Wish Me Luck (18 page)

The woman’s voice on the other end of the telephone was stiff and uncooperative. ‘The usual way is for the new doctor with whom the patient has registered to send for their records.’

‘Yes, yes, I know, but . . .’

The woman unbent a little. ‘Well, I will have a look and see if the patient has registered with us. Of course, there are several other doctors in the city.’

Louisa glanced down at the rather long list on the desk in front of her, hoping it wouldn’t prove necessary to phone every one of them. ‘Yes, yes, I realize that,’ she said.

‘What name is it you’re looking for?’

‘Meg Rodwell. Mrs Meg Rodwell.’

‘Hold on one moment.’

There was a lengthy silence whilst Louisa grew more and more agitated. She glanced nervously towards the window. Philip was out on his morning rounds, but that didn’t mean he might not arrive back home at any moment.

‘I’m sorry.’ The woman’s voice sounded again in her ear. ‘But we have no one of that name recorded with us.’

‘Thank you for your time,’ Louisa said. ‘Goodbye.’

She tried four more numbers and was met with a similar reluctance to give out information. Two even refused to look for the name in their records. ‘I couldn’t possibly divulge such information. You could be anyone ringing up . . .’

Louisa almost slammed the receiver back into its cradle in her frustration.

On the sixth attempt a young girl’s voice answered merrily, ‘Good morning. Dr Gough’s surgery.’

Louisa repeated her request and gave Meg’s name.

‘Hold on. I’ll look for you.’ The girl voiced no concern and Louisa felt a sudden stab of guilt that she might be getting her into trouble. But within moments the girl was back on the line. ‘Yes, we have a patient of that name.’

Louisa held her breath, willing the girl to give her Meg’s address without her having to ask outright for it, hoping the young receptionist wouldn’t realize that Meg had been their patient for years and the story of the ‘lost notes’ was nothing but a ruse.

As if the gods were now smiling kindly, the girl rattled off the name of the street and even the number of Meg’s home in the city.

‘Thank you, thank you very much,’ Louisa said weakly. As she was about to replace the receiver, the girl said, ‘So you’ll send her notes through to us, will you? Have you got our address?’

‘Oh – oh yes. Yes, I have it here.’ It was on the list in front of her. ‘Thank you for your help.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ the girl said gaily, oblivious to the fact that she had given out confidential information to a stranger.

Louisa replaced the receiver slowly. She had not even bothered to write down Meg’s address. She would remember it only too well.

When Meg opened her door, it was perhaps one of the biggest shocks of her life to see the woman standing on her doorstep.

‘My God!’ she breathed. ‘Louisa.’

The two women stared at each other until Louisa said calmly, ‘Good morning, Meg. May I come in?’

Meg looked nervously up and down the street. Robbie had gone into the city, but he could be back at any moment. The last thing she wanted was for him to run into Louisa. He might start asking more awkward questions. But neither could she make Louisa unwelcome.

‘Oh yes, I’m sorry. Of course.’ Meg pulled the door wider and gestured for Louisa to step inside straight into the front room of the terraced house. ‘Please excuse the mess. This is my workroom – as you can see.’

Louisa looked around her. The room was strewn with paper patterns, materials and pins. On the table in the centre of the room stood a Singer sewing machine.

‘I make my living as a dressmaker,’ Meg explained, gesturing nervously with a hand that still shook from the surprise. She tried to calm her whirling thoughts.

‘So,’ Louisa was saying smoothly. ‘Your husband taught you well, did he?’ She was much more in control. But then it was she who had chosen to come here. She had had time to marshal her thoughts and her emotions.

‘May I offer you a cup of tea?’ Meg said, ignoring the remark and playing for time. But she guessed the reason for this visit. ‘Please come through to the back room. We’ll be more comfortable there.’ She led the way through and Louisa seated herself in front of the range whilst Meg went through into a back scullery.

As she listened to the rattle of cups and saucers, Louisa glanced about her. There was little in the room that gave any indication of Meg’s former life. No photographs, no obvious relics from Percy Rodwell’s house. Perhaps the only thing she had kept had been his sewing machine. No doubt, Louisa thought bitterly, it wasn’t her own husband whom Meg wished to remember.

Meg came back into the room and set the tray on the table. She poured a cup of tea and offered her visitor a biscuit.

‘They’re rather dry, I’m afraid.’ She pulled a face. ‘The war, you know.’

Louisa smiled thinly and shook her head. ‘No, thank you. The tea is fine.’

Meg sat down opposite, but she was still on edge, listening for any sound that heralded Robbie’s return. As they sipped their tea the two women regarded each other. They each saw in the other’s face the changes the years had brought.

They were each thinking that the years had been kind to the other. Louisa was dressed in smart clothes, well tailored and expensive. Whilst Meg wore a fashionable dress, she had made it herself from a length of material bought on a market stall. Louisa’s complexion was smooth and well cared for. She was the epitome of a doctor’s wife – serene and sweet and caring. Her hair, still black, was smoothed into a chignon and showed no sign of grey.

And Meg’s too belied her age. Her luxurious red hair was swept up into waves and rolls and her figure was still slim; her legs beneath the short hem of her dress were shapely and she wore silk stockings. I wonder how she can afford those, Louisa thought uncharitably.

She was the first to speak. ‘I met your son recently.’

Meg felt a sudden flush through the whole of her body and her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure Louisa must hear it. ‘Oh?’ Her voice was unnaturally high and she fought again to control her feelings.

‘He was in a cafe in South Monkford with Fleur. Fleur Bosley.’ She laid emphasis on the name.

‘Oh yes.’ Meg forced a smile and set her cup and saucer on the tray. She was so afraid that her trembling hands would give her away. ‘Robbie brought her home. They’d bumped into each other – literally – on the station. In the blackout. She . . . she couldn’t get transport home that night so . . . so Robbie brought her here.’

‘What a coincidence!’

‘Yes, wasn’t it?’

There was an uncomfortable pause before Louisa, staring hard at Meg, said, ‘He’s a very good-looking young man.’

Meg managed to hold down the fear climbing into her throat and said, ‘I think so, but then I could be biased.’

And then the question she had been dreading came.

‘He’s not like Percy, is he? Or you. So who does he take after?’

Louisa was looking directly into her eyes, holding Meg’s gaze. It was so obvious that she had seen the likeness to her own husband in the young man’s features. As he had grown, Robbie had become even more like his natural father. It had been Meg’s ever-constant fear that one day someone from South Monkford would meet her son. And of all people it had to be Jake’s daughter.

What a cruel and devious mistress fate was.

Meg felt suddenly calm. She knew what she must do. She had thought she could tell the truth now and, as the saying went, ’shame the devil’. But she found she couldn’t do it. Once Robbie had the answer he wanted, he hadn’t pushed to learn more. And now, Meg doubted he would. So, for all their sakes, she must tell the biggest lie of her life and she must make Louisa believe it. She smiled, serene now in her decision. ‘He’s like my father.’

Louisa looked startled. ‘Your father?’

Meg nodded, growing more confident with each minute that passed and warming to her story. ‘Yes. He was fair haired and blue eyed, just like Robbie. Of course,’ she added, feigning innocence, as if she had just realized, ‘you never knew my father, did you? He lives with us now.’ She gestured to the room above them. ‘But he’s very frail. He doesn’t get up until dinnertime. Mind you.’ Meg forced a laugh. ‘You’d be hard pressed to see the likeness. He’s white haired and crippled with rheumatism. And he’s just home from the hospital. A nasty bout of pneumonia. We’re lucky he’s survived it.’ Silently, she prayed that her father would not choose this morning to get up earlier. There was no likeness to see between grandfather and grandson. Never could have been. Her father, Reuben, had had brown hair and eyes.

‘No,’ Louisa was saying, ‘I never met him.’ She was surprised to hear that the old man was living with his daughter. Had Meg really forgiven him – the man she had vowed never to see again? My goodness, Louisa thought, Meg really must have changed. She was tempted to ask more, but it was Meg’s son who interested Louisa. If what Meg was telling her was true, then perhaps she’d been wrong. Perhaps the gossip about Philip’s friendship with this woman all those years ago was unfounded. Maybe he’d been what he always said he’d been to Meg. Just a friend.

Louisa set her cup down and clasped her hands in her lap. The whiteness of her knuckles was the only sign of her inner turmoil. Her voice was quite steady as she said, ‘We never had children, you know. It has been a great disappointment to us both, especially to Philip.’ She stared directly into Meg’s eyes as she added deliberately, ‘He’d have loved a son.’

Meg returned her gaze. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said gently. In those simple words there was a world of apology for everything that had happened in the past between them. All the misunderstandings, all the hurt. In the briefest of moments there passed between them a flash of understanding of the truth, though they both knew that neither of them would ever voice it. And Meg emphasized this again as, choosing her words carefully so that she gave nothing away but implied everything, she added, ‘It has always been my greatest sorrow that poor Percy did not live.
Robbie’s father would have been so proud of his son.’

They stared at each other for what seemed an age, before Louisa dropped her gaze and said, ‘Yes, I . . . I’m sure he would.’

After a few moments, she stood up and took her leave. The two women kissed each other’s cheek awkwardly. At the door, Louisa said solemnly, ‘Goodbye, Meg.’ Then she turned and walked up the street, her head held high. From the doorway, Meg watched her go, knowing it was unlikely that they’d ever meet again. Nor would she ever meet Philip again. Louisa would see to that.

Louisa’s step was lighter. She would never tell Philip about her meeting with Meg. She knew, in her heart, that Robbie Rodwell was Philip’s son, but Meg had given her a credible story: a story she herself would use if it were ever needed to confound the gossips. But strangely the truth was easier to deal with than the terrible doubts. Not knowing had been far worse.

Louisa smiled. Now she knew what to do. When the war ended – and surely the end must come soon – she would encourage Philip to take a well-earned retirement and move away.

The south coast perhaps, Wales or Scotland. She would let him choose. Just so long as it was miles away from South Monkford.

Fleur was counting the hours until Robbie got back from his leave and praying that, this time, he would be able to talk to his mother.

The first night had passed quickly enough as she’d been on duty and now, on the second night, she had come home with her father and Kenny, and the time seemed to tick by so slowly. She said nothing to her parents, did not even mention Robbie’s name, but she was edgy and distracted, her thoughts miles away. Her forced gaiety, punctuated by long, uneasy silences, alerted both Jake and Betsy.

‘She’s still seeing him. I know she is.’ Betsy was threatening to become hysterical again.

Jake tried to calm her. ‘Maybe so, love. But there’s nothing we can do to stop it. And you know what they say, the more parents try to stop their offspring doing something, then the more they’ll want to.’

‘Don’t I know it? Just look at them both. Won’t listen to a word we say, will they? What’s the world coming to, Jake? Just think what it was like for us as kids. They don’t know they’re born today.’

They exchanged a glance. Their shared past was something they never spoke of – not even their children knew anything about their parents’ childhood.

Jake sighed. ‘It’s not easy for them, love. Not with this war on.’

‘We lived through a war, didn’t we? We had to cope. You with the terrible life in those trenches. Me worrying every minute of every day, dreading the telegram or seeing your name in the casualty lists in the paper.’

‘I know. But this one’s different. It’s so much closer to home with the bombing. In the last lot most of it happened abroad, but this time it’s on our doorstep.’ He forced a smile. ‘Come on, Betsy love, let’s not spoil the precious few hours we have with her. We’ll both take her to the station in Newark tomorrow morning and see her off. Then you can do a bit of shopping afterwards, love. How about that, eh? Time you had a trip out and a bit of a treat. Now, let’s get the supper on the table and have a nice evening – all of us together, eh?’