A Girl in Wartime (24 page)

Her sisters' husbands were now on the front line and them each with a family and young children. Her sisters were feeling the strain. And even men previously deemed unfit for duty were being considered, or so it was rumoured. What chance did Stephen have?

The next morning he didn't come to work. She knew where he had gone. He returned several hours later, first having spent time talking to Mathieson, his chief editor.

When he returned to his own department, he went straight into his own office without glancing her way. She could see him from where she sat at her desk in the corner but could hardly get up and go barging into his office to find out the results of his time at the recruitment centre. That lunchtime he was out of the office interviewing someone for a story he was writing. She would have to wait until this evening. They'd be going to dinner together after work. He'd tell her then how it had gone. But it didn't look promising and the rest of the day was agony. Not once did he look in her direction and she was unable to concentrate on a single thing. Thankfully she would not be required to go out with a photographer on an assignment. Although there had been a zeppelin raid over London last night, the paper felt there had been too many depictions on its pages of devastated faces and their readership deserved a break.

That evening she and Stephen ate dinner in virtual silence. She was glad when they returned to his flat for their usual nightcap and she could tax him in private as to how he had fared.

After getting out of their outdoor things, she sat herself down on the sofa, but instead of sitting down beside her he remained standing, gazing down at her, his face as grim as it had been all day. She dared not ask how he had got on. Then suddenly it seemed to burst from his lips.

‘I'm exempt – I've been rejected,' he said abruptly, but he didn't smile.

The terrible thought struck her: had he
wanted
to go into the forces? Had he been prepared to leave her after all, as easily and lightly as that, and now he was disappointed? She was being unkind thinking such a thing but couldn't help her thoughts from dwelling on it – she hated herself for even thinking it. But an immense wave of relief had flooded over her all the same, even though he didn't look at all happy.

‘What's wrong, Stephen?' she managed to ask. ‘They rejected you. You are exempt. So what's wrong?'

‘I feel somehow ashamed.'

She frowned. ‘How can you feel ashamed? It's not your fault. It was their decision.'

But he shook his head. ‘I feel guilty.'

Instantly she leapt up, ready to put her arms around him, but he backed swiftly away, leaving her standing there. All she could do was entreat him.

‘Why should you feel guilty? My darling, you're not guilty of anything.'

‘I did something shameful,' he said in a low tone.

‘What?' she entreated, alarmed. ‘What on earth are you talking about, my love?'

He was nibbling at his lower lip as if unsure that he should tell her whatever it was. Finally he said, ‘I tried to get them to overlook my affliction. I'm so sorry, my darling, but I felt I had to try and do my bit. I honour this country, same as other men, and that was why I volunteered at the beginning of the war. Now, of course, I don't want to leave you. All the same, I …'

He let the words die away as she stood wanting so much to hold him to her but frightened to do so in case he retreated even further away from her.

‘I know we'd be torn apart,' he went on in a flat tone. ‘But I felt I had to try and do my best. I went for the usual medical. The medical officer, an officious-looking chap, examined me thoroughly, and naturally in the course of his examination discovered the ruptured eardrum.' Stephen lifted his head challengingly. ‘It was then I said a really stupid thing. I asked if he could overlook it and give me a clean bill of health. After all, other than that, I was fit and in perfect health. But he looked at me as if I had blasphemed – said haughtily that he was sorry but he was not prepared to allow himself to stoop –
stoop
, mind you – to passing any man A1 when he knew I was certainly not A1.'

Stephen turned from her and began pacing the room as he continued talking, seeming to be addressing the floor. ‘He drew himself upright and said very slowly and deliberately, as if talking to some criminal, that he considered himself above such low practice, and should another medical officer examine me at some later date and find that I had been passed as fit by himself when I was obviously not, it would most certainly reflect on him and his integrity as an officer – his words, uttered as if he were God Almighty – and he was not prepared for such to happen, not for anyone. He added that he didn't know me from Adam so why should I presume he would sink to what I was asking him to do for me, to lie and put his own career in jeopardy for someone he had never before set eyes on in his whole life? I've never had anyone address me in that tone, ever – the supercilious bastard! As if I were some wayward child. Then he officially filled in the medical forms, dismissing me as unfit for military duties.'

As Stephen's voice died away, Connie again tried to approach him, devastated for him even though her heart was singing with unbearable relief. But Stephen had more to say, his voice trembling with anger.

‘He motioned me with his hand to leave, adding as a parting shot, I suppose, that I had insulted his integrity by even expecting him to bend the rules. I just wanted to crawl away. I've never felt that way before.'

Stephen wasn't even looking at her; it was as though he were speaking to himself as if trying to smother the embarrassment lurking within him.

‘I do recall having heard about a move to recruit those with hearing difficulties but otherwise perfectly fit to fight – that they have a hearing officer who could issue orders – but the War Department threw the idea out as being suicide – the possibility of them walking unknowingly into a trap should their officer be otherwise distracted, to be mowed down by the enemy having not heard its advance. Even so, the way that blasted officer spoke to me made me feel like a worm, and I can still hear his tone, full of contempt at someone stooping to bribery, as he called it. It has left me feeling so bloody ashamed. I know I shouldn't be, but it's there.'

As his voice died away, Connie's heart went out to him and she whispered, ‘I do know, my darling, I do know. It was so deeply unkind and unwarranted.'

And this time he didn't pull away from her as she came and held him close.

February 1917

It was the end of February and Ronnie was back in England. He had been admitted to a hospital in the west of London, not so much a hospital as a big house that had been taken over for treating shell-shocked patients. One of the nurses caring for him had sent a letter saying they had high hopes for him, he wasn't as bad as some and that his wound was clean and healing well. Connie saw her mother breathe a huge sigh of gratitude as she read, even as the tears fell from her face.

‘Maybe he'll come home soon and then him and Dorothy can get married, make that little girl legitimate like, poor little thing.'

Legitimate. The word sent a shiver through Connie's body like an electric shock. Mum had been suffering all this time over her son's baby being born out of wedlock. What would she have done if her daughter had come home saying that she was pregnant? It would have killed her. Not that she and Stephen intended on taking chances but her need for him was growing beyond her. It was he who drew back, saying it was his duty to look after her, and she loved him for it, so very much.

She wanted to proclaim to the world that they were one, yet his ring still remained hidden from sight on the end of the ribbon around her neck. She wore it on her finger only when they were together. She was growing daily more angry with herself for her subterfuge and wanted to declare him to the world as her fiancé, whether it proved a disaster or not. Either way, she could never give him up now, even if it meant being thrown out of her family. Deep down she knew Mum would never allow that to happen, but even so …

She could see her mother's mind working towards getting Dorothy and Ron hitched as soon as possible to save the family's good name. So how could she give Mum, who was on tenterhooks about Ron and Dorothy, the smallest hint of how she and Stephen were behaving?

Stephen was not being helpful. ‘When are you ever going to find a chance to tell them once your brother comes home? If you feel you're adding to their burden now, think what it'll be like once he is home. And to tell you the truth, Connie, I can't go on like this – all this secrecy, this hiding in corners. Something has got to happen.'

They were standing together at the end of her street before they said goodbye. To her it sounded like a threat and she shivered. ‘I will tell them,' she burst out in desperation. ‘I will!'

‘When?'

‘Tonight – I promise. Tonight.'

‘How?'

She stood silent. Had she the courage to face them and explain why she'd not told them before? She could hear them asking how long she had known him. If she lied and said it was only a few months, they'd say it was too early to want to get engaged, that they needed to meet him and see what sort of boy he was. She'd have to explain about him, that he was no
boy
, that he'd been married before, and hear them say no, they wouldn't dream of her marrying a previously married man who was so much older than her.

He must have seen her anguished expression. ‘I'll come with you,' he said abruptly. ‘We'll face them together.'

Panic swept over her. ‘No! No, Stephen. Let me tell them in my own way. I promise I'll tell them tonight – as soon as I go indoors.'

He looked at her sadly. ‘I'll give you until Friday,' he said. ‘I realise that you might need to find the right words to break the news to them. But darling, please tell them. For our sake, and theirs.'

‘I promise,' she said again.

But it was easier said than done.

Connie wouldn't be seeing Stephen socially until Friday. By then she was to have told her family about their relationship. It was already Tuesday and at work yesterday he'd asked if she'd told them yet.

Forced to admit she'd not found the right opportunity so far with all their worry about her brother on the other side of London, and how he was coping with it – plus Dorothy was not bearing up at all well, worrying herself sick about it – Stephen had merely turned away without a word and returned to his office.

She'd felt devastated but could hardly go and plead with him, with everyone looking on. Some time ago her colleagues had become aware of something going on between Connie and Stephen and she hated that they now caught the hint of a tiff.

Today as she sat at her desk anticipating what she would say when he came to ask if she had done what she'd promised, she tensed herself to make yet more excuses. But he hadn't once come near her.

As soon as she'd had her lunch she was to be sent out on an assignment. Usually he wouldn't miss the chance to tell her himself, touch her hand like a secret embrace, but instead he'd sent one of his staff to tell her.

It felt very ominous and left her sick with worry. She promised herself that she would face her parents the moment she got home from work this evening. What other option was there? But what if, after she'd explained, they forbade her from having anything more to do with him? Or if he called it a day if she failed to act now?

She could see it coming and it horrified her even though it would be as much a wrench to him as to her. But she couldn't lose him. What would her life be without him? That was made starkly obvious at lunchtime. They usually had lunch together these days in a nearby cafe and she'd taken it for granted they would today, no doubt with him coaxing her to take her courage in both hands or suggesting being with her when she told her parents. And this time she resolved to have him with her and have them see him for the wonderful person he was.

Looking up from her desk as she made ready to go to lunch, she saw that his office was empty. Hurrying over, she spoke to Mr Turnbull. ‘Is Mr Clayton around?'

He regarded her awkwardly. ‘Gone to lunch, I think.'

It was like being hit by a steam engine. All she could say was, ‘Oh, I see.'

She bought a cheese sandwich from a local tea bar, eating it at her desk. It was like sandpaper in her mouth. She put it to one side only half-eaten. With most of the newsroom gone to lunch, the place felt desolate. At least she'd be out of the office this afternoon with a photographer and an interviewer: there had been an accident in a factory filling shells – a faulty shell had exploded; one female worker was injured, another killed. She was expected to sketch the shock on the workers' faces. She did it automatically and much of her own anguish, she knew, also went into the sketches.

Stephen hadn't come back when she finally returned to the office. Her work had been taken up to her chief editor by Mr Turnbull to receive approval for it to go into tomorrow's edition. She didn't ask him where Stephen was.

It was the most awful journey home, sitting on the bus, shops and people passing by unobserved as she rehearsed how she was going to approach her mother, and worse, her father, and what she was going to say to Stephen when she next saw him. Now, she wanted so much for him to be with her when she told them.

The first words that greeted her as she came in were Mum's. ‘They're sending Ronnie home. They say they're 'aving to make room for worst cases than him. Oh Connie, love, ain't that wonderful?'

There was no chance now to confront them with her own concerns and all she could do was clasp her mother to her and say it was the best news she'd heard in a long time.

It scared the life out of her going to work the following morning, sure he was bound to ask, rather than just ignore her. Her heart pounded seeing him approach her as she sipped her mid-morning cup of tea. He was smiling – that slightly sideways smile of his that always made her quiver inside with love.