We'll Meet Again

by Philippa Carr

  I had planned to tell them the story of losing my memory. No one except Violetta must ever know about Jacques. I had planned to reform and be a good wife to Dermot for ever after. Now … he was dead.

  I stammered: “I find it all so difficult. It wasn’t what I had expected. I don’t know how I shall face them … even my sister.”

  “Your sister is a nice, sensible girl.”

  “I know … but even her… after this. My husband … dead.”

  “Don’t take it so hard. I’ll never believe he didn’t have a hand in my girl’s death.”

  “No … not Dermot. He would never hurt anyone.”

  “Well, he was your husband. It’s natural, I suppose, for you to stand up for him.”

  “Mrs. Pardell, may I stay here for a while? I’ve a little money. Suppose I could stay for about a week. I’ll pay for everything. I’ve got to think how I am going to get back.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then she said: “You’re welcome to stay.”

  “Oh, thank you. I only want a few days. I couldn’t even see my sister now … not just yet. I have to think …”

  When I look back on that time, I can’t remember the order in which things happened. I went over my plans, deciding what I could tell Violetta. I should need all my courage to face her. The news about Dermot had unnerved me. I was in a panic now. I felt sick and ashamed. I could not stop thinking of Dermot’s going out riding … recklessly, I imagined, for he had always been decidedly at home on a horse. Mrs. Pardell had hinted darkly that he had been drinking. Oh, Dermot, I thought, what did I do to you?

  I longed to see Violetta while I wondered how I could face her.

  There was one day when I was alone in the house. Mrs. Pardell had gone into West Poldown to shop. I thought how fortunate it was that she was, as she said, one to “keep herself to herself.” She would not gossip in the town. She was what they called a “foreigner” in these parts, not even coming from the south of England, and so she was placed in a category lower than mine. In times of stress, one is thankful for these small blessings.

  There was a knock on the door. I was startled. Mrs. Pardell had had no visitors since I had arrived. I looked from the window of my bedroom and emotion swept over me, for Violetta was standing below.

  Now was my moment. Yet I stood still. Panic rushed over me. I could not move. I had been waiting to see her and now that the opportunity had come to do so, I was filled with dismay. I was unprepared. I kept seeing heartbroken Dermot, drinking too much, taking his horse out in a reckless mood and then being injured—and later ending his life.

  I had done that. I stood at the window and I said to myself, not yet.

  Again she knocked. I felt limp. I wanted to go down and throw myself into her arms. But I did not do so. I watched her walk away and as soon as she had gone I wanted to rush after her.

  What a fool I was! What would Mrs. Pardell think if I told her? I stood leaning against the curtains, cursing myself for being such an idiot. I had lost the best opportunity that could be offered.

  I did not tell Mrs. Pardell. She would have despised me for a coward, and rightly so.

  There was another stupid thing I did. I had not gone outside the house during the daylight hours for fear of being recognized. But after a while I was so distraught that I just could not bear to remain indoors any longer. I felt as though I were in a cage. I was imprisoned by my own folly and cowardice. I had to get out. Late one afternoon, in a mood of recklessness, I left the house. It was unfortunate that on the cliff path I came face to face with one of the maids from Tregarland’s. I had at least taken the precaution of wearing a scarf over my head.

  To my horror, I realized she had recognized me, for she turned pale and stared at me. She thought I was a ghost, that was clear. I tried to look vague and unearthly. I stared ahead of her and went past.

  I knew she would go back to Tregarland’s and tell them she had seen my ghost. And what would Violetta think? She could not believe the girl, of course, but she would start thinking of me and I knew she would be mourning for me afresh.

  I went back to the cottage. I lay tossing all that night. This state of affairs could not go on. I suggested to Mrs. Pardell that she write to Violetta and ask her to call. That would seem reasonable.

  This she agreed to do.

  And that was how I was reunited with Violetta.

  I remember every detail of that meeting. I opened the door and stood before her. I shall never forget her look of amazement, of disbelief, and the sudden dawning of joy when she realized that I was alive.

  As always, Violetta set me on the right course. Not that it had been easy. She immediately pointed out that, of course, I had to tell her the truth and she agreed that this was something which, for all our sakes, should not be revealed. Life would be impossible in the neighborhood in which we were living if such stories were kept alive, and they would be embellished in the process. There was Tristan to think of. He must not grow up learning of the scandal.

  Violetta brought her practical mind to bear on a solution. To have been picked up off our coast and taken to Grimsby was ridiculous, she said. If I were picked up by a fishing vessel, it would have been a Cornish one. I should have been known immediately and taken to the hospital in Poldown, and, lost memory or not, Tregarland would have been notified without delay.

  The loss of memory would have to stay, but Violetta suggested I could have been picked up by a yacht, the owners of which were on their way home to the north of England. They had been in Spain. They did not realize immediately that I had lost my memory and, by the time they did, we were on the north coast. So they took me to a hospital there.

  “It is not very good,” she said, “but it will have to do.”

  She arranged it as she always did. My parents came down to Tregarland’s at once. They had to know the truth. No one else there did.

  Violetta said we should never have got away with such a tale but for the fact that, just about this time, war was declared and people had something to think about other than the exploits of a wayward wife.

  I had done my best to forget that incident with Jacques, as I did with all the unpleasant incidents in my life. It was a comforting habit I had developed.

  And then … there he was, arriving on our shore, in the middle of the night, with a sister of whom I had never heard before.

  VIOLETTA

  Suspicions

  THERE WAS GREAT EXCITEMENT in the Poldowns over the arrival of the French refugees. People welcomed them. They were our allies, escaping from German tyranny and eager to come over to us and help with the war effort.

  I wished they had arrived somewhere else and not on our coast, for I could see what effect the advent of the lover whom she had left not long before was having on Dorabella. She was deeply disconcerted, though he was nonchalant enough, as though meeting up with a past passion was an ordinary event for him.

  Gordon Lewyth helped in his practical way. He found out where Jacques could join General De Gaulle’s headquarters and very soon Jacques left us. Simone remained. She wanted to do some work and Gordon was looking round to find something for her.

  By this time people were feeling they should all be doing something since, as the weeks passed, the situation was becoming more menacing. The Germans were now dropping bombs on England and London was attacked with particular ferocity. We all knew, even if the Prime Minister had not told us, that the enemy was attempting to destroy our air defense as a prelude to an invasion of our island.

  We must be prepared.

  I was seeing Mrs. Jermyn frequently, and we found a great deal of comfort in each other’s society. We shared our mourning for Jowan, as no one else could, and we both refused to believe that he was dead.

  I used to go and sit with her while we had tea served by her maid, Morwenna, just as we always had, although the cakes now were made without butter and the tea was weak; but when we spoke of Jowan, it was as though he were somewhere over there and would co
me home to us in time. Mrs. Jermyn was not given to self-pity. She just kept herself—and me—convinced that he would come home one day.

  When she heard about the arrival of Jacques and his sister, she invited them to come and see her, for she remembered that Jacques had come over for a painting holiday before the war.

  She also asked Dorabella, who declined on the pretext of a previous engagement, for, of course, she did not want to be in the company of Jacques any more than was necessary.

  We talked, of course, about the situation. Mrs. Jermyn understood why they did not want to live in France with Pétain, who had not only surrendered but was actually helping the enemy. She saw that the only thing they could do was come and join the noble de Gaulle.

  “And you, my dear,” she said to Simone, “they tell me that you want to do something. What sort of thing?”

  Simone replied that she would do anything needed to help. Perhaps she could go and make munitions somewhere. “Mr. Lewyth … he is very kind. Is he not, Jacques?” she said.

  Jacques replied that Mr. Lewyth was a man of much knowledge and indeed he was kind.

  “How do you feel about going on the land?” asked Mrs. Jermyn.

  “The land?” said Simone. “What is this land?”

  “It’s working on the farms. As so many men are going off to fight, girls are being recruited now. I heard they are shaping up very well. What of you?”

  “On the farm …” She lifted her eyebrows and looked at Jacques.

  “Would it be here … in these parts?” he asked.

  “I think so. I know our manager, Mr. Yeo, is looking for someone to replace one of the men who has just been called up.”

  Jacques said: “To work here … on this estate … on Jermyn’s … that would be very good, would it not, Simone?”

  “Well, yes. If I can do … this land. I must have means to live … we could bring very little with us, you understand?”

  “But of course. I tell you what we shall do. When we have had our tea, I shall send for Mr. Yeo. He was a little skeptical about landgirls, I’m afraid, but naturally he would be, wouldn’t he, Violetta? We will talk to him and then decide.”

  “Soon it will not be for us to decide,” I said. “They are talking about calling up the women as well as the men. They will draft them into suitable occupations, I expect.”

  “Well, Mademoiselle,” said Mrs. Jermyn to Simone, “you must see Mr. Yeo.”

  It was amazing how well it worked out. Mr. Yeo was sure he could find a place for Simone and shortly after the Dubois had arrived on our shores Jacques had joined the Free French Army and Simone was working on the Jermyn estate.

  Dorabella had admitted to me that she was relieved because Jacques was not staying in the neighborhood.

  “Did you fear that he might revive your passion?” I asked.

  I was alarmed because she did not answer immediately. She seemed as though she were going to confide something. Then I saw the look in her eyes. No use trying to explain to Violetta. She would never understand.

  Then she said: “Oh no, nothing of the sort.”

  But I continued to feel a little uneasy. I feared that, though she knew him for a philanderer and an inconstant lover, she was still attracted by him.

  I was very glad that he had gone away.

  The war news was becoming more and more depressing. It was heart-rending to hear of the terrible damage that was being inflicted on London. There were rumors of barges being constructed on the other side of the Channel in preparation for invasion.

  It was amazing how people steeled themselves for the worst. I think what we dreaded most was to have the enemy on our soil. As a result, there was a general feeling of kindness towards each other. It was noticeable. The awareness of what could happen to us made us tolerant and want to help others.

  We heard stories of the heroism of the people of London. Many of them had already sent their children away from home and now they faced bombardment with stoicism flavored by grim humor.

  It was indeed a strange time to live and I knew that I should never forget it through all the days left to me.

  And still there was no news of Jowan.

  I was having tea with Mrs. Jermyn one day when she said: “Your family used to run that place in Essex. They made it into a hospital during the first war.”

  “That’s so. It was my grandmother and my mother helped too. She has often told us about it.”

  “I was thinking of this place. Not exactly as a hospital, but lots of those men will need somewhere to get over their illnesses and operations. I thought … with all this space, we could have some of them here. It would give them a rest … a sort of convalescent home. What do you think?”

  “Would it be too much for you?” I remembered when I had first met her she had seemed almost an invalid.

  “I should have people to help. I thought about you.”

  “But, of course!” I cried. “I have been wondering what I could do to help. They say that soon we shall all be called up.”

  “My dear,” she said, “I should find it hard if you went away. It is so helpful for me to talk to you. You know how I feel. You understand …”

  She meant that we were the two who loved Jowan and we had to keep the belief that he would come back alive. We helped each other in that.

  I said: “It seems an excellent idea. There are several bedrooms. It would make a wonderful convalescent home.”

  “So I thought. We could get your mother to give us a few hints of how they ran their place.”

  “She would be delighted to help.”

  “You and I together could run the place. And perhaps your sister would like to help.”

  “I am sure she would. It is a wonderful idea.”

  We talked excitedly. It took our minds from the fear of what might come—and chiefly from what might have happened to Jowan.

  How grateful I was for all that had to be done in the next few weeks! I was constantly at Jermyn’s Priory. The authorities came to look at the place and we were in touch with the hospital in Poldown. It seemed that the idea of a convalescent home for the war-wounded was very acceptable.

  The rooms were made ready and we were expecting the first arrivals. There were several servants at Jermyn’s and these would stay and help with the running of the place instead of going into factories or on the land, as so many of them would be called upon to do. There was no doubt that running Jermyn’s Priory in this way was considered to be essential war work.

  In the midst of this something very tragic occurred.

  I was leaving the house on my way to Jermyn’s, where I now went each day, when Gordon opened the door of his study and asked me to come in for a moment.

  He was very grave.

  “It’s bad news,” he said. “The boys’ parents, Mr. and Mrs. Trimmell … their house has been hit. It happened last night.”

  “Oh no … and … ?”

  He nodded. “Both parents killed instantly.”

  “How terrible! Those poor boys. What will become of them?”

  “They’ll stay here for a while … well, as long as they want to. Is it not tragic? Mother and father … gone like that. Apparently the father was home on leave from the navy … so both were there.”

  “The boys will have to be told,” I said.

  He looked at me helplessly. “It’s what I dread. How can I, Violetta? I thought you would know how to do it better than I.”

  I was silent, thinking of the boys, how best to break the news to them. It was going to be difficult. But I could see that Gordon would not be the best one to do it.

  I pondered. I said I thought I would speak to Charley first and then we could tell Bert afterwards. Charley was a shrewd boy. I always felt he was far older than his years. There were times when it seemed as though I were talking to a young man of eighteen; at others he would seem just like a child. He would have need of his maturity now.

  I went up to the nursery where I was greeted with voc
iferous pleasure by Tristan, while Hildegarde, who always imitated Tristan, also showed her delight in my arrival.

  I told Nanny Crabtree what had happened.

  Her face creased with tenderness.

  “The poor mites,” she cried. “I wish I had that Hitler here. I’d give him a dose of the medicine he’s giving to little children.”

  I arranged with her that when the boys came home from school Charley should be told I wanted to see him. I would break the news to him and with his help tell Bert—or perhaps it would be better for him to do it alone.

  I felt sick at heart when he came and still could not decide what was the best way to tell him.

  His face was bright with expectancy, and I heard myself say hesitatingly: “Charley, there’s something I have to tell you …”

  I paused. “Yes, Miss,” he said.

  I bit my lip and turned away. Then I stammered: “Something has happened. It’s very sad. You know London has been badly bombed?”

  He stared at me. “Is it my mum … or Aunt Lil … or someone like that?”

  I said: “Charley, it is your father and mother. Your father was home on leave …”

  He stood very still; he had turned very pale and then the color rushed into his cheeks.

  “Charley, you know how dreadful this war is …”

  He nodded. “Does Bert know?” he asked. “’Course he don’t. You told me first.”

  “Yes. I thought you would know how best to tell him.”

  He nodded.

  “Charley, we’re all very sorry.”

  “If we’d’a bin there,” he said.

  “You couldn’t have done anything for them, you know.”

  “Why wasn’t they in one of them shelters?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps we’ll hear. I suppose sometimes the raids start before people can get there.”

  He nodded again.

  “This is your home now, you know, Charley. Mr. Lewyth wanted you to know that.”

  He was silent for a moment, then he said: “I’d better tell Bert.”

  “You’ll know how to do that.”