Still Waters (61 page)

‘Thank you,’ Tess whispered. ‘Thank you.’

‘That’s all right. Now get your mother to make you a nice hot cup of tea and sit down for a while. And remember, where there’s life there’s hope.’

Tess muttered something incoherent and clattered the receiver back on to its rest. She stood up and all of a sudden the hall became very dark, with swirling patterns which she could just make out on the periphery of her vision. She felt herself sway and knew, with cold and clammy certainty, that she was about to faint. She tried to sit down again, heard the clatter as she collided with the chair, and suddenly someone was holding her in a comforting embrace. Mal? It couldn’t be Mal, yet . . .

‘Come on sweetie, you’re all right really, it’s just shock. Come on, try to stand up, don’t keep crumpling like that or you’ll have us both on the floor! Here put your arm round me and we’ll pretend it’s a three-legged race and get you into the kitchen like that.
That’s
better, good girl, left, right, left, right . . .’

Automatically she obeyed the half-hectoring, half-coaxing voice. She walked falteringly into the warm, well-lit kitchen and saw Cherie’s white, tear-stained face, Marianne’s shocked and rigid features. And Ashley was holding her, steering her towards the soft old armchair which had been Daddy’s favourite, once.

‘Ash? Oh, God, Ash, it was Mal’s squadron leader; he rang to tell me Mal’s . . . Mal’s . . .’

‘Ditched. I know, that’s why I came over,’ Ashley said briefly. ‘A friend of mine’s marrying a WAAF on Mal’s station. But ditching isn’t the end of the world, sweetie. He’s probably cursing and walking across France at this very moment. Come on now, give us a smile! Even if the worst has happened, you’ll live!’

But do I want to
? Tess thought and heard, with horror, her own voice, small and hollow, saying the words out loud. ‘Do I want to?’

Everyone was understanding and marvellous, Tess thought, when she returned to Willow Tree Farm. Mr and Mrs Sugden did everything they could to take her mind off her troubles and the girls were towers of strength. And Ashley, who had been anything but sensitive to the feelings of others in the past, excelled himself. He was there for her, not as an importunate lover but as a friend. He telephoned, dropped little notes, called for her and took her out for undemanding car rides, for walks, for boating trips on the Broad. And Tess herself, despite her fears, hadn’t broken down or taken to her bed or done any of the things she was afraid of doing. Instead, she had stayed at home with Marianne and Cherie for two days, getting accustomed to what had happened to her, and then with deliberation and calm, she picked up the reins of her life and went back to work.

And she very soon came to a decision. Mal had ditched, but that didn’t mean he had gone for a burton; indeed, his squadron leader had seemed to think there was a good chance that Mal was alive and well. If so, he would either get home or be taken prisoner, and whichever it was, they should hear in a month or six weeks, possibly even sooner. The French Resistance, who helped aircrew who had gone down over France to get back to Blighty, always made sure that the British authorities knew of an airman’s survival as soon as was humanly possible and as soon as a man became a prisoner of war his fellow countrymen were informed.

So she would stop thinking of herself as destined to be alone for ever, stop mourning Mal as gone. She would resolutely look on the bright side, wait for him, plan for the moment they would be together again. She would throw herself not only into work but into play, too, because that, she was sure, would be how Mal would want her to behave. She went to the cinema with Molly and joined the other girls at the village hop on a Saturday night. She began to keep a diary, especially for Mal, so that if he was a POW she could write him the longest letter in the world, detailing all her doings.

She told herself that this behaviour would see her through, and did her very best to remain cheerful and positive.

Her fellow-workers admired the stand she was taking and weren’t afraid to say so. Tess reminded them that she had lost her father already and did not intend to lose her lover, too . . . and it heartened her that she had accepted Peter’s death, whereas she did not intend to accept Mal’s. She told herself over and over that if Mal had died she would know, in some mysterious way, and ignored her bad days, when his death seemed a certainty. And it was true that there were good days, when she woke full of optimism, certain he lived, certain he would soon be in touch. Such days helped her to cope with the bad days.

But nevertheless she was waiting, every moment of every day. Every letter that thudded through the letter-box, every tinkle of the telephone bell, every footstep, might be the letter, the call, the person, who was going to give her news of Mal.

She grew thinner, but she remained bright-eyed, calm, optimistic. She told herself that she was being tested, that she would not be found wanting.

And she waited.

Tess had spent the weekend at home with Marianne and Cherie, helping them get ready for the wedding, for Marianne and Maurice were to tie the knot the following Tuesday. Marianne had suggested that, in view of Tess’s loss, they should put the wedding off for a month or two, but Tess wouldn’t hear of it.

‘It’s absurd, Marianne,’ she told her stepmother. ‘You go ahead – as soon as Mal gets home we’ll get married, but until then I don’t want the whole world to grind to a halt.’

So Marianne, clearly relieved, had continued with her preparations, which included a very elaborate wedding party to be held at the Old House after the brief ceremony, and since Maurice would move in to the Old House when he was in England, she had also had the master bedroom redecorated. Despite the shortage of such things as decorating materials she managed to acquire from somewhere a quantity of extremely pretty floral wallpaper and a great many tins of magnolia paint, and with Tess’s help she transformed the bedroom into a bower which Maurice, with his toothbrush moustache and gleaming patent-leather hair, no doubt thought was a fitting setting for his Gallic charms.

‘I’ll be glad when they’re married, because Maman won’t be so interested in my every move once she’s got Maurice under lock and key,’ Cherie said rather morosely to Tess as the two of them cleaned and polished the dining-room, where the wedding breakfast was to be held. ‘She doesn’t realise that at fifteen a girl needs a life of her own.’

Tess snorted, and rubbed away at the great dark dining-table more enthusiastically than ever. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are, Cherie,’ she said. ‘When I was fifteen Marianne couldn’t stand me. The mere sight of me set her hackles up, so I felt it wisest to live my own life as far away from her as possible! It’s odd, really, how fond of one another we’ve grown over the years, when you think that we were sworn enemies when I was a kid.’

‘Oh, she was jealous because Daddy doted on you,’ Cherie said, flicking a desultory duster over the ornately carved dining chairs. ‘Where are we to put the chairs on Tuesday, Tess? Only we’ve asked thirty people at least, so they won’t be able to sit down, they’ve got to circulate, Maman says, between the two rooms. She’s going to set out the dining-table with savouries and the kitchen table with the puds, and tell people to help themselves and keep moving on.’

‘Anyone cried off yet?’ Tess asked, giving the table a final rub and standing back to admire her handiwork. ‘I keep hoping someone will say no because if it pours with rain I don’t know where they’ll all go, but I think Marianne’s reputation as a provider of marvellous meals has gone before her. Last time I asked she’d had all acceptances.’

‘Your Ashley has written to say he will if he can, and I suppose several servicemen have done the same,’ Cherie volunteered. ‘But there haven’t been any firm refusals so far as I know.’

‘And he isn’t my Ashley,’ Tess said sharply. ‘Is Mrs Thrower coming in on the Tuesday?’

‘Of course! She’s invited to the wedding, though we all know she’ll turn up in her pinny and work like stink,’ Cherie said. ‘I was dumbstruck when Maman said she’d invited her, but then I realised. I know you think she’s a snob, Tess, but it’s just because she’s so French. She believes everyone should stay in their place.’

‘Oh, sure. And what did you realise?’

‘Why, Mrs Thrower’s hens are
reliable,
Tess, which means she’ll have a good few eggs to spare. And the Throwers always have milk to spare, and butter, because of Susan. And now Sally, of course.’

Susan had dropped a heifer calf two years ago and Sally, as they had christened her, was in milk, with a calf of her own at heel.

‘Oh, I see,’ Tess said, striving for a neutral tone. ‘Yes, I suppose you can’t very well hoard milk or eggs.’

Cherie giggled. ‘I know you don’t approve of the hoard, and nor do I, but you must admit, Tess, that it’s come in useful. And d’you know what? Last night, when Maman was gloating over it and choosing what to take out, she said she wanted to save all the icing sugar, because you’d need it for your cake, when Mal gets back.’

‘Did she really?’ Tess said, really touched. ‘That was kind . . . I only hope it will keep until the end of the war, because if Mal’s a POW it might have to.’

‘He’ll be home before then,’ Cherie said stoutly. ‘Are you coming home again tomorrow, Tess? Only tomorrow is the big, great, enormous getting-ready day and we could do with all the help we can muster. Maman’s letting me stay away from school so I can put things in and out of the oven and dismember chickens and things.’

‘No, I can’t come tomorrow, it’s good of Mr Sugden to let me have my weekend off and then have the Tuesday as well,’ Tess reminded her sister. ‘But I’ll work really hard and finish early so I can bike over after tea. Will that do?’

‘Yes, that will be fine,’ Cherie said at once. ‘You are staying over on Tuesday night though, aren’t you? Because I don’t much fancy being all alone in the house whilst Maman and Maurice are honeymooning in London.’

‘I thought you were staying with Mrs Thrower?’ Tess said. ‘She told me she was clearing the small bedroom for you.’

‘Oh, she is. But she’s lending that bedroom to a couple of Maurice’s colleagues for the actual wedding night,’ Cherie said. ‘You are staying over, aren’t you, Tess? Maman was sure you would.’

‘Yes, of course I will,’ Tess said readily. ‘If I’m on milking I can swap with Molly or someone. Then we can have a lie-in.’

‘I wonder if Maman and Maurice will have a lie-in?’ Cherie said ruminatively. ‘I still don’t know very much about what happens on wedding nights, do you, Tess? I took a sneaky look at the sixth form Human Biology book last term but all those diagrams made me feel quite sick. If I’ve got it right, and I’m not at all sure that I have, it’s a physical impossibility anyway, what people are supposed to do to each other.’

‘I don’t see what Human Biology has to do with a lie-in,’ Tess said. ‘Don’t be nosy about other people’s experiences, Cherie, you’ll have your own soon enough.’

‘Not if I don’t marry I shan’t. Not if I decide the whole thing is too ghastly for words.’

‘You won’t. You’re far too fond of men,’ Tess said. ‘Come on, let’s go and see if Marianne wants anything else done.’

By Sunday night both sisters were exhausted, but the house shone and a good deal of cooking – bread rolls, fruit cakes, pies and pasties – had been done. Marianne, terribly excited, with her hair tied up in a duster and her figure enveloped in a huge blue pinafore, declared that they were saints and advised Tess to cycle slowly home and have a good night’s sleep.

‘It can’t have been easy for you, my dear, helping to plan someone else’s wedding party,’ she said as she stood at the gate waving Tess off. ‘But your turn will come, and how happy we shall all be then! And don’t think I’ve used even half my goodies for this wedding breakfast, because I’ve been careful to save enough for you!’

‘Yes, Cherie told me,’ Tess said. ‘Thanks, Marianne. And take it easy tomorrow.’

‘I shall,’ her stepmother promised sunnily. ‘Oh, how nice it will be to be married again, to have someone to lean on, to turn to for advice!’

‘I’m sure it will,’ Tess said rather hollowly. ‘Good-night then, Marianne. See you on the great day!’

She cycled home to Willow Tree Farm, parked her bicycle with the others in the cart-shed and went straight to bed. Her diary, under her pillow, showed her that it was a month since Mal had ditched. She had heard nothing, but that did not, she told herself defiantly, filling in her day’s doings in pencil, mean that news would not be coming soon.

Molly and Sue, who shared her attic room, had both been asleep when she got in, but as she blew out the candle Sue moved and spoke.

‘Tess? Have a good day?’

‘Very good, thanks,’ Tess whispered. ‘I’m jolly tired, though. See you in the morning.’

‘Another lovely day! I do love May, I think it’s my favourite month.’

Tess and Sue came out of the cowshed, having finished the milking, and headed for the kitchen. Indeed, Sue’s hand was actually on the doorknob when someone shouted.

‘Hey . . . either of you called Miss Delamere? I’ve got a telegram for her.’

The speaker was a small, rosy-cheeked telegram boy, who was picking his way across the yard and pushing a bicycle which looked a great deal too large for him.

Tess’s heart jumped into her mouth. A telegram! It had to be from Mal, or about him, at any rate – it must be the long-awaited news! She did not allow herself to consider that it could be bad news, but suddenly she felt the blood drain from her face, felt her knees begin to buckle. She grabbed the nearest object for support – it was Sue – and said faintly: ‘That’s me – I’m Tess Delamere.’

‘Bear up, honey,’ Sue said urgently into her ear. ‘Don’t go fainting on me, you’re too heavy and the cow muck hasn’t been cleared yet. Imagine, falling face downwards into that lot.’

Tess gave a breathless little laugh, as she was meant to, and took the small yellow envelope the boy was holding out. She tore it open and spread out the single sheet, her hands shaking so much that at first she could not read the words printed on it. Sue, with an arm looped comfortingly round her shoulders, read it aloud.