Wartime Brides (17 page)

‘My treat,’ Charlotte said once they were outside after having had a second cuppa and a fresh plate of biscuits. ‘Can I give you a lift?’

Edna’s first inclination was to refuse. From across the road the bells of St Mary Redcliffe pealed merrily, announcing that another man and woman had promised to love, honour and obey. According to the church clock it was twelve-thirty, just enough time
to
get back in time for her father’s midday meal.

‘I’d be very grateful,’ she replied.

Charlotte did most of the talking on the way home. Edna sat almost tongue-tied, thinking about what Charlotte had said and the name of the orphanage on the letter she’d found earlier that week.

‘We get a nice little bundle of clothes together before I take it to the Muller Orphanage. So if at any time you have some free time and don’t mind doing a bit of sewing – especially once you’re married – I’d much appreciate your help.’

The moment Charlotte said the name of the orphanage, a window opened on Edna’s life. Providence! First she’d found the letter from the orphanage and at last knew where her child was. Now Charlotte was offering to take her there.

‘I’d love to!’ she said with honest enthusiasm. ‘I’d really love to.’

Charlotte glanced in the side mirror and watched Edna striding to the front door of the house in Nutgrove Avenue. Strange how she’d gone so pale back there in the teashop when she’d mentioned the orphanage and the babies. Strange too how much colour had now come back to her cheeks.
A dark horse
. Was it possible that Edna had more than one reason for having second thoughts about marrying Colin?

She unwound the window and sighed heavily as she made her way through the Tramway Centre, which had now gone over completely to buses. She wound it up
again
as the yeasty smell from Georges’ Brewery flooded through the window.

The engine slowed as she hit the uphill gradient of Park Street. She didn’t mind. Going home was not something she wanted to do quickly.

It was a long journey to the prisoner of war camp at Pucklechurch and if Tommy Adams hadn’t offered her a lift on the back of his motorbike, Polly would never have got there before noon.

A brisk breeze was blowing, reddening her cheeks and sending her hair flying.

‘I won’t be long,’ she called over her shoulder as she made her way to the guard post.

The American guard on duty did a second take. Cows outnumbered blondes in Pucklechurch and those women that did live roundabout had more muscles than sophistication.

‘I want to talk to Aaron Grant.’

The guard purposely turned his back. ‘He’s not here. Goodbye.’

Polly drew herself up to her full height. ‘You ain’t looked.’

He turned back to face her. His smile had disappeared. ‘What’s he to you?’

When she’d first got off the motorcycle he’d looked at her appraisingly. Now he regarded her with contempt.

‘I’m his fiancée!’

The guard outside exchanged looks with another man who stuck his head up from behind a glass partition.

‘Send her in here, private.’

The guard moved aside. Polly brushed past, deliberately sticking her elbow out at an awkward angle so it caught him fair and square in the ribs.

The American sergeant sitting at the desk flung his pen down as she entered but did not get to his feet. ‘Sergeant Noble. At your service. And what can I do for you, little lady?’ He did not smile.

‘I want to see my fiancé. We’ve got things to discuss.’

‘Have you now?’ His tone was overly sarcastic. ‘And what kind of things might that be?’

Polly held her head high. ‘Wedding plans!’

The sergeant smiled and shook his head some more. ‘Not with him you don’t. He’s been shipped back to the States and I can categorically state here and now that there ain’t no way you and him are ever going to be married!’

Polly couldn’t believe the cheek of the man. ‘What the hell’s it got to do with you?’

‘Blame Uncle Sam, little lady, but don’t blame me.’

‘But he can’t be gone. Not without me; not without saying goodbye.’ She knew she sounded hysterical. But hell, she had every right to be.

The sergeant started to turn his attention back to the buff-coloured folders on his desk. ‘The US army judged it best in the circumstances.’

Polly stood her ground. ‘I want to speak to someone in charge.’

The sergeant looked amused. ‘The commanding officer is a little busy at the moment. Now if you’d care to leave my office …’

Still Polly didn’t move. ‘Then tell me who I can talk to.’

The sergeant picked up his files and shuffled them like a pack of over-sized playing cards. ‘Have a talk to the Red Cross lady.’ He fingered a piece of paper in front of him. ‘Her name is Mrs Hennessey-White. She’s the one who brought a certain matter to the CO’s attention.’

‘Charlotte!’ Polly could hardly believe it. Charlotte had broken up her romance. Charlotte who had seemed to be her friend.

She walked silently back to where her lift was waiting, her eyes flinty hard and her heart like lead. Everything she had dreamed of sharing with Aaron was no more than a fantasy.

Despite the breeze stinging her face on the way home, Polly boiled with anger. How dare Charlotte interfere! She had no right! Supercilious cow!

What was it with these classy broads that caused them to stop the likes of her from getting on in life?

Jealousy! Just sheer jealousy!

Well, she’d be having a word with her when she got to work on Monday. Mrs Grey was back and doing Sunday. But she’d be there on Monday regardless, you bet if she wouldn’t!

Josef Schumann watched as Polly re-mounted the motorbike. He badly wanted to tell someone of what he suspected had happened to Corporal Grant. But he had no real proof. Falling down a flight of stairs could be as fatal to a German prisoner of war as it was for a soldier who had stepped out of line – and far easier to get away with.

Chapter Ten

SUNDAY EVENING. THE
house was completely empty.

David had left for a BMA conference in London. The Government was intent on bringing in a national health scheme for the benefit of all, but the BMA was sceptical of how it might benefit their members. Their private fees would be affected, their standard of living reduced, went their argument.

Charlotte was glad of the respite. Tonight she would be alone. Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Josef. She’d seen him a number of times now. On the last occasion he’d appeared anxious, as though something was weighing heavy on his mind. She had found herself desperate to know what was wrong but he wouldn’t tell her and wouldn’t say why.

There was undoubtedly something special between them. It was like an electric current, unseen but dangerously powerful. At times she could almost guess what he was thinking about her. Sometimes it made her blush. For the most part it made her want to hug him.

Go to the pub. He asked you to
.

The thought came unbidden, but instantly goaded her into action. It was a fine evening, chilly but promising spring just over the horizon.

She drove out through Kingswood and across Syston Common. Timid greenery was just starting to push its way through. Seeing it and smelling it cleared her head of ugly things like husbands who were not quite as they had been.

She passed the POW camp and made straight for the pub, parking her car on the road outside.

She paused at the door. Her head told her she was being a fool. Her heart told her that caution was the sensible refuge of the emotionally infirm.

In one swift movement she reached out, then, having second thoughts, curled her fingers into her palm. What if he wasn’t there? What if he was with some of the others and people saw them? What would they say?

Swiftly, before her head again ruled her actions, she pushed the door open.

The lounge bar was a place of dark brown woods and Windsor chairs. It was easy to imagine it in times gone by, men straight from hunting sitting in here, churchwarden pipes clenched between uneven teeth, cheeks red from too much port. Drinks were served through a small hatch roughly cut into an expanse of stained panelling.

He saw her before she saw him. At first she blanched visibly. He was with some of the others, each with a pint in front of them. He got up when he saw her and walked over. There was no doubting his pleasure.

‘Charlotte.’

He’d taken to calling her that on the last few occasions they’d met.

He repeated her name as though enjoying the sound of it and the way it rolled off his tongue. ‘Charlotte. Can I get you a drink?’

She nodded, then realised her mistake. ‘Let me! Please! Take this.’ She handed him two half crowns. She looked up at him and said in a low voice, ‘You haven’t much money. If you buy it I won’t drink it.’

He thought about it for a moment, then smiled and nodded.

She watched him walk to the bar, unable to take her eyes off him.

He came back with the drinks. ‘How did you know I’d be here on a Sunday night?’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t.’ She felt herself blushing.

‘We all need to get away some time. I’d certainly like to! But …’ He laughed and shrugged helplessly. She laughed with him.

Their conversation consisted of questions about each other’s lives – small things really; childhood, favourite things, hopes for the future, all the things that matter as two people get to know each other better.

He also told her about being a submariner, the close confinement of life in a metal can lurking beneath the waves, watching for enemy merchant ships. She found it hard to equate this man with that life.

He seemed more at ease than when she’d last seen him. She wondered what had been troubling him and asked him outright.

He looked swiftly away. ‘Nothing I can do anything about.’

She didn’t push the point but sensed intuitively that it had something to do with Aaron.

Time seemed to fly.

‘Another drink, Charlotte?’

The way he said her name sent a thrill down her spine. David used to make her feel like that in the days before the war. Now he only scared her. The fear of what he might say if he found out she’d been drinking with another man, and an enemy at that, made her spring suddenly to her feet.

‘I’d better be going.’ She made for the door.

Josef returned the glasses quickly to the bar then followed her out. ‘You can’t escape them,’ he said once they were outside.

She stopped by the car, a thudding in her head. ‘Escape what?’ The blush on her cheeks seemed to spread over her body.

He came closer and ran his hand up and down her arm. ‘Your emotions.’

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m married, Josef.’

‘But not happy.’

‘He’s just got back from the war. It takes time to readjust.’

Josef sighed. He hung his head mournfully and leaned against the car. ‘If ever. Everything that has happened to us is now part of us. It wasn’t just buildings that got knocked down.’

‘There’s a lot of rebuilding to do,’ said Charlotte
resolutely
, refusing to acknowledge that he was referring to people’s lives.

‘Charlotte,’ he said, taking her face in his hands. ‘For the rest of our lives we will reap what those terrible years have sown. Do not expect things to return to what they were. They won’t. Not ever.’

She braced herself, sure he was going to kiss her. But instead he sighed and leaned back against the car, a melancholy figure who suddenly looked smaller than he actually was.

The old Charlotte, the one who had taken on the troubles of her school friends, now took over.

‘This won’t do! We should be feeling glad to be alive. It’s almost spring. I could see it everywhere as I came across the common. I can show you if you like.’

‘It’s too dark.’

‘Then you can smell it,’ she said in the sort of voice she’d used when she was head girl and out to boost morale. ‘I insist.’ She unlocked the car door. The journey proved silently expectant.

There was a moon hanging low over the common, the grass touched silver by its magic glow.

They opened the windows. Charlotte still encouraged. ‘Breathe it in.’

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘It does smell of spring and we should be grateful for all the precious moments yet to come.’

She took another deep breath before she realised that he was looking at her as he said it and not at the view. She would never recall the exact way it happened but the next
moment
she was in his arms. His kiss was gentle yet full of passion. His arms were strong and her nipples hardened as he clasped her tightly to his chest. Yet she felt no shame at such a physical reaction. She wanted him.

His voice was low against her ear. ‘Charlotte, you give too much of yourself and your advice to everyone else and keep none for yourself. Stop living other people’s lives and start living your own.’

His words struck a deep chord within. Suddenly she didn’t care about being married, about David and what he wanted. All that mattered was feeling safe and having a moment for herself.

Time flew. By the time she’d dropped him back at the camp it was ten-thirty. By the time she got home it would be gone midnight. Not that it worried her. There was no blackout any more. Lights twinkled from isolated cottages in the countryside around her and from the city that sprawled like a sequinned counterpane at the bottom of the hill. It was as if the world had awoken from a deep sleep.

She hummed to herself most of the way and manoeuvred her way through the Horsefair, where little remained of what used to be. There was talk of a new shopping centre where the old one had been. Huge stores would replace the select dressmakers, tailors, haberdashers and tobacconists, or so she’d heard. Sad really. There had been much pleasure in such variety.

Her elation abated the minute she turned into Royal York Crescent. It had all but disappeared once she’d parked the car and approached the front door.

The shadow of the house she had once loved fell over her like a black cloak. There were no lights burning. Neither Mrs Grey nor Polly was needed because David was away at his BMA meeting. She sighed, grateful she didn’t have to face him. She was alone; at least she thought she was.