We'll Meet Again

by Philippa Carr

  “But, of course, you are welcome at any time,” said Mrs. Jermyn.

  “We think you are doing a wonderful job here. Those few weeks of recuperation are just what the men need.”

  Mrs. Jermyn smiled with pleasure.

  “It seems such a small thing to do at such a time.”

  “It is all the small things which add up. I was saying to Miss Denver here what a lovely place you have. Ideal for the rest these men deserve and need. I suppose you have always lived here, Mrs. Jermyn.”

  “Oh yes. It’s the ancestral home. I came here when I married. The family has been here for three hundred years. It belongs to my grandson. He …”

  “He was with the forces,” I heard myself say. “We were hoping he would come back from Dunkirk …”

  “Miss Denver is his fiancée,” said Mrs. Jermyn quietly. “We feel …”

  “There are a lot of our men over there,” he said quickly. “Quite a few of them were taken prisoner.”

  “It is the not knowing …” began Mrs. Jermyn.

  “I am very sorry. But it does not do to give up hope.”

  “That is what we tell each other,” I said.

  “And you are helping in this enterprise, Miss Denver. If you could hear what some of the men are saying about you all, you would feel it was very rewarding. And you have several helpers, I believe?”

  “Oh, the servants have thrown themselves wholeheartedly into the project, haven’t they, Violetta?” said Mrs. Jermyn.

  “Indeed yes.”

  “And you have other young ladies here to help you?”

  “I have three helpers,” said Mrs. Jermyn.

  “I should like to meet them and express my appreciation.”

  Mrs. Jermyn looked at me. “They would be around somewhere, wouldn’t they?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ll ask Morwenna to bring them. I am sure they would be delighted to meet you, Captain Brent. They will so enjoy hearing that the men have been happy here.”

  “Just tell me a little about them first, would you?”

  “There is my sister, Mrs. Tregarland. She is a widow. She was married to young Mr. Tregarland. It’s the big house just along the cliff. She has a young child and we are twins actually. We have been together most of our lives.”

  He nodded, smiling. “And there is another young lady, I believe.”

  “That is Mrs. Denver.”

  “Oh? She is related to you?”

  “Well, it is a little difficult to explain. She married … a sort of adopted brother. My mother took him when he was a baby and he was brought up mainly by my grandparents.”

  “Would they be the people who made such an excellent job of turning their home into a hospital during the last war?”

  “Yes. Marchlands, my grandparents’ home. Briefly, my mother was at school in Belgium in 1914 and she found a baby who had lost its foster parents. She brought him to England. He took our name of Denver. Mrs. Denver is his wife.”

  “Is it true that she is German?”

  “Yes. She is Jewish. Her parents and brothers may be dead. We don’t know where they are. They were persecuted by the Nazis.”

  “That’s very sad, and she is helping here now?”

  “She is of great help,” said Mrs. Jermyn. “Tell Morwenna to bring them here if she can find them, Violetta. Then they can meet Captain Brent.”

  I did so. Dorabella was the first to arrive.

  “Dorabella,” I said. “This is Captain Brent. He has come to see some of the men here. Captain Brent, my sister Mrs. Tregarland.”

  They shook hands and I saw Dorabella’s eyes brighten. Captain Brent was, I supposed, attractive, and she was as susceptible as ever.

  He told her how much the men enjoyed their time with us and what good it had done them.

  “So our efforts are not in vain,” she said lightly.

  “Far … far from it.”

  Gretchen had come in. She looked slightly flustered and a shade fearful. She had been uneasy since she had been aware of people’s suspicions, and her accent became more pronounced when she was nervous.

  “Captain Brent has been paying us some nice compliments,” said Mrs. Jermyn. “He wants to compliment all those who have been taking part in our venture.”

  “That is goot,” she said.

  “It must be hard work looking after all these men.”

  “We enjoy it,” I said.

  “Are you staying near here, Captain Brent?” asked Dorabella.

  “For a while. I move around, you see.”

  “I see. And I understand you will be visiting us now and then to make sure everything is going well.”

  “That’s the idea. It will be a great pleasure for me.”

  “And for us,” said Dorabella.

  The days passed quickly. Summer had gone and November was approaching. Captain Brent had paid several visits to the Priory, and I knew Dorabella enjoyed these.

  One morning Gordon came to breakfast when I was there. He was working very hard and we saw little of each other. He was short-handed and was very much concerned with what was now known as the Home Guard. The Prime Minister had thought this a more appropriate title than the Local Defence Volunteers.

  Gordon said that he had a spare few hours during the day and he proposed to go into Bodmin. He wondered if I could take the time off to accompany him. He wanted to look at a couple of bicycles which he proposed to get for Charley and Bert.

  “They have done so many little jobs on the estate and they are so keen,” he said. “They really have been a help and they need some way of getting round the country. I think this would suit them very well.”

  “It is an excellent idea!” I cried. “They will be delighted.”

  He looked at me rather pleadingly. “I see so little of you nowadays,” he said.

  “We are all very busy. When do you propose to go to Bodmin?”

  “Tomorrow … or the next day.”

  “I’ll tell Mrs. Jermyn and I’ll see if I can shift some of my duties.”

  The next day we set out.

  Gordon made this journey frequently to visit his mother, and I was wondering whether he was thinking of her as we drove along. I supposed he could not fail to.

  I felt I had never really known Gordon. From the first moment when I had come to Tregarland, he had aroused certain misgivings in me, but he had behaved admirably always. The prosperity of Tregarland’s was due to him and his mother could not have had a more devoted son.

  On arriving in the town, the first thing we did was find the bicycles. I was so pleased that he had thought of this, for I could imagine the joy on the boys’ faces when they saw them. It was a very kind and thoughtful gesture on Gordon’s part.

  We decided to stow the bicycles in the car and have lunch. There was an old inn Gordon knew on the edge of the moor; it was not far and after that we should have to go back.

  I had gone to an inn on the moor once with Jowan, and I was not sure whether I hoped it would be the same one or not. Memories could be painful, and yet I felt a constant urge to go back into the past.

  The place Gordon and I lunched at was called the “Inn on the Moor” and it was quite new to me. There were not many people in the dining room and we found a secluded table.

  Due to the war, it was difficult for the host to find dishes with which to feed his guests, and instead of the traditional roast beef, such a feature of the past, there was meat roll. The meat was conspicuously invisible, but it was tasty enough with beans and vegetables to supplement the beef, and there were roast potatoes as well. We drank cider with the meal.

  Gordon talked about the Home Guard and the difficulties of running the estate in wartime, but I guessed his mind was on other matters.

  He said: “I am glad you are here, Violetta. I’ve always had a feeling that you might go back to your parents’ home.”

  “I want to be here. If there is news of Jowan, it would come to his grandmother first, I suppose, so I should know a
t once. Then Dorabella is here … and Tristan, of course. And now there is work for me to do here.”

  “We’ve been through some bad times, Violetta.”

  “We have indeed. Gordon, how is your mother? Is there any change?”

  “No … not really. Some days she is better than others. I think she will not change. And if she did recover her sanity, she would remember what she had done … and what she had tried to do to that child. It doesn’t really bear thinking of.”

  His hand was lying on the table and I reached over and touched it. His grasped mine firmly.

  “You understand, Violetta. You more than any.”

  “I should not have mentioned it.”

  “It makes no difference. It is there all the time, whether one mentions it or not.”

  “And you come here regularly. We should have gone to another town … not Bodmin.”

  “Well, this is the nearest and we must not let these things affect us. They are part of one’s life.”

  He changed the subject. “What do you think of Captain Brent?”

  “Oh … a charming man.”

  “I mean this business of visiting men at the Priory?”

  “Well, I suppose they feel it is necessary. They have been through terrible experiences and the doctors are not sure whether or not they need some psychiatric treatment.”

  “I think there is something else.”

  “Such as what?”

  “I think we may be under suspicion.”

  “Suspicion?”

  “Those lights were said to be flashing out to sea. It is very possible that they were lightning, but they were noticed and rumors have grown up. Everything, however remote, would have to be investigated. Think of the position we are in! Hitler has been shown that our air forces are not to be lightly set aside and invasion does not seem imminent, as it did some little time ago, and this would not be the time of year to attempt such an undertaking. But we must still be watchful.”

  “You are saying that they suspect someone in our neighborhood of sending signals to the enemy?”

  “I suppose it’s a possibility.”

  “What message could they send?”

  “All sorts of information could be useful to the enemy. Positions of factories … news about shipping …”

  “How could someone here know about shipping?”

  “It might be someone who is in touch with others. There must be spies all over the country … planted before the war, some of them. That sort of thing goes on, you know.”

  “It sounds fantastic.”

  “We live in fantastic times. The idea has come to me that Captain Brent is here to watch. I saw him on the cliffs the other day. He was looking at the countryside through his binoculars. I can’t help feeling that his mission is not merely looking after those wounded soldiers, but something else as well.”

  “But why look for trouble at the Priory?”

  “I wondered … because of Gretchen, perhaps.”

  “Oh, no, that’s absurd. Gretchen helping people who have behaved so badly to her own family!”

  “The fact that she is German is bound to make her a suspicious character in the eyes of some people.”

  “You know about Charley and his fight?”

  He did not, so I told him.

  He said: “There. You see what I mean.”

  “Poor Gretchen. It’s hard on her. I hope she does not realize all this.”

  “I thought I would talk to you about it. It’s as well to be aware of what is going on.”

  “Gordon, suppose there is someone sending signals … someone close to us. I know it is not Gretchen … but who … ?”

  “Well, if someone is sending messages, and there will always be wild rumors in wartime, we must do our best to find out who. It is not easy to send out messages across the water, as has been seen. We must watch for anything unusual. I think we should not talk about it openly. Perhaps it is better not to say anything of this to Gretchen. Let her stay well out of it. You might have a word with Dorabella. Depend upon it, I shall be on the watch.”

  We were silent for a while before he said: “Violetta, you are still hoping?”

  “I can only hope. What else is there?”

  “It is a long time now …”

  “Gordon, do you think we shall ever know?”

  “If we don’t, you will have to accept the fact then …”

  “That he is dead? I could not do that. I must hope until I know …”

  “It could go on and on …”

  “The war, you mean?”

  “This not knowing.”

  “I don’t want to look too far ahead.”

  “Of course not. I want you to know that I think of you a good deal. If there is anything I can do to help …”

  He was looking at me wistfully. It was unlike Gordon to display his feelings. I thought he might be telling me that, if Jowan did not return, he, Gordon, would be there to help me through my grief.

  Dorabella and I had acquired a car which we used jointly. It was so useful for driving into the Poldowns when we wanted to shop. It saved carrying heavy bags over the cliffs or waiting to have goods sent. It was particularly good for driving some of the men to and from hospital, as many of them were unable to do the steep walk. We often went together, and on this occasion had taken in Jack Brayston, a young man of no more than eighteen who had to have a dressing on his leg.

  We deposited him at the hospital, parked the car, and were strolling on into the town when we came face to face with Jacques Dubois.

  I heard Dorabella give a start of surprise as she cried out: “Look who’s there!” She had drawn back slightly, but he had already seen us.

  He advanced smiling.

  “This is a delightful surprise,” he began.

  Dorabella replied: “Well, this is a shopping center, you know, and we live just along the cliff. We are the ones who are surprised to see you, aren’t we, Violetta? What are you doing here?”

  “Making a quick visit,” he said.

  “Have you just arrived?”

  “I came last night. I stay a night at the hotel … what is it? The Black Rock. I come to see my sister. This day we shall meet. I return this night.”

  “Where are you living now?”

  He lifted his hands and shook his head from side to side.

  “I am in London … I am here … I am there … But we must talk … in the comfort, eh? Why do we not go into the hotel? We could have a glass of wine, yes?”

  I looked at Dorabella. I fancied she was not entirely pleased to have this ghost from the past in her company. I left it to her to decide.

  She hesitated and looked at her watch.

  “We have certain things to do. I could not stay long.”

  “Oh come. It would be such a disappointment. Just for a little, eh? One glass of wine?”

  “Well, I suppose we have to wait for Jack,” she said. “He’s one of the soldiers staying at the Priory. We have taken him in for a dressing and will have to take him back.”

  “Then you will come? That is good. You know this hotel?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Is it good?”

  “The views are superb,” he said.

  I laughed. “Well, it is wartime,” I said. “You can’t expect haute cuisine.’”

  We went into the hotel; he found a corner in the lounge and ordered a bottle of claret.

  “Now,” he said, “you must tell me how life goes with you.”

  “I daresay yours is more interesting,” said Dorabella.

  “What is happening with the General?” I asked.

  “He is very busy. He broadcasts to the French nation. His plan is to get his men together.”

  “Are many coming to join him?”

  “All the time.”

  “You mean they escape from France and get across the Channel?”

  “Some do. It is not impossible. Ah, here is our wine.” He watched while it was poured and then lifted his glass. “T
o you both, my friends. A speedy end to the war, eh? Then we can all be ’appy again.”

  We drank and he savored the wine, implying that he did not think a great deal of it.

  “It was so strange,” said Dorabella, “that you should land up on our beach. Was it really by accident or design?”

  “Well, I had been to that coast, had I not? To cross the Channel where it is most narrow is best … but it is very quiet … very deserted … along this coast. It would not have been easy to slip out from Calais … from Boulogne … Dunkirk. But the quiet coast … it seemed best to try.”

  “It must have been very dangerous,” I said.

  “Mademoiselle Violetta, the danger was there, yes, but there was danger all around … and neither Simone nor I wished to live in France in chains.”

  “I never knew until you arrived that you had a sister,” said Dorabella.

  “So? For the last years we have not met often. She did not live in Paris, you see. She was with our aunt near Lyons. I see her now and then … but not much. But when she saw what was happening she came to me. She could not live in a humbled France. Nor could I … so we came together.”

  “You were very brave to come in that little boat.”

  “The sea was very kind to us and when I landed I rejoiced. I knew I was with friends.”

  “Friends?” said Dorabella, a little tersely.

  “We should always be friends,” he said, smiling smoothly.

  “And you came straight to Tregarland. That was a coincidence.”

  He smiled at me impishly. “I confess … I knew roughly where we were. Remember, I had come here to paint. An artist has a special eye … shall we say. There is this … this form of the rocks … exciting … fascinating.”

  “It was dark when you came in.”

  “I knew … just a little … and had an idea … where we were. I could hardly believe we had come in just beneath Tregarland. I thought we should be farther west … Falmouth or the Lizard perhaps. But by great good luck we were with friends.”

  “It was certainly very clever of you,” I said.

  “Oh no, Mademoiselle. Just luck. It comes to us in life sometimes, you know.”