Until We Meet Again Read online

  She leant her head against his shoulder. That’s what he wants, she thought, a sweet young girl. It’s what he needs, as a soldier planning to fight for his country. Should I try to live up to his illusion of a totally sweet young woman or confront him with who I really am? There’s still the chance that my role in the attack on the pavilion might come to light.

  She was tempted to try to keep her secret, but as they continued uphill, he seemed concerned about her.

  ‘You’re quiet today,’ he said. ‘Is everything all right?’

  She concluded it was best to tell him straight away.

  ‘I’m not always sweet,’ she said, pulling away a little. ‘I have a few ideas of my own, sometimes ones some people regard as shocking.’

  His eyebrows rose and he grinned. ‘Go on, shock me.’ They dawdled at the top of the slope, just below the forest. Further down she could see the greyish roof of The Beeches to one side, with the centre of Larchbury beyond, with its remaining clumps of yellowing larch trees on the outskirts.

  ‘What do you think of the Suffragettes?’ she asked him.

  ‘I’ve a lot of sympathy for their cause. I’m disturbed when they go on hunger strike and need to be force-fed… So, you’re a supporter?’

  At least he did not condemn them or dismiss them as foolish. ‘Yes,’ she told him. ‘But what about their acts of civil disobedience?’ she pursued.

  He shrugged. ‘There’s an unfortunate attitude that they’re wild, blue-stocking types, lacking in femininity. It must be hard to have their views held in contempt. I can see how frustrating that must be. I suppose that’s why they feel an urge to take action.’

  ‘I need to tell you something. Please don’t give me away. There are other women involved besides me.’

  They came to a bench facing south towards the view, and he spread his tunic on it as it was damp. ‘Are you actually part of a Suffragette group, Amy?’ he asked as they sat down.

  ‘Yes.’

  The expression in his eyes was soft and sympathetic. ‘In a way, I’d rather you had some views than being an empty-headed creature like Beatrice, my sister. She’s pretty and charming but thinks of little except gowns and hats. She spends her days shopping or at the dressmaker’s and her evenings at parties and balls whenever possible, or playing cards.’

  The leaves on a nearby birch were wafting away in the breeze.

  ‘I was involved in something illegal,’ she admitted.

  He searched her face, intrigued. ‘I promise not to tell.’

  She confessed her part in the break-in at the pavilion. Whatever would he think of her now? He would have every reason to end their friendship, or even report her to the authorities.

  ‘Oh, Amy! What a naughty girl you’ve been!’ He was laughing. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny really and you’d be in trouble if you were found out. But I can’t help laughing when I think of Colonel Fairlawn seeing the slogans scrawled in his precious pavilion.’

  ‘The painted ones are still there, so far as I know. Aren’t you shocked at what I did?’

  ‘A little surprised, maybe. But it’s not a significant crime. The colonel is so overbearing I like to think of him shaken by the incident. His son Wilfrid was at my school and he was a terrible bully when he was a prefect.’

  There was still an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘What would your family say if they knew what I’d done?’

  ‘I don’t suppose they’d approve. But times are changing gradually.’

  ‘Thank you for being so understanding.’

  ‘I’m actually quite proud of you, darling.’ He kissed her again.

  ‘The Suffragettes mean to suspend their activities during the war.’ Florence, who had come with her and Lavinia to the cricket pavilion, though she had not gone inside, was relieved that no further events of that kind were planned. She had turned her attention to helping the refugees.

  ‘It’s probably as well. It could be seen as unpatriotic. I’d rather you don’t do anything else risky, at least for a while.’

  He actually accepted her stand and almost excused her actions. It drew them even closer.

  They got up and began to dawdle back. The sun went in and light rain began but her euphoria lasted during their return journey, until she reached home.

  Mother offered Edmond a cup of tea before he returned to The Beeches. Soon he was sitting with them all in their parlour.

  ‘It’s been good to see you again, Edmond,’ Bertie said. ‘I’ve come to a decision. I’m going to sign up. I hope to become an officer, like you.’

  There was a gasp from Mother and Amy saw tears welling into her eyes. She herself was alarmed at the news.

  Edmond got up and shook Bertie’s hand. Then he became aware of the atmosphere. ‘I’d better leave for home.’ He thanked them for the tea and Amy showed him out. In the hall, he took her into his arms for a final kiss.

  ‘Isn’t it bad enough that you want to fight?’ Amy cried when he released her from his embrace. Her feelings were in turmoil.

  ‘Your brother wants to do his duty,’ he replied gently. He left more abruptly than usual, seeming to sense the family’s impatience to discuss Bertie’s news.

  Amy went back into the parlour. In those few steps she realised that she hated the idea of Bertie fighting. He always understands how I feel about women’s rights and supports me, she thought. If only we agreed about the war.

  ‘No, Bertie, promise me you won’t join up!’ Mother was saying, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.

  ‘I must play my part,’ he said. As Amy sat down she had seldom seen him so solemn. ‘Most of my class at school are joining up. And Edmond signed up almost straight away.’

  Amy’s eyes were filling with tears now, chiefly from the reminder of the perils Edmond would soon face.

  ‘What about your career in accountancy?’ Mother asked Bertie, catching hold of his arm. ‘You’ll fall behind.’

  He won’t care much about that, Amy thought, for he still grumbled to her about enduring boring days in his office. If only he had more inspiring work, to make him unwilling to leave.

  ‘Tell him he mustn’t do it!’ Mother begged Father.

  He had said nothing up to now, but his face sagged. ‘Don’t join up just because it seems like an exciting adventure,’ he told Bertie now. ‘Give it some serious thought.’

  ‘I already have. I’m going to the recruiting office tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s your decision, Son,’ Father said slowly. ‘I won’t stand in your way if you’re determined to do your duty.’

  Mother was still crying as she went to prepare tea, and Amy hurried after her to help.

  * * *

  ‘The refugees have been found temporary homes in a big house left empty when an old lady died,’ Florence explained to Amy as they set out by train to Wealdham. Amy had decided it was high time she joined her friends, and the women, often Suffragists, who were helping the unfortunate Belgians. It was a Sunday when Edmond did not have leave.

  ‘I joined in last weekend when we collected clothing,’ Florence went on. ‘We’ve been laundering the garments and sorting them, and now we need to take them to the families. It would be lovely if you could help.’ Her light brown hair was tucked beneath her felt hat.

  From Wealdham station they walked to a nearby church. In the hall there were baskets of clothing, sorted into bundles with labels indicating whether they were intended for men, women or children, and the size. Two boy scouts helped load several basketsful on to their trek cart and began pushing it through the streets towards the home of the refugees.

  ‘Be careful!’ Florence told the boys as she picked up stray bundles which had fallen off.

  ‘The place is just here,’ she said soon, indicating a three-storey house in grey stone and directing the scouts into its drive. ‘You speak some French, don’t you, Amy?’

  ‘Only what I remember from school.’

  When they rang the bell, a stout woman in a
dark dress opened the door and beamed at them. ‘You are from the relief people? Please to come in. I am Madame Rousseau. You may unload the clothing parcels and bring them into our common room, if you would be so kind.’ Her English was accented and Amy could barely understand her words.

  As they stepped inside there was a hubbub, suggesting several families were crammed into the limited accommodation. The aroma of soup and cabbage came from nearby rooms. Amy and Florence helped the scouts unload the parcels and carry them through to a large front room. Along the hallway, doors were opening and men and women hovering expectantly. Some curious children squeezed to the front, while more timid ones peeped from behind their mothers. Now more families were appearing, craning over the banisters from upstairs.

  ‘Attendez!’ Madame Rousseau told the others. She seemed to be telling them she would call them when they were ready.

  Amy had not known what to expect and it was only now she began to imagine what it might be like to have to flee one’s country. They arranged the bundles according to clothing size on a large table. When they were ready, Madame Rousseau supervised the distribution, using her influence to keep the flow of anxious men and women to a steady trickle.

  ‘Bonjour Monsieur – bonjour, Madame.’ Florence was greeting them warmly from the end of the table, prepared to talk a little if they hovered and asked for news of the war.

  Amy began to do the same. Sometimes it was possible for her to maintain a short dialogue in simple French and occasionally someone could speak English.

  ‘My husband is in the local hospital,’ a grey-haired woman told her. ‘He was injured in the fighting before we managed to get away. They have set aside a ward in Wealdham hospital for Belgians.’

  ‘I hope he is making good progress,’ she replied.

  Another woman accosted her in a guttural language which was not French. ‘Ah, the English women will not understand you!’ cried her friend, and began translating what was being said. ‘Some of our people speak only Flemish,’ she explained. ‘My friend is trying to tell you how they had to wait at the port for over twenty-four hours before a ship brought them across the Channel.’

  Madame Rousseau was trying to keep the column of refugees moving through the room as they claimed their bundles. As the last families reached the common room there were only just enough parcels remaining. Some of the Belgians continued to recount their experiences.

  ‘Ah, the Boches!’ complained one man, his features distorted in indignation. ‘Destroying out cities, plundering our crops, violating our young women! When will we have our own land back?’

  Amy exchanged glances with Florence, moved by what she had heard. Why had the world suddenly gone mad like this?

  ‘It’s true, what he says,’ Madame Rousseau told them. ‘When our people tried to stop the Germans invading our land they took hostages and shot them.’

  Amy shivered. What would happen if the Germans invaded Britain? But that was impossible, surely – they would never succeed in crossing the Channel?

  ‘We will form our own regiments here and return to liberate Belgium,’ said the man.

  ‘Some of our young men managed to escape,’ Madame Rousseau went on. ‘If they could not reach the coast they sometimes headed for the Dutch border. There was talk of brave people taking risks to help them, including nuns and nurses.’

  It was hard for Amy and Florence to concentrate on giving out the parcels, but at last their task was nearly complete. Madame Rousseau beckoned forward a dark-haired girl of about fourteen. ‘Here, Yolande, see if this skirt looks the right size for you.’ She selected a few clothes for her daughter and herself.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ she said finally. ‘You have been like angels to us.’

  ‘We’re trying to collect furniture,’ Florence told her. ‘I hope that will be ready soon.’

  ‘I hope you’ll soon feel more at home here,’ Amy said as Madame Rousseau accompanied them to the front door. It had been a moving experience, meeting these vulnerable people, and she was determined to continue helping them.

  They stepped out into the autumn dusk.

  Chapter Five

  Larchbury, December 1914

  ‘I’d really appreciate it if you’d invite Amy Fletcher to the Christmas dance,’ Edmond told his mother. ‘And her family.’ He knew that his parents’ social circle was wide and the Fletcher family were not generally included in smart events.

  ‘I really couldn’t say if that’s possible,’ his mother said, stately in her dark blue woollen dress with lace at the collar and cuffs. She was sitting at a small bureau in their drawing room, preparing a guest list. ‘We have so many people we should invite… It’s getting dark in here.’

  Dusk was falling so he got up and turned on another lamp to illuminate the large, comfortable room with its traditional sofa and easy chairs.

  ‘Oh, do let’s make it a great occasion this year,’ Beatrice begged, looking up from a fashion magazine. ‘So many young men have joined up. They may get Christmas leave, but who knows how soon they’ll be sent abroad? Remember when they said this silly war would all be over by Christmas? Not much sign of it, is there?’

  ‘I’ve been walking out with Amy Fletcher when I’m on weekend leave,’ Edmond persisted.

  ‘So you told us before. You’ve been seen together and it’s causing comment.’ A frown formed across Ma’s pale forehead. ‘She’s a decent young girl but you could do so much better. I hope you’re not becoming attached to her.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ He could not dodge the issue any longer. ‘None of the other girls I know compares with her.’

  ‘What’s so special about Amy Fletcher?’ demanded Beatrice. ‘She’s pretty enough, I suppose, and well-spoken, but she doesn’t mix with girls of our class. She works in an office, I hear.’

  He was captivated by her. It was only partly her beautiful fair hair and trim waist, and the sprightly way she walked. ‘It’s not just her appearance. I feel our ideas are in tune too.’

  He did not want to anger Beatrice by telling her that Amy’s work in a modern office brought her into contact with a variety of people, so that her conversation was often far more stimulating than that of Beatrice and her sheltered friends.

  ‘Please don’t become too involved with her,’ implored Ma. ‘You’re bound to meet someone more suitable with the right kind of background.’

  ‘With respect, Ma, I must make my own decisions about who I choose to walk out with.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘It’s fair to say Mr Fletcher was a good tutor to you, and managed to bring Peter on with his Latin. I suppose we might fit them in at the dance. I’ll invite the parents along with Amy and – what’s the brother called?’

  ‘Bertie – Albert. Thanks, Ma.’ He knew she was inviting the whole family to make his interest in Amy less obvious.

  * * *

  ‘Your ballroom looks splendid,’ Amy’s mother told Mrs Derwent when she greeted them upon their arrival.

  Their hostess seemed to be looking Amy over more closely than usual.

  Around them there were vases laden with sprigs of holly, pine garlands festooned across the walls, and the great pine tree, decorated with glass ornaments. At one end of the room a large fire stacked with logs threw out heat so that Amy scarcely needed her shawl over her pale blue silky gown. She caught sight of Florence, pretty in an ivory dress, standing with her family, and smiled at her. Her friend’s father was the local solicitor.

  ‘It seemed important to make a special effort this year,’ Mrs Derwent said, ‘and of course we always choose a magnificent pine from the forest as our Christmas tree. We wanted as much foliage as possible to provide a festive effect, but it wasn’t easy, as some of our forest workers have enlisted. And George, our gardener, joined up at the same time as his school friends.’

  ‘I daresay it’s difficult to replace him now so many men are training to fight,’ Amy’s mother said.

  ‘George’s brother Henry has taken his place. He
’s too young to fight. But he’s not so skilled in the garden.’

  Edmond was suddenly at Amy’s side, handsome in evening dress, smiling at her in his irresistible fashion. She was proud and nervous all at once, seeing the groups of giggling young girls around the room. Beatrice, gorgeous in a lemon-coloured gown that became her curly chestnut hair, was gossiping with them. Their dresses looked like the latest styles, not like her one, bought two years earlier. I can’t compete with them in elegance, she realised. Edmond will need to decide whether he can accept me how I am.

  From the invitation, and what Edmond had told her, she knew that the evening would include a buffet meal, followed by dancing. She hoped it would not be too obvious that she did not often attend such a smart event.

  Mrs Derwent was shaking hands with Amy’s father and Bertie. ‘So you’ve joined up now?’ she asked him.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Derwent. I’m training to be an officer. I was fortunate to be given Christmas leave, like Edmond.’

  Mr Derwent was eager to greet them too. ‘I understand you work as a typist, Miss Fletcher?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes, I go to an office in Wealdham each working day.’ Was Edmond’s father making the point that she needed to earn a living? Probably not, for he looked kindly.

  ‘I believe you know the Westholme family,’ Amy said. ‘They live nearby at Alderbank. I’m good friends with Lavinia.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the father’s a surgeon, isn’t he?’ Edmond’s father said.

  ‘Beatrice was at school with Lavinia,’ his mother said. Amy had noticed that the young women had similar refined accents. ‘But they had little in common,’ she went on. ‘Lavinia has a very fine singing voice, hasn’t she? Beatrice doesn’t quite reach her standard. But Lavinia’s tall, not an elegant height like Beatrice, but nearly as tall as Edmond, and she seems to rush everywhere, besides being rather opinionated, I find, like her mother.’

  ‘Come and meet some of my comrades,’ Edmond said, addressing Bertie but placing his hand lightly on Amy’s arm. He guided his young friends towards a group of men around their age.