Never Just a Memory Read online

  ‘Well,’ Lottie reached out and tickled her cheek with down, ‘you’ve got some now. You might be getting a niece or nephew soon, the way Tom and Louisa behave. There might be a rushed wedding. Just the occasion for you to wear your new frock.’

  ‘Lottie!’ Jill could never get used to her friend’s directness.

  ‘Oh, so we’re Miss Prim now. You know what they do, don’t you?’

  Jill knew. She had nearly died of embarrassment to suddenly be faced with Tom and Louisa coming out of his room, glued together, eyes bright, with the telltale flush of passionate intimacy on their faces. ‘They may only have done it once, Lottie. They may not have done it at all. They’re obviously deeply in love. It might have been just the excitement of discovering their feelings that made them… made them… oh, Lottie!’

  ‘Oh, don’t be a fool, Jill. I was on my way to you, remember? I saw them disappearing down the back stairs. I looked in Tom’s room and his bed was a mangled mess. It’s easy to tell by the way they sparkle together that they’re lovers. I never thought I’d see Tom become moonstruck over someone for many years. I’m glad it’s Louisa, although how she’d fit in here as a farmer’s wife, I haven’t a clue, but there’s no point in thinking about that unless it actually happens.’

  Jill paused to think. ‘Louisa is a widow. She’s used to intimacy. Tom’s a responsible man, he probably won’t get her into trouble. They’re planning to get married, I’m sure. Mrs Em seems pleased they’re walking out together. Do you think Mrs Em knows? About them…?’

  ‘Of course she does! The last thing she is is stupid. I think Pappa’s had a word with Tom.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Well, he’s had one with Nate. Warned him that he’d break his neck if he tried anything on with me.’

  ‘Gosh. That’s a good thing though, isn’t it? You don’t have to worry when you’re alone with Nate. I think it’s wonderful that you have a stepfather looking out for you, protecting your honour.’

  Lottie laughed as she laid the duck down in the box for the kitchen. ‘Honour? You’re so old-fashioned, but it’s exactly how I like you.’ She kept her face side-on to Jill, blushing. ‘Have you sometimes wished that you and Ronnie… got to know each other a little better?’

  ‘Yes. Sometimes.’

  ‘Yes! Yes? I wasn’t expecting that. I thought you’d tick me off. Don’t let this upset you, Jill, but you must be pleased now that things didn’t go any further, due to his long silence.’

  Jill stared into space, trying to picture Ronnie at his desk, pointing to areas on foreign maps while delivering lectures, inspecting troops on parade, sharing a drink in the officers’ mess. A photo of her tucked lovingly inside his breast pocket. She hoped he remembered all the wonderful times they had spent together, the future they had planned. She hoped he remembered her at all. Her voice came thick with tears, ‘Sometimes I don’t know what to think. I keep writing but get nothing back. He could be on some sort of secret mission, I suppose. I can’t really ring his mother again. I’ll send her a Christmas card and hope if Ronnie gets leave he’ll see it and get in touch.’

  Lottie hated seeing her so strained. Jill must be feeling a strong sense of rejection. All she could do was try to cheer her. ‘There must be some kind of simple explanation. He might just turn up here one day and surprise you.’

  Jill’s eyes widened in hope. ‘Do you really think so? That would be wonderful. Thanks, Lottie.’

  ‘Don’t give up hope.’

  ‘I won’t give up. Not until there’s a final word of some sort.’

  They resumed work. Soon they would be able to take the last of the poultry into the kitchen. The plumpest goose was for the farm’s Christmas Day table, to which those from Tremore and Nate had been invited. Jill asked, ‘Lottie, are you in love with Nate?’

  ‘That’s a first.’ Lottie’s dark brown eyes crinkled merrily at the corners. ‘You asking a personal question.’ She hadn’t told anyone how she felt about Nate or shown off the necklace he’d given her, fearing comments or counsel would spoil everything, dull or lessen its significance. ‘Yes, I love him very much.’

  ‘I couldn’t be more pleased for you, Lottie.’

  They were joined by Perry. ‘Hello, Pappa, have you come to see if we’re nearly finished?’

  ‘No darling, I’ve come to bring this to Jill.’

  ‘It’s a letter!’ Jill dropped the goose in her hands and wiped them down her dungarees.

  Lottie stood at her side. ‘Is it from Ronnie?’

  ‘No.’ Jill couldn’t hide her crushed hopes and then her fear. ‘Oh my God, I’ve seen this handwriting before. It’s from his mother.’

  * * *

  Nate didn’t know that children could make so much noise, that they could shriek shriller than a prairie cat, that they could work up the energy to outrival a cattle stampede, but he was having a whole lot of fun. He had not been particularly looking forward to this afternoon. Children from all around the area of Devoran, which was four miles from Truro, seven miles from Falmouth, had been collected by a convoy of trucks and brought to the village hall for a Christmas party. Used to wide open spaces and very few people at home, the lack of privacy and constant activity at the camp was often a bind, but to see the joy and delight on these kids’ faces made every second worthwhile.

  He’d help lift them down off the trucks. Families of kids sharing the same features, clutching hands, apprehensive, some tearful, in woollen balaclavas and pixie bonnets and white ankle socks. Some spoke with different or foreign accents, signifying that they were evacuees or refugees. ‘Poor kids,’ Herv had said, handing out fistfuls of chocolate. ‘Some have never seen a candy bar. It’s a cold winter ahead for most of them. Guess some have lost their daddies. Hey, kids! We’ve got Santa Claus coming to see ya, and the Old Man from the North. You haven’t heard of him, have you? There’s no need to be scared. He’ll be wearing a big hat and will have a nice long black beard.’

  The children’s eyes had grown wide in amazement over the wealth of food, roast turkey and trimmings, although one or two hadn’t been sure about putting cranberry sauce on their meat, unshakeable in their belief it was really jam. They had devoured basins of traditional pudding and mock cream. Afterwards, Nate had sat with two children on his knees, the hall in silence at first, while Herv had run the film The Reluctant Dragon. Then the sighs of enchantment had been replaced with lusty screams of glee as the story unfolded of good overcoming evil.

  ‘You going to help us overcome Hitler, mister?’ a little boy asked Nate when he was stacking the chairs away. ‘Like the dragon got rid of the evil people?’

  Nate knelt down to him. ‘I sure am going to try, sonny.’ He gave the boy a packet of Wrigley’s chewing gum, thinking about how the coming huge operation he and his comrades were training for would take him away from Lottie. Some time, not too far into the future, he would be called on to use his skills not in the comparative safety of the field hospital here, where he saw only cases of accidental wounds, routine operations like an appendectomy, and cracked heads from the occasional drunken brawl, but he’d be launched into the theatre of battle.

  His hands were suddenly filled with smaller ones and he was hauled off to dance around the eight-foot-high decorated fir tree. When it was time for the children to be buttoned back into their coats by the willing army of local women that were helping out, he watched as they each received a bag of goodies to take home with the presents Santa Claus had distributed. The families regrouped, each brother and sister making sure their siblings had its share. No one had come alone, everyone had at least one friend. Life must be like this for Lottie, he thought, envying her her way of life. She had parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, a grandpa. Sadly, only one brother now, but there was another sibling on the way. He was happy to see the mischief shining out of the little faces as the kids filed reluctantly out of the hall. Mischief. Lottie had told him about some of the mischief she and her brothers had got up to. And the
ir deeds of daring. She had such a great home life, an assured future as she was to inherit half of the farm.

  He was falling ever more deeply in love with Lottie. He loved her simplicity and confidence, her loyalty and toughness, her gentle femininity. He wanted to be with her all the time. He could never unsettle or hurt Lottie. If events proved they had a future, what would happen then? She had a lot going for her. It would be wrong, unkind, to try to take her away from all that. Everyone else she loved was here in Cornwall. He had no one back home.

  ‘You’re staring at nothing again,’ Herv chuckled, nudging him so hard he was nearly unbalanced. ‘Got your little farm gal on your mind again? Thought you’d know better.’

  ‘There’s nothing or no one I know better than Lottie.’

  ‘Yeh? Got it bad, eh?’

  Nate grinned. ‘As bad and as wonderful as it gets.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t risk losing a sweetie like that. You gotta do something about it.’

  ‘Herv, I intend to. I just want her folks to get to know me a little more first.’

  * * *

  ‘Uncle Tris, what’s going on? Where did these children come from? I don’t recognize them from the village.’ Faye was in the hall getting Simon’s pushchair ready. She was wearing her raincoat and leather boots, about to walk to the village to catch the bus into Truro, to show off Simon to Louisa. Both had been busy for some weeks and had only been keeping in touch over the telephone. She was taken aback to find herself facing a brood of sulky little strangers. In ill-fitting, shapeless coats, tattered mufflers and mud-lagged rubber boots, the two boys, twins of about eight years, and a girl roughly half their age, clamped between them, stared out from pale, grimy, tired faces.

  ‘They’re evacuees.’ Tris had just come back from the farmyard and had left his boots in the vestibule. He went to gently ease the children forward but together they veered away from him. ‘Someone from the WRVS has literally just dropped them off at the front door. There’s so many rooms here – we have no choice, apparently. Ben would have been approached to take in evacuees before, but the authorities weren’t too sure because of the fierce manner in which he’d refused to give work to a conscientious objector. You don’t mind, do you? These poor little tykes have been put through a terrible time.’ He waved a folder he was holding. ‘Got the details here. And their ration books.’

  ‘I don’t mind them being here at all.’ Faye knelt down to the trio. Now she would have a more particular way of participating in the war effort. The children seemed comfortable with her nearness. On closer observance a knot of horror caught in her throat. All the children had runny noses and smelled offensively, the girl of urine. ‘Hello there. My name’s Faye, and this is my Uncle Tristan. I’m sure he won’t mind if you call him Uncle Tris, as I do. Will you tell me your names?’

  All the children kept their mouths clamped in a tight, straight line.

  Faye turned to the twin on her right. ‘Would you like to start? Then we can all trot along to the kitchen to Agnes, the housekeeper, and we’ll find you something nice to eat and drink.’

  The promise of something for his and his brother and sister’s woefully thin tummies made the boy find his tongue. ‘I’m Bob. He’s Len, and she’s Pearl. Are you going to work us? The last people we was wiv worked us hard.’ Bob displayed his hands and Len and Pearl followed suit. All six palms were raw and blistered. Their nails were torn and blackened, skin scratched and bruised. Their skinny legs were mottled from the cold and there were bruises on their shins that looked as if they’d been brutally smacked. ‘Our mum’n’dad’s dead. Mum got a letter about Dad. Then a bomb got her. We got no house left. Our cat got blown up too.’

  Anger grew in Faye against the perpetrators of the abuse. ‘Well, we’ll be pleased if you keep your rooms tidy, but don’t worry, we won’t be expecting you to work at all. Will we, Uncle Tris? You can stay with us and my baby, Simon. All we want is for you to be warm and happy.’

  ‘We want you to feel safe and comfortable.’ Tristan hadn’t been given time for much reaction as the WRVS member had rushed off to some more urgent business. He was as outraged as Faye about the way the children had been treated. He rubbed his hands together in the way he did when ready for action and confident he could deal with the situation. Running Ben’s concerns, being a father figure to Faye and Simon, had given his lonely life fresh meaning; sheltering three deprived little children shouldn’t prove too difficult. He liked it here at Tremore. When Ben came back he’d ask if he could stay on for good. If Ben came back – he had a good idea what Ben was doing…

  He put on the bright cooing voice he’d used with his own children when they were young. ‘Well, children, Faye will get you settled in. I’m sure you’d all like a lovely bath. I’ll run along to a nice lady I know, Mrs Killigrew. She works for the Red Cross, she should be able to fix you all up with some clothes and shoes, perhaps even a few toys.’

  ‘Toys? We’ve never had much toys before. Have you got real soap, mister? Hot water?’ Len asked, amazed at what seemed like his family’s sudden turn of good fortune, although he was still in suspicious retreat. ‘We gotta wash from a tin bowl?’

  ‘No, old chap.’ Tristan knelt down to his level. ‘Faye and I have got a nice surprise for you. This house belongs to Faye’s father, and it has a proper bathroom, with a porcelain bath big enough for all of you to get into together. And we’ve some real soap.’

  ‘I’ve got soap that smells of the sea and fresh air,’ Faye said. ‘The water will be lovely and warm and we’ve got big fluffy towels to dry you off afterwards. Pearl, sweetheart –’ she was longing to reassure the trembling little girl, who was clearly overwhelmed with the situation – ‘I can make your hair all pretty for you and put a ribbon in it. Would you like that? Uncle Tris and I will have lots of treats in store for you, but first things first. Food. You’re hungry. Come with me and you can all eat as much as you like.’

  She put a tentative finger on Pearl’s tiny, ill-treated hand. ‘Will you come with me, darling?’ The girl seemed as if she needed to cry a stream of tears but they were dammed up inside her by great misery. She pulled in her mouth and nodded. A picture of her being too afraid to disobey an order came into Faye’s mind. She got up to give Pearl and her brothers space, to show them she was not a threat. She took off her raincoat. ‘Follow me, children. Come and meet Simon. He’s with Agnes. He’ll love the extra company.’

  She led the way and they trooped after her, keeping in a pack.

  ‘I’ll cycle over to Ford House, see what Elena Killigrew can do for us, Faye,’ Tristan said.

  He was soon on the doorstep of the woman who was known as owning the most charitable heart in the village. Elena Killigrew was the daughter of Hennaford’s former Methodist minister, a mother of two adopted orphans from twelve years ago, and she had an evacuee and foreign refugees in her home. She worked tirelessly for several charities. Tristan hoped he wouldn’t have to stay here long. He hated coming to this place. It had belonged to him years ago, it was where Jonny had been born, and also his secret half-sister – it was where Ursula had died.

  ‘Mr Harvey?’ Elena Killigrew raised her softly sculptured brows. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I know it’s a surprise for you to see me here, Mrs Killigrew,’ he said apologetically. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I was wondering if you could help me.’ He outlined the purpose of his visit.

  Elena seemed to have a cold and she dabbed at her eyes and nose. ‘I’m very sorry. All the good used clothes and the toys that I’d taken in recently were only collected this morning. I’m afraid I really haven’t got anything to spare. You could try Mrs Louisa Carlyon in Truro. She gathers in far more than I do, living in a larger area.’

  Disappointment made Tristan fight the urge not to screw up a belligerent face. Coming here had churned up raw, sordid memories. The last thing he wanted was to ask a favour from the woman who had been the illegitimate, birthmarked baby born here and destined to haunt h
is peace ever since. ‘Yes, thank you anyway, perhaps I’ll do that.’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, Mr Harvey.’ Elena sniffed, raising her hanky again.

  Tristan became aware that a cold wasn’t her problem. ‘Mrs Killigrew, is all well with you?’ He was fearful for her husband, Jim. ‘You’ve not had bad news, I hope.’

  ‘Good and bad, Mr Harvey. Jim’s ship was hit by a torpedo in the Bristol Channel. Not all hands were lost, thank the Lord. Jim was picked up almost at once by a British frigate and then passed on to a fishing boat. He’s alive. He’ll be coming home quite soon, but he’s lost an arm.’ She was sobbing her heart out now. ‘I’ll have him back for good, Mr Harvey. I know it’s not the way I should be thinking but I’m not sorry he’ll be out of the constant danger. He’ll find life hard with only one good arm but he’s alive and for that I shall always be eternally grateful.’

  Tristan touched her arm. ‘I understand. I’ve great respect for Jim. He worked hard during his time at Ford Farm. He built his business up from virtually nothing. I’m sure he’ll find the enterprise to carry on and lead a worthwhile life. Does Emilia know?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Elena dried away her tears.

  ‘I’ll call in there. She’ll come down, and I’m sure that Perry, as a fellow amputee, will be able to offer advice to Jim.’

  Tristan went on his way, his heart as heavy as lead. Emilia would drop whatever she was doing and rush to comfort Elena Killigrew. While being relieved that Jim was alive, she’d be wishing Will had shared a similar fate. He was wishing one of the same for Jonny, rather than the awful, not unlikely, alternative of him being blown to smithereens or burned alive.

  It seemed churlish not to cycle on to Chy Lowena, Louisa’s house. Good men were being killed and maimed every minute – what did a sordid secret from the past matter when some neglected and frightened children needed the basic necessity of clothes on their backs?