Whisper on the Wind (14 page)

‘I suppose it was, but what’s left suits us all right.’ Roz opened a white-painted door. ‘Gran, here’s Kathleen Allen.’

‘My dear, how kind of you to come.’ Hester Fairchild’s pleasure was genuine, her handshake firm. ‘You look chilled. Come to the fire, and warm yourself. You can look at our old ruin later.’

She stooped to place a log on the fire then sank back cosily into the well-cushioned chair. ‘Such a luxury these days, Mrs Allen – fires, I mean. And will you allow an old lady to call you Kathleen?’

‘Oh please, I’d like that. And you’re not old. I got quite a surprise, in fact. I’d expected – well, a
grandmother
, you see.’ Her cheeks flushed crimson. ‘Sorry. I – I meant –’

‘Don’t be sorry. Don’t spoil it. I’m not too old to enjoy a compliment. But tell me about yourself. I’m quite a busybody, given the chance.’

‘There isn’t a lot to tell.’ Kath looked around the small, snug room. Every piece of furniture was oddly matched, yet so right. A pair of brocade-seated chairs – Sheraton, were they, like those in the Birmingham town house? – a sofa with a faded, delphinium-patterned cover, china bowls of dried lavender flowers, a hand-embroidered footstool. Things passed down; old things, loved things, safe things. ‘I like being a landgirl. It’s the first big thing that’s happened to me – apart from Barney, that is.’

‘Your husband? Roz tells me he’s abroad in the Army. You’ll miss him.’

‘Yes, I do.’

The log began to crackle and flame, shining the brass fender, splashing the walls with fireglow. There were generations of Fairchilds in this room; Roz was lucky, knowing so precisely who she was.

‘Have you heard from him lately?’

‘Last Monday. Sometimes I don’t get a letter for weeks then six arrive, all at once. It’s like Christmas, then.’
Was
like Christmas.

‘Christmas.’ Hester nodded, her eyes suddenly sad.

‘Why don’t we go out?’ Roz had recognized that faraway look. ‘Think we might have our walk while it’s still light – or take a look at the house if you’d like, and meet the rest of the Fairchilds. They’re a rum lot! Would you mind, Gran, if we did?’

‘Not a bit. Off you go. I shall sit here by the fire and listen to the wireless.’

‘Now don’t forget – you must be careful not to mention the prisoner,’ Roz whispered when they had closed the door behind them. ‘Nor Paul.’

‘I’ll remember.’

‘Right! I shall now bore you silly with the Fairchilds.’ With a flourish of her arm Roz indicated the stairs. ‘This is really the second-best staircase, by the way. The posh one was destroyed in the fire. And these lot,’ she nodded to the chain-hung portraits, ‘are all they managed to salvage of my forebears. Meet the folks!’

‘This is all so lovely,’ Kath said softly. ‘Far nicer than I’d have thought. I can understand your Gran wanting to hang on to it; and to think I called it an old ruin. But you love it, too, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course, but I wouldn’t go on about it like Gran does. I like the outside best – the old walls and the empty windows; so stark, somehow, yet so beautiful in summer.’ When the climbing roses were flowering, the honeysuckle and the clematis. ‘And if you could just see it, Kath, when the moon is full and it shinés through those great, empty windows – now that really
is
something. That’s when I love it most, I think – when it’s all sad, sort of, as if it’s remembering. But let’s have a quick look around here, then we’ll go out and I’ll show you what I mean.’

‘So what do you think?’ Roz demanded, as Kath saw for herself the strange beauty of a once-great house.

‘It’s amazing,’ she whispered, asking herself how the sight of rose-brick walls and stone-mullioned windows could be so disturbing, so poignant.

‘All this lot should have been demolished, really, after the fire but Gran wouldn’t hear of it. So my father left just the walls – an outline, I suppose, of what it had once been.’

‘I’m glad he did.’ Kath gazed fascinated at the forlorn beauty, wondering at its melancholy, and the waste. ‘Those windows are like empty eyes, but I don’t know if they’re looking forward or looking back.’

It was then, exactly, that it happened; when Roz, looking up, saw the predator like a great black bird, low in the sky.

‘Kath! Look! God, it’s one of theirs!’

Hands clasped they ran, crouching, for the shelter of the walls, heard the scream of the diving bomber and the terrible roar of exploding bombs.

‘It’s Peddlesbury,’ Roz gasped. ‘A hit-and-run!’ No time for a warning; no time for the wailing, undulating air-raid siren. A lone bomber had slipped in, unseen and unmarked. ‘Run, Kath.
Run
!’

Hester was standing in the kitchen yard, her face pale and anxious.

‘You’re all right! What was it?’

‘A sneak raid on Peddlesbury,’ Roz choked, breathless from running. ‘Another one. Come inside, Gran.’

‘Oughtn’t we to go down to the cellars?’

‘No. Think it’s all over now. Short and sharp. Hope it isn’t like last time.’ Last time there had been many killed and injured. ‘Are you all right, Kath?’

‘I think so, thanks.’ Just that it had brought back the airraids on Birmingham she had thought forgotten; reminded her of wailing sirens and fearful, waiting silences; of listening, breath indrawn, for the menacing drone of aircraft engines and the sick-making, tearing sound of exploding bombs. And afterwards, leaving the shelter to breathe in the stench of destruction; a mixing of dust, fire and water-doused timbers. Sometimes, too, the stench of death. ‘I’m fine. I don’t suppose it’ll come back – will it?’

‘Shouldn’t think so. That sort just come in low under radar cover, then get out as fast as they can. That one’ll be over the North Sea by now.’

‘Yes. Of course.’ Kath was thinking about Peacock Hey and how very close it stood to the aerodrome. Most of the girls would be there; today was their day off, too. She was glad that she was here, at Ridings, and felt guilty because she was glad.

‘I think,’ said Hester Fairchild firmly, ‘that after that we could all do with a cup of tea.’

Jonty came, smiling apologetically, as they were finishing tea.

‘Thought I’d better come over – just to make sure you’re all right,’ he said, his eyes concerned.

‘Jonathan, how kind. Have you time for a cup of tea?’ Hester smiled. ‘And we’re fine. Have you heard anything about it?’

‘Not a lot.’ He declined the tea. ‘Dad heard in the village that two of the bombs hit Peddlesbury and the other fell in a field.’

‘So they’re all right at Peacock Hey?’

‘I’m almost sure so. One bomb fell near Nab Wood, well away from the hostel and the two that hit Peddlesbury got the runway. By the way, Kath, I’ll ride back with you if you let me know what time you’ll be leaving.’

‘I’ll be all right. It’s good of you, Jonty, and thoughtful, but I’ve been in a few air-raids, remember? I’ll manage, thanks.’

‘He’s such a nice young man,’ Hester remarked when Jonty had left. ‘So kind; so hard-working.’

‘Yes, he is, Mrs Fairchild. I owe him my life; him and –’ She stopped, remembering Roz’s warning. ‘I – I think he’s handsome, too,’ she said, wildly. ‘I – I mean –’

‘I know exactly what you mean.’ Hester smiled obliquely at her granddaughter. ‘Though Roz doesn’t think so, do you, darling? Roz, I’m afraid, just pooh-poohs me when I tell her I think he’s very fond of her.’

‘Gran, for goodness’ sake!’ Roz pouted. ‘I like Jonty; I like him a lot, but I refuse to fall in love with him just because you like him and think he’d be good for Ridings.’ She rose from the table, pushing back the chair noisily. ‘Excuse me, please. Must fill up the teapot.’

‘Jonathan,’ Kath said hurriedly, wanting to atone for being the unwitting cause of Hester’s hurt glances and the flush in Roz’s cheeks. ‘I didn’t realize that was his real name.’

‘His Sunday name.’ Hester smiled, serene again. ‘And forgive Roz her quick temper; we blame it on that red hair …’

In the kitchen, Roz already regretted her outburst. She’d almost said that she was in love with someone else, though she’d bitten on her tongue in time. She must learn to be more careful.

Darling Paul, I miss you so, need you so
, though she had to be glad he wasn’t at the aerodrome when the bombs fell. And she hoped with all her heart that the bombs really had fallen on the runway, like Jonty said; hoped they’d fallen slap bang in the middle of it and made two great craters that would take days and days to repair. She longed for him to phone her. Perhaps tonight he would get through.

The call for which Roz had so desperately prayed came as Kath was preparing to leave; just as she shrugged into her jacket and put on her hat Roz ran to answer its ring, pointedly closing the door behind her.

‘I’ve enjoyed this afternoon such a lot, Mrs Fairchild – bombs and all.’ Kath smiled. ‘Thank you for letting me see your home. It’s – it’s just
lovely.
’

‘You must come again – often. Don’t wait to be asked, Kathleen. I like having young people about the place. Come for Roz’s birthday and stay the night, if the Warden will let you. She’d like that, I know.’

‘Your gran has asked me to stay the night for your birthday – in April, isn’t it?’ Kath said to Roz who had offered to walk as far as the gate lodges with her, and to call in on Polly to make sure she was all right. ‘I didn’t know what to say because you’ll probably be out somewhere with Paul. That was him on the phone, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. He won’t be ringing again; I’m seeing him on Tuesday night, fingers crossed.’

‘Look, Roz, I know it’s none of my business, but I think you should tell your gran about him. How you get away with it beats me. How do you manage to meet him so often without her knowing?’

‘I tell a lot of lies, I’m afraid. I have to, Kath. I know what she’d say, you see. She’d stop me seeing him.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. I know her better than you do. When you bring up someone else’s child, you’re just that bit extra careful. Gran’s always been like that, where I’m concerned. She’s been mother and father and guardian angel to me. She won’t ever change.’

‘Try her?’ Kath urged. ‘Just try her?’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Promise?’

‘I said I would, Kath. Were you very frightened when the bombs dropped?’

‘Scared witless, for a couple of minutes.’ Okay, Roz. Change the subject, if that’s the way you want it. But it isn’t going to go away. ‘It’s times like that I wish I’d been born a man.’

‘Why, for heaven’s sake? Men can be afraid, too; they just can’t show it, that’s all,’ Roz countered hotly.

‘I know, love; I know.’ My, but she’d been jumpy today. Missing Paul, of course. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I know men get afraid. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

‘And I shouldn’t have been so snappy, but it’s awful, sometimes. Gran, I mean. She really would like me to marry someone who’d be good for Ridings and right now Jonty fits the bill, poor love. I wish she wouldn’t go on about it.’

‘She’s only thinking about you, Roz. She’s brought you up and you can’t blame her for wanting to see you happily married. I wish I’d had someone like her, when I was growing up.

‘And that’s something else, you know. Does your grandmother know about me – really know, I mean? Does she know I was an unwanted child; that I grew up on charity, in an orphanage? Would I have been so welcome, if she’d known?’

‘What do you mean,
if
she’d known? She does know. I told her ages ago. I know she can be a bit funny sometimes, but your being brought up in an orphanage wouldn’t worry her at all. She’d say it wasn’t how you started out, but what you’d made of yourself that mattered.

‘But you’ve got a real chip on your shoulder about that place, haven’t you, Kath? You’d think orphanages were dens of iniquity, or something. What you’re really so miffed about is your mother having left you. That’s really your
bête noire
, isn’t it?’

‘My
what
?’

‘Your black beast, pet hate – your bugbear; just like Gran and her Germans.’

‘I suppose it is. And it wasn’t all that bad at the orphanage. It was just that I didn’t really belong to anybody.’

‘Well, you do now. You belong to Barney and to everyone at Home Farm and to me and Gran – right?’

‘Right.’ Kath smiled. ‘Sorry if I got a bit hot round the collar. I meant well and I’m still not going to take back one word about your telling your Gran. Just think about it, will you? She’s a lovely person; she might understand more than you think.’

‘I know. You could be right.’ Roz pushed open the gates then placed a kiss on Kath’s cheek. ‘It’s good to have someone to talk to and I’ll think about what you’ve said. Goodnight, Kath. Go carefully.’

Roz wouldn’t think about it, Kath brooded as she rode along Peddlesbury Lane. She’d go on meeting Paul and telling lies about it, nothing would change; except if anything were to happen, that was. And if it did,
when
it did, how was she to tell her grandmother, then?

‘Oh, you silly, muddle-headed girl, why do I worry so about you?’ she demanded of the darkness around her. ‘Just why, will you tell me?’

Alderby St Mary buzzed with bomb-talk. It ranged from the total destruction of RAF Peddlesbury, to ‘a lot of fuss about nothing; only one Jerry plane and all three bombs missed!’