I wish you all the luck in the world.
Goodbye.
Sarah.'
Tony closed his eyes, his face creased in an agony of hurt and rejection. Yet as the tears began to fall, he knew that Sarah had been feeling this same pain for months. He rested his head on the pillows and let his tears flow freely, weeping with an agony of spirit for the love which had kept him alive in the cold, damp prison in France, and which now seemed lost to him for ever.
114
The fields were a golden sea of waving corn. Sarah watched from the bus as two shire horses plodded steadily along in front of a farmer making his way home after a long day’s harvesting. It was a beautiful, idyllic scene, something that had happened time and time again over the centuries. The horses and the abundance of the land imparted a sense of peace and plenty, but both commodities were actually in short supply in a country bowed down by more than three years of all-out war. Sarah felt at one with the countryside. It always made her feel safe and at home. Yet she knew that once the war was over she would probably return to Coventry, all dreams of marrying and settling in this beautiful corner of the country lost forever.
"Cheer up. We're supposed to be going to a dance to enjoy ourselves."
Sarah turned and smiled at the young woman beside her.
“Sorry, Jane. I was miles away."
"Thinking of Tony, no doubt." When Sarah made no reply, she continued in a gentler vein. "Come on, Sarah, you have to get him out of your system. Isn't it obvious that he was just using you?"
Sarah nodded. "I suppose I should have expected it from the beginning, but he was so convincing. And he filled a hole in my life that I thought would never be filled after Joe died."
Jane took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Just remember, if a man like Tony Kemshall can do that, there must be many others much more worthy of that place."
Sarah managed a wry grin. "I suppose that next you'll be telling me I'll meet 'Mr. Right' at the dance tonight!"
Jane shrugged her shoulders and laughed. "You never know!"
The bus finally pulled into the small town of Marlborough where the two young women alighted, and made their way to the Town Hall for the weekly dance. As was usual now, the American GIs in their smart uniforms far outnumbered the few remaining young Englishmen who stayed at home. There was a great deal of resentment towards them from several quarters of the community. They had too much money, too many luxuries, too many of the young English girls and, worst of all, too much spare time. The most frequently-voiced question was why there were so many of them in England who had never seen active service? Were they going to stay there until the Second Front came, when that could be a year or more away? Of course few of the young women asked such questions. They were just glad to have so many escorts to choose from, now that the local boys were all away from home.
Sarah and Jane had barely bought a drink and found a seat before they were approached by two GIs.
“Hi, gals. Would you like to dance?"
Jane smiled up at the shorter, slimmer of the two Americans, black hair slicked back above angular Latino features. "Yes. Thanks."
As Jane rose to her feet and was escorted towards the dance floor. Sarah shook her head at the other GI, dashing his expectations.
"Sorry. I don't feel like dancing at the moment."
The American shrugged. “OK, lady.”
He turned and walked away. Sarah watched her friend out on the dance floor. She wished she could be out there too, but did not want to dance with anyone but Tony. So she watched, a solitary figure whom none of the Americans approached, perhaps sensing her need for space in the way she sat. But she was not unhappy. The music was lively, causing her to tap her feet along with the beat. She enjoyed watching the couples dancing, imagining all sorts of stories of their lives and their involvement with each other. After a while, a breathless Jane rejoined her at the table. She dropped into her seat and relaxed visibly.
"Gosh, it's hot on the dance floor tonight."
"Do you want me to get you another drink?"
"No thanks. Al is getting one."
"Al?"
"Yes, Al Ginelli. That gorgeous GI I've been dancing with." Her eyes sparkled, and her voice was breathless, whether from the dancing or from excitement Sarah could not tell. "He comes from Boston. His father owns an Italian delicatessen. His family went over to America at the turn of the century, and he was born there. When the war is over, he says he’s going into the family business and open another branch."
"How long have you known him?" Sarah laughed as she spoke. "I could have sworn that you only met him half an hour ago. But you already seem to know his whole life story!"
To Sarah’s immense surprise, Jane began to blush.
"Yes, it does seem as though I've known him longer." She looked nervously across at her friend. "Please don't laugh, Sarah, but I feel that I could grow to like Al rather a lot."
"Of course I won't laugh! It's about time one of your dates lasted more than one night!"
"Shh, he's coming!"
Sarah looked up to see the beaming GI approaching with two drinks. As he set them on the table, he turned to her with an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, did you want a drink too?"
Sarah shook her head. "No, thanks."
To her surprise the American held out his hand.
"My name's Al. You must be Jane’s friend Sarah. I'm pleased to meet you."
Sarah smiled warmly as she shook his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you too, Al."
As the young man sat down. Sarah could not help noticing the way he looked at Jane. She responded to him with a warm smile which seemed to light her eyes with a special kind of radiance. Rarely had Sarah seen her friend so ebullient. She felt she was watching the beginning of a very special relationship. With a warm smile, she hoped that things would go well for her fellow nurse.
115
Tony sat in his wheelchair, gazing listlessly out of the window at the orchard. It was so similar to the orchard at Heronfield that it gave him a vague sense of coming home. But that did not lighten his heart. Depression had settled upon him when he had read Sarah’s letters and it had not lifted over the intervening days. It was now a week since the operation on his feet, and he was beginning to feel better. The bruises on his body had begun to fade and the cuts were healing nicely. The broken ribs were knitting together well, so he was now able to move a little easier and the pain was diminishing, but the pain in his heart remained as deep as ever. There was a gentle knock at the door. Tony hesitated for a moment. He was not expecting anyone. No-one knew that he was back in England yet, and he felt like being left alone. The knock came again and he relented.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Tony’s tired features broke into a smile of welcome.
"Jim! I thought you were out in France!"
"I was, but I got back about two weeks ago. Captain Dawson gave me leave to come and visit you, as your family don’t know you’re back.”
"I'm glad you came. I could do with some company." He truly meant that. Seeing no one but the doctors and nurses had been limiting. He needed to talk with someone about his experiences in France. And about Sarah. Someone who would understand what he had been through, and would listen with consideration to his worries and problems. "Sit down Jim, we've got a lot to talk about."
Jim sat down, his welcoming smile fading to a frown.
"How are you feeling? Dawson told me about what they did to you. The bastards!"
Tony shrugged, feeling the tightening in his ribs as he did so. "I'm not too bad, all things considered. I'll admit I look a bit of a mess underneath these pyjamas, though. The burns are healing, but they’re not a pretty sight. Neither are my feet if it comes to that.”
Jim looked down at the offending members swathed in snow-white bandages.
"Will they heal?"
"Oh yes. I should be able to get around on crutches soon. The only thing holding me up in that department is the broken ribs. When
they've healed I'll be up on my feet; the sooner I can walk normally without sticks, the sooner I'll be allowed home."
"Dawson said you wouldn't be allowed home until all visible signs of your injuries are gone. That's rough."
Tony shrugged. "I suppose so; but there's nothing much to go home for."
"Really!" Jim grinned. "What about that nurse you were so enamoured with? Don't you want to see her again?"
"Of course. But she doesn't want to see me."
Tony’s answer lacked life. His eyes clouded with sadness.
Jim frowned. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Why not? There's not much to tell." Tony told his friend all about his experiences in France, how he had to break his promise to Sarah and not write. Then he told of the letters Dawson had brought, and how through them he had witnessed Sarah’s fall from happiness into despair. "So you see,” he finished, "it's all over between us, before it really had a chance to begin."
Jim was touched by his friend’s sadness. He wanted to reach out and help him in some way.
"Come on, Tony, surely it's not as bad as all that. You’re not feeling yourself at the moment. When you're better you'll be able to see her again and explain everything. I'm sure she'll understand."
"Will she? How can I explain it all to her, Jim? You know I'm not allowed to talk about what I've been doing. She'll think I couldn't be bothered to write, and now I’m making excuses. To be honest, I can't really blame her for feeling like that, can I?"
"I suppose not. But at least you won't be going back to France again. Staying in England will give you an opportunity to win her back."
"Will it?" Tony was doubtful, but allowed a small seed of hope to lodge in his heart. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to make her understand.
"Perhaps being based at Beaulieu will have its advantages. Though I’d rather be going back to Saint Nazaire, if I could." Tony smiled and changed the subject. "So what have you been up to? Why are you back here?"
"I was flown out with one of the leading members of the Resistance in my area. The top men wanted to talk to him to see what is needed, though why they couldn't just ask me is a mystery!"
The two men laughed. The rapport which had existed between them since the retreat from Dunkirk was as strong as ever.
"Who knows what the boys upstairs think!?” Tony clutched his ribs, a stabbing pain coursing through his chest.
"Are you all right?"
Tony looked at his friend’s concerned features and grinned. "It only hurts when I laugh!"
He was glad Jim had been able to visit. Having someone to talk to was just what he needed to put all his problems into the proper perspective. With a contented sigh, he leant back into his wheelchair, new hope for the future lightening his heart.
As the weeks went by, Tony’s healing continued. His first attempts at walking were short and painful, even with the aid of crutches. But time is a great healer and as the days passed he was able to walk further and, eventually, unaided. To begin with his steps were uneven as the pain coursed through his feet, but soon that too was gone. The broken ribs healed, the bruises disappeared and the blisters where he had been burned turned to angry red scars. Eventually the doctor was satisfied that, save for the scars beneath his shirt, there were no outward signs of Tony’s injuries. This good news was followed by a telephone call from Captain Dawson. Tony could go home on leave at last.
Tony gathered together the few personal items he had accumulated during his seven long weeks in hospital and convalescing - toothbrush, flannel, shaving equipment, brush and comb. Into his pocket he slipped the slim package of envelopes which contained the letters from Sarah. He gazed thoughtfully at himself in the mirror. Much as he wanted to go home and see Sarah, he was afraid to face her. What if she would not listen? What if she wanted their relationship to end permanently? He felt a cold shiver down his spine as he contemplated life without her by his side. That would be harder than anything, for it was thoughts of Sarah that had kept him strong in France. What would keep him strong if she no longer wanted him? With a deep breath Tony picked up his cap and placed it on his head. There was no point worrying about it. The only way to find out how Sarah felt was to confront her. Picking up his pitifully small bag, he turned and left the hospital room.
116
Sarah grimaced at Jane across the table.
"I’ll be glad when this war is over. I'm getting fed up with the limited menu."
Jane nodded. "I know what you mean. I've almost forgotten what oranges taste like, and as for bananas! I can hardly even remember what they look like!"
Sarah laughed. She finished her dinner and pushed her plate away.
"What are you doing this evening?"
"I'm going dancing with Al."
Sarah grinned. "You've seen a lot of him over the last few weeks."
Jane blushed. "Yes, I guess I have. You know, Sarah, he's really special, so kind and considerate, not as pushy as most of the Americans you meet. I feel as though I've known him all my life."
"It sounds as though you're in love with him."
"I don't know, Sarah. It's all happening so quickly. I think I love him, but how can I be sure? He's over here in a strange country, and obviously missing his family. What if he's just using me as a substitute?"
Sarah smiled encouragingly. "Do you really think that?"
"Well...no, I don't think so."
"Then stop worrying. Just go out and enjoy yourself."
Jane laughed. "You know me, that's my main aim in life!" She rose to her feet. "I'll just go and take a quick bath, or I'll be late."
Sarah smiled sadly as her friend left the dinning room. Things seemed to be looking up for Jane. Maybe, finally, she had found her 'Mister Right'. Sarah only hoped that her friend would be luckier in love than she had been herself. When Joe was killed, she felt that her capacity to love died with him, until Tony slowly taught her to love again. Her love for him had been like the slow unfurling of the petals of a flower, growing from a small insignificant bud into a thing of great beauty. His subsequent rejection of her had been like a sudden unexpected frost which had caused the petals to curl and die. But at least he had shown her that it was possible to love again. With a sigh she rose from the table, and followed her friend from the room. Maybe she would fall in love again. But first she had to bury her love for Tony deep in her heart and lock it away there, where it could not rear its head to trouble her ever again.
117
The taxi pulled in through the empty space where the huge iron gates once hung, then drew to a halt outside the lodge. Tony climbed out, paid the driver and watched as the black cab turned in the wide drive and went back out of the gateway. Turning to look along the drive to the distant house where he had grown up, Tony was tempted to go straight there, to confront Sarah as soon as possible. But common sense took over. He had not seen her for almost six months, so another hour or two would make no difference. And he knew how hurt his mother would be if he did not call in to see her first. With one last longing look at the home of his youth, he turned and made his way up the shallow steps. He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him as he listened to the sound of voices coming from the drawing room. With a smile he put his small bag of belongings down, and made his way over to the door.
“Hello, Mamma. Bonjour, Grandmamma."
The room was filled with an electric silence as the two women turned towards the door.
"Tony!" The exclamation came from his mother’s lips as she stood and hurried towards him, tears starting in her eyes. “Oh, Tony! I'm so glad to see you!" She hugged her son tightly, then stepped back to study him. "When did you get back?"
"Yesterday. I came down as soon as I could." His glance strayed to his grandmother, who remained seated. She looked older than he remembered, as though the enforced exile from her home had taken all the strength from her. Tony made his way over to the chair and bent down to kiss her cheek. It seemed fragile, papery thin ben
eath his lips. Kneeling down beside her, he took her hand in his.
"How are you, Grandmamma?"
"Not too bad, mon cher." Her voice was thin. Where was the robust woman whom he had put on the boat in Saint Nazaire just two years before? He could see that this war would have more casualties than those who had been injured by bullets or bombs. Tony flashed a questioning glance at his mother.
"She misses her home."
Tony nodded. What else was there to say? Turning back to his grandmother, he smiled encouragingly.
"Don't worry, the war will soon be over. When it is, I’ll take you back home to Saint Nazaire."
"But will it still be there, Tony? How much of it will have been destroyed by the bombing? What about my home? I do not even know if it is still standing, and if it is, who is living in it." Her eyes took on a faraway look as though she could see her home as she spoke. "And what of the people, Tony? How are the Germans treating them? Will any of those I remember still be alive if I ever return? What of the Boues?" She looked down at him, and he felt the tears start in his eyes. "Do you remember Jean-Paul and his family?"
Tony nodded. “Yes, Grandmamma. I remember them."
"They worked for me. Their family had worked for my family for generations and it was my responsibility to protect them. But I let them down." She gazed into the distance again. "I ran away, Tony, when I should have stayed with them, should have helped them."
The tears stood out on her cheeks and Tony noticed that his tears were falling too.
"But you are old now, Grandmamma. What could you have done to help them?"
"My duty. I am Madame de Thierry and I should be there. There should be a de Thierry there to help them in their troubled times. I have failed in my duty."
Tony could say nothing. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her that it was all right. There was a de Thierry looking after her people. He, Tony, had been there and helped them in a way that she never could. He wanted to tell her that Jean-Paul, Marie, Theresa and Jeanne were all alive and well. He wanted her to know that her people were fighting back. When the end came and they were finally victorious, a fact of which he had no doubt, they would proudly hold their heads high as they welcomed their Countess home. No-one would say that she, or the de Thierry family, had failed in their duty. But he was sworn to secrecy. All he could do was to watch her anguish and his heart ached because he was unable to help her.
Heronfield Page 60
