Willow Grove Abbey: A Historical World War II Romance Novel (The Somerville Trilogy)

by Payne, Mary Christian

  ‘My Love,’

  ‘No name. I learned that from you.’

  How sweet. Papa still writes Mummy love letters when they are apart. Of course, that was utterly ludicrous. It was only a matter of seconds before I adjusted to the true meaning of that beastly piece of paper. The salutation was obviously not meant for my mother, but for some other unknown female in Papa’s life. I was stunned, shocked, and worried sick. Even though I knew that my parents’ marriage was far from perfect, I’d never contemplated the idea that Papa would cheat. That probably was silly. Certainly, I knew that they had problems, and yes, Mummy had rages, but Papa had always given the impression that he worshipped her. He seemed to have arranged himself to deal with her dark periods. Of course, I’d cut my teeth on the story of their glorious love story, and part of me desperately clung to that fantasy. Crumpling up the offensive paper, I deposited it in the waste bin by the desk, as if by ridding it from my sight, I could return to my safe world of denial. However, the words were etched into my psyche.

  ‘My Love. No name. I learned that from you.’

  From whom did he learn what? What did that cryptic sentence mean? Had she told him that whenever he wrote her a love letter, he should use neither her name, nor his own? Who was she?

  I began to quiver from head to toe. I felt as though my entire world had turned upside down, along with everything I believed. I didn’t cry. Not then. I just continued the horrid trembling. Then I began to pace. I wanted desperately to talk to someone. However, who? My first and immediate thought was of my brothers. I suspected that they would be as surprised as I, at such a discovery. However, the topic did not seem the sort that I could simply ring up Blake or Drew about, blurting out the details. So, I continued to pace. Edwina! I could talk to Edwina. She had been part of my life since I was fourteen, and as dear to me as any sister. Edwina would definitely know how to handle such a shock. Even so, upon further reflection, I realized that Edwina would be at her workplace. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to talk for any length of time, especially about something so intimate. So, the quivering and pacing continued. In the course of my well-worn path, I wandered into the adjoining bath. Glancing at the ornate gold waste-bin under the washbasin, I saw another piece of the same sort of paper. I reached down, and retrieved it, smoothing it with both hands, so that I might clearly read the words written upon it. My heart was pounding so loudly that I could feel it in my ears. There, again, was my father’s handwriting, with nearly the identical words I’d seen only a few moments before. However, there was one, distinct difference. It began with a name.

  ‘Edwina, my love’.

  I froze. I felt as though I had a lump of ice in my chest, or that someone had punched me in the stomach. “Oh my God! This could not be happening. Edwina. There could be only one Edwina. My Edwina. Our Edwina. My father could not do such a thing to me... to Mummy. Edwina could not... would not... not to me, nor to Mummy. Yes, Mummy had problems. Everyone acknowledged that, and Edwina knew them as well as anyone else in the family. Nevertheless, that did not mean Edwina would become involved with my father. He was practically her own father. My parents were like second parents to her. It seemed incestuous. There had to be some mistake. Some rational explanation for the bizarre note, which still rested in my trembling hand. I stuffed the offensive scrap into the pocket of my skirt, ran cold water in the basin to cool my burning cheeks, and tried to calm myself. Then I drank a glass of water, and took a few deep breaths. I had to go to my scheduled interview, and to be in control. I brushed my hair, put on fresh lip rouge, powdered my nose, and straightened my blouse and skirt, and rain gear Then, I left my father’s room, with one last glance at his baggage. There was a second attaché case sitting in the corner. I had a momentary temptation to open it. I wanted to rummage about to see what secrets it might reveal. However, I was immediately ashamed of myself, and resisted the impulse. I wasn’t certain that I could have absorbed any more shocks that morning anyway.

  Somehow, I got through the interview. Later, I didn’t remember a thing about it, nor of my journey back to Sumner Street. Thank goodness, when I arrived, Martha and Isabella were having a lie-down, and I don’t believe they even knew that I had returned. The next thing I remember is sitting at my telephone table, ringing my father at the Somerville Ltd. London Offices. An office assistant put me through to him, although Papa was in a meeting. Obviously, I was not thinking or behaving in a rational manner or I would have known that he couldn’t speak openly or honestly while indie of a meeting. My primary concern was that he not leave London without allowing me the opportunity to discuss my beastly discovery. When I heard his voice on the line, I blurted out my question, with no preliminary niceties.

  “Papa, what is going on between you and Edwina?”

  At first, he was completely silent. Then, without ever knowing it, he revealed the truth, and incriminated himself beyond all redemption. “Sophia, it is not an accident that I left that attaché case behind in the room,” he replied.

  The attaché case! That which I had been tempted to open, which obviously contained the completed letter or something equally incriminating. He thought I had opened and read it! “Papa, I didn’t open your attaché case,” I answered, truthfully. “I found one piece of paper on the floor by the bed, and another in the waste bin in the loo.”

  More silence followed. “Sophia, I cannot discuss this at the moment. Let me ring you from the rail station before I leave for Willow Grove.” I could not argue. Of course, he was correct. “All right, I understand, but just let me say one more thing. I expect you to tell me the truth, Papa. There is nothing in the world that you can tell me that I will not try to understand and forgive. However, I shall never understand if you choose to lie. Please remember that, Papa.” I hung up the receiver, and sat there, staring into space, and watching the clock count away the minutes. I never moved from the desk. After a very lengthy interval, the telephone rang.

  “Sophia, Papa here,” he began.

  “Yes, Papa, I hoped it would be you. Have you an answer to my question?” I could hear trains being announced in the background and knew that he was trying to speak in low tones, yet was finding it difficult to hear me, with all of the noise in the giant station surrounding him.

  “Sophia, it’s not what you are thinking. Edwina knows nothing of my adolescent feelings,” was his reply.

  “I read the salutation on the letter! How can you possibly expect me to believe that?” I asked, incredulously.

  “Sophia. I was lying in bed, composing a speech that I am to give next week, when my mind began to wander. I diverted my attention to the memory of the lovely Parisian dinner with Edwina. I am terribly embarrassed to confess this. If Edwina knew, she would be horrified. I shall readily admit that I find her enchanting. What man, particularly a middle-aged, foolish one, would not? However, it is a schoolboy sort of thing. I would never presume to act upon those fantasies, and I should die if Edwina had the slightest notion.”

  “Then, what did you mean in the letter when you wrote ‘No name, I learned that from you?’ It sounds to me as though Edwina instructed you never to use her name when writing to her, in case it might be read by a third party, which, of course, is exactly what has happened.”

  “I believe that Edwina did make some such reference during dinner, regarding never putting anything incriminating into writing, but she was speaking in general terms. Her comments were in no way associated with feelings of an intimate nature towards me. You must believe me.”

  Perhaps because I wanted so badly to believe his story, I made that choice. If I hadn’t believed him, I’d be forced to face unspeakable feelings, and emotional conflicts that I just couldn’t deal with. Yet, I harbored a sense of unease. Something did not seem right. I knew my father, and couldn’t fathom his resorting to such fantasizing. Yet, I also couldn’t fathom an involvement with Edwina. Then there was the inexplicable comment about the attaché case, and not leaving it behind by accident. Obvi
ously, the briefcase contained something. How I wished I’d opened it. Had it contained the completed fantasy letter or a similar piece of correspondence from Edwina to Papa? Before I could delve any further into the mystery, Papa announced that his train was posted, and that he had to ring off and board. There was little I could do but agree.

  After I placed the receiver back into its cradle, I sat silently, studying a photograph on my desk. Taken at my wedding to Owen, it was one of the few mementoes remaining from that period in my life. I wasn’t in the photo, nor was Owen. It featured Edwina in her primrose bridal frock, flanked by Papa, looking handsome and debonair in white tie and tails. They were both holding flutes of champagne, and smiling broadly. Edwina looked radiant, and they did make a handsome couple. Was it conceivable that there could be more to the photo than appeared on the surface? I suddenly remembered something Edwina said that night in Paris at Deux Magots. And again, in London, one of the last times I’d seen her; that she ‘found herself attracted to much older men’.

  I felt as though I desperately needed to talk to someone about my feelings. I was confused and hurt, and did not believe my father’s story. Yet it was bewildering that he might be involved romantically with Edwina. Certainly Edwina could be alluring and desirable, if one preferred her type. There was no denying that. Nevertheless, I knew... I just knew... that Edwina would never do anything to betray our friendship. Our entire relationship was based upon honesty. Always had been. In addition, I couldn’t imagine that Edwina would betray Mummy. Of course she knew how dreadful Mummy’s behavior could be. She had witnessed it. Nevertheless, she’d always understood that Mummy had serious emotional problems. Edwina was not the sort of woman who would take advantage of such a sad situation. Was she? I remembered her voice, saying ‘But, how sad that he can’t marry her, if he loves her,’ when referring to Edward the Eighth and Wallis Simpson. Was she also thinking of herself?

  I donned my coat, and went out, in spite of the dismal weather. I didn’t care if I became soaked. I needed to walk and think, with no particular destination in mind... Only a desire for fresh air and movement. Over blocks and blocks I wandered, trying to sort everything out. Nothing made any sense. Finally, I came upon the Royal College of Surgeons at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. The building itself was enclosed with black iron fencing, but I spied a small, white marble bench sitting outside of the gates. I knew that Spence had received some of his medical training in that very place, and perhaps subconsciously, I felt as though he were nearer to me. I sat down, feeling lonely and desolate. If what I suspected was true, then my friendship with Edwina had come to an end. I couldn’t help but weep at the mere thought of losing my friend’s presence in my life. As I sat there, lost in thought, without warning, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “Sophia?” a voice asked. Incredulous as it may seem, it was Spence! There was no one in the world I might have wished to see more at that moment, and there he was. I needed to talk to him, to hear his sensible, intelligent voice, to help me sort out the muddle. He had told me that night in Paris to call, if I ever needed a friend, but I would never have done so.

  “My Lord,” I said, voicing the shock I felt at his unexpected appearance. “This is unbelievable.” In spite of my emotional state, I was keenly aware that I must have looked gruesome. My hair was wet from the rain, my eyes were red and swollen from crying, and my nose was running.

  “Sophia. What is the problem? I almost didn’t recognize you. You‘ve been crying. What’s happened?” he asked, concern in his voice.

  “Spence, what... what are you doing here?” I responded. “Why aren’t you in Twigbury?” The coincidence of his finding me at that precise moment was uncanny.

  “I’ve returned to London to take advanced courses in surgery. Have been here for several months. The chap I was filling in for returned from his travels. I could have stayed on, as his partner, but decided against it. I fear there is going to be another war. I want to be well prepared, if I re-enter the RAF. However, enough of that. What’s wrong in your world that I find you crying on a park bench in the rain?” Had I been less upset, I would have realized that it was very foolhardy for me to pour out my troubles to him. He knew nothing about Isabella, and I wanted to keep it that way. The more communication we had, the more likely he was to learn of my daughter’s existence. However, my mind was on the dreadful letter, and the subsequent conversations with my father.

  “Oh Spence, it’s such a demented story, I began...

  Spence had been such an integral part of my life, and he was the one... perhaps the only one... with whom I could discuss my unsettling discovery. I was aware that he also possessed a dimension of objectivity of which I was incapable... a desperately needed perspective. Therefore, I allowed him to lead me to a small, quiet pub, where we could sip a glass of ale and talk. I wasted no time describing the happenings of the morning at Grande’s Hotel, as well as the conversations with my father, which had followed. Then I sat back and awaited Spence’s response. He was silent for some time, and when he did speak, it was obvious that he was choosing his words carefully. He must have felt as though he was tiptoeing his way through a minefield.

  “Sophia,” he began. “Your father has always seemed larger than life to you. Indeed, I suspect that’s the case with most women and their fathers. Perhaps it’s even more pronounced with you, because you’ve never been particularly close to your mother. That’s also probably why you are so especially close with Edwina. In addition, I know you have mixed feelings for him.”

  “Spence, you’re so right.” As you said, I do have very mixed feelings about my father. In some ways, it’s true... I don’t respect him at all for the way he has hurt me. Yet, I still love him, if that makes any sense. I don’t know if I’m more upset at the idea of my father being involved with Edwina, or with the fact that Edwina would betray me... and my mother... in such a fashion. I’ve always thought of Edwina as the sister I never had.

  Under the circumstances, I think the less Edwina knows about your life, the better. The intimate parts of your life, that is.”

  “Why do you say that?

  “If there is... and I stress the word if... something going on between your father and Edwina, then you don’t want private details about your life becoming ‘pillow talk’, so to speak.”

  “Spence, I cannot fathom such a thing. That would mean Edwina is betraying our friendship and me. That simply couldn’t be.”

  “Sophia, in spite of your marriage, and Owen’s subsequent death, you are still astonishingly naive. It has always been a part of your charm. Nevertheless, in this instance, you cannot afford to be an innocent. Your father is not perfect, nor is Edwina.”

  “I haven’t considered him perfect for a long time, Spence. I know he has flaws... some of them very pronounced... Moreover, of course, I know that Edwina has her faults. But, goodness, it’s a long way from admitting that one’s father and best friend have faults, to accepting that they may be involved in a love affair.”

  “I understand that Sophia, and you don’t know anything with certainty. I admit that it looks suspicious. However, if that is the case, you must understand that you cannot control your father’s or anyone else’s behavior. We both know that your mother has not always made life pleasant for your father. Would it be so strange then, if he turned elsewhere for the affection he doesn’t receive at home?”

  Of course, Spence knew of Mummy’s rages, but my first reaction, resulting from years of denial, was to defend my mother. Then I realized that I needed to be truthful, both with Spence and with myself. Still, was Spence suggesting that if there was any truth to the possibility that Papa and Edwina were involved romantically, it was justified because of Mummy’s rages? I could never adopt such a perspective, and said as much. “If Papa is so unhappy that he feels the need to step outside of his marriage for comfort, then divorce is always an option. I could never condone an extra-marital affair, particularly with my former school roommate and best friend. There are a
potful of women in the world. It wouldn’t be difficult for a man like Papa, with heaps of money, and a seat in Parliament, besides a magnificent country house, to find himself a mistress. I’m not a fool, Spence, I know that it’s done all of the time. But, Edwina...?”

  “No, Sophia, I’m not suggesting such a thing. I just want you to be your loving and forgiving self. I, as well as anyone, know that you too, are human. I know the pain you have experienced at your father’s hands. But, surely, Sophia, you of all people, can understand how it might be possible for two people to fall in love, even when there’s an impediment to their having a future together?” His words seared my soul. How could I possibly have been so foolish... so insensitive as to not have recognized how grossly ridiculous it was to be reaching out to Spence at such a moment? I looked down at the table and twirled my glass in my hands. “Sophia, I can’t bear to see you this unhappy. Please don’t cry,” he said, as he reached across and placed his hand over mine.

  “Oh Spence... I’m sorry. I am just so confused. I shouldn’t have burdened you with this. You’re right... I should not assign one set of principles to my father and Edwina, and another to myself. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

  “Sophia, the hardest part of this is the realization that if there is any truth to it, Edwina is the ‘other woman’. I believe you could accept an indiscretion on the part of your father, however painful that might be, if the female involved was a stranger. However, Edwina is your best friend. I know how you feel about her. I understand why you would view such an involvement as a betrayal of your friendship.”

  “Of course it’s a betrayal of our friendship!” I nearly shouted. “The whole idea of Papa and Edwina makes me ill! Edwina is like family. It’s…it’s…in essence, it’s incestuous.”