Until We Meet Again Read online

  ‘I’d prefer to do that, rather than carry out more civil disobedience.’

  ‘It’s not as easy as you might suppose. There was a lot of hostility towards the march. I heard of some women even being stoned or beaten up. There were men throwing dead rats and ringing hand bells to drown out the speeches.’

  Amy winced at the injustice of it.

  The train was slowing down as it rattled over the bridge on the outskirts of Wealdham. To the east of the town they could see the industrial area with its smoking chimneys. The train would continue north to join the main line to London, nearly forty miles from Larchbury. They got up ready to alight.

  * * *

  One weekend Amy travelled with her mother to Hove to visit her Aunt Louisa, who lived there with her husband, Uncle Harold, a few years older than she was. The weather was fine and they spent the afternoons on the beach, though Uncle Harold, who had a heart condition, remained at home.

  Along the shore there was a line of bathing machines, available for swimmers to change their clothes inside as the horses drew them down into the shallow water.

  ‘I simply must go for a swim,’ Amy said, picking up her beach outfit.

  ‘We might go for a cup of tea,’ said Aunt Louisa, who was like a shorter, slightly plumper version of Mother. ‘We won’t be away for long.’

  Amy found that all the bathing machines were taken, except the last one. She hurried towards it and was just about to claim it when a young man stepped forward to seize it.

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped in disappointment. She had thought she was there first.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Miss,’ he said, raising his straw boater. ‘I thought I was first. But allow me to offer it to you.’

  He was charming, after all, with an appealing smile. She had the feeling she might have seen him somewhere before.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t have long to wait.’

  She went up its wooden steps and inside, and began changing into the short dress and breeches which would protect her modesty to some extent in the water. The horse drew her vehicle down to the water’s edge and she stepped out into the cold tide. How refreshing it was, after the hot beach! She walked out across the soft sand until the water came almost up to her shoulders. The sun shone down, seagulls wheeled overhead and little waves lapped around her. It was a delicious feeling, swimming cautiously in the sea.

  Before long, she saw her rival for the machine, his arms cleaving the water as he swam vigorously. He nodded to her courteously but did not approach her closely. Where had she seen him before?

  Soon it was time to return to the beach, frantically drying herself and putting on her clothes in the machine. She was conscious of her long fair hair drooping round her shoulders, still dripping as she struggled to dry it. It was time to relinquish her vehicle for the next bather.

  She picked up all her belongings and stepped out on to the beach. She looked round briefly for the young man and thought she could see his dark head still bobbing in the water.

  She looked for her family and at first saw only empty deckchairs. Then she noticed Mother and Aunt Louisa approaching along the beach. She went and joined them, then sat down towelling her hair. The hot sun helped dry it as she combed it to try to tame her tangles. She noticed the young man returning from his bathe a short distance along the beach.

  ‘Let me help, dear.’ Mother combed her hair and Amy tried not to cry out when she accidentally pulled it. At last it was restored to something approaching its normal state. People often complimented her on her natural curls.

  ‘Might I join you?’

  She looked up to see the young man again, raising his boater. He was tall with dark hair, still spiky from his swim, and clear blue eyes. Unlike most young men, he was clean-shaven.

  ‘I believe we’ve met before,’ he said, addressing her mother as well as her. ‘Aren’t you the Fletchers from Larchbury?’

  ‘Yes…’

  She still could not quite place him.

  ‘You must be young Mr Edmond Derwent,’ her mother said. ‘I’ve seen you in the village and at events at The Beeches, though I’m not sure we’ve spoken since you were a boy.’

  Of course, the Derwents – how could she not know Edmond? They were a prominent local family, though the boys had been sent away to boarding school and for years they had only appeared in the holidays.

  Her own father was a teacher, who had a good position in the school at Larchbury. When the Derwent boys had been small their home tutor had died suddenly, leaving them without lessons. Amy’s father had gone to work at their large house, The Beeches, though returning each evening to his family. For a while, when she was small, their lives had been strongly linked with the Derwent family, though they had been conscious of their different position in society. She remembered wearing clothes passed on from Miss Beatrice, Edmond’s sister.

  Then the boys had been sent away to boarding school – first Peter, the elder son, then Edmond – and her father had returned to being a normal school teacher. For a while they had been invited to the occasional informal party at The Beeches, but gradually the invitations had become less frequent, so that now they might only go there once a year, for the fête held at the end of summer.

  ‘Of course, I remember you now, Edmond,’ she said. She would probably have placed him at once if she had met him in Larchbury. She had always liked Edmond, and was pleased to meet him again. ‘I don’t seem to have seen you for a while, though, or your brother.’

  She sometimes saw his parents in the village, in the stylish motor car which had replaced their carriage. Sometimes Beatrice accompanied them, a scarf anchoring her smart hat. If Amy met them in a shop, Mrs Derwent and Beatrice would nod in her direction and wish her ‘Good day’ before hurrying on. Edmond seemed far more friendly.

  ‘My brother’s working out in India,’ he told her. ‘He has a good position there in the Civil Service. And I’ve been at Cambridge University for a year now.’

  ‘I believe my husband mentioned you were going there,’ Mother said.

  ‘How’s Mr Fletcher keeping? He was one of my best tutors.’

  ‘He’s fine. He’s well respected at the school. Are you enjoying university?’

  ‘Very much. It’s the summer vacation now, of course,’ he told them. ‘We’re staying in a hotel here for a few days. This afternoon Pa has driven Ma and Beatrice into Brighton. They’ll probably spend most of the afternoon shopping. I decided to come to the beach instead.’

  ‘It’s lovely here today,’ Mother approved his choice.

  ‘Might I treat you ladies to ice creams, or some other refreshment?’ he asked them. ‘There’s a pleasant café on the promenade nearby.’

  ‘How very kind,’ said Mother. ‘We just recently had a cup of tea there while Amy was bathing. Would you like an ice or something, Amy?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she said, thankful that he was in no hurry to rush off and she had the chance to spend time with him alone.

  ‘Don’t be too long, dear,’ her mother said. ‘We’ve got to catch the train back.’

  She followed Edmond’s tall figure up the beach, sand sinking into her shoes. He looked round for her and supported her arm gently as they went up the steps to the promenade.

  They sat at a small table outside the café, overlooking the beach, and he asked what she would like and ordered ice creams.

  ‘I didn’t spend much time in Larchbury last summer,’ he went on. ‘I was very fortunate, for my aunt and uncle took me on a Grand Tour of the continent. We went to France and Italy and Greece, and visited some of the important cultural sites.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ Amy said wistfully. She looked across at her companion, with his slightly tanned face. He had grown into a good-looking young man. ‘What are you studying at Cambridge?’

  ‘I’m taking science,’ he said. ‘My parents would have preferred me to read classics, but I wanted to learn about some of the new scientific advances, enginee
ring and so on.’

  A waiter brought dainty glass dishes of ice cream. She took tiny spoonfuls of her ice, enjoying its subtle strawberry flavour.

  ‘Do you have an occupation?’ he asked her. He must know that a young woman in her position would need to do some kind of work, rather than expecting her family to support her. She was fortunate that she need not go into service in a wealthy family like his, for such work was poorly paid and usually involved working almost from dawn till bedtime.

  She told him about her typewriting course and work in Wealdham.

  ‘That sounds interesting,’ he said. His face was broad across the cheek bones and his smile was wide too. ‘I somehow imagined you’d have an occupation that’s up to date. What does your brother do?’

  She told him about Bertie’s work as an accountant, without mentioning his restlessness.

  ‘I’d like to stay in touch now we’ve met up again,’ Edmond said, fixing his eyes on hers.

  ‘Yes, let’s!’ She felt herself blush. She recalled their meetings as children. She remembered seeing him on his horse in the village once. He had stopped to greet her, as though there was no social difference between them, and let her pat the animal. It seemed delightful that they might go on meeting but she had a feeling his family would not approve.

  ‘Of course I’ll be away at college a lot but we can meet in the holidays. You know, I’ve actually forgotten where you live in the village. May I write down your address?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  He produced a diary from his pocket and a fountain pen. She told him the address and he began to write it down, but the pen was not flowing properly. ‘I’m running out of ink,’ he told her. ‘Have you got a pen?’

  She looked in her handbag for her fountain pen. She pushed aside her comb and handkerchief, struggling to find it. She had discarded the remains of the red chalk in a bin in Wealdham.

  ‘That’s strange,’ she said, ‘I seem to have lost my pen.’ It bothered her, for it was a smart one, overlaid with nickel with her name engraved on it. Uncle Arthur, her father’s brother, had given it to her on her last birthday.

  At that moment, Mother and Aunt Louisa appeared in the café. ‘Time we were going, Amy,’ her mother said. ‘We need to pick up our luggage from Louisa’s house and get the train.’

  ‘Have you got a pen, Mrs Fletcher?’ Edmond asked. ‘May I borrow it?’

  He wrote down her address.

  ‘Allow me to accompany you to the station,’ he said.

  They stopped at Aunt Louisa’s house briefly and said goodbye to Uncle Harold. They collected their small overnight cases, which Edmond insisted on carrying as they walked through the sunny streets. At the station they found they were, after all, early, for Mother liked to allow plenty of time.

  Outside the booking hall was a news placard with the caption ‘Threat of War.’ For a moment, Amy was alarmed.

  ‘Could we really go to war, do you think, Edmond?’ Mother asked.

  There had been intermittent statements like that in the papers since the Austrian heir had been shot at that place with the name no-one was quite sure how to pronounce.

  ‘It’s hardly likely,’ he said as he accompanied them on to the platform.

  There was a puff of steam as the train approached. ‘I’ve enjoyed meeting you again,’ he told them, with his charming smile. ‘Give my regards to Mr Fletcher.’

  ‘It’s been a perfectly lovely afternoon,’ Amy replied as the train came noisily into the station.

  Aunt Louisa kissed them goodbye and Edmond helped them on board and shook their hands. They all waved as the train set off.

  Chapter Three

  Larchbury, July to August 1914

  ‘Edmond is a nice young man,’ her mother said on the way home. ‘Shame we’re not of his class.’

  ‘He spoke to me as though I were his equal,’ Amy said.

  ‘Don’t imagine the rest of the family would treat you that way if he chose to court you,’ Mother said.

  Amy suspected she was right. ‘Don’t men ever court or marry women below their station?’

  ‘The courtships usually end badly for the women.’ Her mother looked regretful but firm. ‘They rarely wed them.’

  All the same, her encounter with Edmond and his warmth towards her filled much of her thoughts. Of the few young men she had met none had appealed like Edmond.

  * * *

  The following Sunday he called at their house, renewed his acquaintance with her father, and invited her for a walk beside the brook. The weather was turning cloudy as they dawdled along its banks. Through the clear waters there were glimpses of watercress and tiny fishes dashing hither and thither. She would like to have paddled, were it not for the difficulty of shedding her stockings and holding up her skirt. Edmond was casually dressed in plus fours.

  ‘I love coming here and trying to catch the fish,’ he said. There was a suggestion of his public school education in his accent. They came to an area where the water was slightly deeper, lined by trailing willows. Some young men, including Bertie and one of his friends from school, were paddling in the brook as they fished. Amy remembered that Bertie had mentioned Edmond joining them there occasionally the previous summer.

  ‘Caught anything?’ Edmond asked them. Bertie displayed a few minnows in a jam jar.

  ‘Just look at that stickleback!’ Edmond pointed into the translucent water. ‘See its zigzag courtship dance?’ He caught Amy’s hand and led her carefully to the edge of the bank so she could enjoy the little fish’s progress along the stream margin. She was gladdened to find him friendly with local village boys.

  He wished the others good luck with their fishing and he and Amy continued further along the bank. ‘Mind that patch of mud,’ he warned her. They skirted a clump of kingcups as a golden dragonfly flitted through them and ducks squabbled in the nearby water. She had often enjoyed an afternoon walk here, but now, as his warm fingers gently held her hand, she was thrilled to have him beside her.

  Towards teatime they returned along the lane back into the High Street, picking handfuls of pale blue scabious as they went. As they returned to her house, Amy noticed Miss Miller’s curtain twitching next door. She seemed to remember that their neighbour had once given singing lessons to Beatrice, Edmond’s sister. Larchbury was just a large village, and people like Miss Miller wanted to know everyone’s business. Sooner or later Edmond’s family would almost certainly intervene and point out that she was not of his class and he should not court her.

  When they reached her house, Edmond presented her with his share of the flowers before he left for home. Dreamily, she joined her family for their meal.

  * * *

  ‘He’s a good chap, Edmond,’ Bertie approved next morning over breakfast. ‘He’s not afraid of getting his feet wet if he sees us fishing. He’s not stuck up like some of the other chaps from better-off families.’

  ‘He always struck me as good-natured when he was a boy,’ Father said. ‘And he worked hard in their schoolroom, more so than his older brother.’

  Mother, neat in her large white apron, poured them cups of tea. ‘People are bound to gossip about seeing Amy with him,’ she said, apprehensively. ‘They’ll imagine she’s a social climber, eager to marry into a wealthy and prominent family.’

  ‘It’s not like that!’ Amy cried.

  Her fortuitous reunion with Edmond had seemed like a gift from fate and since then she had been unable to contemplate not seeing him.

  ‘Well, that’s what they’ll think.’ Mother went out to the kitchen to cook their bacon. Father had finished his breakfast and followed her to clean his shoes.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of Mother!’ Bertie said, grinning at her. ‘Walk out with whoever you choose.’

  She felt a little relieved at his approval.

  Bertie worked in an office in Wealdham, but his firm began work half an hour earlier and so he would take a train before hers. He glanced at his watch. ‘What a waste of a fi
ne day, adding figures in ledgers,’ he complained. ‘What else can I do, though?’ Father would have liked him to attend a university but he had failed to win a scholarship. ‘Perhaps when I pass my exams there’ll be a better choice of jobs.’

  ‘My work’s not much better,’ she said. ‘I suppose I could look for a different position when I’ve improved my typing speed.’

  ‘We both need fulfilling work,’ he said, determination in his grey eyes.

  She was pleased, for people still questioned that a woman might want to find a career.

  They fell quiet as Mother came in briefly with plates of egg and bacon.

  When she had left, Bertie went on. ‘I won’t stay long in employment I don’t care for, even if I have to disappoint Mother and Father,’ he told her.

  ‘They don’t deserve rebellious children like us,’ she said ruefully. Their parents were conventional but loving and she would hate to hurt them.

  ‘You mean leaving your mark in the cricket pavilion? I’m afraid there’s still interest in what happened there,’ he told her with a smirk. She knew that the broken window had been replaced, her chalk slogans removed and the building hurriedly cleared in time for the next match. As yet the green paint remained. ‘One of the team told me they’re talking of making a more thorough search, in case there’s any evidence of who did it,’ he said.

  Anxiety seized her momentarily. ‘I’m pretty sure we didn’t leave any clues,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t look like a criminal,’ he said, winking, as he got up to leave for his train.

  Amy gathered up their dishes and took them out to the kitchen. She had time to help Mother with the washing up before she left.

  * * *

  On Bank Holiday Monday Edmond asked her out for a walk once more. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, as they walked along the brook in the opposite direction to before, towards the little waterfalls, where there were generally fewer strollers. Edmond seemed quieter, absorbed in his own thoughts. She wanted to ask him how soon he would be leaving for Cambridge, but hesitated to express an interest in his future, or hint at a time when it would be hard for them to meet. The future soon impinged, however.