Beyond the Storm. Diana Finley
Sam’s narrow schoolboy bed. It did not surprise Sam that Charlotte recoiled when he reached for her that night.
‘Not here,’ she hissed, ‘with your parents next door!’
He could understand her reluctance. It had been excruciatingly embarrassing saying goodnight to them and going upstairs together. But as he gazed at Charlotte’s forbidding back, he wondered if they couldn’t at least have hugged each other.
Early the next day they took the train to Southampton, where their ship was waiting. That night, in the privacy of their cabin, Charlotte was extremely tired from the journey. The second night she appeared so nervous and anxious that Sam tried to reassure her. He kissed her neck and chastely ran his fingers down her rigid shoulders and arms. Charlotte was an innocent girl, he told himself, shy and unschooled in the ways of the world. She had not had the supportive presence of a mother during her earlier years. What did he expect? He needed to give her time, to be patient.
He was patient for all the weeks of the voyage, and then tried hard to sustain patience when they moved into their bungalow. Charlotte was unhappy with the sleeping arrangements. She would have liked separate bedrooms. Sam’s patience was running out. One evening he abandoned all his good intentions and shouted about his rights as a husband. He asked why she had married him: was it just for a ticket to a social position and a good life in India?
‘If you absolutely insist, I suppose I have to agree, occasionally. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.’
Sam’s desire faded in direct proportion to the growth of his anger and frustration. It seemed clear that Charlotte’s only true love was for horses. If he could have offered her impregnation with good Arabian stock, she might have considered the proposition. Children – his children – were out of the question.
It took six years of misery before his commanding officer would agree to a divorce.
‘The army doesn’t approve of divorce, Lawrence, especially not a rushed job. You don’t want to destroy your career prospects completely.’
They lived at opposite ends of the house. On the surface, they kept up a semblance of normality. When attending balls at the officers’ mess together, Charlotte sometimes said, ‘I suppose you’d better give me your arm.’
In 1933, Charlotte returned to England. Two years later they were granted a decree nisi. Sam never contacted her, or heard from her again.
At thirty-three, Sam resigned himself to a solitary life, successful in his chosen career, but lacking personal attachments: a life devoid of warmth and affection. He created a beautiful garden around the bungalow. The servants were instructed to water the plants every evening, whether or not he was there. Alongside the hibiscus, orchids, oleander and bougainvillaea were roses and delphiniums, ceanothus and hydrangea. The garden was his greatest pleasure. He wished he could share it with his mother.
Sam remained in India for two more years, after which he was posted to Egypt, by then a major. It was a time of increasing unrest, as the quest for full independence – a cause for which Sam had some sympathy – grew in momentum. His visits to England were few, and many years apart. His parents were ageing. In 1940 his father died. Winifred, bereft, moved to Surrey to a cottage roughly equidistant from Freda and her husband’s small house, and Humphrey and his wife’s much larger one.
In 1942 Sam began a posting as a lieutenant colonel in Palestine. A man of extreme gentleness, his experience in work and in personal relations had been of continuous conflict: Ireland, India, his marriage, Egypt and now Palestine. At first he was drawn to the Arab cause. Gradually his respect and sympathy for the Jews grew. Surely all people deserved the right to live safely and freely, to have a homeland? Above all, he admired their determination to force the arid land into fertility, into prolific growth. He remembered his first CO’s warning about seeing both sides of the argument. Yet he couldn’t help believing both the Arabs and the Jews had a just cause.
A year later Anna Wiener, a Jewish refugee and a widow, was appointed as secretary to Sam and his fellow officers in the training section. He was immediately, miraculously attracted to her. She was as different from Charlotte as any woman could be: small, dark, intense, emotional and sharply intelligent. Sam recognised that Anna was traumatised and complex, her life one of even greater turmoil than his own. He knew they came from different countries and cultures, and that he should proceed with caution. He sensed mystery, perhaps danger, at her core. But any initial hesitancy was soon thrown aside. He could think of nothing, no one else. Rejected by the only other woman to whom he had reached out, it was a wonder to Sam that Anna loved him too, that she responded to his touch, that she chose to be with him, that she wanted to have children with him.
In March 1944 Sam and Anna were married at the British High Commission in Haifa.
27th October 1945, Berlin
My darling Anna,
It was wonderful to get your letter of 5th Oct, and the lovely photograph of Benjamin. What a splendid little fellow he is. He’s grown so much since I was with you both; looks quite a little rugby player now (a rough, uncivilised and no doubt incomprehensible game played by British males – I’ll tell you about it some time). What a lot of hair he has now – and how come he’s inherited my red instead of your beautiful black hair? My only disappointment was that you didn’t include a recent photo of you too though – the one of us both in Surrey is now hopelessly dog-eared (yes, another strange English expression!) from my constant fingering. Do please get Humphrey or Constance to take one of you, and send it to me.
I hope you are well and happy and enjoying life, despite Surrey’s limitations and the dismal weather. Is the new accommodation working out? It has to be an improvement over the last place. What an unpleasant experience for you, and so unnecessary. I hope Mrs Wilson is an agreeable landlady and will be tolerant of any noise Benjamin might make. Remember, you’re paying the rent and it is your home, and Ben’s, for the time being. You should feel free to do as you please, and to come and go as you wish.
Are you missing me? I can’t wait for us all to be together again – and to that end, I have been extremely busy since you wrote with your list of instructions and requirements(!) Of course I quite understand your insistence that we engage no staff young enough to have been in the Hitler Youth. I think you’ll find that I’ve complied with your wishes. We now have a cook, a nanny, and a gardener – and I’m working on a suitable maid. Their credentials are as follows:
Cook: Frau Helga Stammel. Known as ‘Maggi’ (after the Swiss soup firm). Aged 64 years. Previously very wealthy. Then abandoned and divorced by her husband. Cooking not bad.
Nanny: Frau Selma Rausch. Aged 52 years. From Silesia. Denounced for expressing anti-Nazi sentiments and imprisoned during the war.
Gardener: Herr Eisen. Aged 68 years. Refugee from Eastern Germany. Lost his entire family during the war. A silent man – but wields a mean spade.
As you will see, the Germans have done a pretty good job of destroying the lives of some of their own people too. I trust they are old enough for you? At the moment Frau Rausch is preparing the nursery and is on a ‘retainer’ until you and Ben arrive. The others have started work – Maggi does her best with the limited supplies. (I hope you are eating all right?) I’m due to interview a couple of potential maids tomorrow. Frau Rausch is going to help me make a selection.
I think you’ll approve of the house. It’s spacious and has a very large garden (which pleases me, of course). With Eisen’s help we should have quite a crop of fruit and vegetables next year. I know the requisition business is not very comfortable – but you may be surprised to hear that the owner says she’s delighted to have a British family in her house. She reckons we’ll take better care of it than the Russians or Americans!
Meanwhile, the work proceeds quite well. We’re making progress organising the educational side of things. A little more food is gradually getting through, but there are still terrible shortages. Of course