Coronation Wives

by Lizzie Lane

  This, she decided, was a moment to take advantage of. ‘Can I ring Susan’s parents and tell them they can visit now?’

  He held her gaze and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse. ‘Certainly. Give them a ring, but make sure they know that they will have to stay outside the glass partition.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  When the post came on a rainy Wednesday morning, Charlotte was taking her coat from Mrs Grey. David, who usually got the post first, was still in bed, his health stable, though still a cause for concern. There were the usual bills, plus a letter addressed to her, blue and marked par avion.

  Charlotte tensed. ‘I’ll deal with this post before I go,’ she said to Mrs Grey.

  In the privacy of the study she ripped the envelope open and read the letter inside. She had promised to hand over any further correspondence to Edna for her to answer, but this letter had come direct to the house because Josef wanted her and her alone to read it. Lucky for her that David was ill and didn’t always get up too early.

  At first sight it seemed the letter was professional enough. If Edna agreed to taking on her son, Josef was coming to England and he hoped to bring the boy over with him. But the last words were meant just for her. ‘And I would like to see you again. I hope that you would like to see me too.’

  It seemed that she could hear her heart as she stared at the suggested date. Late April, just after Easter. The letter would have to be handed over to Edna. Hopefully she would interpret the last sentence as being typical of something an old friend might write. Only Charlotte and Josef would truly know the emotion contained in those simple words.

  It was a Saturday morning and although it was winter, the sun was pleasant.

  David had taken to sitting out on the first-floor veranda that overlooked the back garden of the house in Royal York Crescent. Luxuriant grapevines grew over the iron trelliswork, which helped diffuse strong sunlight in summer and brisk winds in winter. From here he could view the apple trees at the end of the garden – bereft of leaves at this time of year – or study the spiders’ webs among the ironwork, which, in the morning, spangled like strings of pearls before the sun drank the moisture.

  ‘This is nice,’ he said, settling comfortably in his chair as he eyed the garden over a lowered copy of The Times that dated from Thursday. He took a little while getting round to reading things nowadays. ‘I think I could get used to doing nothing on a regular basis. Perhaps I should retire. We could move to Devon permanently. I like it there.’

  Charlotte was sitting at an elegant Georgian bureau just inside the door. She was writing letters to those who had been so helpful when David had been taken ill. His comment had taken her unawares. Devon was lovely. The people were lovely, but would there be enough for her to do? The suggestion worried her, but she assumed a false brightness.

  ‘Full-time retirement? Isn’t that a little premature?’ she called through the open door.

  ‘I don’t think so. There’s a time for every season under heaven … I like Devon,’ he added.

  Charlotte joined him out on the veranda and patted his hand. ‘We must not make any rash decisions, darling. Let’s see first how quickly you get back to your old self. It’s early days.’

  David took her hand in both of his and there was a pained expression in his eyes. ‘My dear Charlotte, it could be later than you think.’

  Usually she would have reassured him that he wasn’t that old and that he was sure to get better, but Ivan chose that moment to enter the room closely followed by Janet and a man she did not recognize who stared about him in disbelief, overawed by the mix of elegance and warmth of their home.

  Ivan addressed Charlotte. ‘I am sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to you.’

  ‘I told him he must,’ said Janet.

  Ivan introduced the other man as Lech Rostok. He had a creased face and dark circles beneath his eyes.

  ‘You asked me if I knew men with certain problems. Lech has a problem,’ Ivan went on.

  ‘Take a seat out here,’ said David, his voice surprisingly full of energy for someone who was still not quite one hundred per cent. ‘It’s crisp but bracing.’ He folded his newspaper and set it to one side.

  ‘I’ll get some tea and biscuits,’ said Janet and left them there.

  ‘Lech is not earning any money,’ Ivan began. ‘Yet he works very hard.’

  Lech, his gnarled hands continuously twisting the cloth cap he held, stepped forward and said in broken English, ‘I was told I would be doing engineering … good … man I work for also have room for me. I share with two others.’

  Charlotte repressed the urge to condemn living accommodation that she herself had not inspected.

  The man continued. ‘He said there was no more work for me there and I might have to leave. He said there was not too much work around for foreigners and I might be sent back.’ His eyes were round with terror. ‘I cannot go back! They will kill me if I go back!’

  Ivan interrupted. ‘Lech worked for the Americans just as I did. If he went back to Poland he would be imprisoned as a spy.’

  ‘But I only worked in the army kitchens,’ he said, turning to Ivan as if he could in some way make it right with the new Polish regime.

  ‘Go on,’ Charlotte said to Lech.

  ‘He said he could find other work for us. He knew someone who needed men. There would be no need to leave our room. But we had to keep quiet about it. No work, no stay in England. If we took this work we could stay.’

  ‘And what about getting your Alien Card stamped?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘He said there was no need to. We were not moving home. But then I say the police have to know when we change jobs. I did not want to upset them. But he said he would have our cards and deal with that.’

  Charlotte sank back in her chair. ‘So you gave him your card.’

  Lech nodded. “When I asked for it back, he said it was better he should hold onto it.’

  ‘I bet he did!’ David exclaimed.

  ‘So what job do you have?’ Charlotte asked, although she knew the answer before he said it.

  ‘Building.’

  ‘And how much are you being paid?’

  ‘Ten shillings a week, but I do not have to pay for the room.’ Ten shillings was deplorable, but again Charlotte said nothing. ‘What is the name of this man?’

  Lech shrugged. ‘I can’t remember.’

  Adopting a determined stiffness to her actions Charlotte took up her pen and tore a piece of paper from her writing pad. ‘Where do you live?’

  He gave her the address of a large house in Coronation Road, a thoroughfare that ran along the side of the Cut, a dreary stretch of mud-lined waterway that ran from Bedminster Bridge to the greener surroundings of Ashton.

  ‘I’ll make enquiries,’ she said, feeling more excited than she let on. This was exactly the kind of evidence Brookman had asked her for. ‘In the meantime we need to keep in touch, but without rousing suspicion. I have to get to the root of this problem. You and the men you know are, no doubt, only a few of those being exploited. But if these people get to know that I’m onto them they’ll just scatter and everyone will be told to keep their mouths shut. We have to be able to communicate, perhaps at some kind of social gathering like a football match, some kind of weekend occupation that can take you away from where you are living.’

  Charlotte straightened and gazed out of the window, but saw nothing except a list of possibilities running through her mind like a shopping list. ‘Perhaps I could arrange some sort of project for the displaced, some kind of community work.’ Though goodness knows what, she thought to herself. ‘It will take me a few days to find something suitable, but I’m sure it can be done.’ She shivered as she placed her hands on David’s shoulders. ‘Come along inside, darling. It’s getting a little chilly out here.’

  It was a partial truth. The day was chilly, but her reason for shivering had been more to do with the thought of beating those who were exploiting
foreign labour. Lech Rostok had opened an avenue of investigation. It excited her almost as much as receiving Josef’s letter.

  As everyone settled in the drawing room and Charlotte closed the veranda door, Janet appeared with the tea. She was wearing tartan trews and a polo-necked sweater. Charlotte thought how attractive she was, brighter than she’d looked for a long time. She also seemed much more friendly towards Ivan, almost as though they had some shared secret that no one else was privy to.

  Janet put down the tray and Ivan poured tea, offered milk, held the tongs and delicately dropped cubes of sugar into cups.

  ‘So what will you do, Mother?’ Janet asked.

  Charlotte explained about setting up some kind of weekend project. She was full of ideas and expressed them quickly, though sketchily. ‘Firstly we address practicalities. It would be very beneficial if such a project also paid money, no matter how little. These men need some extra money. If we could find some part-time project that will provide extra cash for now and, perhaps, better pay and accommodation in the long run—’

  Janet interrupted. ‘We need men to paint the sanatorium. In fact, we could be needing employees there before very long, depending on how swiftly the old employees adjust to the new regime.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ Charlotte clapped her hands.

  Things are looking up, she thought. Edna and Colin can visit Susan, and Janet has overcome whatever was colouring her attitude towards Ivan. They were, she thought, observing the closeness of their heads as they talked about painting the sanatorium, very good friends now, perhaps a little more than that.

  Her only real worry was David. He only did two days at his consulting rooms in Park Row, and even then he came home with a face shiny with sweat and tiredness too intense to be believed.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he snapped when she fussed with the cushions of his favourite chair or asked for the umpteenth time whether he wanted coffee, tea or something a bit stronger.

  But he wasn’t all right. She knew it. He knew it. But neither talked about it.

  ‘Susan?’ Edna tapped her fingers against the cold, clear glass that divided her and Colin from their daughter.

  Colin waved a big meaty hand above Edna’s head. His smile was as wide as the river and the lines of worry that had creased his face for the last few months were like feathers in his face rather than furrows.

  Susan waved back, her face tiny above the piled bedclothes and the snow-white sheet.

  Colin squeezed Edna’s arm. ‘Won’t be long, love, and she’ll be home with us.’

  Edna’s eyes stayed fixed on Susan.

  The trundling of a trolley approaching made Colin turn his head. Edna hardly seemed to notice it.

  ‘This child has to have her treatment now. You’ll have to go,’ said the nurse brusquely, but not rudely. She busied herself with the bits and pieces she had on the trolley, a steaming enamel bowl, shiny steel implements and a pile of crisp, white gauze.

  Edna stood her ground. ‘I’m not going.’

  The nurse’s eyes softened over the top of her white gauze mask. ‘You’ll find it upsetting.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  Starched headdress fluttering like a white bat, the nurse turned away and bustled about her trolley, dipping the gauze into the steaming bowl.

  The steam rising from the bowl was hypnotic. Colin’s hand stole onto Edna’s hand. It felt cold and remained immobile.

  ‘It’s for her leg, isn’t it?’ Edna said softly.

  Colin’s hand dropped away. Feeling incredibly helpless and frozen out, he stared at the floor. Edna was already obsessed with Susan as it was. What would it be like, he wondered, when she finally came home? What would her leg be like then? They’d been given hope, but he feared the worst.

  After every last piece of gauze had been immersed in the bowl, the nurse came out from behind the glass and said quietly, ‘If you want to put on some protective clothing, you can come in, but only one of you, mind, there’s no room for more than that.’

  Edna’s voice rang out. ‘Yes!’

  ‘Come with me.’

  Colin watched as Edna followed the nurse out to somewhere just beyond the door to the ward. She came back wearing a gown, a mask and a cap under which she’d tucked every vestige of hair.

  ‘Quickly,’ said the nurse gripping the trolley, ‘or the gauze won’t be hot enough and that would never do.’ She turned suddenly, stopping Edna in her tracks. ‘Now just remember that what I am about to do is for your child’s own good, so please do not be too emotional. It will only upset her.’

  Shoulders tense, Edna followed the nurse into the room. She stifled a little sob and, although it was hard, she resisted the urge to throw herself over Susan and hug her to bits.

  Alone with his thoughts, Colin watched as the two women bent over the bed. He smiled to hide the clenching of his jaw. He’d rather lose his arms as well as his legs than lose his child – or his wife.

  Smiling brightly, Susan reached out for her mother.

  ‘Hold my hand, darling,’ Edna said, gripping the weak little hand tightly as if her own willpower might somehow travel down her arm and into her daughter.

  The nurse pulled back the bedclothes exposing Susan’s legs. Both limbs were pale and looked lifeless and seemed to have lost some of their form as though the muscular structure had been eaten away. The affected leg was thinner, weaker and whiter than the healthy one.

  Unsure of his role in all this, Colin watched on the other side of the glass, his eyes moist and his heart breaking.

  Beyond the glass partitioning, mother and daughter’s eyes stayed fixed on each other.

  ‘Tell me a story,’ Susan said, her bottom lip trembling.

  Edna couldn’t think of a single one. As the hot gauze was lifted from the bowl, she said, ‘Hold on tightly and pretend you’re paddling in the sea and it’s very cold, very salty and the fish are swimming around your knees.’

  Her heart fluttered. She could have screamed herself so wouldn’t have blamed the child for doing so. Susan’s fingers tightened on her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw tightly.

  ‘Hold on,’ Edna urged as the hot dressing was heaped around her leg. ‘Hold on!’

  Tears squeezed from the corners of Susan’s eyes. It must have taken a monumental effort, but Susan did not scream and Edna felt humbled.

  Like any caring mother, she wanted to take on her child’s suffering, to feel her pain, to keep her from harm. But Susan had got through it by herself though tears were bound to come.

  ‘I want to go home,’ she grizzled.

  ‘You will soon, sweetheart,’ said Edna.

  ‘With Peter and Pamela and everyone?’

  ‘Everyone,’ said Edna, and for some unaccountable reason she thought of Sherman, the letters and what she should do about it. Late at night, when the children had gone to bed and Colin had fallen asleep in the chair, she had retrieved the letters from their hiding place in the tea caddy. The standard lamp in the sitting room had a shade with a tasselled trim and hand-painted flowers. The dark parchment it was made of cast an amber glow and seemed to transport her to a warmer country as she secretly read and reread each letter until she almost knew the words off by heart. The letters had come with a piece of advice. You have to tell Colin!

  Charlotte’s voice rang in her ears. Of course she should tell him, but the moment never seemed right. Like now, she thought, there’s just too much to think about.

  Gradually, as the heat of the thermal dressings lessened, Edna felt Susan’s grip lessening.

  ‘Is that it?’ she asked the nurse.

  ‘For now.’

  Obviously she’s got other patients to torture, thought Edna, as she watched her make her way out from the glass partitioning that surrounded Susan and into the next cubicle where an initial whimpering gradually grew into a loud cry and then a scream.

  Moist-eyed, Edna smiled down at Susan. ‘You were very brave.’

  Susan swallow
ed as if she’d just been about to cry. ‘Will I be like my daddy?’

  Edna couldn’t speak. Neither could she look at Colin who was standing on the other side of the glass. ‘What do you mean, dear?’

  ‘Will I have tin legs just like the ones he’s got?’

  Edna gulped back what might be sobs, or could just as easily have been a cry of anguish. ‘Of course not.’

  Outside the glass that enclosed two of the people he loved most in the world, Colin controlled his emotions. He stood stiffly, but dignified. No one looking at him could guess just how helpless he was feeling and how much he was dreading the time when Susan finally came home.

  ‘She looked over the moon to see you,’ Colin said brightly as they left Pucklechurch and headed back to the city.

  The way the pale flesh had turned pink as the hot gauze was laid on it was still in Edna’s mind. ‘Sorry, Colin. I wasn’t listening.’

  Colin repeated what he’d just said.

  ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t come in,’ said Edna.

  A kind of half-smile skewed Colin’s mouth to one side. ‘Never mind. When a kid’s ill it’s Mum that they want. No one else. Not the best and kindest doctors, nor the prettiest nurses. Just their mum. It’s always been that way. Always will.’

  Colin could not possibly imagine what he’d just said. It struck such a deep chord that Edna immediately twisted her face away from him just in case he could read what was in her eyes.

  Who, she wondered, would be there when Sherman was ill? His adoptive parents were gone. There was no one, no one at all.

  The Post Office in St George was a place of dark wood, heavy glass and high counters. When Edna went in there to buy stamps, she asked the woman behind the counter whether the paper from the notepad she’d bought in Woolworths would be suitable for airmail.

  ‘Oh no, my dear. You don’t need to bother with that,’ said the woman. A chain that kept her spectacles from getting lost tinkled like tiny bells as she shook her head and slapped her hand down on the stamp ledger. ‘You need one of these. See? It’s already stamped. You buy the whole thing.’ Proudly she held up a crispy piece of oddly shaped paper. ‘These are for airmail,’ she said excitedly. ‘You just write your letter then gum it down all around the sides. See?’