The worst thing was that it was the truth, and that’s what hurt him, far more than the leg, he had told her. He had been sitting in front of his bedroom window overlooking the garden at the rear of the Hall at the time, his leg in plaster. She had understood, and had put her arm round him, which seemed to make it worse, because he shrugged away from her. But hadn’t she shrugged Tim away, too?
Afterwards, James had refused to leave his room for a whole week. Then Dr Gerber insisted, saying that his squadron needed him, and there was no time to sit about moping. After the Sudeten, where would the Germans go next?
It was enough.
Today, she poked her head around the door, to meet James’ agonised face as he put his coat on, ready to hop down the stairs for his morning walk. ‘My leg itches like buggery.’
She grinned, left his coffee on the side table, then ran back downstairs and begged a knitting needle from Mrs Moore. She leapt back up the stairs again. ‘Here, you big, strong fly-boy, have a go with this.’
She handed it to him, and as he took it, he looked at her for a long moment, and then laughed. It was a real laugh, and he said, ‘Dear old Bridie, an answer for everything.’
Then his face clouded again, and the emotional pain was back. She ignored it. ‘I could have thought about it at the start, so you see, I haven’t the answers. Not to anything, really.’
She left him, and flew down the stairs again and across to the Neave Wing, the paths cleared of snow. She knocked at the half-open door of the treatment room, and said, ‘I do hope the plaster is coming off tomorrow, or I think he will grow fangs, Dr Gerber, and attack us all.’
‘We cannot have a wolf on the prowl, Fräulein Bridie. So we take it off, the plaster, not the leg, you understand.’ He put his stethoscope away in a drawer and turned to her, smiling gently.
She had asked Dr Gerber within days of his arrival where he had met Tim, but he had denied doing so and told her that Tim looked like someone he once knew, in Berlin.
She waved goodbye and headed back to the kitchen, ducking her head in.
‘Chop, chop, Bridie,’ her mam called.
‘Slave driver,’ she muttered.
‘Aye, it comes easily to me,’ her mam said.
Bridie said, ‘I have confirmation that James’ plaster is coming off tomorrow. I need to tell him.’
‘Do the soup first, will you, pet?’ her mam asked.
Bridie melted the butter in the pan then added the mushrooms, but as it was a normal menu on a Tuesday she left off the garlic, which would please James, as he couldn’t bear the smell of it. He said it was something to do with Spain, but would not elaborate. She added salt and pepper. After a moment, when the mushrooms had softened, she added the stock and cream, and half the dill. It was better to be busy, to concentrate on cooking, instead of worrying that perhaps you should say you loved someone, because they loved you, especially if you didn’t want to lose them altogether.
Mrs Moore was standing next to her, peering into the pan. ‘A canny touch you have, bonny lass.’
Bridie looked around; her mam was in the cool pantry, out of earshot. She whispered, ‘Ought you to love someone because they love you? If you do love them, in a sort of a way, but not that way, and you think you might love someone else? Well, know you do.’
Mrs Moore took the wooden spoon from her. ‘Don’t stir it to death, lass. Leave it to sort itself out. It is what it is, and can’t be anything else.’ The old lady held her hand beneath the spoon, catching the drips, as she put it onto the spare plate on the table behind them.
Bridie stared at the soup, then moved the pan onto the slow plate. Hadn’t Mrs Moore heard her?
Mrs Moore was at her elbow again. ‘Think on what I’ve just said, pet.’
Bridie wiped the surface of the stove, and silently repeated Mrs Moore’s words. The furnace was burbling. It needed more coal. Mrs Moore headed to her armchair while Mr Harvey bustled down the internal corridor to the wine store. Mrs Moore sat and settled Raisin. Bridie watched them, the sense of the lovely woman’s words finally falling into place, but she did wonder why Mrs Moore couldn’t just have said, ‘Stop worrying, and no, you can’t change your feelings, and that’s alright.’
She smiled at Mrs Moore, who smiled back, stroking the dachshund. ‘Thank you,’ Bridie said.
Mrs Moore replied, ‘If you have to work out what someone means, it makes your mind work, and you arrive at a conclusion on your own.’
‘You’re a witch,’ Bridie grinned.
Her mam came out of the cool pantry with the vegetables. ‘What have you been up to now, the pair of you?’
‘Nothing,’ they said together.
Dr Gerber removed James’ plaster cast the next day. Mrs Gerber massaged the leg and promised to do so daily. She helped him with some exercises, as she did many of those who found their way to Neave Wing. She was a trained physiotherapist, and had practised alongside her husband in Germany.
At the beginning of March, when the early thaw had cleared the snow, Bridie asked Dr and Mrs Gerber if it would be a mistake for James to walk to the beck. ‘Indeed not a mistake, I think that would be a good idea, Fräulein Bridie,’ Mrs Gerber said, looking tired but deliriously happy, because she was pregnant.
Bridie and James walked to the beck together, and at first the conversation between them was stilted, but almost without realising they began talking, first of Ian, and then Archie. This led to the RAF, and the sergeant who had screamed that he marched like a pregnant camel. They laughed, and it was like it was when she brought him the knitting needle. As they walked along, they relaxed even more, and at last, for the first time since he had been home, they chatted easily of this and that, and laughed, and teased, and only spoke a little of the world, and nothing of love.
The next week, they galloped out the staleness of winter by racing Marigold and Terry across the countryside. This time there was no talking, just the sound of the horses breathing, the sound of their hooves, the creaking of leather, and as they turned for home, the real race began. James gave a Red Indian whoop, just as he used to, throwing back his head, laughing as he took the lead, and then slowing so that together they trotted Terry and Marigold onto the track leading to the stables.
The next day, they went on a trek with the injured – or those who were ready ‘to be released into the wild’, as David called it. He came too, in the double saddle, with Estrella up behind him, and Clive alongside. Young Stan, Kevin and Harry walked beside the amputees.
Finally, on 10 March, it was time James returned to base, signed off by Dr Gerber. The whole family gathered on the steps to wave. Aunt Ver hugged him, told him to be more careful from now on. She brushed an imaginary fleck from his blue uniform. His father put his bag in the boot, and sat in the passenger seat. Uncle Jack called, ‘Brave man, Richard. Your lad drives like the devil.’
He hugged James, who threatened to punch his lights out if he besmirched his driving one more time. Uncle Jack ruffled the lad’s hair. Gracie shook her head, ‘Leave the lad be, Jack.’ She kissed him, then wiped her lipstick off his cheek.
He hugged Mrs Moore. He had confided to Bridie that each time he left, he feared it would be the last time he saw Mrs Moore, or Mr Harvey. Mr Harvey offered his hand, but he got a bear hug instead. Evie and Aub hugged him tight, and Harry and Annie too. Bridie felt a prickle of fear. It was as though he would never be home again.
He walked with Bridie to the car. She had a basket of macarons for him to share amongst his friends. He put the basket on the back seat. They looked at one another, and he hugged her closely, saying into her hair, ‘You take care, bonny lass. I know you don’t feel as I do, but underneath it all, I still love you like I did when we were bairns. It’s the core of my life, you, Tim and me, and as long as we three still live, we’ll be alright. He’s the best, you know. Remember that. Look beyond the obvious. I did.’
He let her go, and said again, ‘It’s alright with me, Bridie, as long as we all have one ano
ther. Trust him, Bridie. He asked me to, and I do.’
They drove away.
*
James listened as his father back-seat drove through Easton, as he always did, feeling Bridie against him, longing for her, but knowing that what he had said was the truth. He said, aloud, ‘I need the three of us.’
His father said, ‘Watch the corner. What was that you said?’
James sighed, ‘Nothing, Dad, and yes, I know it’s a corner. Do you think you should join the RAF and come up in the plane with me? I might hit a cloud.’
His father braced himself for the crossroads.
‘It’s alright, Dad, I know there’s a crossroads,’ James muttered, before his father could.
He hoped that Bridie would listen to what he had just said.
He wondered what his mates would think of him having a knitting needle in his kit. But he wasn’t about to leave it behind, and Mrs Moore could always find another. He needed to remember Bridie’s kindness, and her laughter, and how they had found their way back to one another.
Chapter Thirty-One
On 15 March Hitler invaded and began the occupation of the rest of Czechoslovakia in contravention of the Munich Agreement, and all those at Easterleigh Hall, and throughout the country, asked, ‘Does this mean war?’
On 31 March Britain issued a statement guaranteeing Poland’s independence.
The first weekend after that, Tim took the sleeper down to London, in order to attend a dinner with Sir Anthony, Lady Margaret and Penny. The waiter was one of Potty’s men. It was he who now added the powder to Sir Edgers’ drinks on a regular basis, rendering him seemingly drunk. On this occasion it was his wife and Sir Anthony who had to take him to a taxi, through the foyer of one of the smartest hotels in London.
Penny was so outraged, this time, that she wrote the news to Bruno, with whom she was still infatuated, complaining about the lack of manners in old people today.
Potty warned Tim when they met in a café near his office the next day that, though he felt that should sort the situation for now, he might have to pull the net closed, catching a shoal of wriggling fascist informers, sooner than he had anticipated. ‘Poland is guaranteed, but it is in the East, dear boy. Why on earth should Herr Hitler think we will make good our promise, rushing our troops way over there? I mean, he just has to look at our past flaccid responses.’ He paused. ‘Old laddie, I assume you will remain with our merry little band, for what is to come?’
Tim looked at the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup, wishing he could read them and see the world as it would be in the months and years to come. Finally he nodded. He was learning his craft, his German was almost fluent. He was good at the work, and there weren’t enough people as it was. The fact that it screwed his belly up with tension and fear was neither here nor there. The fact that he lived a lie, and his extended family were ice-cold towards him, would have to be borne. But Bridie? She was the problem who tore his heart out by the roots.
The next day Bridie was preparing the menu for the day, thinking that she would use the sole from their supplier for Sole Meunière, while her mother finished the breakfasts. As they did so, they heard someone running down the steps from the garage yard. It sounded almost like James, but not quite. There was a knock at the kitchen door. Who knocked? Everyone just came in. They both looked round.
‘Hello, Bridie.’ It was Tim, standing in the doorway, holding the door open. ‘How are you, Aunt Evie?’
He had his hat in his hand. Evie returned to watching the bacon. ‘I’m fine, lad. How goes it with you?’
He didn’t reply, just said, ‘I’d like to talk to Bridie, only for a moment, if I may? Perhaps outside? It’s not cold.’
Bridie just shook her head. He stayed in the doorway. ‘I’m not going until you come. Please, Bridie, I’ll stay here all day otherwise, and that will cause a draught, and Mrs Moore might get a chill, and I’d be sorry about that.’
The dogs were at his feet now, whining for a stroke, which he gave them, laughing softly.
Her mam looked across at her. ‘He’s got Jack’s look about him, the one before his fist fights when he was a hewer in Auld Maud, so he won’t go away. But it’s not going to trouble her, is it, bonny lad? If it is, I’ll come too.’
Bridie almost smiled, because her mam had exactly the same look on her face. Tim said quietly, ‘Do you really think I’d hurt our Bridie, Aunt Evie?’ He was shaking his head. He was pale, and tired. He’d lost more weight, Bridie thought.
Tim hushed the dogs now and sent them back to Mrs Moore, who waved at him and said to Bridie, ‘By, go with the lad. He hasn’t grown horns, not that I can see anyway, pet.’
Bridie’s heart was thumping in her chest. She longed to be with him, but it was also the last thing she wanted. ‘Wait for me outside, and shut the door. You weren’t born in a barn, were you?’
Looking as though she’d slapped him, he turned on his heel and shut the door, shouting, ‘I’ll be at the cedar tree.’
Evie stared at Bridie, then understanding dawned. ‘You’d best go, and stop being rude. It doesn’t solve anything and makes you sound like a three-year-old, and your feelings don’t belong with a child. Go and talk it out with the lad. Love deserves that.’
Bridie looked at Mrs Moore for support, but the old cook said, ‘Aye, rude as anything, I’d call that, and cowardly. Get yourself up those stairs. The sooner you get there, the sooner it’ll be sorted.’ The dogs were scratching at the door, wanting to be out with Tim, but Mrs Moore called them back. As Bridie left she heard her asking Evie if she’d seen her size ten knitting needle.
Bridie made herself walk up the steps, when she wanted to run to him because she had seen the love in his eyes. But it could go nowhere because of what he was. She braced her shoulders and walked through the stable yard, calling softly to Terry, who was looking out from his stall. He whinnied. ‘In a moment, pet,’ she said, amazed that her voice was so calm.
Tim was watching her as she headed across the grass towards him, skirting the small marquee erected a week ago for a small wedding reception next week. She held her head high. This man that she loved admired the people who had hurt Dr and Mrs Gerber. He went to those dinners of Sir Anthony’s. He danced with smug-face. He wore a fascist badge, and went to their meetings. He went to Berlin, and who knew what he did there, with Penny and without her? Trust him, James had said. The boy was mad, and should know better.
Her fury was in place by the time she reached him. He looked at her. He said, ‘I love you. I can’t live with you thinking of me as you do.’
She shouted then, ‘How can I think otherwise? You’re a fascist, you’re hand in glove with Heine; I hate you for it, because I want to love you back.’ She ended on a high-pitched wail, longing for him to hold her, to make things better as he had always done, but how? How?
He made no move to comfort her, and had he done so, she would have beaten him back.
Instead, he stood quite still, and said, ‘I don’t know where to begin, really.’
She said, ‘Then I will. What I feel for you is love, and I hate you for it.’
He smiled. ‘So you keep saying. I understand that you hate me, loud and clear. But I also understand that you love me.’ He moved now, and gripped her arms. He loomed over her, but his face was gentle, his eyes intense. ‘Please trust me, Bridie. Things aren’t always what they seem. There’s a battle being waged, and soon we will be at war. Sometimes we have to pretend to be what we aren’t. I can’t say more than that. Trust me, love me as I love you.’
She almost saw the words coming from his mouth, and she couldn’t understand. ‘What do you mean, things aren’t what they seem? You’re as bad as Mrs Moore, she doesn’t come straight out with things.’
‘Why do you think that is?’ His voice was almost a whisper, and he maintained his grip.
She remembered how Mrs Moore had said it made you think and come to a conclusion. She studied his words, which still hung in the air, someho
w. In the end, she asked, ‘How does Dr Gerber know you? He says he doesn’t, but I don’t believe him.’
He started to shake his head, then said, ‘You need to trust me.’
She pulled free. ‘Well, that’s not good enough. You need to tell me the truth, just once, because I’m beginning to think that perhaps, yes, you are living a lie, but living it far too well. Living it in the face of great odds, and if you can do that, how can I ever trust you not to live a lie to me?’ There, that was her conclusion.
He held her arms again. She could see the thoughts chasing across his face. Finally he said, ‘I work for the Secret Intelligence Service, undercover in the fascist party. I have become fluent in German. This enables me to glean information from Heine and his SS and SD friends, and even from my mother. I am a trained operative. I can tell if I’m being followed. I could kill if I had to. I learned who the Nazis really are after a night in the cells, at their hands. I had been blind to them, up to that point. Yes, I was a fascist.’ He repeated, ‘I was a fascist. I believed it was the way forward. I was wrong. I’ve tried to put it right.’
She said nothing, but listened to every word, trying to put them into some sort of sense in her heart.
Tim was drawing closer. ‘I brought out Dr and Mrs Gerber but no-one must know that, because there are Nazi agents here, and there are British fascists working for them. If questions are asked, they are refugees. Bridie, I need to maintain my cover. I will remain in the intelligence service because they are short of people, so my life will be secret, or if you prefer, a lie. The one thing that won’t be is my enduring love for you, and everyone here.’
Bridie felt as though she was being buffeted by a turbulent wind, and couldn’t grasp anything firm enough to stop the swirling thoughts.
A House Divided: An Easterleigh Hall Novel Page 31
