The Returning Tide

by Liz Fenwick

  Cradling my head in my hands, I wondered what had happened to the world. My mother was depressed and lonely in Cornwall. My father was having it off with my aunt, my sister’s fiancé was missing presumed dead and I was in love with an American. I laughed. If I presented that list to my grandmother, out of everything she’d probably still think the worst problem was my American.

  The telephone sat a few feet away. I’d picked it up three times and put it back. I couldn’t call home to ask if Amelia was there. What if Mother answered? What would I say? There was nothing I could say. She knew. She had to, or at least suspect. How long had he and Margaret been carrying on?

  Taking my tea, I went up to the room where I slept and had kept a few things. This small bedroom had been my London base and up until last night had felt like home. I took out my suitcase and began putting everything in it. I couldn’t stay here now, but wasn’t sure where I could go. The trains weren’t running today. I would try and reach Bobby, then once my head was functioning properly I would see who else was here in town. Clear thinking was needed but my brain wasn’t capable of that.

  I opened the wardrobe to retrieve my evening gown, wondering if I really wanted it any more – after all, it had been Margaret’s. But it wasn’t there. The place it had hung on the wardrobe rail was empty. I tilted my head, as if somehow shaking my brain might make it work. I knew I’d left it here, the last time I’d been in London. I’d only worn it a month ago.

  Sinking onto the bed, I took a sip of tea, grateful that my aunt wasn’t around. It didn’t bear thinking about where she was. The war had changed everything but I hadn’t expected this. Maybe I should have done. Father was here and Mother was in Cornwall. They shouldn’t have separated – she should have stayed in London with him. But I remembered the Blitz and her nerves. Once she was away in the country and with Grandmother things had improved. Father had the War Office. Aunt Margaret had the Red Cross. But obviously it had not been enough. Yet Mother hadn’t taken up with any of the American generals who frequented the Ferryboat Inn, or even the handsome Dutchman with the gammy leg who flirted outrageously with her. Mother was beautiful, quiet, caring. Margaret was …

  ‘Hello.’

  … right in front of me, standing in the doorway, looking sheepish.

  ‘Leaving?’ Her voice was husky and her face a little drawn.

  I shrugged.

  ‘May I come in?’

  I bit back the words I wanted to say – it’s your house – and nodded.

  ‘Your father said you were at the 400 last night.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She took a step into the room. Usually so confident and vivacious, my glamorous aunt now looked unsure.

  I stared straight at her. ‘Am I the only family member who knows?’

  She moistened her red lips. ‘I believe your mother may suspect.’

  I nodded. ‘My grandmother?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘The whole of London?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  Her eyes turned from me and she looked out of the window, but from her expression, I could tell. People knew. They would talk. My mother would be the object of pity. Amelia would kill my father.

  ‘He needed someone.’ She turned to me. ‘I needed someone.’

  ‘So this was a thing of convenience.’ I raised an eyebrow and tried not to sound bitter.

  ‘Honestly, it began that way.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Your father wasn’t my first lover since I became a widow. Or even before.’ Walking to the window, she looked down on the large hole at the end of the garden where her neighbour’s house used to be. ‘I tried to fill the loneliness any way I could.’

  ‘So my father filled the gap in your life.’

  She laughed drily. ‘No, he returned after D-Day a different man.’

  That I could understand.

  ‘He wakes at night screaming.’

  I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to hear this about my father for so many reasons. But mostly I didn’t want to hear it from my aunt, someone I’d looked up to until last night.

  ‘Adele, you’re an adult now,’ she said.

  ‘That doesn’t make things right.’ I closed my suitcase with a snap.

  ‘No, but things are never black and white.’

  ‘Do you want him to divorce Mother?’

  She crossed her arms. ‘Heavens, no.’

  I frowned.

  ‘I love your father.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I love your mother and you and Amelia.’ She looked hard at me, giving me the same look people did when trying to work out which of the sisters I was. But Father had known it was me last night. My uniform had given me away, the tell-tale badges. This was not how things should be.

  My hands were neatly folded on my lap. ‘What do you plan to do?’ I asked. I didn’t really want to know, but hearing it might help somehow.

  ‘Nothing.’

  I shook my head. If she loved my father then surely she wanted to be with him. Now that the war was over, Mother would expect him back. I looked down at my fingers twisted together in my lap.

  ‘He’d like to see you.’

  I looked up from my hands to the hallway.

  ‘He’s not here. He’s at his club. He’ll be at the Ritz at one o’clock.’ She stood. ‘I know it’s a great deal to take in. I remember my own anger when I discovered my father had taken a mistress.’ She laughed. ‘In the end I became quite close to her.’ She left the room.

  That may have been true for you, I thought. But this is different.

  Thirty-Six

  Constantine, Falmouth, Cornwall

  23 September 2015

  Lara left Cassie’s house with a great deal on her mind. It was 11.30 a.m., which made it very early in Boston, but she didn’t care. She needed to talk to Leo before she got to Windward. All night long Elle Rowse’s face had woven its way through her dreams. Lara had reread Grandie’s sparse diaries hoping for a clue. He had mentioned Cornwall, Falmouth and the Helford only during May 1944, when he was on leave with ‘A’.

  May 15, 1944

  Left with A and drove to Cornwall.

  Drank whiskey above a cove. I cannot describe how I feel about her.

  The house is charming. Had lunch at the Ferryboat.

  The Ferryboat Inn. She smiled, glad that she could visualise the location now. Grandie had mentioned it a few times in the diary.

  May 30, 1944

  Strange to be here without A. Am meeting the DQ here. This area reminds me so much of the Cape.

  Lara knew that only Grandie would have been able to fully decode his use of initials for people and places. But she was certain Windward and Mrs Rowse were linked to him in some way. A rain squall descended as she pulled into a passing place. Thankfully, her phone had signal, so she dialled.

  ‘Morning.’ The voice on the line was Deborah, sounding like she’d been awake for hours.

  ‘It’s Lara.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you. Leo’s been restless which means you have too.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No need to apologise. I knew when I started dating a twin that there were certain consequences, other than the chance of having twins of my own. I’ll pass you to him.’ There was a pause, a brief clatter on the line, and then:

  ‘Hey, you.’

  Lara smiled. ‘This is really weird, Leo. I feel Grandie all around here like I’ve told you, but – I met an old woman who looks like me. Well, she did when she was young.’ She took a breath. ‘But her eyes even now, they’re like ours. It’s like looking into the future.’

  ‘Is she related?’

  ‘She must be.’ Lara sighed. ‘I’m dying to ask her a million questions but she’s not very well.’

  ‘Not good,’ he said.

  ‘No. By the way, I haven’t had any luck reaching this General Tucker.’

  ‘Sorry, meant to update you. He’s moved into a home. I had a great chat with him.’

  ‘Did he k
now anything?’ She glanced up at a tractor coming towards her but there was enough room for the vehicle to get around her safely. The farmer in the driver’s seat waved as he passed.

  ‘In his words, Grandie was in love with a girl called Adele. She was a Wren. A beautiful thing with amber eyes.’

  ‘Adele.’ Lara looked out to the field. A gush of wind brought a few leaves down onto the hood of the car.

  ‘Yes, Adele. I did say that he married an Amelia and General Tucker knew that.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he knew Amelia’s last name?’

  ‘No, he never met Amelia but he knew Adele well, as she worked as a telegraphist in Portland. He and Grandie were stationed in Weymouth, which according to the map was close by.’

  ‘And you didn’t call me about that straight away?’ She sighed. ‘I guess that explains his last words.’

  ‘She must have been his great love.’ She heard Leo take a sip of what she presumed was coffee.

  ‘But what about Amelia? He married her.’

  ‘Tucker knew Grandie had married another woman but couldn’t remember the details. Although they kept in touch via the odd Christmas card they never saw each other after Grandie left the Army.’

  Lara tapped the wheel with her free hand. ‘Thanks. It all helps. Adele makes sense if she was the love of his life, but it feels wrong knowing he married Amelia. And knowing him. Why would he have done that?’

  ‘Maybe he made a mistake and did the right thing.’

  ‘Possibly, but does getting a girl pregnant sound like the man who said the rosary on his knees every night?’ She pictured Grandie so clearly right then, beside his bed, his head bowed.

  ‘Maybe that’s why he did.’

  She shook her head. ‘True.’

  ‘Keep me posted. Love you. I’m off to the office now.’

  ‘So early?’

  ‘Big case,’ he said. ‘Bye.’

  ‘Love you too.’ Cows had spotted her car and were making their way towards the gate. She ran all the facts she had through her mind then closed her eyes. Were they missing something? Her eyes flew open. Of course they were. ‘A’ didn’t have to be Amelia; it could be Adele. Those passionate letters were from Adele.

  She turned the ignition then continued on her way to Windward, wondering if Elle Rowse could be Amelia’s cousin, or maybe even her sister. Lara’s likeness to the young Elle was too marked to be a fluke.

  Turning into the drive carefully so the sourdough starter she’d stowed in a bag on the back seat wouldn’t spill, she looked forward to an afternoon of bread, the food of life. Now that Elle was eating a bit more, it was good to keep things varied, plus Lara was enjoying the time spent with Jack in the kitchen. She had forgotten the joys of simply cooking for pleasure. Parking next to his 4x4, she got out of the car just as the rain eased off and breathed in the clear air. The sea in the distance was still and grey, a shade lighter than the sky. More rain would follow shortly, she was sure of it.

  Avoiding a series of puddles, she made her way to the kitchen. The back door was wide open and no one was in sight. She put the starter down and wondered if she should call out or prepare things while she waited.

  ‘Hello?’ She walked towards the central hallway, glancing into the breakfast room as she passed. The dining room and sitting rooms were empty too. Continuing through the house on tiptoe, feeling like she was trespassing, she searched for more photos of Elle, but those that she saw were of Jack and Peta and another man she assumed had to have been their father.

  In the living room she found a photo of Elle with a tall, handsome man. In the picture, she was wearing a hat and holding a bouquet so Lara assumed it was a wedding photo. Elle looked about forty and the style of her dress suggested it was some time in the 1960s.

  At the sound of a thump upstairs, she stepped back from the picture. There was a cry and she dashed to the main staircase. ‘Hello?’ This time she made sure her voice could be heard. ‘Mrs Rowse? Jack?’

  No response. She ran up the stairs and quickly searched for where she’d heard the noise, towards the front of the house above the sitting room. There she found a door ajar – and beyond it she could see Elle on the floor, clutching a pile of letters.

  Lara rushed in and fell to her knees. Elle’s breathing was laboured but her eyes opened, focusing on her.

  ‘I know you.’

  ‘Yes, you do. I’m Lara.’ She looked for signs of an injury but saw none. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘I know you.’

  Lara smiled and tried to assess Elle’s condition. Her pupils were slow to react but responding. In her hands she was still clutching the pile of envelopes. Lara reached for her wrist to check her pulse. The skin was papery white and soft.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Elle’s words were slow and slightly slurred.

  ‘To cook.’ Lara wondered if she had had a stroke. On the bedside table was a phone, so she quickly went over to it and called the emergency services. Once she’d made sure an ambulance was on the way, she went back to sit beside Elle.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Elle asked again. Her eyes looked at Lara but she could tell they were seeing something else. ‘We were wrong, you know.’

  ‘Why wrong?’

  ‘It seemed right at the time.’

  Lara hoped the ambulance would arrive soon. She held Elle’s hands, but they were so cold, the fingers long and slender like Lara’s own, down to the slightly crooked pinkie.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Elle was studying Lara.

  ‘I’m here to find out about my great-grandmother, Amelia.’

  Elle gasped and closed her eyes. Lara watched her chest rise and fall. It reminded her of those days with Grandie.

  ‘Amelia.’ Elle’s voice was very faint.

  ‘Yes. She married my great-grandfather, Robert Webster.’

  Lara could hear a clock ticking. Outside, the rain began again with a few gentle taps on the window. Where the hell was Jack? His car was in the drive. They had been due to start cooking twenty minutes ago. She continued to check Elle’s vital signs. How long it would take for help to arrive?

  ‘Is he dead?’

  Lara nearly jumped out of her skin. Elle’s eyes were open again, looking at her and very focused.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He died in August, just over a month ago.’ Lara’s heart tightened as she thought of him. Back then it had appeared his life had been simple. He’d been a single parent and had mourned his wife for most of his life. Now it was more than possible that he’d mourned his first love for even longer.

  Elle’s gaze fixed on some point beyond Lara. ‘Did he send you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Amelia.’ She spoke the name so softly Lara wasn’t sure if it was intended for her.

  ‘Yes, my great-grandmother was Amelia.’ Lara brushed a strand of hair from Elle’s face.

  ‘You look just like her.’

  ‘What the hell has happened?’ Jack came in, followed immediately by two paramedics. Lara stepped aside and answered their questions quickly, then she and Jack left the room and headed downstairs to leave them to their work.

  Jack stood for ages looking out at the rain from the sunroom, not saying a word. Lara lost track of time thinking about the woman upstairs. How did Elle fit? Her words: You look just like her ran round in Lara’s head. It was clear that she and Elle were related; it was just a question of how.

  Thirty-Seven

  The Ritz, London

  9 May 1945

  Everyone was still smiling but looking tired as I hopped off the number 9 bus with my suitcase in hand and headed towards the Ritz. Evidence of the night’s revelry was everywhere. I adjusted my hat and straightened my jacket. My uniform was slightly the worse for wear, but when I looked at my other options nothing seemed right. My father would be in uniform. I didn’t want to see him but I didn’t have any choice. No, I knew that wasn’t true – part of me did want to see him. There were so many emotions in me right then. I stepped through the bit
s of paper and broken glass at my feet. Last night all that paper flying about had seemed joyous, but now, as I watched an old man in the distance sweeping it all away, it was just work.

  I almost marched through the Ritz lobby to the restaurant. As I approached the table, my father stood. ‘I wondered if you’d come.’

  ‘So did I.’ Taking my seat, I looked at my father as if seeing him for the first time. He was handsome, so very handsome. His green eyes lively, intelligent but weary. He must have known that if he was carrying on with my aunt we would find out eventually. But maybe that was what he had wanted, the cheat’s way. Now he didn’t have to break the news because I had seen it with my own eyes.

  ‘Delly,’ he began and I flinched. ‘I’m sorry … you had to find out.’

  I blinked. Find out? He should have been apologising for doing all of us a grievous wrong. ‘I’m sorry you thought that you could do something like this and I wouldn’t find out.’

  ‘We have been very discreet.’ The word discreet gave me images of back alleys and dodgy hotels that I didn’t want. ‘No one thinks anything of seeing us together for dinner.’

  I shook my head, trying to see where my father was heading. ‘Last night was an exception then?’

  ‘Exactly. A bit of VE Day madness. And no one talks about what they see in the 400.’

  ‘That’s not true. I’ve heard you talk about the shenanigans of certain people.’

  ‘Yes, but I am below notice.’

  ‘You may be but Aunt Margaret isn’t.’

  He peered into his whisky. I imagined he’d had a few while he was waiting for me, and now that I looked I could see the signs of drink on him. His face was high in colour and a sheen of perspiration gleamed on his brow. ‘Margaret is different.’

  ‘What were you thinking?’ I twisted my water glass on the table. A waiter approached, but I waved him away. Food was the last thing I wanted.

  ‘I wasn’t …’