She turned to one side and studied the curve of her belly with detached fascination. Lightly touching the small mound of her abdomen, she said, ‘And now this.’

  ‘Are you sure, Jenny?’

  ‘’Course I’m sure,’ said Jenny, fighting back tears. ‘It’s not just that I’m late, though it’s over three weeks. There’s a bun in the oven, no doubt of it.’

  Peg with a shook her head. ‘What are you goin’ to do?’

  Jenny stared at her pale reflection in the glass. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, in a voice just above a whisper. ‘What can I do? Oh, God,’ she sobbed, slumping heavily on the bed.

  Sitting beside her and gently placing a hand on her shoulder, Peg said, ‘I heard tell of these doctors who can . . . well, you know, fix things up.’

  Jenny raised her red-rimmed eyes, her lips trembling. ‘I don’t know,’ she said softly, brushing away her tears. ‘It frightens me. I’ve heard terrible stories . . .’

  ‘It’s such a pity about Charlie, but now to turn up preggers!’ Jenny nodded. ‘Well,’ said Peg after a moment, ‘does ’e know?’

  ‘Does who know?’

  Peg eyed her expectantly. ‘The father,’ she said. ‘The one who done it.’

  Jenny gave her a curious, far-off look. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I ’aven’t spoken to him.’

  ‘Well, I suppose he’s gone away by now,’ said Peg. ‘Back to sea.’

  ‘Who?’ said Jenny.

  ‘Why, your sea-captain friend is who,’ said Peg with a surprised expression. ‘With the merchant marine. Seemed a nice enough bloke when ’e came round with those sweets, and the perfume and all.’

  ‘What makes you think it was him?’

  ‘But Jenny . . .’

  ‘If only I could see Charlie again,’ said Jenny dejectedly. ‘He’s everything I ever wanted, Peg. I could make him love me, I swear it!’

  ‘Hanes says they’ve closed off all the army posts.’ Looking her in the eye, Peg said, ‘I’d forget about ’im if I was you. Charlie’s got another gal. At least ’e told you the truth.’

  Jenny abruptly stood up and said, ‘No. I won’t! Charlie’s my only chance!’

  The jeep rattled to a stop at the headquarters hut. The driver climbed out and patted the change in his pocket. ‘Two sovereigns,’ he said with a smile, as he mounted the steps and entered the wooden structure. ‘I’ve got a message for the colonel,’ he said to the young corporal on duty.

  ‘I’ll take it, Sarge,’ said the corporal, extending his hand.

  ‘Sorry, lad. This is a personal message. I need to deliver it myself.’

  ‘Well, if you insist,’ said the corporal as he rose. ‘I’ll go and look for him.’

  A few minutes later Davenport, wearing a perturbed expression, trailed into the room behind the corporal. ‘What’s this all about, Sergeant?’ Davenport asked curtly.

  ‘Well, sir,’ he said, ‘it’s a personal message.’ Davenport eyed him warily. The sergeant tactfully took a few steps toward the window and extracted a folded note from his breast pocket. ‘I was asked to see to it you personally received this, sir,’ he said, ‘by a young lady.’

  Davenport a
ccepted the note with a puzzled look. He quickly scanned the typewritten message:

  Personally deliver to: Lt.Col. Charles Davenport

  Second Battalion, King’s Shropshire Light Infantry

  It is terribly important that I see you as soon as possible. The messenger will know where to find me. Please come without delay.

  He ran a hand through his hair and asked, ‘Who sent this, Sergeant?’

  ‘As I said, sir,’ the sergeant replied in almost a whisper, ‘a lady. Quite attractive, if I may say so. And she seemed to be quite distressed, anxious to see you.’

  Davenport’s mind was racing. Was it possible? After what he had written, and the invasion less than a month away, that Mary had changed her mind? ‘Where is she, Sergeant?’ he asked excitedly. ‘Where does she want me to meet her?’

  ‘At the Russell. A hotel, sir. I know the way and could drive you.’

  Davenport reached for his coat and hat. ‘If anyone should ask,’ he told the bewildered corporal, ‘I’ve gone to attend to some urgent family business. I’ll be back by evening.’

  ‘Just another mile, sir,’ said the driver, ‘till we reach the checkpoint. What should I tell them?’

  ‘Leave it to me, Sergeant,’ replied Davenport. ‘I’ll bullshit our way through this, as the Yanks would say.’ The jeep slowed to a stop at a guardhouse, where a red-and-white striped gate barred their way. A burly sentry with a rifle slung over his shoulder stepped out from the enclosure.

  ‘Papers,’ he demanded sternly. Davenport handed the driver his army ID from his days on staff at COSSAC, who passed it along to the sentry. After briefly studying it, the sentry peered into the back and said, ‘Returning to London are we, sir?’

  ‘Just a quick trip,’ said Davenport mildly. ‘Very well, sir,’ said the sentry. ‘I’ll make a note on the log.’ He gestured to a comrade, and the heavy gate swung into the air.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Davenport. ‘Before he changes his mind.’

  With few vehicles on the roads outside the quarantine, they made excellent time, and on the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells passed a sign for Abbey’s Gate. Davenport thought back to Mary’s visit to Rushlake Auxiliary Hospital, a mile or so in the distance, which filled him with a warm glow. Before long the driver was navigating the streets of the town, coming to a stop at a two-storey brick structure with a sign for ‘The Russell’ over the entrance. ‘Make yourself comfortable at the pub across the way,’ said Davenport. ‘Drinks and dinner on me, and a quid for the trip.’

  The lobby was empty except for an elderly couple having tea. Davenport enquired at the front desk and was directed to the dining room. Davenport approached the maitre d’ and said, ‘I’m meeting someone.’

  ‘A young lady?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  The man gestured to the centre of the room and said, ‘Behind the screen there, on the banquette.’

  Davenport mussed his hair and took a deep breath. As he stepped around the screen he stopped in his tracks at the sight of Jenny. With her light-brown hair resting on the fox stole draped over her shoulders, she smiled and said, ‘Oh, Charlie, I knew you would come.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘Jenny . . .’ said Davenport with an astonished look. ‘What are you doing here?’

  She gave him a hopeful smile and said, ‘Oh, Charlie, won’t you at least sit down? After I’ve come all this way?’

  Weakly he pulled back a chair and sat, avoiding her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that this is, well . . . such a surprise.’ He saw that she had knotted her napkin and guessed that she’d been crying. ‘How the devil did you find me?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘It took quite a bit of doin’, I can tell you that, and cost me a pretty penny.’

  A waiter appeared and Davenport said, ‘Would you care for something? A cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said softly.

  ‘We’ll have tea,’ said Davenport. Folding his hands on the table, Davenport looked Jenny in the eye and said, ‘You know you shouldn’t have done this. I’ve put myself at considerable risk coming here.’

  ‘I had to see you,’ she said, leaning across the table.

  ‘But why like this, out of the blue?’ Looking in her intense, red-rimmed eyes, his letter came to mind, and a wave of shame passed over him.

  Jenny fought back tears and said, ‘I needed to see you.’ The waiter reappeared with their tea and a plate of scones.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Davenport. As he poured Jenny a cup he noticed that she’d dressed for the occasion, a stylish navy-blue suit and matching hat. ‘I’m sorry about the letter,’ he said. ‘I would have preferred to have told you in person, but the fact remains . . .’

  ‘I was savin’ up my money,’ she interrupted. ‘For school.’

  ‘Yes, I think that’s wonderful.’

  ‘But now I’ve gone and spent it,’ she said with a toss of her hair. ‘On these.’ She ran a hand over her fox stole and jacket. ‘And makin’ my way here to find you.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she continued, determined to have her say. ‘I don’t have an education, I don’t know how to do things proper, how to speak. But you could teach me. Oh, Charlie, there’s so much you could show me.’

  Nervously glancing at his watch, Davenport said, ‘It’s not that. There’s nothing wrong with you, Jenny. It’s just that I—’

  ‘Please,’ she interrupted, her eyes flashing. ‘You’ve got to help me!’

  Staring into her moist eyes, he was conscious of a strange feeling of foreboding.

  ‘You see,’ she said in a voice just above a whisper, ‘I’m in the family way.’

  ‘What? Jenny . . . what did you say?’

  Raising her eyes to meet his, she said, ‘I’m ’avin’ a baby.’

  For a moment Davenport stared at her, his stomach churning. ‘A baby,’ he murmured.

  ‘Charlie, we could be happy together.’ She impulsively reached across the table for his hand. ‘It’s nobody’s fault,’ she said in a stronger voice. ‘Things just happen.’

  ‘But Jenny . . . I don’t understand . . . What are you saying?’

  Her lower lip began to quiver, and then the tears came as an elderly couple at a nearby table turned to watch. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ she sobbed. ‘What am I goin’ to do?’

  Davenport fought the sensation that the room was spinning. ‘I . . . I don’t know what to say,’ he stammered. His voice sounded strange, as though someone else were speaking. ‘Here,’ he said, reaching for a handkerchief and handing it to her. ‘But Jenny,’ he said, ‘I could swear—’

  She looked imploringly at him, the tears streaking her rouged cheeks. ‘We could get married,’ she said softly. ‘We could be happy, I know we could.’

  ‘Married. . . ? he repeated hoarsely. ‘But Jenny, we don’t. . . .’

  She stared into her lap. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said after a moment. ‘I know I shouldn’t have come here like this.’ Looking back at him, she said, ‘You’re going across, aren’t you? With the landings?’ Davenport nodded. ‘I’ll wait for you, Charlie,’ she said. ‘I swear I will.’

  After the muffled hush of winter, the Irish countryside was bursting with activity: creatures scurrying in the underbrush, nests with tiny beaks amid the new, green foliage; even the wind sang as it swished through the long winter-dried grass. The anaemic pallor was replaced with a brilliant array of greens and yellow. As she set out on her morning walk with Chelsea, Mary stood still for a moment, absorbing the sights and sounds. They had started down the lane when she stopped abruptly and whistled for the dog, deciding instead to take the path down the cliffs to the beach. As she began the descent, she thought back to the times she had stood so sorrowfully at the top staring out to sea. Once she was on the beach with Chelsea beside her, she was
delighted with her decision. It was a glorious day, with lines of white-capped breakers filling her ears with a gentle roar as the gulls soared on the thermals. She walked a long way down the half-moon beach, as far as the next bend on the shoreline before turning back. It was then that she saw a tall man in the distance, with dark hair and dressed in dark colours. Her heart skipped, thinking that it might be Eamon. But Eamon was gone, she reflected, her hands deep in the pockets of her warm coat. It was only when Chelsea streaked off in his direction that Mary began to wonder, and quickened her pace to try to catch up. When she had covered half the distance between them she knew that it was Eamon, and she ran right into his welcoming arms.

  ‘Oh, Eamon,’ she said breathlessly, taking his hands. ‘I thought you had gone for good.’

  He gave her an appraising look and said, ‘No, not for now. You look wonderful, Mary. And goodday to you,’ he added, bending down to scratch the dog’s ears.

  Mary glanced briefly at the faint, pink scar at Eamon’s hairline. ‘And you’re looking well,’ she said. ‘Fully recovered?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, thanks to you.’ He let go of her hands, and they began walking.

  ‘How long will you be here?’ she asked. ‘Will you stay with me a while?’

  He scanned the beach briefly, satisfied that no one else was about, and said, ‘Oh, Mary, would that I could.’

  ‘Won’t you just stay just a while? The doctor will be by later, and you should let him take a look.’ When he responded with a sidelong look beneath a long lock of dark hair, she knew it was pointless. ‘Oh, Eamon,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve been so lonely since you left.’ She took his arm with both of hers and leaned on his shoulder.