In fact the small force of twelve B17 Flying Fortresses protected by six Thunderbolt fighters, one of which was piloted by Lieutenant Patsy Milligan had left on a daylight raid on Bremen at sixteen thirty hundred hours, the American theory, disapproved of by the British, being that if they flew high enough and in close enough formation, daylight raiding would prove less hazardous, and there would be less chance of suffering heavy casualties. The raiders were expected home any time after twenty thirty hundred hours, but no later than twenty one hundred, by which time they would have run out of fuel.
Artemis’s call was logged in twenty forty one hundred hours, at which time the party had not yet returned. It was still daylight thanks to the government’s new measure of introducing double summertime from the beginning of April.
By eleven o’clock, when she was beginning to get worried, she decided to ring her godmother. ‘I know it’s late,’ she said, ‘but is my father there?’
‘Yes, darling,’ Diana replied, obviously surprised. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘I was just wondering something, that’s all,’ Artemis said. ‘It’s just he knows about aeroplanes and that sort of thing. And I wondered if he knew how long a trip to Germany from Norfolk should take.’
‘How long’s a piece of string,’ her father said, when Artemis repeated her question. ‘It all depends first where you’re flying and second, what you’re flying.’
‘I don’t know the destination, I mean I hardly would, would I?’ Artemis said, trying not to sound irritated. ‘But I think he said something about flying something called a Thunderbolt. Would that be right?’
‘Probably,’ her father agreed. ‘In fact almost certainly. Seeing this is their first sortie. Thunderbolt’s a short range fighter. Useless. Practically obsolete. Maximum range probably no more than eight or nine hundred miles.’
Artemis felt a sudden chill, and pulled her cardigan round her. ‘So suppose the planes left even as late as I don’t know –’ Artemis looked at the clock, trying to remember when exactly she had called. ‘I don’t know,’ she repeated. ‘Say eight o’clock.’
‘Given their declared policy, or from what I hear,’ her father said, ‘namely all this daylight bombing nonsense, I should imagine they’d have left a lot earlier. And that they should all have been home long ago.’
Artemis said nothing. She just held the phone to her ear and stared blankly down at the fire.
‘Hullo?’ her father’s voice said in her ear. ‘Look – is that any help?’
When she called again, the duty officer in the mess told her he was not empowered to give details, and Artemis was advised to call the proper authorities on the air base itself. Which she at once did, only to be told that the official list of casualties had not yet been posted. Losses had been sustained, but they had not yet been detailed. As soon as they had been the officer in charge assured her she would be notified.
Thirty two long and sleepless hours later the postman cycled up the long drive to Brougham with a telegram, addressed to Tanner. Porter brought it through to the ‘sulking’ room where Ellie and Artemis had been keeping vigil, and handed the small brown envelope on a silver tray to Ellie, to whom it was addressed.
Artemis avoided looking at her, but instead sat stroking her dog’s head with meticulous concentration, while Ellie carefully opened the back of the envelope with a paper knife, and took out the telegram. There was a long silence.
‘Yes?’ Artemis said. ‘Well?’
Ellie looked up and handed her the wire. ‘He’s missing,’ she said. ‘Missing presumed lost.’
21
As Artemis slept, sedated, Ellie allowed herself to grieve, the realization dawning on her that she would never again see Patsy, with his warm loving smile, and his infectious laugh. He was gone. She could hear his voice when they were little: ‘Come on Ellie, we can do it, we can lick ’em.’ It had always been Patsy and Ellie versus the rest of the world.
‘No,’ a voice suddenly said from the bed, and a hand sought hers. ‘It only said “presumed”, Eleanor. It didn’t say definitely, did it?’ Artemis was half sitting up in the bed, her eyes wide open.
Ellie looked down at her, not realizing how much in the half light she resembled her brother. ‘I don’t quite follow what you’re saying,’ she said.
‘The telegram, Eleanor. It said “missing presumed lost”. That’s not exactly final, is it?’
‘No,’ Ellie said slowly, considering the possibility. ‘I see.’
‘Because he was – because he is a pilot,’ Artemis corrected herself, ‘because he was flying a plane, one assumes that missing on a raid presumed lost means that he’s lost. As in killed. But if that was the case, then they’d say that, wouldn’t they? That’s what they say. They say “regret to inform you etc, etc, but so-and-so was lost” ie killed “in action”.’ She threw back the bedclothes and started to try and get out of bed. ‘But presumed isn’t that, is it?’ she continued. ‘Don’t you see? He might have baled out!’ By now she was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking for her stick, which she saw was propped up against a far wall. She eased herself on to the floor and started to try and cross the room but only managed a couple of steps before her legs buckled under her.
‘What are you doing?’ Ellie cried, catching her before she fell. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘To ring the base, Eleanor. Where do you think?’
‘Oh no you’re not, Artemis.’ Ellie had her by the arms. ‘You’re in no state.’
‘Let me go,’ Artemis pleaded, looking at her with bright blue eyes which were beginning to flood with tears. ‘Please, Eleanor.’
‘No, darling,’ Eleanor said quietly, leading her back to the bed. ‘You’re in no state. And neither am I. I think we ought to let things just take their course. Just for the moment.’
‘Please.’
‘I don’t think it’s wise.’
‘I have to know, Eleanor. We both have to.’
‘They’ll tell us in due course, honey,’ Ellie said, sitting down beside her on the bed. ‘They do. They always do.’
While they were trying to comfort each other upstairs, the telephone rang in Ellie’s office, and Matron stopped by to answer it. It was Diana Lanchester.
‘I was rather hoping I’d get you,’ Diana said down the telephone, ‘or someone official, let’s say. Lady Artemis’s father was very worried by her call the day before yesterday or whenever, and he made a few enquiries. I’m afraid the news isn’t good.’
‘I see,’ Matron said, leaning over to close the open door. ‘You mean Mrs Tanner’s brother is now officially lost.’
‘No,’ Diana replied, ‘although it might be easier all round if that was the case. No the raid was a disaster, and the Americans lost seven out of twelve bombers, and five, I’m afraid, of the six escorting fighter planes. And only one of those returned undamaged. And it wasn’t Mrs Tanner’s brother.’
‘Did anyone see him go down?’ Matron asked.
‘No. But the one surviving fighter pilot is pretty certain he saw Lieutenant Tanner’s plane hit and catch fire.’
‘So what would you like me to say, Lady Lanchester?’ Matron enquired.
‘If you want to say anything, Matron,’ Diana replied, ‘tell them what they were told is true. That Lieutenant Milligan is missing, presumed lost.’
Mr McCabe returned to see Brutus as promised at the end of the week. He had heard the sad news in the village and expressed his sympathy.
‘Thank you,’ Artemis said quickly, ‘but let’s hope it’s premature. Lieutenant Milligan is only presumed missing, you know. There’s a very good chance he could have baled out.’
‘Of course, of course,’ the vet replied, looking quickly away from his client’s penetrating stare. Like everyone, he had seen the newsreels. He had seen what happened to fighter aircraft when they were hit in battle rather than by ack-ack fire. They burst into a ball of flames and disintegrated. Everyone knew when a fighter pilo
t went missing, he stayed missing. Naturally he said nothing of this to Artemis who was, like many others McCabe had seen, buoyed up by what could only be the very faintest of faint hopes.
‘But as far as your old dog goes,’ he told her, ‘there is good news. Yes, his old ticker’s not as strong as it was, but then he’s no pup, we’re agreed on that. And I was wrong about his leg, and you were right to suspect the paw. He’s got something in his lower leg, and I’ve a feeling, because I found an entry wound, I’ve a feeling it’s a splinter or thorn perhaps that’s worked its way into the foot and up into the lower leg where it’s set up an infection. Look.’ He just touched the lower part of Brutus’s leg and the dog at once lifted it up with a puzzled whine.
‘You can’t touch it now,’ the vet said. ‘And of course what with one thing and another, this last day or so you wouldn’t have noticed the swelling most probably. So with your permission, if someone can bring him to the surgery this evening, I’ll perform the necessary.’
Jenks returned Brutus the next morning. ‘Right as rain,’ he said with a grin. ‘’E’ll live to drive you madder yet.’
Artemis sat on the floor and took the big front paw which was being held out on offer to her. ‘I love you, Brutus,’ she told him. ‘Now let’s hope that other person I love is safe.’
That was the end of the good news. With the arrival of an official communiqué the USAF sent to Ellie as named next of kin, which stated quite clinically that given the circumstances of the air battle, any chance that might be held for the safety of the Lieutenant Milligan must by necessity only be a slim one, hope effectively came to an end.
At the same time Ellie received a short letter from her father, from which she learned that her three eldest brothers had all been drafted into the Army, that her father was suffering from angina, and that no doubt she’d be seeing a lot of her youngest brother now that he was being posted to England. The letter was signed without love or affection ‘Your Father’. Ellie put it on the fire and watched it burn.
It seemed not much more could happen when Mr Peake told her all the arrangements for Hugo’s transfer to a private clinic up near Banbury in Oxfordshire had been made, and it was planned to move him there within the week.
‘But he’s made such great strides recently,’ Ellie protested. ‘You said so yourself, Mr Peake. All the tests you’ve run –’
‘Mrs Tanner.’ The consultant stopped her mid-sentence, and shook his head kindly. ‘You know it’s not my decision. And believe me, where your husband is going, there’s every chance that with the proper care –’
It was Ellie’s turn to interrupt. ‘There’s every chance, Mr Peake,’ Ellie said turning away to look out over the parkland, ‘that with moving my husband away from here we shall have lost our final hope.’
From the window, after the consultant had left, Ellie saw Hugo wandering out on the lawn with a group of fellow patients, and attendant nurses. He was about to hold his daily art class, his own idea, teaching the war-wounded how to draw and paint. He was laughing and joking with them, his straw hat pushed back from his eyes, his hands sunk deep in his trouser pockets as he wandered round while the men set up their easels or opened their sketchbooks. He looked over their shoulders at their efforts, encouraging them, helping them, instructing them, doing his best to help them mend, and to rediscover their self-esteem. Ellie watched him for a time, seeing the old Hugo.
At that moment, as Ellie was wondering what possible justification there could be for taking Hugo away from her to lock him away in a mental home, he looked up and seemed to catch her looking down at him from the house. He stared for a moment, then suddenly smiled and waved, and called up to her. Ellie opened the window to hear what he was saying.
‘Come on out!’ he was calling. ‘Come down, darling, and see how well these chaps are doing!’
Ellie’s heart gave a leap, and she turned to go out, only to find that Artemis had arrived and was standing by her shoulder. And it was to her that Hugo was calling.
‘Tom!’ he shouted up. ‘Tom – come on! Come out here!’
Artemis ignored him. ‘I’ve just been talking to Peake,’ she said to Ellie. ‘I think it’s ridiculous.’
‘But you knew,’ Ellie said. ‘You knew it was on the cards.’
‘You can know things,’ Artemis replied. ‘But it doesn’t mean you necessarily have to believe them.’
They looked at each other, and then Ellie took Artemis by the arm and walked across the hall with her. ‘Have you been riding?’ she asked, noting Artemis’s riding habit. ‘Or are you just about to go?’
‘I’m just going, actually,’ Artemis replied. ‘I thought it might do me some good.’
They walked out of the house the back way and Ellie accompanied Artemis all the way to the stables where Jenks had her horse all ready for her.
‘Who’s this?’ Ellie asked, looking at the tall immaculately turned out grey the old groom was holding. ‘He’s new isn’t he?’
‘It’s a mare, actually, Eleanor,’ Artemis said with a smile, as Jenks legged her up into her side-saddle. ‘Shows what you know about horses.’
‘Take care,’ Ellie said, as Artemis turned the horse out of the yard. ‘And come in and have a cup of tea when you come back!’
It was a perfectly glorious spring afternoon, warm but with a gentle breeze, the ideal weather for a canter through a parkland which was just coming back to life. Artemis chose her favourite ride, out across the bridge and then turning right, away from the house on a line on which she had so often followed her father’s hounds, up the gentle rolling slopes of the first fields, through the open gates and on to open countryside. She would forget for the moment there was a war on, she would forget about the ever-present ache in her heart, and the ever recurring image of the smiling laughing tousle-haired young man burning to death in a crashing plane. And she would ride across the fields with hope again in her heart, because she still believed deep inside her that Patsy was out there somewhere, that he was alive and that he was thinking of her as at this moment she was thinking of him.
Today she would stop thinking he might be dead, because today she knew for a fact he wasn’t. Today she believed he was restored to life, unblemished, unhurt, not burned alive, alive and handsome, with laughter in his eyes and a smile that stole hearts. Today, as her new mare took off and soared over a big hedge which was just bursting into life, Patsy lived and because he lived, Artemis could live again.
They walked home, a swinging easy walk, the mare happy and relaxed, having enjoyed her hack, her breath now easy and her ears pricked forwards, while Artemis ran her hand down her mane and patted her strong neck. At the bottom of Pease Field, she gathered her, trotted her, pushed on into a canter and popped her over the stile at the bottom. The grey landed ten feet beyond and as Artemis reined her back, to show how much she’d enjoyed herself, put in a good natured buck.
‘How do I know, horse?’ Artemis asked the mare as they resumed their walk. ‘How do I know he’s alive?’ The horse paid her no attention, pretending instead to shy at something in the hedge. ‘I don’t know, horse,’ Artemis said. ‘I just do, that’s all.’
She turned in through the last gate, across the perfectly flat field that led back to the stables. A moment later, the young mare lost a leg down a hole and as she stumbled and before Artemis could pull her head back up there was the terrible and sickening sound of breaking bone.
Artemis was out of her saddle in a moment, slipping down to the ground, dropping the reins on the horse’s neck, holding on to a stirrup so that she did not lose her balance as she stared in horror at the mare’s shattered leg. It was only a hole in the ground, a small hole, she could see it there, a half-dug rabbit hole, but a hole quite deep enough to catch and momentarily trap the horse’s leg halfway up its cannon, long enough for the impetus to break it in two as a person would snap a branch across their knee.
The mare just stood there, suddenly bewildered as to why she couldn’t put do
wn on one leg. As yet there would be no pain, Artemis knew that, the pain would come later, in a minute, in two, three, four minutes, but the cannon bone was plainly and visibly shattered, and then and there all hope was gone.
There was a boy in the field, trying to restart a tractor. Artemis called to him, shouted at him until he heard, and came running quickly across to her, in answer to her urgent cries. She told him to hold the mare quite still, and not to panic, just to stand there and stroke the mare’s neck while she went to the stables and that she would be back in one moment. The boy nodded dumbly, seeing what had happened, as the big grey stood quite still, as if she too knew her fate.
Artemis backed away the first few steps, then cursing her impediment, stumbled as fast as she could without the help of a stick across the last few yards of the field and on to the path which led to the nearby stables.
Ellie had seen the horse and its rider returning but had lost sight of them after they’d jumped the stile, disappearing as they did from view behind the long hedge that divided the field from the track to the stable yard. She had walked down to the lawn to watch Hugo’s art class from a distance, and now the class was over, she had approached and got into idle conversation with her husband, who seemed to be in the very best of moods.
‘Did you see Tom?’ he asked her. ‘She was out on her horse.’
‘They’ve just got back I think,’ Ellie said, as she helped Hugo pack up his box of paints and pencils. ‘How about if we go across and see them in the stables? Maybe you could sketch her new horse.’
‘I’ll wander over to the stables, certainly,’ Hugo replied. ‘But I think even I’ve had quite enough art for one day, thanks.’
Together they ambled over towards the stable yard, talking about Hugo’s art class and about the various and surprising talents of some of the students. At that moment, so relaxed and happy were they both, it was just like the old days.
Jenks kept his old service revolver in a locker in the tack room. She knew that. She also knew he cleaned and checked it regularly, particularly since the outbreak of war and the talk of invasion. But when she finally reached the tack room he was nowhere to be found.
In Sunshine Or In Shadow Page 54
