Primrose Square (34 page)

‘No need to be. Miss Glenner is a charming girl, but she had some foolish idea of  . . . Well, I won't go into details, maybe just say that what happened was all for the best. Stephen has other things to think about, anyway. He's a captain, you know; he has his responsibilities.'

‘I'm sure,' Elinor murmured. ‘Well, I'd better be going, but it was nice to meet you, Mrs Muirhead. Do hope  . . .' Her voice began to trail away. ‘All goes well for Captain Muirhead.'

‘You can speak to him if you like,' his mother said kindly. ‘I have to go home now, but he's in the Gentleman's Outfitting Department, choosing some civilian shirts.' She laughed indulgently. ‘Says he might need them soon. The war is going to end this year, he's sure of it.'

‘Gentlemen's Outfitting,' Elinor repeated dazedly. ‘Well, it would be nice to wish him luck.'

‘Yes, my dear, I'm sure he'd appreciate it, he loves meeting his students. It's just on the next floor, you know, you can take the lift.'

She saw him before he saw her, her eyes drawn immediately to his tall, spare, uniformed figure bending over a pile of folded shirts, his hat under his arm, his face so gaunt, so worn, her heart sank in dismay. Then rose. For he was there. She had found him. No matter if he didn't care to see her, she had seen him, and would have this image of him to remember when she was alone again.

She was about to speak his name when suddenly he looked up and saw her, and their eyes locked.

‘Elinor?'

He took a step towards her.

‘Hello, Stephen.'

‘Well, this is a surprise!'

He came closer, put out his hand, which she briefly shook, remembering its firmness, and still they kept their eyes on each other, hers large with wonder, his hard to read. But warmer, she thought, than the last time they'd met. More as they'd been in the old days, if she could believe it.

Be careful, she told herself, don't expect anything. Don't see something that isn't there. He might appear more friendly, yet at the same time mean nothing. In any case, his manner seemed to her to be uncertain. As though he couldn't decide how he should be.

‘How did you know I was here?' he asked.

‘I was shopping when I met your mother. She told me you were here.'

‘My mother?' He was mystified. ‘But you don't know her.'

‘I heard her name, I spoke to her, told her I'd been in your evening class, and she said if I wanted to speak to you, you'd be here.'

‘And so I am, surrounded by shirts.' He smiled and shook his head, as an assistant approached. ‘Think I'll have to leave them for today. I don't need them yet, after all.'

‘I don't want to interrupt your shopping.'

‘No, no, it's all right. Would you like a cup of tea, perhaps? Or to walk?'

‘Walk?'

‘In Princes Street Gardens?'

Princes Street Gardens  . . . Where they'd once walked, long ago. Long ago, before the war.

‘I'd like to walk,' she told him, adjusting her hat, to give herself something to do, to calm her nerves.

Together they left the shop, making their way, as they had so often done before, to the gardens across the road. Wintry-looking today, of course, but still filled with light, and almost empty. Just as they had always wanted them to be.

Sixty-Four

‘Plenty of seats to choose from,' Stephen remarked. ‘Though might be too cold to sit for long. Shall we keep walking?'

‘Maybe we should.'

Amazed to hear herself still sounding reasonable when she felt so light-headed, Elinor kept looking at Stephen to make sure he was really walking at her side. After all these months of not knowing, she could scarcely believe that for the time being at least, he was safe. Safe and with her. Walking as in the old days. But be careful, she told herself again. These are not the old days. This is now – and things have changed.

‘Does it bring back memories?' he asked, turning to look at her. ‘Walking here?'

‘Oh, yes.' She wondered – did it mean anything, the question? Was it significant? Was she clutching at straws?

‘And for you?'

‘Of course.'

He said no more. Looked away. Kept walking. Rather slowly, as she was beginning to notice, but didn't like to comment.

‘What's been happening to you?' she asked carefully.

‘This and that.' His tone was light. ‘Enduring battles. Cambrai, and such. Managing to stay lucky.'

‘It must have been terrible.'

‘Had its compensations.'

‘Heavens – what?'

‘Well, I suppose I've learned a lot.'

They halted for a moment, standing together to look up at the castle on its vantage point of rock above the gardens, above the city.

‘Not about warfare – God, no.' He shrugged at the idea. ‘We just do what we can there. No, I mean, other people – my chaps, for instance – the Tommies. Elinor, I'd no idea what life's like for some. I thought I had, working at the WEA and all that, but in fact I knew damn all.'

‘What did you find out?' she asked a little wryly.

‘To begin with, half of my men are underweight – malnourished, I suppose – and have known so little comfort, I swear they don't even mind the trenches. I'm not talking about all soldiers, of course, but those from some of the tenements – they've never had a chance, Elinor. Never had a chance at all, for a decent life.'

‘Stephen,' she said gently, ‘I live in Friar's Wynd. I know what some tenements are like.'

‘Sorry, of course you do. But the thing is, this eye-opener's given me an idea of what I might do when the war's over. Because I feel sure it's going to end this year. Germany's getting tired. We're all getting tired. And when it's all over, what I'd like to do is work for people who need help. Set up some sort of centre where they can come for advice on jobs, welfare, all that sort of thing, and maybe combine it with a hostel.'

They had turned to pace on, down the still-frosty paths, Stephen glancing often at Elinor, she trying to stem a feeling of rising excitement she couldn't be sure she should have.

‘Won't all this cost a lot?' she asked shakily.

‘Yes, but I think I can manage. My uncle left me a bit and you remember I was going to buy a place of my own one day? This centre could be it.' Suddenly, he grasped her hand, then let it go. ‘Don't you agree? Don't you think it could be a success?'

‘There'd be a lot to think about.'

‘I'll have the time. Haven't exactly finished fighting yet.'

At his words, carelessly said, a great cloud of darkness seemed to descend over her, as it sank into her mind afresh that his fighting wasn't over, that he must return to the front.

‘Oh, don't!' she cried. ‘Don't talk about it. You have to go back tomorrow!'

There was a silence between them, broken by sobs she couldn't hold back, and Stephen, pulling off his glove, gently dried her eyes with his handkerchief.

‘You still care, then?' he asked softly. ‘About me?'

‘You know I do.'

‘Look at my handkerchief.'

‘Handkerchief?' She turned it in her fingers, saw the initials she'd embroidered, raised her tearful eyes. ‘Oh, Stephen, you've still got them? My hankies?'

‘I've still got them. Put them aside once. Took 'em out again.'

‘And I've still got my scarf. Always will have.'

Gently, he drew her into his arms, holding her close, pushing back her hat so that he could brush her brow with his lips.

‘Elinor,' he whispered, ‘we've both been pretty foolish, haven't we?'

‘I was foolish, Stephen. I was the one who made the mistake. Threw away something precious.'

‘I know how it was. You were dazzled, that's all. It happens.'

‘Dazzled? Yes, maybe. It's no excuse.'

‘I made mistakes, too,' he said after a pause. ‘I knew you and Barry had parted. I knew – I could sense it – that you wanted to come back to me, but I was too proud. I wouldn't forgive you.'

‘I don't blame you. I'd let you down; I would have felt the same.'

He gave a long, troubled sigh. ‘I thought I could be happy with Frances, but she was wiser than me. You know she broke our engagement?'

‘Your mother told me. She seemed upset.'

‘No, she just didn't understand. Frances was right to do what she did. Told me she knew there was someone else, even if I didn't know it myself any more. I realized what she said was true.'

He put his hands on her shoulders, made her look at him, for she had been lowering her eyes.

‘I realized I'd never stopped loving you, Elinor, and that was the way it was going to be for me, come what may.'

‘Stephen, I didn't know. How could I? When I saw your engagement in the paper, I thought there was no hope. No hope at all. So when Barry asked me to marry him, I said I would.'

There, she had said it. What she knew she must. As her great anxious eyes searched his face, Stephen was silent.

‘It was to look after him, Stephen, that was all. He'd lost his leg, he was in a very bad state – they were even thinking he might  . . . try to take his own life.' Elinor's voice trembled. ‘He'd been a footballer, you know.'

‘Poor devil.' Stephen shook his head. ‘I see how it was, then. But you're not  . . . you're not  . . . going to marry him now?'

‘No, no. It's all over. When he got his artificial leg at Queen Mary's, it was wonderful, really, he seemed to take on a new lease of life. Didn't need me any more.'

‘And you didn't mind?'

‘Stephen, I was never so relieved.'

‘You truly don't love him?'

‘I'm here with you,' she said quietly. ‘Where I want to be.'

That was when their mouths met and, after so long apart, they tasted passion again, both as though on wings in the darkening gardens, oblivious to a man walking past them with his dog, oblivious to the castle, the lights ahead of Princes Street, to everything except that they had come full circle, back to their love.

‘You have to go,' Elinor said at last, pulling herself away. ‘You're taking your mother out tonight, remember.'

‘I want to take her out, but I wish I could have been with you.'

They began to walk slowly back, her arm in his, their eyes constantly meeting.

‘You liked her, didn't you, when you met her at Maule's?' Stephen asked. ‘My mother? I know she'll like you.'

To talk to, maybe, but as to more than that, Elinor wasn't sure.

‘Don't say anything about me tonight, Stephen. Let her have you to herself, eh?'

‘And what about your mother? I want to meet her, you know, and your brother, as soon as I come back.'

If
you come back, she thought, and sensed again that great cloud of fear waiting to consume her as soon as Stephen had gone.

‘Corrie's been discharged,' she said bravely. ‘His right arm's pretty well useless now – he's had to take a salesman's job at a tailor's.'

‘Oh, no, Elinor – oh, God, I'm so sorry. He wanted to be a draughtsman, didn't he? That's just one more life ruined by this war.'

‘At least he's safe.'

‘At what cost? Oh, what's the point of protesting? No one listens, no one counts the waste. But it will have to end soon, Elinor, it will have to!'

Even though they were in sight of the shops and the pavements crammed with people, Stephen flung his arms round Elinor and held her so hard she could scarcely breathe.

‘It'll end this year, Elinor, I promise you. This year, some time, I'll come back to you.'

But she couldn't believe him, and saying goodbye to him when they had just found each other again was like feeling her heart wrenched from her body. He had said she couldn't see him off; he was leaving very early in the morning with a number of people from the regiment. Could they bear it, anyway?

‘No,' said Elinor. ‘Oh, no.'

‘But I'll write,' he told her, on the steps of the Primrose. ‘I'll write whenever I can, and you must write to me, and send me knitted mittens and tins of chocolate and anything else you fancy – promise?'

‘I promise,' she cried, tears gathering again, and because it was dark and because they couldn't help it, they clasped each other close again and kissed and kissed for the last time. Then Stephen drew slowly away and turned, waved, and left her. And Elinor, as stiffly as a jointed doll, walked up the steps and in at the door.

Just as long as no one sees me, she thought, I'll be all right.

As though no one would see her! Of course they would see her; wasn't she here to work?

‘Why, Elinor,' said Brenda, finding her. ‘Aren't you going home? I thought you weren't on duty tonight?'

‘Oh, Brenda,' cried Elinor, and resting her head on Brenda's shoulder, let the tears flow.

Sixty-Five

‘This year, sometime, I'll come back to you,' Stephen had promised.

But both he and Elinor had known it wasn't in his power to make such a promise. He couldn't know how the war would go. He couldn't know if he would come back at all. What his words meant was that he wanted to come back to her, and though that was what mattered, though that meant everything, she had to face it every day – all she really had was hope.

‘Ah, lassie,' her mother said, seeing Elinor poring over the casualty lists in the paper, reading up about the latest battles, ‘now you see what love can bring. Heartache, eh?'

‘It's better than having no love at all.'

‘Why'd you never tell me about your Stephen before, though? Why'd you keep everything secret?'

‘It was because of Dad. I thought he'd never approve and might – you know – get into a state.'

‘Aye, he might've done. Or he might've been pleased. You never could tell with your dad. Anyway, when do Corrie and me get to see this laddie of yours?'