For All Our Tomorrows (36 page)

She took a deep breath. ‘All right, I’ll confess the whole story, which isn’t in the least bit sordid. Tell the truth and shame the devil, isn’t that how the saying goes? There have been times recently, Hugh, when you’ve seemed very much as a devil to me, so is it any wonder if I found another man more appealing?

‘Charlie is attractive, of course, but also kind and caring, while you have been hard and cruel, criticising me the whole time, finding fault, treating me as an object for your own pleasure, even jealously stopping me from working behind the bar.’ Sara could hardly believe she was finding the courage to say these things. She daren’t begin to imagine what his reaction would be.

His response, as always, was calm, at least on the surface. ‘Oh, so it’s my fault, is that what you’re saying?’

Sara let out a weary sigh. ‘No, of course I’m not. We never meant this to happen, but it did, so there we are.’

‘And where are we exactly, Sara? What precisely did happen? You slept with a Yank, like hundreds of other silly young girls?’

‘No, I’ve already told you. It wasn’t like that at all. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. I couldn’t do it. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.’

‘Perhaps he didn’t want you, when it came to it.’ His sarcasm taunted her, yet she smiled at that.

‘Oh, he wanted me all right but he spent the night on a chair, because he loves me and had no wish to take advantage. So unlike you, Hugh, who only ever think of yourself and your own needs. That is what’s wrong with our marriage. Your utter selfishness, and your determination to treat my needs and wishes with contempt. Is it any wonder I fell in love with another man?’

‘You’re making yourself appear innocent so you can shift your guilt on to me.’

Sara had the grace to flush. Was there an element of truth in this? She sincerely hoped not. ‘We couldn’t help it. Something just grew between us. I’m not some sort of puppet whose strings you can pull to suit the tune you happen to be playing, Hugh. I’m a living, breathing person with thoughts and opinions, dreams and ambitions of my own. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you but perhaps later, when you’ve got over the shock and calmed down a little, we can talk about the future. Obviously I would like my freedom, but there’s the children to think of and . . .’

She thought for a moment that he was going to strike her but she should have known better. Hugh was far too controlled for anything so reckless and demeaning. Instead he strode to the door, turning with his hand on the knob to face her. ‘I’ve heard enough. Your freedom indeed. You are my
wife
, in case you’ve forgotten. You’ll stay here, in our bedroom, till you’ve got this silly romantic nonsense out of your head.’

‘What? I don’t understand.’

‘Then let me make it crystal clear. You will not be getting your freedom, or taking the children away, and you certainly won’t ever be running off again with your
Yank
. You are
my
wife and will remain so, even if I have to keep you under lock and key. Which is where you will stay for the foreseeable future, until you’ve repented of this foolishness. Is that clear enough for you? You are going nowhere, Sara. You are mine!’

The last thing she heard was the key turning in the lock.

Charlie waited for two hours just beyond St Catherine’s Castle, but finally gave up and went back to base. She surely must have got his note. She spent half her life in that kitchen. But then, as she had so often told him, she was a respectable married lady and it was, after all, a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.

They were almost ready to depart. Ships filled the River Fowey, so many that you could have walked from one shore to the other without getting your feet wet. A living mass of men and machines, seething with activity and noise: a throbbing, whining, whirring and rattling; a clattering of gas masks, canteens and weapons, and the endless chatter of hundreds, packed tightly into every corner, waiting for the order to leave.

Hour upon hour they waited, cold and damp, sick to their stomachs with apprehension and fear, in full combat gear, weighed down with equipment.

The loading had been done chiefly at night, scores of vehicles driving straight onto the LSTs; thousands of foot soldiers directed up the gangway and counted on board.
 

It was June 4 and they left later that night but by the following day were driven back by the weather to spend yet another night in harbour. After all these months of preparation, all the careful planning and organising, the fate of Operation Overlord appeared to be at the mercy of the elements. There was a storm brewing and if the weather did not improve, there would be further delays.
 

Twenty-four hours later the decision finally came. This time for real. On the night of June 5 they left the safe waters of Fowey, Falmouth and the Helford River, and all the other ports along the south coast for the last time and headed out to sea. Operation Overlord was underway at last.

Hugh released Sara from her bedroom the first time they left. Compelled to go along with his tale, she explained her absence to the children by saying that she’d been suffering from ‘flu and had not wished to infect them.

But now she was free and when she was quite certain that he was asleep, Sara slid from their bed, hastily pulled on some clothes, then ran pell-mell up through the church-yard, along the Esplanade, past Point Neptune, skirting the coils of barbed wire on Readymoney beach, slipping and sliding up the coastal path, tripping over stones, nearly falling headlong over the edge into the sea at one stage in her breathless dash to reach the headland beyond the camouflaged castle, and watch them leave.
 

Gasping for breath, she wrapped her arms about herself and shivered, straining her eyes in the darkness, waiting for the short June night to end so that she could catch a last glimpse of him.

The sea broiled with ships, ensigns snapping in the wind. An armada so massive it was still visible when dawn broke on that longest of all days. Far out to sea the minesweepers led the way, like a great inverted vee, each one trailing a long, saw-toothed wire to cut through the moorings and detonate floating mines. Behind these came the dark, intimidating throng of destroyers and cruisers, protected above by a barrage balloon attached to each ship. To the rear of these came the landing craft, carrying thousands of men, tanks, gun vehicles and ammunition. The convoy stretched for miles and would surely frighten any army destined to be the one to meet and fight it.

But what state would those poor boys be in when they finally landed? Soaking wet through, cold and seasick, she would imagine, expected to climb down some scramble-net, fully loaded with equipment, and fight their way across a beach in the face of enemy fire. What hope could there be for survival against such odds?

Sara could almost hear them praying. She clasped her hands together and prayed with them.

And overhead came the aircraft. The sky seemed to be filled with hundreds of planes. That heart-stopping drone of engines making the hairs stand up at the back of her neck. She’d heard the first wave of bombers go out the night before, yet still they came, like a flock of giant blackbirds, an armada of the skies, as well as the sea.

And somewhere, among all this mass of ships and activity, was Charlie, yet she couldn’t see him, couldn’t reach him. He was lost to her, perhaps for ever. Thanks to Hugh, she hadn’t even been allowed to say goodbye. All she could do was stand and watch, dry-eyed, till the last dark speck had vanished from the horizon. Only then did she turn and walk back into a town swamped by an eerie silence; back home to her husband and a life without Charlie.

Chapter Thirty-Five

When Bette had arrived at the farm she’d been barely three months gone. Now, nearly two months later, still no mention had been made of a date for their wedding, let alone a place of their own. Relations with his family remained difficult and, so far as she could tell, Chad still hadn’t told them about the baby. Yet it couldn’t be hidden for much longer. She was beginning to show and this troubled Bette deeply.

What if Chad refused to marry her in the end, then what would she do, where could she go? She’d be alone in a foreign land with no money and a child to keep. It didn’t bear thinking of.

Once, in those early weeks, she’d tried tackling the subject head on. ‘Your mom seems awfully protective, maybe a bit reluctant to let go.’

‘We’re a very close family.’

‘Mine were glad to see the back of me, I should think.’ Bette had laughed, trying to make light of it. ‘But we should have our own place. I don’t honestly think it will work, us all living here together. Your mother is – lovely, but she has enough with your brother and sister and her family, without us as well.’

Chad frowned, which didn’t exactly fill her with confidence. ‘Trouble is, there ain’t that many empty houses round these parts. Haven’t you heard of the housing shortage? Goes right back to the lean twenties.’

Bette began to feel distinctly uneasy. ‘But with all this land you own, couldn’t we build a house on it somewhere?’

‘Building a house takes a whole heap of money. You’ll jest have to be patient awhile. Besides, I can’t work, let alone build us a house with one arm, now can I?’

And once again Bette was left feeling she’d said the wrong thing.

Chad resisted every effort she made to help him, whether it was fastening the buttons of his shirt, tying his shoe laces, or cutting up his meat. Peggy was allowed to help, but not Bette, for some reason.

And still he’d made no effort to touch her.

‘You are glad I came, aren’t you?’ she asked him one night as he again refused her assistance in undressing for bed.

‘Course I am.’

‘I was wondering . . . I mean . . . isn’t it time we fixed a date for the wedding?’ She put out a hand and stroked the stub of his arm, feeling him instantly flinch away from her. ‘You’d perhaps feel more comfortable with me then, if we were man and wife, and we do need to think of the baby.’

His response was uncharacteristically sharp. ‘I’ve already told you, we can’t get married yet awhile.’

‘You haven’t told her yet, have you?’

Bette was surprised to see his neck and jaw suffuse with crimson. ‘I’ll tell her when the time seems right.’

Bette could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘When the time is right, and when will that be? You’re saying that I’ve left my home, my family and friends, to travel thousands of miles to marry you and you can’t bring yourself to tell your family that I’m carrying your child?’ A shard of ice stabbed between her shoulder blades and she turned away from him. ‘You don’t mean to marry me at all, don’t you Chad Jackson? Is this all some sort of cruel joke? Have you realised that you’ve made a bad mistake in asking me to come here?’

‘No, no, I want you to stay, Bette. S’matter of fact, I’m surprised that you came. I reckoned mebbe you’d stay with Barney.’

‘Why would I do that?’ Bette could hear the slow beat of her heart. Had he guessed? Surely he didn’t suspect the truth?

‘Barney allus was sweet on you. Told me time and again how you was too fancy for a country-boy like me.’

‘That’s silly. I’m just a small town girl myself, a two-bit hairdresser.’ She tried to make a joke of it but Chad wasn’t laughing. He was lying on his back staring at the ceiling.

‘He took you out some, I expect. Dancing and such-like.’

Bette steadied her breathing, desperate to sound casual. ‘We went to the Armoury from time to time, just as friends you understand.’ She could tell that he’d turned his head to look at her, and was grateful for the semi-darkness yet felt it necessary to defend him. ‘He was the perfect southern gent. You’d have been proud of him.’ She felt, rather than heard, his sigh of relief.

‘He wrote me to say he wouldn’t be returning to North Carolina. He’d be going some place else when the war was over an’ all. I reckon he doesn’t fancy the idea of seeing you dangling on my arm, ‘stead of his. Though since I’ve only the one, I ain’t such a good bet as a husband no more. Must sicken you to the stomach jest to have to lie beside me in this big ole bed.’

He wasn’t looking at her as he said all of this but Bette would have been a fool not to recognise the heartrending vulnerability in these words.
 

She pulled him round to face her, grasped his face between her two hands. ‘Look at me, Chad Jackson. You’re my man, right? I’ve travelled half round the world to be with you. Maybe we both feel a bit insecure, me having left my home and family, you with your injuries, but don’t for one minute imagine that you aren’t important to me, arm or no arm.’

‘Barney is generally the one who gets the girl.’

‘Well, he didn’t this time. So when are you going to make an honest woman of me?’

Now his sigh was heavily regretful. ‘She can be real ornery, my Mom. I would have told her by now, about the baby, only . . . It’s jest that she’s a Christian, church-going woman. Don’t do to offend her none. She done preach that bible at me more times than I care to recall, if I’m honest.’

Bette couldn’t help but chuckle, relieved that in the matter of religion at least, they were in total agreement. It had come as quite a shock being obliged to attend church every Sunday in her best frock, hat and gloves, with her face scrubbed all clean and not a touch of pan-stick. ‘So what about offending me? Don’t you care about my reputation?’