Summer in Greece

by Patricia Wilson

  How many more lives would be lost if Merriberry left the medical profession? Also, I would not confess for my father’s sake. He did not deserve any more trouble in his life. And for my baby, who needed two parents. If I was prepared to surrender the man I loved for the sake of my child’s reputation, then so be it. Perkins had offered me this solution and I was seriously considering it, only because I suspected Manno’s baby grew inside me. The hole I dug for myself grew deeper and deeper.

  *

  The newspaper reporter was a stern looking man in his mid-thirties, all worsted suit, leather polish, and Brilliantine. He had a thick head of dark, glossy hair, and a mole with silver bristles on his jaw. He shook hands with father, Mr Hammersmith, and Perkins and half bowed towards me and the other ladies as an afterthought.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me. I’ll be out of your way as quickly as possible.’

  Father indicated a chair at the dining table and as the reporter moved towards it, my father threw me a cautionary glance that said, think before you speak. I replied with a slight nod. He pointed to another chair and said, ‘After you,’ to me. A clever move, because it instantly made the sitting reporter slightly embarrassed for his manners. ‘Thank you, Father,’ I replied.

  When we were all seated around the dining table with our tea, sandwiches, and cake, Father said, ‘Do you have a list of questions for my daughter, Mr . . . ?’

  ‘William Baily, at your service, sir. Yes, I came prepared so as not to waste your time.’

  ‘And do you have a carbon copy for our records, Mr Baily?’

  The reporter looked flustered for a second. I considered how much I loved my father when he insisted Mr Baily rewrote the questions out on double paper with a sheet of carbon between. I watched, considering each question as he wrote. No surprises. Another shrewd move of my father’s.

  ‘Please leave a space for my daughter’s answers, under each question, and of course, a space at the end for her signature, and for the signature of the witness. Thank you.’

  A slightly smug smile flickered across Father’s lips.

  The interview was on a par with the inquiry, except that he did not bully me. Mr Baily was surprisingly courteous. He wrote everything down, dated and signed, and asked my father and Matron a few questions too. I relaxed; fully confident the newspaper would not misrepresent me.

  After, when the men lit their cigars and swirled their brandy, I wandered outside and found Matron and Josephine sipping sherry at a table set beneath the big oak tree.

  ‘Gertie, come and join us. We were just talking about Kea,’ Josephine said. ‘Did you know Matron has just returned from there?’

  Matron smiled. ‘There was a memorial service for those unfortunate souls that were not found. The villagers remembered you. The nurse whose father kept the army’s pigeons. They spoke fondly of you, Gertie.’

  ‘Did you see the mailman and his father, the ones that saved us, Matron?’

  ‘Manno was away to Syros. However, his father invited us to eat at his house with his daughter-in-law and his two grandchildren.’

  ‘Daughter-in-law, and two grandchildren?’ My mouth dried, what was she saying?

  Merriberry nodded. ‘Charming toddlers. Easy to see they would grow up to be spectacularly beautiful.’

  Manno had a family on Kea! Now I understood why he had not answered my letters.

  *

  The next morning, Father paced up and down the drawing room muttering to himself. When he realised I’d entered the room he stopped and stared at me. ‘Have you seen this morning’s newspaper, Gertie?’ he asked gravely.

  ‘No, not yet, Father.’ The broadsheet lay on the table. When I investigated, it was clear to see the newspaper editor believed I was at least partly to blame for the Britannic’s death toll.

  TORPEDO OR MINE? the headline queried. Two paragraphs later, it went on to ask:

  Who opened the portholes? An action that caused the two-million-pound ship to sink before it reached land. Below we have an exclusive interview with Voluntary Aid Detachment nurse, Gertrude Smith. Was this young woman responsible for the loss of so many lives, and also this great financial cost that our country must bear in these troubled times?

  The reporter had only used half of the questions, which distorted the facts and made it look as though I had opened the portholes in defiance of the orders.

  Mrs Cooper did not come into work until eleven o’clock.

  ‘Is everything all right, Mrs Cooper?’ my father asked, glancing at the clock.

  ‘No, if you don’t mind me telling you, sir, it is not all right at all.’ Without waiting for any further discourse, she went on to explain. ‘They, those local braggarts and fools, decided I was partly to blame for the loss of life on the Britannic because I work for you. They’ve harassed us all weekend. Jacob Boniface is amongst the worst. I couldn’t step outside my own house today until they had cleared off.’

  ‘But what did they do?’ I asked.

  ‘They threw rotten tomatoes at the window, and when I went outside to tell them to clear off or I’d call the peelers, well, that was when the real trouble began. They had put human excrement into a paper bag and set it alight on my doorstep. Well, I didn’t know what was in it, did I? And what do you do when you find a small fire at your front door, well, you stamp on it to put it out, don’t you? It’s natural instinct, isn’t it?’ She appeared so glum, and then her chin shivered and I realised she was struggling to stay in control. ‘I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life, me with kack all over my slippers and them laughing!’ Mrs Cooper had hardly finished speaking when a crash came from the front of the house. Another of the small panes of glass shattered.

  *

  I returned home from shopping on Friday to find the constable waiting at my door.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ I asked, hurrying towards him.

  ‘Your father, miss. A flying rock from a troublemaker struck Dr Smith while he was visiting patients. He swerved and drove his automobile into a tree. Don’t be alarmed. He lost consciousness, but regained it on the way to hospital. His vehicle has suffered a little from the altercation, but that can be mended. He’s recovering with nothing more than scrapes and bruises,’ the constable told me. ‘It could have been worse, so let’s be grateful it wasn’t.’

  This was my fault! I returned to town in the cab and hurried into the hospital.

  My father lay in a bleach-scented ward under clean, but thinning, sheets. After greeting him, I studied the head bandage and found the dressing nurse was competent. Quiet rage built up inside me. This was too much! Once Father was settled for the evening, I went to the police station.

  ‘That thug Boniface could have killed him,’ I said to Inspector Glassman. ‘Surely there’s something you can do to stop him?’

  He ran his hand over his bald head, then down over his steel-grey moustache and beard. ‘Feelings are running high, miss. People are demanding a public inquiry. They’re not satisfied with the military one. They want someone to pay for their losses, and it seems they’ve decided that someone should be you.’

  ‘Can’t you speak to him, protect us?’

  ‘In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a war going on. Our best constables are away fighting the Kaiser. What am I supposed to do with half a dozen girls in police uniform?’ He raised his palms towards the ceiling.

  ‘We’ve had three broken windows, Inspector. My own mother was injured by flying glass. Then Mrs Cooper was victimised in a horrible way, and now my father almost killed. These people have nothing to do with His Majesty’s Hospital Ship! Boniface and his thugs are simply terrorising us because they are angry and feel useless. It’s bullying, and if you can’t put a stop to it, then I will try to end it by myself. It simply can’t go on, Inspector. Will you come with me while I go and talk to Jacob Boniface?’

  Where had I found the courage to speak to a policeman in this way? Thank you, Sissy, my darling sister.

  He frowned a
nd twisted the ends of his waxed moustache. ‘I really don’t think that would be a good idea, miss. The man’s unstable.’

  ‘Well, I can be unstable too. I am going to talk to him whether you come with me or not.’

  Glassman closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. I noticed his clenched fists.

  ‘Please, Inspector Glassman, isn’t it better to talk than fight?’ I stated vigorously.

  He pulled in his chin and blinked at me. ‘My thoughts exactly, but people are always eager to rush into an affray and fight. The sooner you lot get the vote the better.’ He huffed and his shoulders dropped. ‘Come on then, let’s go and see the troublemaker.’ He picked up a ring of keys from his desk and locked the police station once we were in the street.

  Boniface was halfway between his delivery cart and the bakery when I saw him.

  ‘Mr Boniface, can I have a word with you?’

  He stopped, glared at me for a second, then hefted another sack of flour onto his back. ‘You’ve got a nerve! Why are you here? Come to see what further heartbreak and damage you can cause?’

  ‘Mr Boniface, you must understand, it was the Germans that sank HMHS Britannic! Now this has gone on long enough. My father could have been killed today!’

  ‘Eye for an eye then, ain’t it! You killed my youngest son. You don’t know what it’s like to lose yer boy. Fifteen ’e was. An’ what about Fairclough’s lad, ’is arm chopped off? What sort of a carpenter will ’e make now? Yer’ve got no idea what it’s like, you in yer posh, White ’Ouse!’

  ‘What! I’ve got no idea? My brother died fighting for the likes of you! My dearest brother!’ Burning rage hissed through my body. I erupted like a volcano, my words venting inner fury. ‘My most darling sister died far from home, nursing the boys that fought for us. How dare you! Yes, how dare you talk about sacrifice as if you are the only one who’s suffered!’

  Engulfed by wrath, I grabbed the scrubbed baker’s paddle left to dry against the wall of the shop, and with all the anger in me, I swung it at Boniface. He stood there sneering, grasping the corners of a bulging flour sack on his back. Little did he know, I’d accumulated considerable strength, mostly in my arms, due to my work in Mudros. The wooden paddle twisted in my hands and the side of the spade chopped his arm and, I suspect, cracked his elbow.

  He let out such a holler, dropped the flour, and we all disappeared in a dense white cloud. The Inspector made a grab for me and caught my shoulder. It took all my self-control to resist swinging a punch at the policeman’s chin.

  Boniface hollered. ‘She’s busted me elbow, little trollop, I want her arrested! Arrest her!’

  ‘Oh, so sorry, Mr Boniface,’ I screamed back sarcastically, pushing my face towards his. ‘Perhaps we should call a doctor for you. But wait, of course we can’t. Because you’ve put the only doctor in Dover in the hospital, you stupid, horrible, bad-tempered ogre!’

  By then, Inspector Glassman had me so firmly around the waist that my feet were off the floor. ‘Drop the paddle,’ he said sternly.

  I did, but Boniface rushed towards me yelling about his elbow, one big hand open and going for my throat. I picked up both feet and pushed him away with all the force I had in my legs. He staggered back, unbalanced, and landed on the cobbles on his backside, banging his elbow again, and roaring with rage.

  By this time, a crowd had gathered. They started to point and laugh, and no wonder. A ridiculous tableau we were, covered in white flour, bellowing, and screaming, and flailing our arms and legs. However, the crowd’s mockery further infuriated Boniface. ‘Clear off, you nosy parkers!’ he yelled, clumsily getting to his feet and rushing at them. His injured arm hung limply, while the other displayed a clenched fist that threatened to break any nose that came within striking distance.

  Eventually, I found myself going to the police station to make a statement.

  ‘You know I’ll have to lock you up for your own safety, Miss Smith. The doctor in hospital . . . I could not let you stay out there on your own with Boniface on the loose,’ Inspector Glassman said.

  ‘No, Inspector, you have it wrong. You must lock me up for Mr Boniface’s safety. Because I warn you, I cannot guarantee that I shall remain in control of my temper, should I find myself in the proximity of that despicable creature.’ My insides trembled like Mrs Cooper’s blancmange.

  CHAPTER 47

  SHELLY

  Dover, present day.

  SUMMER HEADED TOWARDS AUTUMN. SHELLY spoke to Harry every day and was relieved to hear that Elias had made a full recovery. Shelly ached to be with Harry and made him describe the weather, the dives, the landscape and the wildlife each time he phoned, dreaming she was right there with the man she loved.

  ‘Come over before the season ends, while the water’s still warm.’

  Shelly sighed into the phone, remembering the bliss of an empty beach, a cloudless sky, warm smiles and welcoming faces.

  ‘Let’s get a dive in, and I can show you the rest of the island,’ Harry said. ‘Or, you said you wanted to go to Syros. We could go over for a few days. I’ll go completely crazy if I don’t see you soon, my darling.’

  ‘Yes, oh, yes! I’d love to. I’ll try to arrange it. Last week in October?’

  ‘Perfect. Have you listened to all the tapes now?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I’ve one to go. Perhaps I could share them with you, what do you think?’

  ‘Sure, I’d love to hear her speaking about Kea. You could fly into Syros. They have an airport.’

  ‘Gertie went from Kea to Syros in a caïque, so I find that idea most appealing.’

  ‘So, you arrange the first leg, to Kea, and I’ll arrange the rest,’ Harry said. ‘I really can’t wait to see you again.’

  Shelly longed to see him too. She’d been thinking about inviting Harry and his sons for Christmas. With this in mind, she decided on a schedule of renovations and decoration. DJ insisted on doing any heavy work, and Eve was adamant she be style consultant.

  It was the end of August, when Eve arrived at White Cottage with a party box of M&S sushi and two bottles of Grüner Veltliner. Eve watched Shelly zip herself into a disposable overall. ‘I guess from the outfit, you’re not joining me as one of the catering staff?’

  Shelly laughed and fastened the strap on her yellow builder’s helmet. ‘Nope. Demolition squad, that’s me!’

  ‘Well, I hope you don’t expect me to dress in that garb, because in truth, I’d rather die!’

  DJ rolled his sleeves and grinned. ‘We’ve got a pair of Gucci overalls for you, Eve, so you’ve got no excuse.’

  ‘Oh, excuse me, young man, I’m pulling rank. Lowly builders are not allowed to interfere with the catering management, if you don’t mind. We’re an entirely superior breed. However, you are exceedingly handsome,’ Eve said with her nose in the air. ‘So, you can, in fact, interfere with me as much as you like.’

  ‘Eve!’ Shelly cried. ‘Stop flirting with my son. You’re old enough to be his mother.’

  ‘Like you, you mean?’ Eve replied in a flash, and they all burst into laughter.

  Gordon came into the kitchen. ‘I’m starving. ’Ere, d’you want me to stick those fishcakes in the microwave, Eve?’ Gordon asked.

  Eve placed her forearm against her forehead and faked a swoon. ‘Touch them with those builder’s fingernails and I will kill you myself, Mr Summer!’

  Gordon turned to his grandson. ‘What’ve these girls got yer doing now then, DJ? It looks like Armageddon in ’ere!’

  DJ lifted his mask. ‘We’re taking the chimney breast down, Gramps. It takes up too much room. When it’s gone, and we’ve decorated, Mum’s going to take you into town to buy the biggest TV in the shop.’

  Gordon’s frown faded. ‘Is that so? Then I’ll give yer a ’and, lad. Do any of you know what you’re doing?’

  ‘Not without a mask and goggles, you won’t,’ Shelly said, thrusting a set towards him.

  He threw her a dirty look, picked up the scissors and cut a
small hole in the centre of the mask before putting it on.

  ‘That kind of defeats the object, Gramps!’

  ‘Don’t care, I needs me smoke, lad. Be grateful I’ve given up the baccy and let me get on with me vape without a drama.’

  DJ grinned with hero worship.

  Gordon continued. ‘Now, are you sure this is safe? Has anyone checked?’

  ‘Yes, Dad, we got the professionals in. The surveyor said it’s not supporting anything because the upstairs chimney was taken out thirty years ago.’

  ‘Right then, no more shirking, people. Let’s get on with the job. DJ, swing that mallet, lad.’

  Shelly smiled, this was brilliant, the four of them doing a job together. She’d never have dreamt of such a thing and it made her tingle with happiness. She watched her son swing the long-handled lump hammer. It crashed into the chimney breast at shoulder height. The whole house trembled but the chimneybreast stayed intact.

  ‘’Ere, yer needs to put yer back into it, lad.’

  ‘Built to last, Gramps.’

  Shelly beamed. ‘Here, DJ, have a go at hitting my thumb.’ She placed it a little lower, centrally, above the fireplace. ‘Go on, go for it.’

  He glanced at her nervously. ‘You will pull it out the way?’

  She grinned and winked. ‘All you’ve got, lovey. Come on, now’s your chance to show us what you’re worth.’

  ‘Stand back! Stand back!’ Gordon ordered dramatically, suddenly in charge of the demolition and bubbling with fun. ‘Wimmin under the table. Make sure yer gas masks are on. The Blitz is back an Gerry’s goin’ for a direct hit!’

  ‘Now you’ve really lost the plot, Dad,’ Shelly said, laughing at the fun in her father.

  DJ hefted the lump hammer back and swung it at Shelly’s thumb. She stepped away, he hit the spot and five rows of bricks clattered down in one great tumult.