Primrose Square (33 page)

‘What work will you be doing?'

‘Oh, handing out equipment, stores, uniforms – that kind of thing. No paperwork, thank God. And when the war is over, I'm going to try for the tool-making I told you about. Should be all right for that, eh?'

‘You'll be all right,' she told him, moving to the door,

‘So will you,' he said quietly, following her. ‘Somebody's going to snap you up, you know. Somebody who deserves you, and all. You know who I think has a soft spot for you? Major Henderson.'

‘Major Henderson? That's a piece of nonsense, if ever I heard one.'

‘No, you can sometimes tell about these things, eh? And I know he's no' young – must be thirty-seven if he's a day – but he's a grand chap. No' married, either. He'd be perfect for you, Elinor. If that tutor fellow is really out of things.'

‘I told you, he has someone else. In fact, he's engaged.'

‘To the lady ambulance driver? Bet that's a mistake.'

We all make mistakes, thought Elinor ruefully.

‘I'll walk back with you,' Barry offered after a moment, but she shook her head.

‘No, I don't think you should try to do too much at this stage. I'll be all right.'

‘And can go faster?' he asked wryly. ‘But this isn't goodbye, eh? We'll meet again?'

‘Sure we will.'

They knew they might not, but kissed, smiled, and parted, Elinor walking swiftly away, looking back once to wave, and Barry, watching, then turning into the house and closing the door.

Walking home more slowly, Elinor was wondering if it could really be true, that Barry had released her? That she was, in fact, free?

At first, she couldn't believe it, but as she began gradually to accept that he no longer wanted marriage, and that she need worry no more about letting him down, she found her spirits rising. So sweet was the relief, she might almost have felt happy, except that this was not a time for happiness, and she didn't expect it, anyway.

How she wished that Barry had not mentioned Stephen, which she found so painful. And then to talk of Major Henderson in that silly fashion! Now, when she went into work, she wouldn't be able to look him in the face. Though she would have to tell him she was no longer engaged to Barry and knew he'd be relieved. It would be easier all round, if a patient, even an ex-patient, was not marrying one of the hospital workers.

It was Stephen who was still in her mind, however, by the time she reached home. Why ever should Barry believe his engagement to be a mistake? He didn't know one thing about it, and neither did she. Obviously, though, Stephen must be happy. Obviously, he had forgotten whatever he had once felt for her, and she should try to feel the same. As though that were possible.

Might she see him again, though, just once, to know that he was safe? Was that too much to ask? Probably.

Sixty-Two

‘Over by Christmas,' they'd said of the war in 1914. But when yet another Christmas rolled round in 1917, no one spoke of an ending. It was as though they'd come to accept that they might always be in a state of war, for there never seemed even a chance of a breakthrough. Why, even the entry of America into the war against Germany had not so far made a difference. No doubt it would, eventually, but for Christmas 1917, hope of any change was in short supply.

Still, efforts were occasionally made to try to appear festive. At the Primrose, for instance, it had been decided to hold a party for staff and patients, with dancing in the dining room to a wind-up gramophone, a singsong to the old piano, played by Major Brown, sausage rolls and sandwiches provided by the army cooks. Matron, to everyone's surprise, had contributed a large Christmas cake, without icing, alas, but was said to include brandy – the only alcohol permitted.

‘Heavens, don't see us getting drunk on that!' laughed Brenda, who was in wonderfully good spirits with Tam, home on leave, thin but fit, at her side.

‘Who needs drink?' he cried, taking her on to the floor for the next dance. ‘We're having a grand time, anyway.'

‘Oh, it's so wonderful to see Tam looking so well,' Elinor murmured, as Major Henderson joined her in watching the dancing. ‘I mean, after all he's been through.'

‘He's certainly another of our successes. Somehow, he's found the strength this time to cope with whatever horrors he's seen, and that means a lot to us here.'

‘Because you set him on his way, just as you did with Barry.'

‘I'm not so sure of that. I think you had more to do with his recovery than I did.'

‘Don't forget his new leg,' Elinor remarked with a smile.

‘Ah, no, that was a godsend for him, I know. But he's not here tonight, is he? I think he was asked.'

‘No, he hasn't come.' She paused for a moment. ‘He's really happy, now that he can walk, but maybe, seeing folk dancing – maybe that'd be too much.'

‘Yes, it's hard.' The major heaved a sigh. ‘But, look, you're not dancing yourself. They've just changed the record. Shall we take the floor?'

The dance was a foxtrot – not something Elinor knew – but the major led well, made it easy for her, and she felt no self-consciousness in dancing with him, having long ago put out of her mind Barry's foolish remarks. Major Henderson was the type to be naturally courteous and thoughtful, and what he felt for her was clearly no more than the same kindly interest he gave everyone. Which was just as well, as she had no wish for anything more.

‘Talking of Barry,' he said quietly, as the dance ended and they moved to chairs. ‘I'm still so relieved you and he didn't go ahead with wedding plans. Marriages for the wrong reason often end in failure.' He gave a quick shrug. ‘Not that I speak from experience. I've never been married, though I was once engaged.'

‘I see,' she murmured, though she didn't, and thought it strange that the normally reticent major should now be talking about himself.

‘Yes, it was before the war. I was engaged to someone from Reigate – my home town – but she died.' The major looked down. ‘Diphtheria.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry!'

‘It's all right; it was a long time ago.'

‘Circulate, Major Henderson, circulate!' came a cry from Matron, as she sailed up with Sister Penny in tow. ‘There are a number of ladies waiting for partners, and patients waiting for you, Elinor. Come along now – you know Colonel Shannon wants us all to be mixing at this Christmas party!'

With a rueful grin, the major allowed himself to be led away, while Sister Penny steered Elinor in the direction of a group of patients sitting together.

‘On the floor now, on the floor!' the sister cried. ‘You're all supposed to be enjoying yourselves this evening! Here's Elinor, come to take you, Private MacDuffie, and if I take you, Private Mennie, you others can move around and ask some of those nurses over there. Quickly, now!'

‘We're enjoying ourselves here,' Private Mennie muttered, backing away from Sister Penny's outstretched hand, but it was to no avail. As the other patients scattered, he was taken on to the floor, followed by Elinor with Private MacDuffie.

‘Reckon I'm the lucky one,' he murmured, as they tried to fit their steps to an old-fashioned waltz. ‘Getting you to dance with, eh? There's a lot o' fellows keen on you, Elinor.'

She only smiled, trying to avoid his feet. It was true, of course, that patients often thought themselves to be in love with those who cared for them, but such romantic ideas always disappeared at the end of the hospital stay. Only Barry and she had ever got as far as an engagement, and it was no surprise that that, too, had ended when Barry recovered. Oh, what a relief that had been to her! And to Major Henderson, seemingly, but that would only be a sign of his genuine interest in everyone's welfare. What a shame about his fiancée, though. No doubt he would always be faithful to her memory  . . .

‘Ouch!' Elinor cried.

‘Sorry,' groaned Private MacDuffie. ‘Was that your toe?'

‘Nae bother,' she said faintly. ‘Nae bother at all.'

‘Had a good time, then?' her mother asked, when she got home late after the party.

‘I did, I really enjoyed it – apart from the odd injury to my toes in the dancing.'

‘I bet,' said Corrie, laughing. ‘I know what soldiers' feet are like!'

His mother and his sister looked at him fondly, still unused to his being at home, a civilian again, discharged from the army with a right arm and hand that were virtually useless. Though he'd taught himself to write with his left hand, there was no question of a draughtsman's career for him now, or even factory work, and he had found himself a job as a salesman in a gentleman's tailor's in George Street. It wasn't bad, he said; he could make something of it, and it did mean he had wages and could save up to get married to Sally.

There was an engagement that would last, Hessie and Elinor had told each other with pleasure. It would have to be a long one, of course, until they could afford to wed, but they were both so much in love, they'd be sure to get there in the end. Meanwhile, Sally was stitching her trousseau and already discussing her wedding dress with her mother.

Two happy people, Corrie and Sally, Elinor thought as she went to bed. Which meant, then, that some few could be happy in spite of the war? She hoped so. She hoped her brother's marriage would help to salve the pain of his memories, just as perhaps Stephen's would help him to forget. But Elinor couldn't bring herself to dwell on that. Besides, she didn't even know what had happened to him – that was the worst of all.

Sixty-Three

It was the end of January. Too late for the sales, but Elinor was looking round Maule's on her free afternoon, in the hope of finding a bargain, perhaps cheering herself up, for her spirits were low.

‘Wish I'd the same time off, so I could've come with you,' Brenda had said, for with Tam back at the front, she too was feeling depressed. Not that looking round the shops would be any solution to that, but at least it would be a change of scene. ‘Maybe you'll find a new hat,' she'd added hopefully, at which Elinor had smiled.

‘Need more than a new hat, I think, to make me feel better.'

‘A ceasefire, then?'

‘Aye, that'd do.'

As she'd guessed, wandering round the large department store didn't really help. There was very little that she really wanted, and those things she did want, she couldn't afford. What am I doing here? she asked herself, and was standing at the glove counter, turning over gloves she didn't need, when she heard a lady standing next to her say, ‘I'll take this pair, then – would you put them on my account please?'

And the assistant replied, ‘Certainly, Mrs Muirhead.'

Muirhead? Elinor stood very still, gloves in her hand, and very slowly turned her head to look at the lady by her side. She was perhaps in her late fifties, a little on the plump side, but well dressed in a dark blue cape and sweeping skirt, with a matching hat over silvery fair hair. Her face was rather long with a fine nose and short upper lip, and the eyes that briefly met Elinor's before returning to the assistant were grey. Fair-haired, grey-eyed, good-looking  . . . Oh heavens, there was no mistaking it, this was Stephen's mother. Of course, she would shop at Maule's, she just lived in Shandwick Place. It was even surprising that Elinor hadn't seen her before, for she would have known her anywhere. Mrs Muirhead, Stephen's mother. Whatever it cost to her nerves, she must speak to her. Must somehow find out about Stephen. All right, he was engaged – might even now be married – but surely she had a right to know if he was safe?

As Mrs Muirhead finished her transaction and turned aside holding her little parcel by its string, Elinor bravely took a step forward.

‘Excuse me,' she began, huskily. ‘Is it  . . . Mrs Muirhead?'

‘Yes, I'm Mrs Muirhead.' The lady's look was of course puzzled. ‘May I help you?'

‘I hope you won't mind if I speak to you, but I heard your name and I wondered if you were related to Mr Stephen Muirhead.' Elinor's colour was high, her lip trembling. ‘I used to be in his evening class, you see, at the WEA.'

‘In his class?' Mrs Muirhead was smiling warmly. ‘Why, that is so interesting. Stephen is my son, Miss  . . .'

‘Rae. My name is Elinor Rae. I work at the Primrose Hospital, helping the nurses, and one of his other students works there, too. We wondered – you know – if he was all right?'

‘Oh, yes, thank God. So far, he is safe. In fact, he's here now; he's been on leave, but he goes back tomorrow.' Mrs Muirhead's smile had faded. ‘He's taking me out to dinner tonight and I've just been buying some new evening gloves – mine were in such a state, pre-war, you know.' She laughed tremulously. ‘Must look my best, for his last night.'

‘Will you  . . . will you give him our best wishes, then? Say, from Mrs MacLean and Miss Rae? Tell him we wish him well?'

‘Of course, my dear – how kind.'

‘And maybe our congratulations, too?'

‘Congratulations?'

‘On his engagement.'

A change came over Mrs Muirhead's face, as though a cloud had covered the sun.

‘Did you not see the announcement?' she asked stiffly. ‘The marriage between my son and Miss Glenner will not now take place.'

Elinor felt as though everything was moving round. The glove counter, Mrs Muirhead, women shoppers turning over merchandise  . . . Elinor felt she must be moving, too. Such news, such news – she couldn't believe it! Please God, may his mother not see how much it meant to her. Without good reason, maybe, but suddenly everything was different, for before there had been no hope and now  . . .

She stood straight, steadying her thoughts.

She must face it; nothing might have changed at all.

‘I'm very sorry,' she heard herself saying politely, telling lies, crossing fingers, but Mrs Muirhead was pursing her lips.