Wish Me Luck (5 page)

Fleur nodded.

‘My grandfather.’ There was a pause before Robbie asked. ‘Why?’

Fleur stirred her tea, even though, with wartime rationing, she had stopped taking sugar in it. She avoided meeting his gaze. ‘Your mother’s father?’

Robbie nodded.

‘Has he always lived with you?’

Robbie wrinkled his forehead. ‘No. I must have been about eight or nine when he arrived out of the blue. I think – no, I’m sure – before that there was just me and Ma. My father died before I was born. I told you that, didn’t I?’

‘Mm.’

Slowly, as if he was reliving a memory he’d not thought about in years, Robbie went on, ‘There was a knock at the door one day and I ran to answer it. You know how when you’re a kid, you love to be the one to answer the door?’

Fleur nodded but did not speak. She didn’t want to break his train of thought.

‘This chap was standing there. I thought it was an old tramp asking for food. He was wearing scruffy clothes, had a full straggly beard and long greasy-looking hair.’ He grinned. ‘Mind you, it wasn’t the first time I’d seen a gentleman of the road knocking at our door or sitting in our kitchen being fed.’ He laughed. ‘They reckon tramps leave signs for one another pointing the way to a house where they’ll likely get a meal.’ The smile faded and the thoughtful frown returned. ‘But when Ma saw this particular chap, I thought she was going to faint. I do remember that. Then she hustled me away – sent me to my bedroom. Next morning the old boy was still there. Clean clothes, shaved, hair neatly trimmed. Ma’s a dab hand with her scissors around hair as well as material. He was sitting in the chair by the fire just as if he’d taken up residence.’ Robbie laughed again. ‘And he had. He patted my head and said, “I’m your grandad, son.”’

‘And he’s lived with you ever since?’

‘Yup.’ She felt his searching gaze on her face. ‘Why all the interest?’

He’d seen through her. She laughed self-consciously. ‘I can’t hide anything from you, can I?’

‘Nope.’ His wide smile was back.

‘It was just – well – when I mentioned him at home, my dad seemed flabbergasted.’

‘Oh? I wonder why.’

‘Mm. So do I.’

They sat in thoughtful silence drinking their tea, until Robbie, leaning forward, whispered, ‘Don’t look now, but there’s a woman over there who can’t seem to take her eyes off me.’

Fleur giggled. ‘Must be the uniform. There are some women who’ll do anything for a man in uniform.’ She held up her hand, palm outwards. ‘And before you say it, I’m not one of them.’

Laughter crinkled his face and his bright blue eyes danced with merriment. ‘Shame,’ he murmured and his glance caressed her. She felt as if she were wrapped in his arms even though the table separated them. A pink tinge coloured her cheeks but she returned his gaze boldly. Fleur was no shrinking violet who simpered and tittered under a man’s admiring eyes. She’d been a WAAF long enough to fend off ardent advances, but she had no wish to fend off Robbie Rodwell.

If only . . .

‘Look out,’ Robbie muttered suddenly, ‘she’s coming over.’

As the woman approached, Fleur looked up and then she smiled. ‘Why, it’s Aunt Louisa.’ She jumped up and kissed the woman’s cheek before pulling out a chair and inviting her to join them.

As she introduced her to Robbie, the young man stood up and held out his hand. Louisa gazed up at him as if mesmerized, allowing him to take her limp hand in his broad grasp. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’

‘She’s not really my aunt but I’ve always called her that. She’s Mrs Dr Collins.’ Fleur laughed. ‘That’s what folk call her, isn’t it, Aunt Louisa?’

‘Yes,’ Louisa mumbled weakly, still unable to drag her gaze away from Robbie’s face.

‘And this is Robbie Rodwell. We only met last ni . . .’ Her voice faded away as she watched Louisa’s face turn pale. The older woman seemed to sway and sink down into the chair Fleur had placed for her. But, still, she was staring up at Robbie.

‘Aunt Louisa – what is it? Whatever’s the matter?’

‘Rodwell,’ Louisa murmured. ‘You’re – you’re Meg’s boy, aren’t you?’

Robbie, too, sat down. ‘Yes, I am, and I’m very sorry if meeting me is distressing you in some way. It seems—’ he glanced up at Fleur, seeking her permission to say more. Fleur gave a tiny nod and he turned back to face Louisa. ‘It seems there are a lot of things that Fleur and I don’t know about.’

Louisa was regaining her colour now and some of her composure, though her hands still trembled. ‘Oh yes,’ she said, a bitter edge to her tone. ‘There are a lot of things you don’t know. But I’m not the one to tell you.’ She struggled to her feet and, automatically, Robbie and Fleur rose too. Robbie put his hand out to steady her, but she snatched her arm away as if she couldn’t bear him to touch her. She stared at him for a moment and then said, ‘You ask your mother, if you want to know. Yes, you ask her. Ask her . . .’ She made a gulping noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob. ‘Ask her about your . . . your
father
.’’ Then she swung round towards Fleur. ‘But don’t you go asking your dad anything – and certainly not your mother. Don’t you go hurting my little Betsy. Not again.’

With that, Louisa turned and hurried from the cafe, her shoulders hunched and holding a handkerchief to her face. The young couple stared after her, concerned by the woman’s obvious distress yet still mystified.

‘Seems everyone knows what this is all about – except us,’ Robbie said.

‘Yes,’ Fleur agreed slowly. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’

Robbie caught hold of her hand. She turned to face him and he put his hands on her shoulders. Looking down into her face, his expression was serious. ‘You . . . you won’t let this come between us, will you? Whatever it is?’

Fleur was anxious too, but she said firmly, ‘No, I won’t.
We
won’t.’

And there, in the cafe, oblivious to onlookers, he bent and kissed her. Those around them who noticed merely smiled and turned away a little sadly. So many partings, they were thinking. So many young couples snatching brief moments together before the war tore them apart again. Not so long ago, such a public display of affection would have been frowned upon, but now no one said a word.

They walked back to the railway station, their arms around each other. It felt quite natural, even though they had only known each other such a short time. They were living in strange times – times when happiness had to be grabbed whenever and wherever it happened.

‘There’s only one thing I can think of.’

‘I know.’

‘It must be that your father and my mother were in love.’ Robbie was the one to voice aloud what they were both thinking. ‘Or at least that your dad was in love with my mother and your mum was . .. well. . .’ He didn’t like to say the word, but Fleur finished the sentence for him. ‘Jealous.’ She was quiet for a moment before whispering, ‘Do you think they had an affair?’

Robbie wrinkled his forehead and blew out his cheeks. ‘Who knows? Let’s face it, they lived through the last lot, didn’t they? Maybe they met in the last war and . . . and felt just like we do now.’ He turned and brushed his lips against her hair. ‘Oh, Fleur, Fleur. I’m so glad I met you.’

‘But my parents were married then. I was born just after the war ended.’

‘So was I. Well – in the following June to be precise.’

Now they stopped and turned to face each other.

‘You don’t suppose—’ Robbie began, as an appalling thought crept its way into his mind. So in tune with each other were they that Fleur ended the sentence yet again.

‘That we’re half-brother and sister?’

They stared at each other, stricken. They had promised each other that nothing would keep them apart. Nothing that had happened in the past was going to come between them. But now, with growing horror, they realized that there was something that could do just that.

‘But my mother would’ve said if it had been that.’ She paused and then asked doubtfully, ‘Wouldn’t she?’

‘I don’t think so. You said she was hysterical – like you’ve never seen her before?’

‘Yes.’ Fleur’s voice was low.

‘And she forbade you to see me again?’

‘Yes.’

‘And that woman in the cafe. She knows something.

She reacted just the same as my mother and your mother did.’

‘But surely my dad would have said—’

Robbie shook his head. ‘I bet your dad idolizes you, doesn’t he?’

Fleur nodded.

‘Then do you really think he’d want you to find out something like that about him?’

Mutely, Fleur shook her head.

‘And there’s something else too,’ Robbie said solemnly. ‘Something I should have realized before.’

‘What?’

‘Your dad’s name? It’s Jake, isn’t it?’

Fleur nodded.

‘That’s my middle name. I’m Robert
Jake
Rodwell.’

‘Oh no!’ Fleur whispered.

He put his arms around her and held her close, trying to lessen the pain his words would bring. ‘I really think we’d better find out what all these secrets are, don’t you?’

Against his chest, he heard her muffled ‘Yes.’ Then she raised her head. ‘But how are we going to find out?’

Robbie’s face was grim. ‘We’ll have to ask them. I shall tell my mother that we’ve fallen in love.’ For a moment he stroked her hair tenderly and kissed the end of her nose. ‘And that we need to know. We have a
right
to know.’

‘Would it be best if I asked my dad?’

He pondered for a moment. ‘No, I’ll ask my mother first. We’ve always been close. I think she’ll tell me the truth. Your dad might . . .’ He hesitated, not wanting to say what was in his mind, but uncannily she knew.

‘You mean, he might not tell me the truth for fear of hurting my mum?’

Robbie nodded.

‘Yes, you’re right.’

‘So I’ll ask my mother. Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.’

But when they parted they were still both anxious and the kiss they shared was tentative, as if they were each holding back. Just in case . . .

Louisa Collins sat in the darkness of her sitting room in the big, double-fronted house that was both their home and her husband’s medical practice. The room to the right of the central front door was their private sitting room, whilst across the hall was Philip’s surgery and dispensing room. Patients waited in the spacious hallway and Louisa, acting as her husband’s receptionist, welcomed them with words of comfort and reassurance and ushered them into his room when their turn came.

The blackout curtains were drawn and the only light in the room came from the fire in the grate of the ornate fireplace, the flickering flames casting eerie shadows around the room, glinting on the heavy, old-fashioned but lovingly polished furniture. The light settled for a brief moment on the oil paintings on the wall and the delicate china in the glass cabinet and then flitted away again.

She sat perfectly still, yet her mind was busy with darting thoughts and fleeting memories and dark suspicions that refused to be buried any longer. She hadn’t thought about all that for years. Only now and again when she saw Jake and Betsy was she reminded, but even then, as the years had passed, she had managed to stop her thoughts dwelling on those times they had all shared but never spoke of now.

She had loved Philip, body and soul, ever since she had first met him. There had never been anyone else for her but him. Her only regret was that she had never been able to give him children. The sob rose in her throat and she pressed her fingers to her lips to stop the sound escaping, even though there was no one else in the house to hear. She had shed many tears over it through the years, mostly alone, but sometimes against her husband’s shoulder whilst he held her and patted her and told her it didn’t matter. They were happy, weren’t they? Just the two of them? They had each other and more than likely it was all his fault anyway. Being gassed in the Great War had left its mark on him and he was sure that could be the reason. But Louisa knew that he was trying to be kind, trying to spare her the dreadful burden of being barren – of not being able to give him a child.

And now, today, she’d seen Meg’s son. And – of all people – he’d been with Fleur. She’d seen the way they’d looked at each other and she shuddered. If ever she’d seen two people on the brink of falling in love, it had been those two. Then, stupidly, oh so foolishly, she had lost control of her emotions. She’d said far too much to them, far more than she should have done. A fresh panic swept through her. They would be sure to ask questions after the way she’d acted. He would ask Meg and – despite her plea – she was sure that Fleur would ask her parents too.

Now she groaned aloud to the empty room and dropped her head into her hands.

‘Oh, what have I done?’ she whispered. ‘What
have
I done?’

At Middleditch Farm, Betsy, too, was sitting in the dusk beside her bedroom window. There was no light in the room behind her so the blackout blinds were not drawn. She looked down into the yard, watching Jake finishing the evening milking and driving the cows out of the byre, through the gate and down the lane back to the field.