Winter Roses (2 page)

‘I wouldn’t expect him to. Tell me, Daniel,
tell
me.’

‘It’s through a chap I met before the war. He was at Mons too, a major in the Gordon Highlanders.’

Caroline hadn’t seen Daniel so excited for years. His good-looking face with its mane of dark hair glowed with pleasure.

‘It’s hush-hush,’ he continued, lowering his voice even more. ‘Priest-hole rules.’ These were even more stringent than the Defence of the Realm or Official Secrets Acts. They stemmed from the Rectory hiding place, in which as children the Lilleys and the Hunneys secreted themselves.
‘It’s a small group which he wants to build up with university chaps like me. MI16 we’re called. It’s a military code-breaking unit. Just imagine, Caroline. I’ll be making a positive contribution to the war by cracking German codes and discovering their plans.’

‘Real Richard Hannay stuff, Daniel. Right out of
The Thirty-Nine Steps
.’

‘You jest, young woman. I’ll have you know that’s exactly what my job will be.’

‘What does your mother say?’

Daniel grimaced. For all her drawbacks, he was devoted to his mother. ‘She put on her Roman matron act: return with your shield or on it, my son. Figuratively speaking, of course,’ he added hastily, since both of them were only too well aware that Reggie would be returning to the front in a few days’ time. ‘She pretends to be delighted for me, but life will be bleak for her with Father away so much, and Eleanor …’

‘Is still unforgiven for marrying a vet?’ she finished for him.

‘Yes, though as you see they’re on speaking terms. Talking of Mother, I’d better get back to her, before she goes over the top and attacks your grandmother with a bayonet.’

‘I think Grandmother is capable of defending herself.’

Daniel laughed. ‘Help me up, will you?’

It was the first time he had ever asked for help unselfconsciously, and to Caroline it was another sign of how good it would be for him to work in London. Even as she congratulated him again, however, she was aware that for her it would mean another stalwart prop of Ashden
life removed. The steady routine of pre-1914 had given way to continuous change. When the war ended – it had to end
sometime
– would that still be so? She had argued this over and over again with her father who still maintained that life would revert to ‘normal’. Whatever that was. She disagreed, for her generation at least was beginning to find change normal. New horizons were opening up both for men and women, and the old ones, however much loved, might impose unacceptable limitations.

She jumped up, and by the time Daniel was on his feet, her elder sister Isabel had rushed up to talk to him, linking her arm into his in her usual possessive way. She seemed to assume, married though she was, that every man was basically only interested in her, Caroline reflected crossly.

Daniel turned round awkwardly, as Isabel marched him away. ‘Tell Felicia, will you?’ he jerked out.

Felicia, who at twenty was the third of them in age, was in the Ypres sector in Belgium, nursing at a front-line post set up by her and Father’s militant suffragette sister, Aunt Tilly. Legally her aunt was Lady Matilda Buckford, but she had long since shaken off not only the dust of Buckford House but also her title – and her mother.

‘Tell her yourself,’ Caroline called back.
That
would be a test. To her puzzlement, Daniel seemed to have rigidly refrained from initiating any direct contact with Felicia since her departure to Belgium over a year ago, although there could be no doubt of the strength of feeling that still existed between them.

A soldier in one of the nearby invalid chairs, whom she had noticed had been listening with interest, called out: ‘Is
that Nurse Felicia Lilley, by any chance. One of the two Lilies of the Field?’

‘Yes, she’s one of my sisters,’ Caroline replied.

Felicia and Aunt Tilly had been awarded a medal last year from King Albert of the Belgians, and she and Daniel knew, though Father and Mother did not, that it was for bravery under fire. They fondly imagined Felicia was operating safely well behind the lines, like most VADs, and it was on the Ypres salient that the Germans had launched an all-out attack at the beginning of the month. Although the ground they won had been quickly regained, she had not heard since from Felicia.

‘I know her,’ the soldier announced, looking highly pleased. Daniel stopped and turned to look at him, and Caroline saw his face darken.

‘Have you any news of her?’ she asked instantly, though it was a foolish question since he’d clearly been here for some weeks. Daniel was listening for his reply too, and surprisingly the soldier did have news.

‘I made enquiries after last week’s fun and games and was told she was heavily involved at the front but unharmed.’

‘Thank you.’ Her relief was clearly shared by Daniel for, his back rigid, he limped away with Isabel. Uneasily Caroline turned back to the soldier, one leg and arm both swathed in plaster, and his head bandaged over one eye. He was no Daniel. He wasn’t so tall and what she could see of his face was nondescript. His large mouth had a quirky grin to it which was appealing though, and there was a lot of intelligence stored up behind the one visible grey-blue eye.

‘I’d be up with the angels if it wasn’t for your sister
and your aunt,’ he explained. ‘They dragged me in from no man’s land in April. The stretcher-bearers don’t have time to assess priorities, but Lissy took one look at me, grabbed one, insisted I was taken straight to the Lilley pad, and stemmed my precious lifeblood which was set on fertilising a foreign field.’

Lissy? Caroline was flabbergasted. No one, but no one had ever abbreviated Felicia’s name, and here was some soldier out of the blue calling her Lissy.

He interpreted her silence correctly. ‘She didn’t like me calling her that at first, but she came round to it.’

‘You must have a magic way with you.’

‘No.’ The grin on the angular bony face disappeared. ‘It’s she has that. Besides, I explained to her why I called her Lissy.’

‘And what was the reason?’

‘I will tell you when we know each other better, Miss Lilley, not now.’

‘You seem very certain of yourself.’ Caroline began to laugh, for there was something about him that was engaging, taking any sting from the rebuff. ‘Do I want to know you better?’

‘You’ll be forced to when I marry your sister.’

‘
What
did you say?’

His turn to laugh. ‘She doesn’t know it yet, but I do. You’ll see.’

‘But—’ Caroline broke off, stunned, partly by his audacity, but mostly by the thought of Felicia marrying anyone but Daniel. Still, it wasn’t her place to interfere in Felicia’s life or to dash this wounded soldier’s hopes –
convictions might be the more accurate word. Moreover, Felicia might be younger than her, but she had proved beyond doubt that she knew her own mind.

‘Do you have a name?’ she asked instead. ‘If we’re to be related, perhaps I should know it.’

‘My apologies. Luke Dequessy, Captain in His Majesty’s Artists’ Rifles. I’d bow if I could get out of this chair.’

‘I’ll bow to you instead,’ she generously offered, and promptly did so. She decided she liked Luke. ‘Are you French, Captain Dequessy?’ Despite the unusual name, he certainly didn’t look it; his height, hair and a way of enthusiastic jerking in his movements of his free arm and leg reminded her of an appealing marionette.

‘Once upon a time. The family originated in the Quercy district in south-west France, but came to England so many years ago we count ourselves true-blue British. My mother’s American though. I hope that doesn’t disbar me from membership of your family.’

‘We’re unprejudiced in the Rectory.’ Caroline waved a gracious hand, and shortly afterwards excused herself, seeing empty glasses and Percy, lost in admiration of his own handiwork, only slowly cutting up another apple. With a sinking heart, she noticed one of the empty glasses belonged to Lady Hunney. She looked round quickly for aid from Agnes or Myrtle, the general housemaid, but neither was to be seen. She would have to approach the Gorgon herself; though contrary to mythological lore,
this
gorgon was best confronted head-on.

Her ladyship proved amicable, as gorgons go. No wonder, Caroline thought uncharitably, having broken up
Reggie’s and my engagement, she considers me no longer a problem to her. So it appeared, for having accepted a second glass of punch, Lady Hunney bestowed one of her sweetest social smiles on her.

‘Reginald deeply regrets that owing to an engagement in London he is unable to be present today.’

‘Of course.’ Caroline’s lips were stiff. ‘I trust he is well.’

‘Tired, Caroline, as are we all, but physically recovered from last autumn’s injury.’

Why, oh why, whenever she congratulated herself that her heart was recovering, did some kind person decide to prod the wound again? Caroline fumed at her inability to conquer her own defensiveness when faced with her ladyship, and was annoyed to find her steps taking her towards the orchard after she had (somewhat speedily) left the Gorgon. How ridiculous. Did she hope that the magic of two years ago might be recreated there? Did she imagine that, against the odds, Reggie himself might be there? Even if he were, she reasoned, could she blot out what had happened; the differences that had arisen between them, or the sight of Reggie and Isabel together? No, there was no going back in life. Very well, so why didn’t her heart even now quite accept that fact? Perhaps it merely clung to the familiar for fear of the unknown. With this somewhat consoling thought, she determined to forget Reggie – and his mother.

Despite this good resolution, however, her footsteps still drew her towards the orchard like a magnet; it reminded her of childhood days when with the flickering candle for light in her bedroom she would peer beneath the bed to see
whether wicked witches lurked there. This time, at least she was confident the wicked witch was behind, not in front of her.

Ahab bounded along at her heels, or perhaps snuffled was a better word. Dignified aged English sheepdogs did not bound unless there was some real inducement in the form of bones.
He
wasn’t worried about witches. Yet if there were no such creatures, she asked herself, as she walked through the wicket gate into the orchard, why was her heart pounding like Mrs Dibble kneading oatmeal bread?

At once she found the answer. Because there was someone there. Someone in uniform—

‘Reggie!’

Her cry rang out even as, realising her mistake, she halted her headlong rush towards him. The uniform was khaki and looked British but it was not, and the officer was not Reggie. As he turned round, she saw it was the Belgian captain, Yves Rosier, who had obviously just entered through the gate from Pook’s Way. He was about the same height as Reggie, about five foot ten or eleven, but otherwise there was no resemblance. In place of Reggie’s classical handsome looks and light-brown hair, this man, who looked in his early thirties, had a sturdier build, darker hair and an uneven, almost craggy face with that noticeable scar and bitter grey eyes. Smiles, she guessed, did not – or did no longer – come readily to him. How could she possibly have confused the two men?

‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered, feeling foolish, ‘I thought you were someone else,’ and when he did not reply, she
added inanely: ‘You missed the arrival of the punchbowl, Captain Rosier.’

This time he did reply. ‘I apologise again,
mademoiselle
. I am sure the punch was excellent, but I enjoyed my walk in the Forest.’

‘You like forests?’

‘They remind me of my homeland.’

Caroline immediately felt conscience-stricken for her lack of understanding. Everyone knew what appalling suffering the Belgian civilians were enduring with most of their country occupied by an increasingly harsh regime. Acute food shortages were causing riots, and the crackdown was swift and brutal. On the Belgian front, its army was on the River Yser line between the British and the sea, protecting the last corner of its territory from occupation. In the early days of the war, thousands of refugees from Belgium had flooded into Britain and were now established in hostels and enclaves trying to build a new life, even if, as they hoped, it would be a temporary one.

‘Is it wise,’ she asked him impulsively, ‘always to remind yourself of home? Wouldn’t it be better to escape for an afternoon?’

‘There is no escape,’ he replied after a moment. ‘No escape by playing tennis, no escape in these gardens, no escape by shutting one’s eyes to what lies outside. The temptation is great,’ he added, perhaps to soften his words, ‘but no. Not before the fight is won.’

‘You are very sure of yourself.’ Caroline’s sympathy vanished in defensive irritation. ‘I believe that afternoons
such as this help: even the worst of battles is better fought with snatches of rest beforehand.’

‘I cannot share your view. I came here only to assist my friend, Captain—’

‘Is that why you wouldn’t play tennis when we needed you?’ Caroline interrupted, as the thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘Because it’s an escape?’

He flushed. ‘I am sorry if that offended you.’

‘It seemed a small thing to ask.’

‘To a refugee even the smallest thing can prove an insurmountable obstacle.’ He stated it as a fact, not as a plea for understanding. Had it been the latter, she would have replied less sharply.

‘Refugee? But you are in the army.’

‘Yes, but my country is occupied.’

‘What are you doing in this country?’ Curiosity made her speak without thinking. ‘You speak excellent English.’ Although his accent was heavy, his grasp of the language was admirable.

There was another pause. ‘I am in liaison between the Belgian army and British Headquarters.’

‘Daniel told me liaison was handled at GHQ in France. Isn’t—?’ Caroline broke off, aware there must be more to this. Did she care? On the whole, not very much. On the other hand, she did care about more punch, and that would provide an excellent excuse to leave. She was prevented from doing so when he came closer, stretching out a hand as if to lay it on her arm. He did not do so, but for a moment it felt as though he had.