Where Bluebells Chime. Elizabeth Elgin
Manston were so damaged by bombing that planes could no longer take off from them, nor land there. On this last day of August, Fighter Command lost thirty-eight planes. Usually, They, the faceless ones, never said how many, not the whole truth. But even They must admit it couldn’t go on much longer because it wasn’t how many planes were lost, Alice brooded. Spitfires and Hurricanes could be replaced; they were only money and man-hours in a factory. What was irreplaceable were those who flew them: straight, decent young men, driven almost beyond enduring, some of them younger than Drew, her son – her son, and Julia’s. Nothing could replace such desperate courage. Drew had already gone to war and soon they would take Daisy.
Was her daughter to be called upon to face danger? Would Daisy, who was so beautiful, so in love, have to struggle on and on until she moved in a daze of exhaustion, fearful to ease off her shoes because if she did, even for one blessed minute, she could not put them on again because her feet were too swollen?
Would Daisy’s kit lay ready packed beneath her bed because the sound of enemy guns was getting nearer and louder? Would Daisy ever know the stench of undignified death?
‘No, no, no!’ Alice raised the plates she held high above her head, hurling them to the floor with all the anger that was in her. ‘God! How dare You let it happen again!’
Then she sank to her knees amid a litter of broken white china. She was still there, sobbing quietly, when Tom came home for his supper.
‘Lass, lass!’ He reached for her hand, drawing her to her feet. ‘Whatever happened? Are you hurt? Did you fall over? Don’t take on so – it’s only a few plates.’
‘Only plates.’ Plates could be replaced. ‘And I didn’t trip, or anything. I threw them, Tom.’ She drew in a shuddering breath, tears spent now, all anger gone.
‘And am I to know why?’ His voice was gentle and he gathered her close and stroked her hair.
‘Oh, it was the news that finally did it. All those fighters lost. The young ones, Tom, taking the brunt of it; fighting a war that our generation let happen. I think I’d been working up to it all day. I just exploded. Remind me never to go on about your temper after this, love?’
She took a brush and shovel and began to sweep. Daisy would be home, soon; she must not know about this.
‘Building up to it all day, eh? Worrying about Daisy, were you?’
‘N-no. Not this time. It was Andrew MacMalcolm on my mind. I almost phoned Julia, like I always used to …’
‘Like on his birthday, you mean?’
‘Should I ring her – let her know I haven’t forgotten?’
‘No you shouldn’t.’ He took the shovel from her hand. ‘You should put the kettle on whilst I throw this lot on the rubbish heap. Remember she’s Nathan Sutton’s wife now, and happy again. Leave the past alone, bonny lass.’
‘You’re right.’ She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘I’m fine, now. Don’t know why you put up with me, though.’
‘Because you’re a good cook.’ He turned in the doorway to smile at her and she smiled back and whispered, ‘I love you too, Tom Dwerryhouse.’
‘Tim!’ Tatiana stepped from behind the oak tree at the crossroads then threw back her head, laughing. ‘What on earth …?’
‘Hi, henny! This beats Whitleys any day!’ He wobbled to a stop, throwing a leg over the bicycle seat, leaning over the handlebars to kiss her. ‘It only took a minute to get the hang of it again. Didn’t have a bike of my own, so I’d cadge rides from the kids who did,’ he grinned, pushing the dull olive-green cycle into the bushes beside the oak tree.
‘But where did you get it?’
‘I borrowed it – sort of. Was running late and didn’t want to keep my girl waiting. Found it propped outside the Admin block. I’ll give it back tonight.’
‘Timothy Thomson, that’s stealing!’
‘No it isn’t. All bikes at Holdenby Moor are Air Ministry property. There’s a Nissen hut full of them – personnel for the use of. It’s one heck of a walk from one end of that aerodrome to the other. First come, first served!’
‘You are quite incorrigible,’ she scolded, loving him more, were it possible, when he joked and smiled. When he smiled, something squirmed deliciously through her. ‘And I haven’t had a proper kiss yet.’
She clasped her arms around his neck, lifting her chin, closing her eyes, straining close to him and he placed his hands on her buttocks and drew her closer so she knew his need of her.
For just a moment, panic sliced through her and she wondered if this was the time. Then she closed her eyes again, searching for his mouth, relaxing against him.
‘Tatiana …’ His voice was low and husky and he drew away from her a little as if to break the contact of the electricity that sparked and crackled between them. His eyes looked directly into hers, asking the question his lips had no need to speak.
‘I love you,’ she whispered as if it were the answer to all things, then stepped away from him, taking his hand in hers, holding it tightly because she couldn’t bear not to touch him. ‘Let’s walk to the top of the pike.’
It would be quiet up there. Just the sky and almost always a breeze, even in summer. There would be no one there except other couples, who wouldn’t care, anyway.
‘The grass’ll be damp.’ He wondered why he was whispering.
‘I don’t suppose we’ll notice it, Tim.’
All at once she felt shy of him because tonight, soon, would be the first time. And after tonight nothing could ever be the same again.
She glanced sideways so she might look at him without turning her head and he was staring ahead, because he knew it as well, didn’t he?
And then, without shifting his gaze he said, ‘I love you, Tatiana Sutton.’
Julia put down the telephone, then walked along the creaking passage to the library where her husband was most times to be found. When he wasn’t baptizing or marrying or burying in Holdenby and the two other parishes he looked after, that was. And when he wasn’t giving last rites, or comforting, or visiting the old and alone, she sighed. That he would one day inherit Pendenys Place and a half of his mother’s fortune never entered his head, she was sure of it, and she too had become quite good at not dwelling too much upon it, because not for anything would she live in that vulgar barn of a place that looked like the product of a mating between the Houses of Parliament and Creesby Town Hall.
She dismissed it from her thoughts then stood behind her husband’s chair, hands on his shoulders.
‘Are you sermonizing? I need to talk, but I can come back later.’
‘Just finished.’ He replaced the cap of his fountain pen and laid it down, swivelling in his chair to face her.
‘Giles always did that,’ she said in a half-whisper. ‘Swing round in that chair and smile, I mean. Just as you did, then.’
‘I still miss him, Julia.’
‘I know you do. You were twin cousins, sort of.’
‘He was more a brother to me than – well, Elliot,’ he said, at once regretting saying the name.
‘What I want to know is can I have the parish hall for our wedding anniversary?’ Deliberately, she made no reference to Elliot Sutton. ‘I know it will mean slinging the canteen out, but it’ll only be for one night.’
‘For Aunt Helen’s eightieth, you mean? Are you sure you want the hall? Wouldn’t a little party here be better?’
‘No. Mother would get wind of it and anyway, I want the entire village to come and