Tomorrow, Jerusalem

by Tomorrow, Jerusalem (retail) (epub)

  —And you do want her where you don’t have to see her every day. To see the black hair and blue eyes, the enchanting, goblin smile, to see the obstinate courage of her when once more she faces your dislike and disapproval— his doubts were all in his face as he turned to look at her.

  She returned his look without turning a hair, without a flicker in the cool, steady eyes. ‘I’ve found a school,’ she said composedly. ‘It’s in Suffolk. Near Bury St Edmunds. It’s a lovely old house in very nice grounds. It’s run by two sisters, very well qualified. I was there last week and I was most impressed. The girls I met were beautifully mannered, the school curriculum seemed to me to be very well planned.’

  ‘You seem to have got it all worked out?’

  ‘Yes. There wasn’t much else I could do in the circumstances, do you think? I mean – you can hardly want me to run to you with such trivial household decisions whilst you’re so very occupied in your work in France.’ Her tone was faultless, yet he glanced sharply at her, detecting the irony in the words.

  ‘And Rachel? How does she feel?’

  Charlotte made an infinitely small gesture of distaste. ‘Oh, how do you think? I told you – the child is totally undisciplined – she threw herself about and screamed like a wildcat. What would you expect? If the day has come when a ten-year-old child can impose her own wishes upon parents who are only doing what’s best for her then the world has changed indeed.’

  There was a silence that was broken only by the rustle of Ben’s clothing.

  ‘It’s arranged then?’ Charlotte asked.

  Ben, in his dressing gown, turned. She had tilted her head to look at him, the lamp behind her gilding her hair, limning her delicate features in light, leaving her wide eyes in shadow. Her white hands, soft and smooth, were folded upon the book. He could see the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the silk of her nightgown. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Ben? It’s arranged?’

  ‘Yes. If that’s what you want.’ The sudden thudding of his heart, the stirring of his body was totally uncontrollable. In the abrupt silence he saw her face change almost imperceptibly, her body stiff and still beneath his eyes.

  Her hands, as she marked her place in her book, closed it, laid it upon the bedside table, trembled a little. ‘Good. I’ll go ahead and make the arrangements.’ Not all her efforts could keep the tension from her voice. She turned from him, sliding down under the covers, her back to him, her shoulder hunched almost to her ear.

  He let the dressing gown slide from his shoulders, stood naked above her. She would not turn her head. ‘Charlotte,’ he said.

  ‘I’m very tired, Ben.’

  ‘You’re my wife, damn it!’ His voice was very low. As he reached for the bedclothes she turned on her back, staring up at him, rigid with dislike. With disgust.

  He was beyond control. Beneath the nightdress her body was smooth and cool, her skin soft and delicate as silk. As his bulk, thrusting, fell upon her he knew he hurt her – in truth at that moment he wanted to hurt her, to produce some warmth of reaction, some fire to rise to his, even, if necessary, in hatred. She lay inert beneath him, lifeless as rag, cold as charity. As his climax came she opened her eyes and watched him, unblinking. When he had done she withdrew from him fastidiously, slipped silently from the bed and left the room. He rolled on to his stomach, face buried in the pillow. He heard the water running in the bathroom next door, heard the bedroom door open again, heard the opening of a drawer and the smooth rustle of silk as she changed her nightdress. He rolled on to his back, watching her, as she came back to the bed. She did not look at him. As if she were alone she smoothed the sheet, plumped the pillows, slid back into bed, settled herself with her back to him and turned out the lamp.

  He lay in the dark and the deafening silence for a very long time, listening for guns and thinking of Sally.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I

  The Russians were out; the Americans – fresh, vigorous, eager to show their mettle – were in; and with them came a new wave of optimism. Through a gruelling winter and into the spring of 1918, which had seen the launch of a desperate and costly German offensive designed to break the backs of the Allied armies before the incoming American troops could make a significant difference to the balance of arms, the fighting had continued sporadically and viciously along the length of the Western Front. Now, with summer approaching and more and more units arriving from the United States, the German offensive had failed and it was becoming obvious that the race against time was lost. The American troops – irresistibly friendly, keen as mustard to get into the fight and above all well fed, well equipped and well paid – were regarded with a mixture of mostly good-natured resentment, equally good-natured amusement and rarely expressed heartfelt thankfulness by the war-weary troops who watched them march into the shattered villages of France and Flanders, swinging, fresh and confident, down the patched, unevenly cobbled streets, bringing new blood and new hope to the battle.

  Eddie, sitting with Sally in the window of their favourite estaminet, lifted an ironic glass to the column of troops that marched, singing, towards the station. ‘Here’s to the Yanks, God bless ’em. With a bit of luck we’ll all be home by Christmas.’

  Sally smiled, acknowledged his words with a lift of her own glass.

  ‘Poor young sods. They’ve no more idea what they’ve got coming than babies.’

  ‘They’ll learn, I guess.’ Sally was watching with pensive eyes a young girl who was serving at the tables, plump and pretty, her long brown hair hanging almost to her waist, eyes bright with laughter as she parried the advances of the hopeful young soldiers she was serving, obviously revelling in the attention she was being paid.

  Eddie’s eyes followed hers, then quizzically he looked back at her.

  Sally laughed wryly at the unspoken question. ‘I was just thinking’, she said not altogether lightly, ‘how very ancient I feel sometimes.’ She lifted a hand, absently rubbed at a grease-stained finger.

  He chuckled, but his eyes were sharp. ‘Don’t be daft, lass. You don’t look a day over forty.’

  She pulled a face, stuck her tongue out at him, sipped her drink. The marching boots crashed rhythmically outside the window.

  Eddie rested a chin on his knuckle, watching her. ‘What’ll you do? After the war, I mean, when you go home?’

  She studied the dirty finger as if it had suddenly become the most absorbing thing in the world. Then, shrugging a little and without looking at him she said, ‘I don’t know. I don’t actually have what you might call a home. I could go back to Bruges – but I don’t know what’s happened to Philippe’s parents – and anyway, without Philippe—’ She trailed off, a faint flinch of pain in her eyes. Nothing that had happened since had erased the agony of that loss. ‘There’s Philippa, of course – I must make some kind of home for her.’

  ‘You won’t go back to your friends at the Bear?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  He waited for a moment, watching her closed face, waiting for her to elaborate. When it became obvious that she would not, he reached for his packet of cigarettes, offered her one. ‘Why not?’

  She shook her head. A flicker of irritation at his persistence brought her eyes to his. ‘I just won’t. It isn’t what I want to do. That’s all.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He lit his cigarette, watched the drifting smoke. ‘Anyway – things have changed, haven’t they? Happen folk like your Pattens have had their day.’

  She frowned a little. ‘What do you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘Seems to me we’ve had our bellyful of do-gooders. Time we took a hand ourselves. Take them on at their own game. We need a Socialist Government, working folk in Parliament. That’s the way to get welfare for our people, education for our children, decent homes, a living wage. That’s the way to get rid of the parasites, to ensure the working people of the country – the poor buggers who’ve been fighting this war – get a fair crack of the whip.’
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br />   The narrow, green-flecked eyes watched him affectionately. ‘The way to build Jerusalem?’ Sally prompted softly.

  ‘Happen so. Why not? The first thing that’ll happen after this little lot is an election; and if I don’t miss my guess it’ll be an election that at least some women’ll vote in – have you thought of that?’

  She nodded. ‘Hannah was talking about it the other day. If the Government keeps its promises – it certainly looks as if the war’s done for us what none of our own efforts could. Crazy, isn’t it?’

  He lifted a shoulder. ‘It’s a bloody good job it’s done something. Anyway—’ he leaned forward on his elbows, his dark face lit with enthusiasm, ‘think about it.’ He grinned his quick, abrasive grin. ‘Remember what they used to say about women voters? That they’d vote the way their husbands or their priests told them? That a woman voter would be a Conservative voter?’

  ‘I certainly do.’

  ‘Right – so what we’re going to need is women active in Labour politics to persuade them to use their own judgement. Want a job?’

  She stared at him, then laughed a little. ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘Never been more serious in my life. You’d probably have to work for nothing – be a bloody uphill struggle too at first; the most we can hope for is to form an Opposition this time—’

  ‘You’re serious?’ She was looking at him incredulously, ‘You really believe that the Labour Party will get enough seats to form an Opposition?’

  ‘Never believed anything more. It’s got to happen, Sal. The world’s changed. They can’t keep us down any longer. You fought for the vote; you’ve as good as got it. You aren’t going to give up now, are you?’

  ‘I – hadn’t thought about it.’

  ‘Well—’ he leaned back in his chair, pushed his cap to a jaunty angle upon his dark head, ‘think about it now. The prospective candidate for Barnsley North can do with all the help he can get.’

  She shook her head, gently. ‘I don’t know, Eddie. If you’re serious—’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s Philippa to think about—’

  His eyes had narrowed a little. With a sudden movement he straightened in the chair, leaned towards her, his voice very quiet. ‘And not just Philippa, eh?’

  It was impossible, under the acute, dark gaze, to prevent the rise of blood to her face. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean, lass. I mean the fella, whoever he is, that’s been leading you such a dance over these past months.’ He did not stop as she opened her mouth to deny it. ‘Time and again I’ve meant to offer to push his face in for you – still will, if you like. Just tell me his name – I’ll straighten him out. Happen someone should—’

  ‘Eddie!’

  ‘Don’t deny it, lass. I’ve known you too long.’ He laid a brotherly hand upon hers, his smile dying. ‘Is he worth it, Sal? Seems a right shame to me, a girl like you – mooning over a lad you can’t have – I assume that’s the trouble?’

  She nodded wordlessly.

  He offered a cigarette, and this time she took it, as much to give herself space to recover her composure as for any other reason. As he lit it for her, she looked at him through the smoke. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Don’t be daft – sticks out a mile, doesn’t it, when a mate gets moody? And when your blue-blooded friend came snooping around with her clever questions – I put two and two together and came up with a nifty four. She thought it was me; I knew it wasn’t. So – it was someone else. You quite sure you don’t want me to duff him up for you?’ His smile was heinously cheerful.

  She could not resist laughter. ‘Oh, Eddie! – You surely don’t want to lose all your stripes in one fell swoop at this stage of the game?’

  ‘Ah.’ He blew a stream of smoke into the air. ‘Like that, eh? A gentleman of some influence?’

  ‘You could say so. And that’s all I’m going to say.’ Her voice was firm. ‘It isn’t your business, Eddie, any more than it’s Fiona’s. I’m a grown-up girl and I’m perfectly capable of sorting out my own troubles.’

  He grinned brief acknowledgement of that. Then he sobered. ‘It’s a mug’s game Sal, take it from me. The war won’t go on for ever. Then he’ll go back to his wife. They always do.’

  ‘I know.’

  He watched her for a long, quiet moment, then shrugged. ‘You’re right. It’s none of my business. Just remember; it’s a big world out there, and there’s a fair bit on offer.’

  She grinned slyly, ‘Including an unpaid job with you?’

  He shrugged, gracelessly returning her smile. ‘It was worth a try. Hey – I don’t suppose your Fiona what’s-her-name’d be interested? There’s a cat to put among the pigeons if ever I saw one!’

  Sally drained her glass, stood up, bent to drop an affectionate kiss on his cheek. ‘Why not try her? I wouldn’t put anything past Fee. Now – I have to go – see you soon.’

  She left him sitting at the table, an expression of deep thought on his face.

  * * *

  Hannah’s decision to accept Ralph’s proposal had not been an impulsive one. She had carried the letter around with her for a week, confiding in no one, before she had penned her answer. But once taken, she had had no doubt that the decision was right. In a way it had been surprisingly easy; they knew each other so very well – and if it promised to be a union based more upon friendship than on passion, then who knew but the bond might be stronger for that? Only one condition she had attached to her acceptance; she would not marry until the war was over. ‘I want no uniforms at my wedding, my dear, and no sound of guns,’ she had written, ‘I want us to marry as I want us to live; in peace.’

  A simple ambition, she thought sometimes, wryly, as she held the hand of a boy who cried for his mother as he died or responded to the cheerful greeting of a man whose eyes were burned out and deadened by gas, but still painfully difficult to achieve.

  ‘When will they give up at last?’ she asked Sally tiredly, her skirts kilted about her knees, her aching feet in a bowl of soothingly cool water. ‘They say the Germans have lost a million men – a million! – since the spring. And it’s only August! They surely can’t keep sustaining such losses? They’re falling back everywhere – we pushed their line back eight miles here on the Somme just a couple of days ago –why won’t they stop it? Men are still being killed by the thousand – for what? They can’t win.’

  ‘Hard for them to accept that, I suppose.’ Sally tossed her a towel. ‘Whoever loses this war is going to have to face the charge of squandering millions of men’s lives for nothing. Not easy to face, that.’

  ‘And meanwhile men are still dying.’ Hannah dried her feet, pulled on her stockings. Her billet – a small bell tent that she shared with another Sister – was chaotic, the belongings which had followed her through four years of warfare packed up once again in boxes and bags, ready for yet another move.

  Sally glanced around. ‘Where are you off to, do you know?’

  ‘No. We’re following the advance. They’ve moved so far forward that we’re doing no good back here.’

  Sally grinned. ‘Reminds me of the latest story – some Americans were sent up the line a week ago to relieve an Aussie unit—’

  ‘And?’ Hannah cocked a slightly wary brow.

  ‘They haven’t caught up with them yet.’

  Hannah laughed. Sally perched herself on the edge of the narrow bed. ‘It really is finishing, isn’t it? At last?’

  ‘It certainly looks like it. The only question seems to be how long?’

  ‘And then – peace. Funny thought. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like.’

  ‘So have a lot of other people.’ Hannah folded the towel, looked vaguely about her for somewhere to put it.

  ‘And you and Ralph will marry and live happily ever after.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  Impulsively Sally stood and put an arm about her friend’s shoulders. ‘Of course you
will. And you both deserve it. I’m so glad for you.’

  Hannah smiled into the strong-boned face. ‘And you? What will you do?’

  The arm dropped from her shoulders, Sally turned away, half-shrugging. ‘I don’t know. I’ll find something. I have Flippy to think about.’

  ‘Will you come back to the Bear?’

  Sally hesitated for a moment before gently shaking her head. ‘No. No, Hannah, I don’t think so.’

  Hannah did not argue. ‘You’ll always have a home there, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Suddenly Sally ached to tell her, ached to have done with the pretence, the lies. I love your brother. He loves me. He’s locked in a marriage that’s been a misery from the start. I can’t come back to the Bear because I can’t stand to see him every day – to be so close, and not to touch him, not to share with him the everyday things that people take so much for granted. She smiled brightly. ‘Did you hear about Toby? He’s a full lieutenant. Quite the young gentleman.’

  Hannah nodded. ‘Ralph told me in his last letter. Apparently Toby’s thinking of studying law after the war? Ralph’s sure he stands a good chance of getting in – especially with his war record.’

  ‘Nineteen – if that—’ Sally said very quietly, ‘and a war hero. Funny thought, isn’t it? I wonder how they’ll cope, these lads, when they get home?’

  ‘Don’t worry about Toby,’ Hannah said drily. ‘He’ll cope.’

  Sally’s sudden laughter was sharp. ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Well—’ Hannah had emptied the bowl and tucked it into a box, ‘that looks about it. Coming over to Mess? Lunch is billed as something as a celebration before we leave. And I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again.’

  Sally tucked an arm in hers. ‘Don’t worry – you won’t lose me as easily as that. Let me know where you are – I’m sure someone will want something taken there!’

  The August sun was hot, beating down from a clear sky, turning the trodden earth of the compound to dust. Hannah tilted her face, savouring the warmth. ‘I just hope that whatever is going to happen happens before the winter comes again,’ she said soberly. ‘Just give me a roof over my head when it rains and a fire to sit by and I swear I’ll never complain again.’