Cumberland’s gangway swivelled down onto the wharf.
‘Don’t be silly, Pa,’ I gave him a pat that was more reassuring than I felt inside. ‘It’s nothing to do with you. Or what you said. And I know I can’t meet him here. In fact, we may not be able to meet at all.’
‘Agh, my Lou …’
But we did see each other, later that same day.
A cool breeze was whipping the sea into a light chop as I finished my duty and walked along St George’s Street towards Alfred Lane. Streamers of cloud flew from the top of the Simonsberg like ships’ pennants advertising his return. A group of seamen were standing outside the Officers’ Club. I recognised his silvered hair before I saw his face, the scar, the blue eyes. I stopped.
He spotted me.
The group jostled about him. Pints of beer were passed from hand to hand.
I crossed over the road and stood by the harbour wall, as if I was waiting for someone.
We were about fifteen yards apart.
Sailors brushed past me. Someone called my name from the direction of Runciman’s General Dealers but I pretended not to hear. Every so often David would be obscured by his lively companions and he’d move slightly so that we could see each other again.
His eyes have this tremendous ability to caress from a distance.
Mine began to blur with tears. Someone would notice. I began to edge away.
He lifted a hand and touched his lips.
I walked away.
The next day I received a note, saying that if I was able to come to Cape Town at the weekend, he’d wait for me in the Gardens like before. We can talk, he wrote, and I can tell you that I love you, my darling, even if we can’t touch.
‘I’m going into Cape Town for the day,’ I announced at our family supper the next night.
‘You’re going to see him?’ Ma frowned and exchanged a glance with Pa. ‘Is that wise?’
‘Leave her, Sheila,’ Pa warned. ‘This is Lou’s life. She must decide for herself.’
The Gardens looked different from when we last met there. In December of 1941 they’d been lush with the bounty of summer. Now they looked tired, as did the slopes of Table Mountain, baked brown from the heat and the relentless wind. I felt weary, too. Weary of waiting; of being unable to run across the road into his arms. Even meeting here – at arm’s-length if we could manage – was a strain, not to mention risky. But there was no alternative. Cumberland was due to sail within the next few days. The war was about to enter its final, grisly act. If David survived, he would return to Corbey to his own confrontation that would seal the divorce. Then, only then, would he be able to come back to Simon’s Town as a free man and make me his own.
But where would we live, I wondered as I hurried to meet him, where would we work, how would I manage as the coloured wife of a white man in places that were foreign, privileged …?
‘Louise!’ he called.
I’d approached from the upper end of the Gardens, like I’d once surprised him from higher on the Simonsberg, but this time he was expecting it. He jumped up. I was wearing my blue dress again, but with a different scarf.
‘Lieutenant Commander!’
‘My darling!’ he breathed, his eyes alight.
I extended my hand formally and he shook it. I sat down at the opposite end of the bench.
‘You look stunning!’
I darted a quick glance at him. ‘You’re a little older than before.’
‘Can you face marrying a man with grey hair?’
‘I think so!’
He grinned ruefully, and ran a hand through his hair. There were two years for us to cover but the memories would have to wait until we were together, and intimate. It was enough just to be beside him. And, as to the future …
‘I can’t give you a timetable,’ he said regretfully. ‘Although Europe will soon be liberated, the war in the Far East must take its course. Only then can I get extended leave to settle matters at Corbey, and with Elizabeth.’
‘You don’t need to explain,’ I said, moving my hand along the bench towards him. ‘I’ll stay at the RNH for as long as they’ll have me.’
‘You’ve had no further warnings?’
‘No. I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Please don’t worry about me.’
He reached out and touched my hand, curling his fingers over mine.
‘But I do,’ he said softly, leaning towards me. ‘I’ve made you wait long enough.’ A squirrel darted across the grass in front of us. He smiled, then glanced at the blue-grey mountain with its layer of whipped cloud, the wild profusion of Cape honeysuckle surrounding our bench. ‘Can you bear to leave this, my darling?’
I looked down at my lap.
‘My dearest girl,’ he murmured, ‘I’ll do all I can. Bring you back often, once we’re married. But please don’t try to cover up how you feel. I’d rather know you’re homesick than have you suffer by keeping it hidden. I want no secrets between us.’
I turned to him, my eyes blurring with unshed tears.
He reached across the space between us and touched my cheek.
Cumberland was delayed in Simon’s Town a little longer than expected. Pa said there was a problem with the propeller shaft. I watched the docks and wondered about seeing him again.
David’s note reached me a day later.
Can you join me in Cape Town if you’re free over the weekend? That cottage is available again. My darling, I know it’s a risk, but this will surely be the last one you’ll have to take. But we must travel from Simon’s Town separately. I’ll be waiting for you.
I walked to the cottage on my own, again dressed to avoid detection: a scarf tied low over my forehead, my head bent. One day I’d be able to stand tall beside David, and walk with him wherever we chose. Ma and Pa said nothing as I left, but I saw the fear in Ma’s eyes, and the confusion in Pa’s.
I bumped into Vera at the station.
‘Lou!’
We kissed. Vera examined my smart dress and conservative scarf.
‘Where are you going dressed like that?’
‘To Cape Town for the weekend.’
‘To Lola?’
‘No,’ I lied. ‘A nursing friend. Someone from the hospital.’
‘Ah!’ she laughed. ‘Well, it’s about time you had some fun!’
He was waiting for me in the doorway. He’d changed out of his uniform and was wearing the kind of clothes that I imagined he’d wear in England in the summer. A shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Light trousers. The scar gleamed palely against his tan. He opened his arms.
I dropped my case and ran to him.
As before, we sat outside in the fragrant garden, waiting for the stars to appear.
And we loved each other, and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
It was a day and night that made me giddy with the possibility that marriage to him might fulfil, every day, the promise of these snatched meetings.
And then we left separately.
This was the time to be most on guard. To make a mistake now, so close …
David didn’t come to the station with me or wave to me from the cottage door. He planned to wait an hour before leaving, so that there was no chance we’d be on the same train. I latched the garden gate behind me without looking back, took up my case and walked away.
Wild pink belladonna lilies nodded from the dry verges of the railway line as I travelled home. There would be lilies wherever I went. Perhaps not as beautiful as these, but I could learn to love the substitutes like I loved all the ones I’d grown up with – regal Cape arums in winter, burnt orange clivias in spring.
David held the letter in his hand. The Sumatran heat, so unpleasant after the freshness of the Cape, pressed down like a blanket.
Dear David,
We parted on such bad terms when you left in January but I hope you will understand it was caused by the shock of what you told me.
I haven’t written since then because I’ve been so hurt and so angry
that you don’t want to be married to me any more, despite seeming to care for me. But I’d like to ask you to reconsider. Circumstances have changed. I am expecting our baby before the end of the year. He will be the heir to Corbey, and will carry on the traditions that your family have laid down over the generations. I am thrilled and honoured to have this child. I want us to give him a healthy upbringing and prepare him for his role one day as earl.
And I do mean us. This is your child, David. He belongs here at Corbey with his parents, you and me. I believe we can still make a good life together as a family. I promise never to speak of your affair, or hold it against you. Please don’t throw away the chance to build on what your father worked so hard to preserve.
Always yours,
Elizabeth
Chapter Forty-Three
I stood on the front of the Terrace, and watched victory in Europe erupt in Simon’s Town. One by one, streetlights that had been dark for more than five years flickered into life. Hoarded firecrackers exploded. On cue, the ships in the harbour began to sound their horns and send up flares that hung in the sky like slowly revolving stars. Up on the mountain, the RNH’s wards glowed with electric light.
‘What a show!’ shouted Pa exultantly. ‘Can you see, Sheila? Mrs H – come and have a toast!’ He flourished the sherry bottle at Mrs Hewson who was watching from her front step.
Not to be outdone, our tugs turned on their hoses and sprayed great arches of water within the illuminated harbour basin. Ma wiped away a tear and clung to my arm. Dogs barked at the frenzy. ‘Happy peace, Mr Ahrendts, Mrs Ahrendts!’ The Phillips’ grandchildren linked arms and dashed along the path.
‘Lou!’ yelled Vera from a group gathering near the mosque.
I dropped a kiss on Ma’s cheek, and ran to join her. She grabbed my hand and we hurried down Alfred Lane and onto St George’s Street. Revellers packed the street, occasionally rocking a slow procession of tooting motor cars. A choir of ratings began to sing ‘Rule Britannia’ at the tops of their voices, in between frequent swigs of beer.
‘Listen, Vera!’
A ship’s band was marching out of the Queen Victoria gate playing Vera’s famous namesake’s hits. ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’, ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’, ‘Lili Marlene’ …
‘Let’s dance!’ shouted Vera, gyrating to the music. ‘There’s Abie! I’m going to marry him before he spends all his fishing money!’
Mr Bennett from Sartorial House was climbing up a rickety ladder to drape a huge Union Jack across the front of his store. In the distance I spotted Piet and a girl that I recognised from the laundry. He lifted a hand to me, but was swallowed up in the crowd before I could wave back. Vera wiggled to the music and rubbed her body against the eager Abie.
‘Hello, Sister!’ a group of VADs from the hospital giggled past, waving flags.
The band exhausted their supply of Blitz tunes and swung into Great War favourites.
I stared up.
Sirius blazed amid the glittering Milky Way. Even though the war with Japan ground on, were David and his crew pausing to celebrate? He must surely feel the approach of victory, the exhilarating sense of a fresh start.
It was a sign. I was sure of it.
Like the signs that had lit my path since childhood.
We danced and sang on the heaving streets for hours. Firecrackers popped, sirens blared, the whiff of gunpowder drifted, star shells continued to burst against an infinite sky. No one bothered with partners. No one worried about work the next day. Men, women, children, sailors, officers – from every level of society – abandoned their reserve and came together in raw, joyous celebration.
War log
July 1945
Off Burma
Escort for our aircraft carriers striking enemy shipping near Diamond Point.
Victory in Europe, but not for us. They’ll fight to the last man, the last bowl of rice.
I’ve replied to Elizabeth and assured her of my affection and care for her and our child now and into the future. I also said I couldn’t let go of the love I’ve found and still wish to obtain my freedom. Surely, on reflection, Elizabeth will see that our happiness, and the happiness of the child, will be better served by us being apart and content rather than together and forever at war?
Chapter Forty-Four
When is a sign not a sign at all – but a tipping point?
Victory ushered in the first spring of peacetime, rich with shower flurries and a pod of dolphins leaping across the bay in graceful arcs. Seagulls swooped, alert for scraps stirred up in their wake. I sat on the mountain path above the aerial ropeway and watched them, with David’s letter in my hand. It was loving, it was devoted, and it chilled my heart.
My darling Louise,
It’s over at last, you’ll have the read the news. Two new American bombs did the job, and the destruction has been massive. Please God this will turn mankind against war for ever. There’s no need for secrecy any more so I can tell you we’re in Singapore, handling the Jap surrender and handover of Java. We’re then scheduled to return to Britain.
I have other news, which has shocked me deeply. I received a letter from Elizabeth to say that she is expecting our child before the end of the year. The arrival of new life can only ever be greeted with joy, especially at this time, but I’m also torn with regret.
My darling, please be in no doubt as to my love for you. You are the delight of my life, and I haven’t altered my determination for us to marry once I’ve gained my freedom. But I can’t pretend that Elizabeth’s pregnancy hasn’t changed the situation. You will have to be patient for a little while longer, I’m afraid. I must go back to Corbey, welcome my child, and come to a resolution with Elizabeth.
Wait for me, please. I will return.
My love,
David
I folded up the sheets and put them in my pocket, willing my hands to stay as steady as they’d been in the operating theatre earlier. There was no need to panic, David would do what had to be done and our future was still bright; as bright as the promise of that spring – pincushions in bloom, southeasters girding themselves behind the mountain. But, on the streets of Simon’s Town, the promise quickly dissolved into an end-of-war malaise. As swiftly as it had filled in 1939, the dockyard emptied. Ships called, but left swiftly for their home ports. The cheerful legions of off-duty ratings disappeared from St George’s Street and our British staff began to be repatriated. Sister Graham departed in the first group.
I held out my hand. ‘Goodbye, Sister. I hope you find your home and family well.’
She looked at me with suspicion, and favoured me with an icy smile.
‘Thank you, Sister.’
The opposite of malaise, however, gripped me.
Elizabeth Horrocks’ pregnancy changed everything.
I’d already prayed to any God who was willing to listen to forgive me for my part in breaking up David’s marriage, but now there was a child to consider. While I was ready to be a step-parent, every child needs his own mother, not a substitute. David’s child deserved to have his parents on hand, together, to bring him up. Like my parents had done with me, like David’s had done with him.
I couldn’t share these thoughts with anyone. When you deliberately step out of your place, there are no friends or family who’ve travelled with you or who understand your new destination. Ma would be upset by the tangle of allegiances, Vera would throw up her hands and say that if I was still set on this man then I should wave goodbye to my old life and get out of the country and arrive on his doorstep before he changed his mind.
The more I thought about it, as I stood barefoot in the shallows at Seaforth and watched the terns circle and land on the egg rocks, the more I began to realise that my role was not simply to wait, as David asked of me. I didn’t have to be a bystander. I had a choice, too. Especially as I was now guarding my own secret.
The easier option – the one my heart most desired – was to do as he suggested, a
nd hold on. Hope that he negotiated his freedom, and marry him at the first opportunity.
The harder one was to do what I knew to be honourable: release David from his commitment to me. Give him my blessing to remain with his wife for the sake of their unborn child.
But I didn’t do it. I didn’t choose the honourable course. I left it up to him.
And, unlike me, he didn’t have the option to wait.
He was forced to choose.
Chapter Forty-Five
I waited and hoped through September and into October. The sun glared down from an unseasonally cloudless sky and the sea was lulled into glass. Then the few spring showers dried up and summer burst on us as if it couldn’t wait any longer. We left the ward doors open at night to steal whatever cool air might waft up from the bay. The temperature hit the high eighties and refused to abate.
‘Water jugs for each patient,’ Matron ordered. ‘And get them onto the verandah where possible.’
I swam at Seaforth every evening after work, lying on my back and letting the water cool my skin and ease my anxiety. Gentle waves broke and carried me to shore amid a welter of bubbles to where Pa waited on the sand for me.
‘Do you know, Pa,’ I asked as I towelled my hair, ‘if Cumberland has returned home?’
‘Yes, so they say. But you must get over this, Lou,’ he caught my arm, his face furrowed, ‘it’s not sensible, this longing for someone you can’t have. What good will it do? Your ma and I are worried. Why don’t you make a fresh start? Somewhere in Cape Town?’
I stared over the bay. No ships in the approaches, just an endless stretch of brilliant, empty water. ‘Maybe.’ I squeezed his hand.
Perhaps it was the sun glancing off a piece of glass on the mountain that caused the spark.
Without wind, of course, it could be stamped out quickly. Add a raging southeaster and it would leap from a spark to an inferno in minutes. We thought we were safe that October, because there was so little breeze and the damp of winter would still be in the soil.
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