A Summer Promise (34 page)

But she found that in this desperate situation it simply did not matter who awoke the prince, provided that someone did. And at least I can help him by bringing back good memories, she told herself, settling on the hard wooden stool that Matron had pointed out. She took his hand and squeezed it, but his fingers remained flaccid in her own. Sighing, she settled down for a long wait, and it was only then that she began to examine the patient. His left arm was in a sling, which seemed to Maddy altogether needless since he made no effort to move it. There was a dressing on his head, the bandaging no paler than the face beneath. She let her eyes stray further and noticed for the first time that there was a hump in the blankets, presumably caused by some sort of device to hold the bedding away from the worst of his injuries. Matron had said something about his left leg . . .

But she had been given a job to do and she was not doing it. Maddy squared her shoulders and began to talk, keeping her voice low and steady. ‘It’s all right, Tom, it’s only me; I’ve come to see you and tell you that you’ll soon be well. Can you hear me?’

There was no sign that he had heard, yet somehow Maddy sensed a change in the atmosphere, a lightening of the mood. She leaned closer to the still figure in the bed. ‘Tom, are you listening? Do you remember how we used to watch for water babies? Oh, I know you never believed we’d see one, but you were so kind, Tom; you never made me feel like a silly kid, though I know I sometimes behaved like one.’ She chuckled beneath her breath. ‘Oh, Tom, we didn’t realise how lucky we were to have the beck and the dales as our playground! If only we were up on the fells now! But once the war is over . . . Tom, I’m sure your eyelids flickered then! Dear Tom, I only want to help you, that’s all I ever wanted. Please come back to us!’

Later, when Maddy went into Matron’s office to collect the promised pass, she noticed a book in a brown paper cover lying on the desk. She did not know what made her reach for it, but as soon as she touched the cover her fingers tingled and when she flicked the volume open it was no surprise to discover that it was the very copy of
The Water Babies
which Alice’s uncle John had given them. She must have gasped, for Matron, handing over the pass, raised her eyebrows.

‘Yes, Nurse – I mean Corporal?’ Matron corrected herself. ‘Is there anything wrong with the pass? You can show it to your superior officer . . .’ she smiled, ‘and perhaps it may soften his cold heart!’

She laughed, and Maddy smiled too. ‘No, it’s just the book,
The Water Babies
. Tom and us girls always wanted to look for Vendale, the place where Mr Kingsley saw the water babies,’ she explained. ‘Where did you find the book, Matron?’

‘I didn’t; it was handed in by one of the convalescent patients. I think he said it was in the summer house and it’s such a fine copy – a first edition, you know – that I told him to give it a brown paper cover and leave it in the room which used to be the library. But if it’s yours, my dear, you can take it away with you.’ A bright idea seemed to strike her. ‘Next time you come perhaps you could read extracts to young Lieutenant Browning. Anything which might get through to him can only be good, and if he remembers these illustrations that would be good too.’ A bell rang somewhere and Matron, who had taken the book from Maddy and flicked through it as they spoke, thrust it back into her hands. ‘Off with you now. I’m sure we shall meet again.’

Tom heard the Voice reminding him of the good times. But even though he longed to answer, to tell the speaker that her words were indeed pulling him back to the real world, he could not do so. However, he was sure that the time would come when he could respond. Once, when she mentioned a bottomless pool, he felt convinced that if he let the memories wash around him at their own pace, the girl with the small and steady voice would rescue him from whatever gripped him in both mind and body.

He slept.

‘Marigold? It’s Maddy. Can you get leave and come home? It’s important, or I wouldn’t ask.’

‘What? Who
is
that?’ Marigold’s voice was tiny with distance and the crackling of the bad line did not help, but Maddy, sighing with exasperation, thought she would have known it anywhere, even if her friend didn’t recognise hers.

‘Oh, don’t be so daft, Marigold, pretending you don’t know who I am,’ she shouted into the receiver. ‘It’s Maddy – remember me? – and I’m ringing to tell you that Tom’s in hospital. He was badly wounded some weeks ago and is still suffering from concussion. Matron said that if I could contact an old girlfriend, someone he really, really liked, then her voice might penetrate the sort of fog he’s in. I know Tom was very fond of you – and of Alice, of course, but she’s abroad still – so I’m asking you to come home.’

There was an appreciable pause before Marigold answered. ‘Well, I could ask for compassionate leave, I suppose,’ she said slowly. ‘But are you sure Tom still likes me? He hasn’t written for ages, and to tell the truth, Maddy, that Spitfire pilot I told you about is getting serious. In fact—’

Maddy cut in impatiently. ‘Are you telling me you like some Brylcreem boy more than you like our Tom? And letters go astray all the time, as you should know. Don’t you want to help him? I should have thought . . .’

‘Oh, of course, if it’s a question of helping Tom, naturally I’ll come like a shot,’ Marigold said quickly. ‘But are you sure he’ll want me? As I said, I have a shrewd suspicion that he’s forgotten about me. But if you honestly think I can help . . .’

‘I do, I do,’ Maddy said. ‘Please come, Marigold. Let me know when and I’ll arrange for a taxi to meet your train and you can be here in no time.’

Marigold heaved a sigh, and even over a bad line Maddy thought she could hear her friend’s exasperation. ‘Where are you ringing from?’ she asked. ‘I’ll see my CO and get the necessary permission and all that, and I expect I’ll be with you in a few days’ time.’

‘A few days?’ Maddy squeaked. ‘Can’t you make it sooner than that? What about this Spitfire pilot of yours? I remember you telling me he had a little sports car. Couldn’t you persuade him to bring you down?’

There was another noticeable pause before Marigold spoke again. ‘I’ll have a word,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Where are you speaking from?’

‘Didn’t I say? I’m at Windhover Hall – I’m sure you know that it’s now a military hospital,’ Maddy said quickly. ‘I’ll be here all afternoon, but I have to go back to Larkspur at around six o’clock. Do you remember my gran and the O’Hallorans? There’s been a bit of trouble, but I won’t go into it now. If you can find out how you’re travelling and what the arrangements will be, you can ring this number and even if I’m not here you can explain who you are and why you are telephoning, OK?’

‘Yes that sounds pretty reasonable. I can find out in a couple of hours, maybe less, whether I can get leave,’ Marigold said. ‘It’d be grand to see you again after so long, Maddy, and grand to see Tom too, of course. Is he badly wounded? Poor Tom – I hate to think of him chained to a hospital bed.’

‘He’s getting better,’ Maddy said quickly, for she had heard the dismay in Marigold’s voice and was glad that her old friend, if no longer in love with Tom, at least still wanted to help him. ‘Thank you ever so much, Marigold; I look forward to hearing your plans. T.t.f.n.’

Once Tom knew who he was and more or less where – not trapped in a chimney – the fear which had consumed him gradually faded and a vague curiosity awoke. He knew, now, that the Voice went away at certain times and came back at certain times, too. That was reassuring. He would not be abandoned to the dark, and quite possibly he would wake up one day and open his eyes and see the owner of the Voice, the one who came to his bedside and spoke so kindly.

Then the Voice came to him with excitement ringing in every word. ‘I rang Marigold and she’s coming!’ the Voice said. ‘Marigold’s coming all the way from Scotland, just to see you. Are you glad, Tom? Will seeing Marigold make you well again? Only my leave is up in a couple of days – I’d love to stay with you, but it’s impossible. But Marigold will be here, and I’m sure if you’ll come back for anyone it will be Marigold.’

He forced his mind to remember. There
had
been a girl called Marigold, a brightly coloured girl with – with blonde hair and a loud voice! Yes, a girl just like the flower she had been named after . . . but why did the Voice so constantly repeat the name? He wished he could make sense of what the Voice said, but when he murmured ‘Marigold?’ the Voice began to talk about caves, and kisses; about books and pictures and water babies and other things which he could not now recall. It was all too difficult, and he was
so
tired. Tom slept.

Maddy did not hear back from Marigold, but she knew how good her friend had always been at getting her own way so was not surprised, two days after the telephone call, to hear someone coming along the corridor with swift, impatient steps. Then the door at the end of the ward was flung open by a careless hand, and she saw her old friend hesitating in the doorway.

Maddy had been reading aloud from
The Water Babies
but she put the book hastily aside as Marigold clattered noisily up the room and cast herself on the still figure in the bed. ‘Tom, darling!’ she squeaked, and Maddy reflected, only a little bitterly, that she might have known how it would be. Marigold had never been one to consider other people’s feelings, and the fact that Tom was a sick man who needed rest and quiet had clearly not entered her beautiful blonde head. Maddy half expected Tom to shoot up into a sitting position, or at least to open his eyes, but he remained as still as a stone statue.

‘Oh, Marigold, I knew you’d come,’ Maddy said, vacating the stool so that her friend might sit down. ‘I’m sure you’ll do Tom a power of good, only we’ve been told to talk quietly and not to excite him, so if you don’t mind . . .’

‘Darling!’ Marigold squeaked again. ‘I’m so sorry!’ she giggled. ‘I’m afraid I don’t always think . . . oh, poor darling Tom! Someone said he’d lost a leg – I do hope it wasn’t true . . .’

‘Hush!’ Maddy said, giving the other girl a reproving glare. ‘We’re not sure if he knows himself, so we don’t talk about it; it’s best to talk about happy times, Matron says, and to make sure he isn’t distressed.’

‘Oh! Sorry,’ Marigold said contritely. ‘I didn’t think. You know me, Maddy: I always have the best of intentions . . .’

She flung herself once more on the still figure in the bed and Maddy, stepping forward to prevent her, stopped in her tracks when she saw Tom’s arms go gropingly round that slender body. ‘Mar . . . Marigold?’ he murmured: in a sleep-blurred voice.

Maddy, still standing at the head of the bed, delight and envy filling her in equal measure, could have kicked herself. She had been so careful, hardly daring to touch him in case she did harm, and now she had lost her chance. Tom’s first conscious contact might have been with her, but she had not had the courage to do more than hold his hand. Marigold, with all her usual ebullience, had not hesitated to sweep him into her arms, and undoubtedly it would be this fond embrace which Tom would remember for the rest of his life.

It could have been me, Maddy thought regretfully as Marigold planted an impetuous kiss on Tom’s pale forehead. Another thought occurred to her. Marigold had already admitted that her Spitfire pilot was serious, and serious, to Marigold, would undoubtedly mean marriage. Fond though she was of her friend, Maddy had known for ages that when Marigold married it would be to her own advantage; Marigold herself had said so many times in her letters. And if that were true, though she had come to Tom’s bedside when he needed her, Marigold would not dream of marrying anyone other than her very rich young man.

Marigold had managed to get permission for ten days’ leave, but she did not intend to remain in the Yorkshire Dales. When the girls had told Matron that Tom had shown signs of returning consciousness, Marigold had confided to Maddy that she would be leaving that very evening. ‘Tom’s better, so there’s no need for me to stay. I might as well tell you – Ralph and I are engaged, and he’s picking me up from my mother’s tonight to take me to meet his parents. I know you think Tom’s in love with me, but I expect he’ll marry Alice – she’s a funny girl Alice, but I’m sure she’ll make him an adequate wife.’

‘Adequate!’ Maddy squeaked. ‘What sort of a foundation is
adequate
for married life?’

Marigold laughed. ‘Just a figure of speech,’ she said airily. ‘Tell Tom cheerio from me; sorry I can’t stay longer.’

Maddy looked at her friend and knew it was no good even suggesting that Marigold might stay. Probably Marigold was right anyway; Tom did not need her. ‘Give your mother my regards then,’ Maddy said as they parted in the lane. ‘And don’t forget to invite Tom and me to your wedding!’

Maddy had told Marigold, truthfully, that her leave was almost at an end, but she had not admitted that she would be leaving herself the very next day. What was the point, after all? She knew it was her duty, as soon as Tom was well enough, to tell him that Marigold was going to marry her Spitfire pilot, but there was no point in doing so whilst he was still so muddled. Indeed, he did not even know, as yet, that his best friend had been killed by the explosion which had maimed Tom himself. And since Maddy did not intend to show any undue emotion when they parted, she had arranged with Matron that she would go to the hospital just before catching the train which would take her on the first stage of the journey back to her battery.

She had intended to make her leave-taking light-hearted but found, as she approached the small private room in which Tom now lay, that her heart was fluttering and she felt sick. Idiot woman, she scolded herself as she eased open the door; it’s not as if Tom is going to be far away. As soon as she was free to come back to the dales, she and Tom could resume their old friendship. He did not know that Marigold had fallen out of love with him, and in her heart of hearts Maddy thought that he had never really intended to marry Alice. It has merely been that the rich and easy life she represented must have seemed, to one fighting for his life in the hostile desert, like a glimpse of paradise. So now she crossed the room quietly, sat down on the stool beside the bed and took his hand.