Starlight (The Four Lights Quartet Book 1)

by Fergus O'Connell

  ‘My name is Lewis Friday,’ he began. I’m here because I’m trying to track down somebody —’

  ‘Who was a patient here?’ asked the woman, in a please-get-on-with-it way.

  ‘No – who used to work here.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the possibly R.A. Armitage. ‘And may I ask her name? I assume it is a she?’

  Her tone had the merest edge of distaste about it. Lewis found himself wondering if she was a virgin.

  ‘Yes, it’s a she. She may have used her maiden name, Hope or her married name, Goddard. Late thirties, blonde —’

  ‘Yes, I remember Mrs Goddard.’

  Lewis felt a surge of joy, but it was immediately tempered by the fact that she was still using her married name.

  ‘She’s not still here?’ asked Lewis, thinking what an incredible thing that would be.

  ‘No, she’s not still here. She left.’

  ‘Left? Went to some other hospital? Here in France … or she went back to England?’

  ‘No, she left. She gave up nursing.’

  ‘Gave it up?’

  Lewis realised he was repeating everything she said. He must have sounded like a fool.

  ‘That’s right.’

  R.A. Armitage, if that’s who she was, wasn’t giving much away.

  ‘Er, do you know why?’

  ‘Personal reasons. That was what most of them used to say when they did.’

  ‘Personal reasons?’

  Jesus, there he was doing it again.

  ‘Unfortunately, Lieutenant Friday, I’m really not authorised to say any more than that. These are peoples’ private lives, you understand.’

  Lewis wasn’t sure if R.A. Armitage had a better nature. He doubted it, but he thought he knew enough about her now to know what not to say to her. He leaned forward in a gesture that said, confidentially, just between the two of us.

  ‘May I be frank?’

  He had been about to add ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs’, but unsure of which one to say, he just left the four words hanging there. He noticed that R.A. Armitage bent forward slightly.

  ‘You’ll remember the Zeppelin raids on the east coast during the War?’

  She nodded.

  ‘My parents and brother and sister were killed during those raids. Mrs Goddard was my aunt, my mother’s sister. She is now the only surviving relative I have. I’ve lost – we’ve all lost – so much during the War. Please don’t let me lose this as well. All I ask is that you could give me the last address you had for her. With that I might be able to track her down. Please – we were a very close family. And maybe she thinks I am dead. It would such a joy to her to know that I’m still alive.’

  R.A. Armitage looked at Lewis as though sizing him up. Outside a truck revved as it went past. Then silence returned to the room. Lewis’ heart was pounding.

  Finally, she said, ‘Please wait here’. R.A. Armitage got up and went out a side door into an adjacent room. Lewis heard the drawers of a filing cabinet being slid open. It didn’t take her long. She returned with a manila folder, extracted some glasses from the glasses case and opened the folder. If Lewis had been hoping to read the folder upside down, there was no chance of that – she held it in one hand while her plump fingers turned the pages of onion skin paper.

  ‘The address we have on file for Mrs Goddard is “The Oaks, Shrewsbury, Shropshire”. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.’

  R.A. Armitage closed the file. Then she got up, saying, ‘Now, if there’s nothing else you’ll have to excuse me.’

  Lewis felt stunned. A terrible fear began to creep into his mind but he had no time to put a name on it as he followed R.A. Armitage’s lead and stood up. Mechanically, he thanked her and left the room, walking down the depressed corridor, past the mousy girl and back out into the sunlight. Hands shaking, he found a cigarette and lit it.

  It couldn’t be true that Helen had gone back to her husband. ‘Personal reasons’? What did it mean? Of course, her husband could have died and she had gone back to deal with his estate and inherit the house. But supposing he had only been injured so that she had gone back to mind him. ‘Personal reasons’. Did it mean she was pregnant? That’s what R.A. Armitage seemed to have been implying in that disapproving way of hers. If so, it couldn’t have been his baby. It had been a year before the Armistice that he had last seen her. So pregnant with somebody else’s?

  The sun shone on Lewis as he smoked, first one cigarette and then another. Gradually he calmed himself down. He would have to go to Shropshire and find where she lived and confront her. No, ‘confront her’ wasn’t the right term. He just wanted to see her, to see her face again, to hear her voice, to hold her in his arms. Then she would explain what had happened. The whole tangled mess would be unravelled. And once they had done that everything would be out of the way and they would be able to start again.

  If she had gone back to her husband, if she was minding him – it was alright – Lewis could put up with that if he had to. They could come to an arrangement. They could be lovers, their lives a chain of clandestine, hurried meetings. It would be exciting. They could be friends – if that was all she wanted. But what he couldn’t bear was the thought that she might not be in his life at all.

  51

  Lewis returned to London and stayed overnight in Horn Lane. According to Margaret, Dad was up north in Scapa Flow. Lewis unpacked, repacked, slept, washed, shaved and next morning was on an early morning train to Shrewsbury. In the late afternoon, a taxi dropped him at the entrance to ‘The Oaks’.

  The house was invisible from the road, screened by a belt of oak trees. A heavy wooden gate, painted white, was open and Lewis walked in. The drive turned almost immediately to the left and the house came into view. It was a fine place – an old farmhouse originally, Lewis guessed – build of red brick, with bay windows on the ground floor to either side of the imposing front door, over which a portico had been added. The thought that she was in there made Lewis’ heart race. He could feel his face and limbs warming as the blood pumped faster. Simultaneously he was terrified that this would not turn out as he had intended.

  He was about to walk up the drive to the front door, when he heard a car out on the road. It was slowing and Lewis realised it was going to come into ‘The Oaks’. Quickly he slipped into the thin belt of trees that surrounded the house. A few moments later the car passed him, crunched up the packed-dirt driveway and stopped at the front door. The driver got out and, as he did, the front door of the house opened. A wheelchair was pushed out and, even though it was over a hundred yards away, Lewis recognised the cadaverous face of Helen’s husband, Robert. Despite the fact that it was going to be a hot day, he wore a heavy tweed jacket, a cap and had a woollen blanket stretched tightly over his legs. Moments later, Lewis saw that Helen was pushing the wheelchair. He only saw her for an instant before his view of her was blocked by the car. However, he could see what they were doing – she and the driver were loading Robert into the back seat. Once this was done, Helen wheeled the wheelchair back to the front door, where a maid took it. Then Helen turned and waved as the car pulled off. She went back inside and shut the door. So that was it. She had gone back to him. He had been wounded, lost the use of his legs and now she was minding him.

  Lewis wasn’t that surprised. Ever since the day in Etaples, he had gradually gotten used to the idea that it would be something like this. Helen was a gentle, tender and caring person. It was just the kind of thing that she would have done. His guess was that her husband was going for some kind of therapy or treatment, so presumably he would be gone a few hours. Lewis stepped out of the trees and continued up the gently sloping drive. In a couple of minutes he had reached the front door. He pressed the bell and heard it ring somewhere deep inside the house.

  52

  As he expects, it is a maid who opens the door.

  ‘Yes sir, can I help you?’

  ‘I’m looking for Mrs Goddard, please.’

  ‘And who shall I say is
calling?’

  ‘Lewis. Er, Mr Lewis.’

  ‘Just a moment sir, please.’

  The maid leaves the door slightly ajar. The seconds pass. He is sweating and wipes his forehead with his sleeve. His heart feels like it is going to burst. He doesn’t know whether it’s from love or fear. He hears footsteps in the hall – heels on wood flooring. Then the door begins to swing open and she is there.

  The last time Lewis has seen Helen is November 1917, more then a year and a half earlier. Her face doesn’t seem to have changed but there is something different about her. It is something to do with her clothes and her hairstyle. Her hair is shorter than it was when he last saw her. It strikes him as a ‘sensible’ style – easy to manage and quick to wash. Her clothes have the same sensible feel to them. She wears a dark green skirt, straight and ankle length and a white blouse, but she wears pearls with them. He has never seen her wear pearls. And she has pearly earrings. Lewis never remembers her ears having been pierced. And she wears make-up. Her face is powdered and she has applied fresh lipstick. He knows she will be forty in December but she looks older than that now by several years.

  He sees a momentary lack of recognition in her face followed, moments later, by something else. He thinks it might be an urge to shut the door on him. He thinks he may have seen a reflex movement that would have been the beginnings of her hand reaching up to shut it. But if there is, she stops it. And he could be wrong anyway. All of this happens so quickly.

  ‘Lewis,’ she breathes.

  She looks completely beautiful. Even so it is a Black Dog moment – the look of a woman who sees a ghost. Lewis feels a moment of satisfaction at having surprised her but that quickly gives way to something else. He feels sorry for her, sorry that he has had to do this to her. He wouldn’t hurt her for the world.

  ‘Hello, Helen.’

  ‘How —?’

  But she is unable to finish the question. She seems to be having difficulty speaking.

  ‘May I come in?’

  She is as one in a daze. She makes none of the normal gestures that people make as a sign of invitation. She merely stands aside and Lewis steps into the hall.

  ‘In there,’ she manages to say and nods towards a reception room on Lewis’ left. He goes through the door and she follows him in. The room has a couple of armchairs, a sofa, a fine fireplace and French windows that look out onto a pretty garden with a very green lawn and lots of flowers.

  She seems to recover a little.

  ‘Are … are you staying somewhere close by?’

  ‘The Prince Rupert.’

  She nods.

  ‘We could … I could come and meet you there this evening.’

  For a moment his heart leaps. But then he realises – she is trying to get him out of the house before her husband returns.

  ‘You didn’t come and meet me in Fowey. Why should I believe that you’d come tonight?’

  ‘Because I will. I promise.’

  She is more composed now but she can’t keep the note of anxiousness out of her voice.

  ‘You just want me out in case he returns, isn’t that it?’

  ‘No Lewis, that’s not it. I want a chance to explain. Explain everything. I need time to do that.’

  ‘You stopped writing,’ he says simply.

  He has rehearsed this sentence and this scene many times in the last few weeks and had hoped to make it sound just like a statement. But it comes out sounding like an accusation. He hadn’t wanted that.

  ‘I thought it was for the best.’

  The colour is completely gone from her face but she is as beautiful as ever. The short blonde hair doesn’t suit her. It makes her look too old. The face is still the face of an angel. If it were to smile now, it would be like the sun had entered the room. But she is not smiling.

  ‘We were in love,’ he says.

  ‘Tonight Lewis, in the Prince Rupert. I’ll come there at seven. We can have something to eat or go for a walk. Whatever you like. I can explain everything.’

  There is the tiniest hint of desperation in her voice. He loves her so much.

  ‘You won’t come,’ he says. ‘You’re just trying to get rid of me.’

  ‘I’ll come. I promise I will.’

  ‘You got the message about meeting in Fowey?’

  She nods.

  ‘And that didn’t mean anything to you either?’

  Lewis nearly starts to cry as he says, ‘You know that twice in my life I’ve waited and been disappointed?’

  ‘I know that, Lewis and I’m so sorry. So terribly sorry. But I’ll come tonight. I swear it. I swear.’

  He is unsure whether he can believe her, but now that he has spent a few minutes with her, he knows that he wants more time. He is like a man who has crossed a desert and found water. He is gulping it down and cannot imagine himself ever having enough.

  ‘Seven?’ he says.

  ‘She nods.

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘On my life,’ she says.

  53

  Lewis waits in the street outside the front door of the hotel. He fantasises about her showing up with a bag packed and them leaving tonight. He looks at his watch. It is before seven. Suddenly he sees her turning a corner in the distance. She is early.

  She wears a calf-length skirt that is faded red and an ivory blouse with a deep V-neckline over a white camisole. Her lipstick is the same shade as the skirt and she carries a small evening bag. The skirt is like that she used to wear when he first knew her and he experiences again the almost physical ache he has for that time. When she reaches him he hopes that she might kiss him, but she stops in front of him.

  ‘You came,’ he says, trying to keep the relief and gratitude out of his voice.

  ‘I said I would.’

  The words are said simply, almost tenderly.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he says.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I thought we might go for a walk,’ he says.

  She nods. It is a warm evening and the heat from the day lies in the narrow streets between the half-timbered buildings. Lewis sees the spire of a church over the rooftops.

  ‘I don’t really know my way around here,’ he says. ‘Over that way looks nice.’

  ‘It is,’ she says, and they set off.

  There is so much he wants to say but he has no idea where to begin. Eventually he utters the same accusation as earlier.

  ‘You stopped writing.’

  ‘I did, Lewis and believe me when I tell you that for that I am truly, truly sorry.’

  They are walking side by side, looking ahead. Now he turns his head and says, ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought it was for the best.’

  ‘The best for who?’ he asks, and he can feel anger rising.

  There is a long pause before she begins to reply. It sounds like something she has rehearsed.

  ‘Robert was on the staff. He wasn’t a real soldier. Not like you were. He had no sense of real fighting.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that any of them did,’ interrupts Lewis bitterly.

  She ignores this.

  ‘So that when the final advance began he was off one evening looking for a place that his general could use as a headquarters. There were some soldiers with him – real soldiers.’

  She keeps saying ‘real soldiers’. She sounds like she is trying to butter him up.

  ‘I suppose they were bodyguards really. But they found this place – a chateau of some sort. Robert rang the bell. The Germans had booby trapped the bell so that when he rang it a bomb inside the door exploded. The two soldiers were killed and he was paralysed.’

  Typical luck of the bloody staff, thinks Lewis.

  ‘It was what I had always feared.’

  She turns to look at him.

  ‘Remember I said it to you that first time I talked about myself. That if anything like that happened to – that I would have to come back. To take care of him.’

  ‘But he’s rich. He could
hire nurses, people to take care of him.’

  Lewis thought he sounded like an unhappy child.

  ‘No. It’s not those things he needs. He needs somebody to love him. He told me that if I hadn’t come back, he just wouldn’t have wanted to go on living.’

  ‘That’s just blackmail.’

  ‘It’s not blackmail. He’s not as strong as you or I. He needs somebody.’

  ‘And what do you need, Helen?’

  ‘This is my duty. I’m his wife.’

  ‘So this will make you happy?’

  ‘It’s for the best. It’s the right thing to do.’

  ‘You’re not answering the question.’

  She says nothing. They continue walking. They are passing by the church whose spire they saw earlier.

  ‘Did you have a baby?’ he asks.

  ‘What?’ she says, with shock on her face.

  ‘You heard what I said.’

  ‘No, I didn’t have a baby, Lewis. We were very careful, if you remember and Robert … well … he can’t now.’

  ‘Is it because of the difference in our ages? If I was older, would we …?’

  ‘No, it isn’t that,’ she says.

  She seems happier to be on this safer territory.

  ‘But you must admit it would have been a problem,’ she says.

  The use of the past tense is like a blow.

  ‘What about when I would have met your friends?’ she continues.

  ‘I don’t have any friends,’ says Lewis. ‘Any friends I had were killed in the War.’

  ‘And your father – what would he have said?’

  Lewis tries to keep the discussion in the present.

  ‘I told you. He’ll like you. He’ll probably fancy you like hell and start flirting with you. I’d have to watch him.’

  It is a weak attempt at humour.

  ‘You’ll find somebody else, Lewis. Somebody your own age. There are lots of women now who are looking for men.’

  ‘Plenty more fish in the sea, eh? That’s what you said to him, to Robert, that night in Fowey.’