On a cold Saturday afternoon the Halls greeted Will and Jane with the smiles and hugs she knew they would, enveloping them again within their family. Their farmhouse offered welcome warmth and light on a cold grey day. A month had passed since they'd received the piece of paper that thousands of families dreaded; a few lines of writing with the power to shatter lives, a paper bomb. Yet the mood at the farm wasn't sombre. At the moment, it was almost possible to pretend that slip of paper hadn't come, that it had never existed. Harry wasn't supposed to be there now so he didn't ask to be missed. But when his leave might have come around again, when the war was over, when he should have been out in the fields, sitting at the table, sharing their lives, then the family wouldn't be able to pretend any longer.
As for the telegram itself, Maggie Hall had slipped it into a box then returned the box to a shelf, safe in her wardrobe. She'd read it only once and wouldn't look at the words again for years.
Jane and Will were staying over at the farm this time. Jack had a beam to strengthen in the barn and Will was there to help. While Jack, Will and Daniel worked, Maggie, Sylvie and Jane kept them fed and watered and shared other tasks around the farm and in the kitchen. Jacob was playing with the dogs and generally making a nuisance of himself in the barn, but nobody seemed to mind.
There was an unspoken need for normality amongst everyone since the war had started and, with the loss of a piece of them, every little part of life became more precious to the Halls; even things that would have brought exasperation, remonstration or a cross word were now things to be savoured.
Every day, Maggie wished to be picking up the glass of water Harry routinely left by his bed and forgot to bring down to the kitchen, in the early morning Jack missed Harry's muddy boots always lying on top of his when he got up to start the day, Daniel longed for the good natured but bothersome ribbing Harry insisted on giving him about the sisters who lived on the next farm, Sylvie wanted to hear Harry call her Young Missy in his irritating impression of a school master's voice and Jacob craved the maddening rubbing of his hair every time Harry passed.
When work in the barn was complete for the day, animals cared for and the men washed and changed everyone sat at the scrubbed farmhouse table to eat. The mood was the same as during their previous visit, only different. There was a new and subtle distance to be found occasionally in Maggie's eyes, Jack had a slight greyness about him that wasn't there before, Daniel seemed to have changed into a man overnight and the two youngest family members were not quite as chatty or giggly as previously. But to the outside world, with no knowledge of how life looked before, the family might appear no different to any other. Life carried on. The only break in their conversation and evening meal came when the dogs began to bark outside. Jack went to check, muttering something about foxes, but returned not long after to report that all seemed quiet, smiling and adding 'daft dogs' to his report.
Jane knew there had been occasions since the news, when Will had visited the farm alone, when he'd talked to Maggie and Jack about Harry and how they'd cope without him. This visit, however, was not to organise or plan or discuss the gaping loss, but to give some routine back; to laugh, smile, work, share meals, to chat, get to know Jane, make time for each other.
Once Sylvie and Jacob were in bed, the adults chatted and played a game of gin rummy, winning and losing matchsticks. When Daniel was shooed off to bed, Jane and Maggie fell into their own conversation as Jack disappeared outside for a cigarette and Will followed.
When sleep beckoned for the four who were left, Maggie showed Jane to the spare room where she'd already put Jane's small bag.
'We don't use this room very much. Should have really, but the boys always wanted to share. I've put Will in Harry's, in Harry's bed.' The name of her first born seemed to trip over an invisible obstacle on Maggie's tongue and her eyes met Jane's. Jane held Maggie's hand for a moment, knowing that no words would be quite right. Composure unsteadily regained, Maggie smiled, 'If you need anything love, just ask.' With that she retreated quickly to head for her own room where she wept in Jack's arms every night.
Jane's room had white walls that seemed to lean in slightly further the higher they reached. On one was a dark frame containing a biblical print. A small sink stood to the side of a window, where a deep sill reached out to the glass in the old cob wall. There was no curtain adorning the small window frame; it was high and deeply recessed and there were no neighbours to pry or streetlights to protect the slumbering from. Jane sat down on the bed which was very soft and deep, covered by crisp white sheets and a soft pink blanket. On the bedside table was a small jug of water and a glass. She kicked off her shoes and lay down, letting her thoughts walk around freely in her head.
Jane wondered if she might hear the softest of tapping on her door and be able to spend some more time with Will, but no tapping came. She didn't know that he had indeed planned to tiptoe down the landing to visit her and he didn't know that she hoped he would.
But, in the darkness of night, in the room that once housed three brothers, Will had been sitting up with Daniel and Jacob talking quietly about Harry, answering their questions and squashing their fears. When morning came some of the large clouds that had gathered above Daniel and Jacob had been blown away by Will, leaving only the wispiest of hazes. The brother who was their confidante, tormentor, ringleader, supporter, teacher and idol was laid gently to rest.
Chores beckoned early the next morning, then church, more chores and lunch. They all went for a walk after the table was cleared and the Sunday lunch dishes washed. Animals checked and tended, afternoon strolled into evening and soon it was time for Will and Jane to leave.
The farewells were hard, but promises were made to return soon and a little paper wrapped package of cake slipped into Jane's hand, along with a parcel for Will. Gifts and bags stowed, hugs shared and kisses blown, and the pair were once again alone on the Sunbeam in the darkness.
Some time into their journey, as they sped down the lanes homeward bound, Will turned and shouted back to Jane. She thought he said 'The bike's not right' but the wind and the noise of the engine made it hard to tell.
A moment later, she knew she'd heard right as Will tensed.
The front of the Sunbeam seemed to wriggle from his guidance. Then Jane felt the wheel beneath her move in a way she knew it shouldn't, almost snake like, and in an instant the motorbike tipped to its side. Will's foot shot out attempting to right it again, which he seemed to do for just a second before the machine slithered its own course, and crashed onto its side as it slid scraping and crunching towards the hedge. Jane thought she screamed but wasn't sure. All noise was confused, mixed and muffled. The whole incident took seconds and silence followed.
The next moment, as the immediate aftermath brought disorientation and clouded thought, saw a frantic Will scrabbling to his feet then falling to his knees at Jane's side where she lay awkwardly in the darkness a few yards from the stricken cycle.
'Jane, Jane, are you alright?' His hand touched hers then moved quickly to her neck, frantically checking for a pulse. As she stirred, his checking of her became almost frenzied; gentle but hurried hands touching her ankles, legs, back, arms, face; checking for breaks and blood in the darkness. Finally, he slid his arm underneath her to lift her gently away from the cold ground as he nursed her against him. His palm curved round her face and he was so close she could feel his nervous panting breaths.
'I'm alright Will,' Jane was quick to reassure, as gentle but still frantic fingers unfastened the strap of her crash helmet and lifted it from her. He leaned down as she tried to sit up, her disorientation fog lifting.
'Slowly Jane, hang on, let me help you.' As she sat up she was amazed that no part of her seemed more painful than a blossoming bruise. An involuntary wince from a pain in her shoulder and a palm feeling the sting of a graze in the cold seemed the sum of her pain inventory, which was thankfully complete with no loss of limb or blood. 'Are you hurt? Where do you hurt?'
'Nowhere much, my shoulder and hand are a little sore but that's all.' She held out her left hand and Will kissed her palm in the moonlight. 'Are you alright Will, are you hurt anywhere?'
'Don't worry about me, I'm fine. I told you before, I have a hard head.' Jane couldn't see much in the dark of the lane. 'I'm so sorry Jane. I said I'd look after you.' All Jane could tell from the dim headlamp and the moon was that Will had now turned towards the prone motorcycle. 'I don't know what happened.'
'Was it mud on the road or something?'
'No, didn't feel like it. It was mechanical. Something didn't feel right with the bike.' He turned back to Jane. 'Are you sure you're alright?'
'Yes.'
'Honestly?'
'Honestly.'
Will wrapped her in an embrace to whisper 'I can't lose you.'
Once he'd tenderly helped Jane up and made her sit on his overcoat on a small bank of grass, Will manoeuvred the lifeless motorcycle into a nearby field and unstrapped their belongings.
'Can you see if there's much damage?'
'Can't see much, but I don't think it's actually too bad bodily. We'll have to walk on and find somewhere to get a bus or something though. I'll telephone Jack tomorrow and ask him to come and take Sunbeam back to the farm. Can't head back there now; we're half way home anyway. Maggie'll be frantic when she finds out. She'll blame it on the lights. She hates me riding in the dark with Sunbeam's eyes half closed.' Jane didn't like the obscured lights on the machine either, but didn't say anything. When the war was over being out at night would feel like daylight, when street lights shone and headlamps were once more fully revealed with their eyes wide open. Will took Jane's hand to help her to her feet again and they walked slowly along the dark lanes. 'I'm so sorry.'
'Stop saying sorry; accidents happen.' When there was no response from a brooding Will, a little light suddenly turned on for Jane and she stopped walking. Will did too. 'It wasn't, was it?'
Will turned in the semi darkness.
'Wasn't what?' he asked the question even though he knew what was coming.
'It wasn't an accident.' Silence. 'The dogs barking. Someone was there and they did something to the bike.' As the flood of thoughts tumbled out in words, Jane's anxiety rose but her voice became a whisper. 'They knew you were there.' Will took both of Jane's hands in his to steady her. 'Did they follow us?' Will pulled Jane into a tight embrace. 'Will, someone thinks you're Hugh and they tried to kill you.'
Will's voice quaked for a moment as he started to speak. 'Jane, I don't know. I'm not sure what's going on. I'll speak with Hugh. As soon as we get back we'll get you on a train. I won't let you out of my sight until you're on your way to Somerset. The further away you are from me the better, just until I know what's going on.' Despite her distress, Jane's response was firm.
'Well, that's not going to happen.'
'What's not?'
'I'm not going to Somerset. If anything, I'm more help here than anyone as I'm at the hotel and near to Hugh. How can he put you in danger like this?'
'Jane, please. For me, just go to your mum's. I'm sure this can all be sorted out and then I'll call you, or I'll come and get you if you like.'
'No, I'm staying. You can't make me go so you can stop talking about it.' Resigned and frustrated, Will didn't argue. He just sighed deeply and held her even closer, almost absorbing her in a bid to offer protection. Then they walked on in silence.
The next day brought an overall ache to Jane's body as she woke and tried to turn over. Her shoulder seemed no worse than any other part of her. Her palm was grazed but otherwise fine. As she dragged herself to sit up she couldn't discern what ached; it felt like every muscle in her body was one entity and had been jarred. It was strange that she felt more discomfort now than when she'd been buried underneath a house. That event now seemed long past and surreal, even if it had left a footprint of jumpiness behind each time Jane heard an unexpected noise.
Mrs Foster had answered the door to Jane and Will in the early hours of the morning. Her face initially showed surprise which quickly slid to disapproval which, just as quickly, turned to concern when she took in the full picture and the expressions on the faces of Jane and her companion. A brief explanation was all that was needed for the landlady to begin bustling about for emergency brandy and cups of tea and warm blankets, despite the returning and bruised travellers assuring her they were fine.
After Will had been brandied, warmed and mothered over he left despite Mrs Foster offering him the settee for the night. Jane watched him go, fearful for his safety but unable to voice the imperative caution to him in Mrs Foster's presence. With Mrs Foster there she couldn't follow him, beg him to stay or take any action other than to benignly say 'stay safe' as he left. His voice told her 'see you tomorrow Sunshine' while his eyes betrayed disquiet. After his departure, Mrs Foster shooed Jane up to her room with a mug of Ovaltine, which Jane wasn't particularly keen on, an extra blanket and a hot water bottle.
As Jane made her way downstairs the next morning, trying to work the stiffness from every joint and muscle, she was met by her landlady in the kitchen.
'Now you're not going to work are you Jane?'
'Yes Mrs Foster. I'm fine, honestly, just a little stiff.'
Her landlady eyed her with suspicion. 'Well, if you say so.' Jane touched the kind lady's arm and smiled.
'I really am absolutely fine.' The landlady smiled back suspiciously and continued her chores as Jane took her hat and coat from the chair and prepared to leave.
'You should eat breakfast.'
'Thank you but I don't really feel like it at the moment.' Then, to appease, she added, 'I'll get something when I get to work.'
Mrs Cartlyn
As Jane answered the telephone, dealt with enquiries, made bookings and smiled happily at guests her thoughts were somewhere else. Today, her thoughts weren't warm romantic ones, filled with pictures of Will, but unpleasant frightened ones bound together with suspicion. The fear of bombs and crashing buildings, her previous visitor, almost felt like an old friend. She knew a bomb was a bomb and a siren a siren. But this new danger was a secret one which hadn't shown its face, so she didn't know what, or who, to be scared of. She didn't know the signs that should set off the alarm. Her stomach turned in apprehension of the moment she'd see Hugh Callaghan and whether her demeanour would reveal to him the new depths of what she knew, or thought she knew. She wasn't an actor like Will; she didn't know how well concealed her angry, suspicious and confused thoughts might be.
With a mixture of relief and deflation, she didn't see Hugh that day or the next. Nothing notable happened at all. The only thing different in life during those three days was the paranoia that Jane and Will tried to hide from each other. Will pretended that he wasn't continuously looking over his shoulder and Jane felt torn each time they parted company, petrified for his safety. As she crossed the lobby at work on the third day Jane saw Mrs Cartlyn walking towards her, clearly with the intention of speaking to her.
'Good morning Jane.'
'Good morning Mrs Cartlyn, can I help you?'
'Yes, Jane, you can. When you have a moment, I'd be pleased to see you in my room.'
'Of course,' was the only reply Jane could give in her utter surprise. Mrs Cartlyn nodded then turned to walk towards the lifts.
Ten minutes or so later, Jane knocked on the door of Mrs Cartlyn's seventh floor room. She heard the old lady call for her to come in so she opened the door and peered inside.
'Mrs Cartlyn?'
'In the sitting area, Jane. Come on in, don't dawdle.' Jane entered the room quickly and closed the door gently behind her. In Jane's role she didn't need to enter any of the hotel guest rooms and was newly surprised whenever she passed an open door and caught a glimpse of the luxury within. In the best rooms the space stretched before your eyes, leading to sitting room then bedroom and bathroom. The windows were tall and swathed in fabric and the furniture and furnishings expensive. Jane scanned the area
for her host who was found sitting next to the ornate fireplace, in which stood an impressive floral display.
'Come here girl,' she beckoned. Jane hurried over to her.
'Mrs Cartlyn?'
'Sit down Jane. We need to talk.' Jane couldn't help frowning as she sat down opposite the ageing but formidable woman.
'I'm sorry Mrs Cartlyn, I don't understand. If there's a problem with anything at all, I'm sure the hotel would be only too pleased to…' but before Jane could finish her assurance that the hotel could deal with any problems she may have, Mrs Cartlyn interrupted.
'No Jane, I have no issues with The Grandchester, its service or its staff; although the linen could be crisper on occasion. Let's get straight to the point.' Jane stiffened in her chair, with no idea at all what Mrs Cartlyn was about to say.
'It appears that Mr Callaghan, as dashing and heroic and patriotic as he may be, has put your young man in some peril.' Jane opened her mouth to speak but was silenced by the raising of a hand, old and seemingly frail but clearly with the power to stop fresh words in their tracks. Jane noticed the glint of diamonds as the hand returned to the owner's lap. 'Often life runs its own course regardless of our actions, but there are times when one should intercede. Don't ask me how I know about your William Batten and his arrangement. Just know that I like to keep abreast of things.' Jane was struck dumb. 'My late husband, rest his good soul…' she paused a moment to choose her words, 'was an interested party in matters of security and subterfuge. We met through our shared occupations.' Mrs Cartlyn paused to allow the absorption of her words. 'As I may have mentioned before, there's been a certain amount of unexpected to'ing and fro'ing in the hotel recently; people where they shouldn't be, being who they aren't.'
Sunshine Spirit Page 8
