by Rosie Clarke
‘You mean because something better has come along?’ His lip curled with scorn. ‘Pierre told me he had asked you to marry him. You like the idea of a chateau better than an old farmhouse – is that it?’
‘Damn you!’ Hetty raised her hand to strike him, but he caught her wrist, holding her with ease as she struggled in frustration. ‘That’s why I hate you, Stefan! You’re arrogant, too sure of yourself and…’
She got no further, for he pulled her roughly into his arms, his mouth devouring hers in a hungry kiss. She felt her whole body melting in the heat of the passion that flared between them and knew that she had never felt quite like this when anyone else kissed her. She’d been a naïve child when she fell in love with Henri, and her feelings for Pierre were lukewarm beside what she felt for Stefan. Making love with Pierre had been pleasant when it happened, but it wasn’t like being caught up in the conflagration of the passion Stefan’s touch aroused in her. She was panting, nervous as he let her go, struggling to hide her feelings.
‘You had no right to do that,’ she said. She didn’t want to feel like this about him! He would just use her and then cast her aside. ‘Just because I needed you the night Ben died…’
‘Maybe I don’t have your permission,’ Stefan muttered grimly. ‘But your response, the look in your eyes, gave me the right, Hetty. Deny it all you want, but you belong with me.’
‘No! I don’t want you.’
‘Marry him then,’ Stefan spat the words at her. ‘Make him and yourself miserable, because that’s how it will be, chérie. You want me as much as I want you. We fit together and no matter how you deny it you will never be able to forget.’
‘I respect you as the leader of our group,’ Hetty said. ‘But that is all you will ever be to me, Stefan.’
‘Have it your own way. I don’t ask twice.’
Hetty watched as he turned and strode away through the woods. It was tearing her heart out to let him go, but she couldn’t just walk away from Pierre and the Comtesse; they both needed her.
Holding back the tears, she returned to the house, entering by a side door. She had hoped to slip up to her room unnoticed, but she met Pierre as he was coming downstairs. Her heart wrung with pity as she saw the uncertainty in him. His left arm still gave him pain in the stump above the amputation, and he was finding it difficult to manage with the use of only one good arm. She remembered him as he’d been before he went away and regretted the change. Damn this war! And damn Stefan for refusing to help her!
‘You are upset, Hetty,’ Pierre said and she realised belatedly that she had tears on her cheeks. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘Stefan was here,’ she said. ‘I asked him to help me get a letter to my family. He refused, said it was too dangerous for the group.’
‘He is right, I suppose,’ Pierre said. ‘But there are other ways, my darling. I have my own contacts and using them will not involve Stefan or our own people. You must be careful what you write of course, but your sister will be able to read between the lines.’
‘Would you really do that for me, Pierre?’ Hetty’s face lit up. ‘I know it would mean a lot to Annabel if she could hear from me and not just through official channels.’
‘You know I would do much more to please you,’ Pierre said and reached out to stroke her cheek with his fingertips. ‘I am no longer a complete man, Hetty, but my love hasn’t changed. It was thinking of you waiting for me that kept me going while I was in hospital…’
‘Oh, Pierre…’ Hetty whispered. ‘I never promised to marry you. I care for you, you know I do – but…’
‘You are afraid to say yes because you think I might let you down?’ Pierre’s eyebrows rose. ‘But you must know I would never do that, my darling. I want to love you and look after you, to make up for all the hurtful things of the past.’
‘Let me think about it for a while,’ Hetty said and reached out to take his hand, pressing it to her lips to kiss it. ‘You’re wonderful, Pierre, and I do care for you – but I’m just not sure about marriage.’
Hetty was thinking as he walked away. Georgie had married an older man, a man she didn’t love – had she been desperately unhappy? From what Ben had managed to tell her, she’d gathered they had always been in love. Why had Georgie married Arthur and had she regretted it? She wished she could just pick up a phone and ask her, because she had a decision to make herself and she would have liked advice from a dear friend.
*
Georgie looked at the letter in her hand. It had been posted in London and she recognised the writing as being Ben’s. Yet there was something about it that made her hold back from opening it. She didn’t know why. but she was sure that if Ben had been able to post it himself he would have telephoned her instead.
Ben didn’t often write letters. He preferred postcards and the telephone. She turned it over in her hand, looking at it for several minutes before slipping it into her pocket.
She would read it later, just before she went to bed.
*
‘What’s wrong?’ Beth asked as she came in from the garden and saw Annabel replace the phone receiver, her face deathly white. ‘Is it Drew – have you heard something?’
‘Not about Drew,’ Annabel said and moved to sit down. ‘I’m sorry, Beth, but I feel a bit odd, my legs have gone suddenly. Would you mind getting me a glass of water? I’ve had some bad news.’
Beth brought her the water, watching her anxiously. It wasn’t like Annabel to react like this. Something awful must have happened.
‘That was my mother on the telephone. Helen had a letter this morning. Ben has been killed in action.’
‘Was he abroad?’ Beth asked, puzzled. ‘Where – in the desert or France or somewhere else? I didn’t know he’d been sent abroad. I thought he was in Scotland training or something?’
‘They didn’t tell Helen how he was killed. Apparently, the letter just said he’d been in action and was being recommended for a bravery award.’
‘Oh…’ Beth felt sick and her own knees went wobbly. She sat down on the chair opposite Annabel. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t even know he was in any danger. I feel awful not knowing…’ She hadn’t thought of much but Drew and the baby since Christmas and now she realised she must have seemed self-centred and selfish. ‘I wish I’d known. I was fond of Ben.’
‘Yes,’ Annabel blinked back the tears. ‘We were very close, because of being twins, I suppose. He did tell me something, but it was all hush-hush and he couldn’t be precise, but he said something could happen to him and told me… Well, never mind that.’ Annabel looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, Beth, this must make it all the worse for you. You must think about Drew all the time.’
‘I-I think I’ve almost accepted it now,’ Beth said and swallowed hard. ‘I keep hoping they were wrong, but I know it’s silly to expect too much. Arnold told me there was hope, but he was just being kind.’
‘He was afraid for you, with the baby being so close. He is a nice man,’ Annabel said and smiled at her. ‘He seems to be concerned for you, Beth. It’s just a pity he can’t visit us more often.’
‘That’s because he’s so busy,’ Beth said and sighed. ‘I miss all that sometimes. It was fun being a part of his work. Oh, I like being here with you and Elaine – of course I do – but it was fun just the same.’
‘Yes, I expect so.’ Annabel looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You might want to go back to work when Elaine is older. You could probably afford to employ a nanny with the money the lawyers say Drew has left for you in his will.’
Beth pulled a face. ‘That’s all so horrible. I don’t want anything. If there is any money, it will be for Elaine.’ She sighed. ‘Lady Bryant has asked me to go and live with them. I had another letter from her this morning, going on about how Drew’s child ought to be brought up in her father’s home.’
‘Well, you did promise to go and visit them, Beth.’
‘Yes, I know, but I’ve been putting it off. I thought that if we had bette
r news…’ She sighed. ‘But it’s not going to happen, is it?’
‘I think it would be too much to hope for,’ Annabel said. ‘You had the letter from Drew’s commanding officer, didn’t you? I don’t think he would have sent that if he’d thought there was hope.’
‘It would have been better if I’d known for sure,’ Beth said. ‘If it had been confirmed instead of just presumed…’ She smothered a sob. ‘I keep thinking he might be out there somewhere, hurt… asking for me.’
‘Oh, my dearest,’ Annabel gathered her into her arms, comforting her as the tears ran down her own cheeks. ‘I’m sure that isn’t so. I think you just have to accept that Drew isn’t coming back.’
‘Yes…’ Beth pulled back and touched her cheek. ‘It’s just like you to comfort me when you have your own sadness to cope with. I know how hard this is for you, Annabel.’
‘Yes, it is hard,’ Annabel admitted. ‘It hurts a lot, but I know there’s nothing I can do and I feel… I feel proud of Ben for doing what he believed in. I wish he hadn’t been killed and I’m going to miss him an awful lot, but I know he always felt he hadn’t done much with his life. At least he died trying to help his country.’
‘Yes, that’s something to cling to,’ Beth agreed. ‘I try to think like that when I can, but it isn’t easy.’
‘It’s worse for you, because Drew was your husband.’
‘We had so little time together,’ Beth said, her eyelashes wet. The tears came less frequently now but the sadness sometimes overwhelmed her. ‘That’s what makes it so hard.’
Beth was missing Drew and she hurt every time she thought about him being wounded or frightened, but in her heart she knew that she was also missing someone else, and that made her feel guilty.
*
Georgie folded the letter and put it into her writing case. She had read it three times already, but she knew she would read it many times in the coming years… long, lonely years that she would have to spend without Ben.
She wanted to scream and shout, to rail against the unfairness of a world that could take everything from her with just one stroke, but she knew that would not take away the pain.
Ben was dead. He had written the letter in the full knowledge that it might happen, and he had told her of his love, his hope for the future, and his regret for the wasted years.
I love you, Georgie. It was always you. I wish that I’d had the courage to do something about it long ago.
‘Oh, Ben,’ she whispered as the tears caught at her throat. ‘Why? Why did it have to be you? Why did you volunteer for that stupid course? Why couldn’t you just stay at home safe in a boring desk job?’
Because he was Ben, her mind told her. Because he’d been bored with his life and restless, because he felt that he’d wasted too much time.
Georgie smiled through her tears. It was damned funny really when you thought about it. Ben had finally found the courage to change things and because of it he was dead.
Helen would have been told officially, of course. That meant Annabel would know. Should Georgie tell her about the letter? She thought it might help to talk about it and yet she knew that she didn’t have the right. Ben was married to Helen. He hadn’t spoken to her. It wouldn’t be right for Georgie to lay claim to him now that he was dead.
She would have to bear her grief in secret. And she could never tell Annabel that the child she was carrying was Ben’s. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone.
*
It was a lovely morning in early summer, the sun warm despite a few patchy clouds. Georgie had decided to work in the garden for a while. She needed to do some hard, physical work and some of the flower beds were looking a bit neglected and required attention. She armed herself with a trowel and trug, pulled on old gloves and went out to the front of the house.
Harry was manoeuvring his wheelchair towards the workshops and she waved to him, thinking that he was looking a little frail of late. He wasn’t much older than Jessie, but his accident just after the death of his young son some years earlier had caused a lot of problems and his health had never been the same. He and Jessie were so happy together and it was a damned shame that their happiness should be threatened by his ill health.
Georgie could hear a blackbird trilling in the tree above her head as she worked, a feeling of peace stealing over her. At least for a short while she was able to keep her grief at bay. She had cried night after night for the past week or so, but during the day she was forced to behave as normally as possible, because she couldn’t tell anyone how she felt.
‘Will you say one for me while you are down there?’
Georgie glanced up, shading her eyes. She saw that it was Philip Rathmere and wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or sorry. She liked him, but he was such a sympathetic person that she was afraid she might end up in tears if they sat and talked. And yet perhaps that was just what she needed.
‘I’m not sure prayers do any good,’ she said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. ‘They certainly haven’t helped me…’ She rose to her feet, finding, to her concern, that tears had already started to trickle down her cheeks. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s stupid of me…’
‘Something has distressed you,’ he said and looked upset. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘Would you mind listening?’ Georgie said. ‘You see, I’ve had some terrible news and there is no one I can talk to about it. It’s rather awkward and I can’t tell my friends…’
‘That is unpleasant for you,’ he said, his eyes soft with sympathy. ‘Why don’t I make you some tea in the annexe? We can be private there and I have my own kettle.’
‘It’s awful of me to ask,’ she said. ‘But I really do need a shoulder to cry on and you have broad ones.’
‘Then make use of me,’ he said and smiled at her. ‘After all, that is what friends are for – isn’t it?’
*
‘You should marry Pierre,’ Adele, Comtesse de Faubourg, said to Hetty as they were picking summer fruits in the garden together. Hetty had been eating the raspberries and had juice smeared around her mouth. ‘You know that he loves you. Why do you not say yes? Do you not care for him?’
‘You know that I care for both of you,’ Hetty said. ‘Pierre is my friend and I have become a part of your family, Adele. But I am not sure that I should make Pierre happy as his wife. He needs more than affection.’
‘But you were lovers before he went away. He did not tell me, but I knew.’ Adele’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is it that you cannot bear the arm?’
‘No, of course not,’ Hetty denied swiftly. ‘I do not even think of it.’
‘Then is there someone else you wish to marry?’
‘No…’ Hetty turned away to pick more fruit. Adele’s wise old eyes saw too clearly and she did not want her to guess that she was close to the truth. The feeling for Stefan had not gone away. They met only infrequently these days, for Pierre had taken Hetty’s place as the leader of the group from the chateau and it was only when Stefan came on business that she glimpsed him. He usually ignored her, seeming cold and uninterested in her. His indifference hurt Hetty, but she knew that she had brought it on herself. Besides, he was a heartless rogue and she’d had enough of selfish men. ‘No, there is no one else I wish to marry.’
‘I think we have picked enough fruit. The sun is hot. I shall go to my room and rest for a while.’
‘I shall take the fruit to the kitchen. It is best used while it is fresh.’
Hetty watched as Adele made her way towards the house. She had aged these past months and had begun to look frail and tired, though her spirit was as fierce as ever.
Surprised to find her eyes stinging with tears, Hetty realised that she loved the Comtesse. The bond between them was almost like that of mother and daughter – and she was fond of Pierre. She knew he loved her. Looking around her, feeling the peace and tranquillity of the old garden, Hetty sighed. She would be a fool to throw all this away for a man she could not trust, a man who woul
d tire of her and then transfer his affections to someone else. Stefan was arrogant and set on having his way. If she let down her guard, he would hurt her as Henri had hurt her.
Pierre had sent her letter to Annabel. She’d been told it had reached her sister and been given a message that could only have come from Annabel. Stefan might have done that if he’d chosen, but he’d refused. It was always his work that came first – as it had been with Henri. She was merely a woman, a plaything.
As her steps turned towards the back of the chateau, she saw Stefan leaving the kitchen. Her heart did a rapid somersault and she halted, expecting that he would at least acknowledge her. Instead, he turned away, deliberately ignoring her.
Hetty drew a sharp breath, feeling as if he had slapped her face, but she stuck her head in the air and walked on. Why should she care what he chose to do? He was nothing to her!
She gave the baskets of soft fruit to Bernard and waited, but he merely smiled and said the fruit harvest had been good this year. Clearly she was not to be told what was happening. Stefan had cut her out completely. She was no longer of any importance to his group. He chose to talk to Pierre now, and Pierre had taken Ben’s place as their wireless operator.
It was only right that Pierre should assume command over their men. Hetty admitted that freely. She and Bernard had begun their small resistance, but Pierre was master here. Now that he was home the people naturally looked to him for guidance.
Hetty missed being a part of the group, but Pierre wanted her to remain behind in safety.
‘It is too dangerous now,’ he’d told her when she asked to be included. ‘The Germans are increasing their patrols. They are determined to stamp out any resistance. I would be happier if you stayed here with Grand-mère. To please me, Hetty? She needs you.’
She’d given in because there wasn’t much else she could do. Besides, it might be too painful to work side by side with Stefan.
She left the kitchen intending to go up to her room and change her dress, but she chanced to meet Pierre coming down. He was looking much better now, as though he had regained much of his confidence and strength and was learning to cope with the loss of his arm.
