Secrets (55 page)

If only she’d used her wits to get a job instead of scheming and lying to try to force his hand to leave his wife and marry her! He told her dozens of times that he couldn’t put his family through the disgrace of a divorce.

He was to blame for getting her pregnant, a sophisticated man of the world should have known how to prevent that. It was also heartless to leave her to fend for herself. But she had brought this on herself – if she hadn’t lied to him constantly, he would have believed she was carrying his child and taken the responsibility. He was a snob, and often gutless, but he was soft-hearted and honourable. He certainly wasn’t the brute she had portrayed him as.

Honour had a real down on Myles, but that was understandable in light of the way he treated Adele when she was working for his wife. Rose had seen the disbelief on her face when Emily insisted that he hadn’t always been like that. But Emily was right, he’d once been a gentle, loving man, and Rose felt more than partially responsible for the change in him.

Now he’d lost his younger son, and Rose was reminded of how jealous she used to get when Myles smiled tenderly at the mere mention of Michael, who was just a toddler then. She had always claimed she loved Myles, but perhaps the truth was that she’d never loved anyone but herself.

Chapter Twenty-five

‘You won’t tell anyone what I tried to do?’ Emily begged Rose as they walked together back to Winchelsea.

‘No, of course not,’ Rose replied. ‘Not if you promise me you’ll never do such a thing again.’

It was three days since Emily had tried to drown herself. The morning after, Honour had got Jim to go and see her housekeeper and tell her that Emily had been taken ill while visiting and she’d be home as soon as she felt stronger. She had slept much of the first day, then became very tearful again, but she appeared to be much calmer now, and Rose was taking her home.

‘I promise,’ Emily said in a small voice. She looked very pale and drawn, and her coat, which Honour had dried out, had shrunk. In a borrowed pair of Rose’s shoes, which were too big for her, her appearance was more like that of a refugee than of a woman from the upper classes. ‘You were very brave, Rose, you make me feel so ashamed.’

Rose gulped. Emily had said this several times in the last couple of days, and though it was nice to be thought courageous, Rose was still battling with her guilt.

As the two women walked up the hill to Winchelsea, Emily slipped her arm through Rose’s. ‘You’ve done me a power of good, Rose,’ she said. ‘I don’t just mean by saving my life, but by getting me to talk. I feel different today. Sort of stronger.’

Rose couldn’t help but smile at Emily. There was something so girlish and sweet about her even if she was fifty-four, fourteen years older than Rose. Over the last couple of days they talked a great deal, and Rose had found a great deal to like about her.

‘You might hear good news about Michael yet,’ she said. ‘So just try to stay calm and hopeful. You don’t want to end up in a place like the one they sent me to.’

Emily nodded. ‘No, I don’t. Maybe I ought to try again with Ralph and Diana. They’ve always been against me, but I suppose that’s my fault, what with my drinking, funny turns and things. You don’t know how lucky you are having a daughter like Adele. She must be a great comfort to you.’

Rose smiled, but with sadness. Last night she had told Emily what a bad mother she’d been, but clearly Emily hadn’t listened. She was still the way Rose used to be, so wrapped up in herself that other people’s lives and problems had no impact on her.

Adele was feeling exhausted as she came off night duty, but when she saw a letter for her in her pigeonhole at the nurses’ home addressed in her grandmother’s familiar copperplate handwriting, she perked up.

It had been another night of very heavy bombing, with an even greater flood of casualties than usual. She couldn’t understand why so many people, particularly the older ones, ignored the public shelters and stayed in their homes. Surely they ought to know the dangers by now?

She went into the dining room and helped herself to some porridge. One of the real bug-bears about night duty was getting meals the wrong way round. She couldn’t eat a dinner of meat and vegetables when she’d just got up, then after a long night on the wards she was starving and had to make do with just porridge or congealed scrambled egg and toast.

She sat down at the same table as Joan and a new nurse from Birmingham called Annie. She opened the letter as she ate, and after reading only two lines she dropped her spoon with a clatter.

‘What’s up?’ Joan asked in concern.

‘It’s Michael. He’s missing,’ Adele gasped out in horror. ‘His plane was shot down.’

She had to rush off to her room then because she couldn’t hold back her tears.

It was some time later that Joan peeped cautiously around the door.

‘Can I come in?’ she asked. ‘Or do you want to be alone?’

‘No, I’d like you with me,’ Adele said, sniffing back her tears and wiping her eyes. ‘It was such a shock, Joan. I loved Michael so much, I can’t bear the thought of him being gone for good.’

Joan was her usual comforting self, hugging Adele tightly and pointing out that he might very well be a prisoner of war.

‘I doubt that,’ Adele sniffed.

‘You’ve got to ’ave ’ope,’ Joan said. ‘Remember your grandfather in the last war. ’E were wounded and left for dead, weren’t ’e? But ’e made it ’ome.’

Adele had been having bad dreams of Michael being shot down in his plane since the start of the war, so now it had happened, she felt his death was an absolute certainty. But she nodded anyway, as if in agreement with her friend.

The two girls got into bed a little later and Joan fell asleep immediately. Adele lay awake, holding on to the ring around her neck as she remembered all the things she loved about Michael and realized that time hadn’t diminished her feelings for him at all. The pain she felt now was just as sharp as it had been when she left Hastings. Yet then at least she’d been able to imagine Michael walking, talking and laughing. She could even hope that one day they’d meet up again and she could have him back again as her friend and brother. Now everything was wiped out.

She would never be able to feel proud when he was decorated for valour. Or feel some joy for him when she heard he’d married. There wouldn’t even be a grave she could visit to put some flowers on.

She wondered too how her grandmother was, for her grief was apparent in her letter, and no doubt she was remembering how Frank went off to war and returned a very different man. Perhaps she could ask Matron if she could have some leave to go home and check things out for herself?

It was the end of March before Adele got leave, and then only because she was ill. She had carried on working through a series of colds, an outbreak of boils on her neck and a stomach upset. But it was only when Joan went to Matron and pointed out that Adele was losing weight, not sleeping or eating properly, that she was ordered to see a doctor.

Adele guessed that her condition had been brought on by hearing about Michael. She was afraid to close her eyes at night because of the nightmare in which she watched him burning to death. She thought about him constantly, and it had robbed her of any appetite. But she couldn’t tell the doctor that, and protested that she was only in the same state as everyone else as a result of overwork. But the doctor thought differently and said she must have at least two weeks’ rest.

Although relieved to be able to go home, Adele found the journey exhausting. By the time she reached the cottage door late in the afternoon, after the long walk from the station, she was close to collapse.

‘Adele!’ her grandmother exclaimed in surprise as she staggered into the living room, for she hadn’t sent a telegram saying she was coming. ‘What’s the matter? You look ill.’

‘I’ll be all right now I’m here,’ Adele said, allowing herself to be enveloped in her grandmother’s arms. ‘I’ve got leave to have a rest.’

She was vaguely aware of Rose coming forward to peel off her hat, coat and shoes, and making her lie down on the couch. She wanted to brush her off, but she had no energy left to do or say anything. She must have fallen asleep immediately, and awoke later when it was nearly dark outside, to see Rose stirring something on the stove.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, bewildered because the stove was a place she associated only with her grandmother. ‘Where’s Granny?’

‘I’m here, dear,’ Honour said from Adele’s left, where she was sitting in the armchair. ‘Rose is chief cook these days, she doesn’t let me near the stove.’

For the next three days Adele slept most of the time. She was vaguely aware of going out to the lavatory now and then, of meals being brought to her, and Honour sitting beside her on the bed asking her questions. But Adele had nothing to say, for in five months of the Blitz she’d seen little outside the hospital except destruction, and within it there was nothing but pain and suffering.

She would have liked to be able to tell her grandmother how she felt about Michael. But that was impossible. Granny would completely share her sorrow at losing a dear friend, for she had loved Michael too. But she wouldn’t understand why Adele should feel as if she’d had her heart pulled out, not when she’d given him up because he was wrong for her.

Ever since she got her grandmother’s letter she had been in a kind of bubble, aware of what was going on around her, but unable to feel anything but her own pain. Michael was both her love and her brother. People would give boundless sympathy if they knew he was either of those. But an exfiancé, or a friend, didn’t rate more than a brief ‘I’m sorry’, and a hasty shift on to another subject. So she’d had to hold it all inside her, putting on a brave face and listening to other people’s problems, and all the time getting pulled lower and lower.

Before she arrived home, her intention was to see that Honour had fully recovered, and check that Rose was looking after everything. All that was forgotten when she fell ill – she hadn’t noticed anything, not the state of the cottage and garden, or if Honour looked well. She certainly hadn’t been up to checking whether Rose was taking advantage of the situation. The only thing which had any impact on her was the absence of noise from bombs and being allowed to sleep.

It was the smell of frying bacon that finally brought her out of her torpid state, and it was only later that she discovered it was her fourth day at the cottage. She was still in bed, partially awake when the smell reached her, and for the first time since she got the news about Michael, she felt hungry.

She got up, went to the door of her room and saw Rose standing at the stove happily humming ‘White Cliffs of Dover’ as she flipped the bacon in the frying pan.

For a second Adele wanted to retreat. She had thought a great deal about Rose in the past few months, and mostly with pure hatred. Each time she spoke to her on the telephone she had a struggle to be civil, despite the fact that Granny had reported in her letters that she looked after her well.

Adele had no desire to try to forgive Rose – the idea of finding something to even like about her was laughable. The image she’d kept in her mind was of a brassy, over-madeup woman wearing tight clothes, teetering on high heels, with a cigarette dangling from scarlet-tipped fingers.

Yet she didn’t look that way now in a shabby pair of khaki slacks and a blue jumper with darned holes in the sleeves. Her blonde hair was tied back in one thick plait, and her face was free of makeup.

As a child, Adele had gauged her mother’s mood by whether she’d put her makeup on or not. Without it she had to be approached with extreme caution. And even though there was nothing threatening about her mother’s stance, for she looked relaxed and happy, the old memories were enough to make her freeze with nervousness.

All at once Rose must have sensed Adele standing there, and she turned and smiled. ‘I was just cooking you this for a treat,’ she said.

Bacon
was
a treat. Adele couldn’t remember when she last had some, and the delicious smell was making her mouth water.

‘We never get bacon in London,’ she blurted out, caught off guard by the extraordinary idea of her mother giving her a treat.

‘We don’t often get it here either,’ Rose said evenly. ‘I queued for over an hour for this yesterday. But it will be worth it if it bucks you up. It’s been awful to see you so poorly.’

It crossed Adele’s mind that this could be some kind of wild flight of fancy brought on by illness, for as a child she had often fantasized about waking up one day to find her mother had suddenly changed into a loving, smiling, happy person.

Everything looked too good to be true. The sun was shining in through the windows, there was a vase of daffodils on the sideboard, and even more astounding was that her mother’s face was pink and white, glowing with rude health, and her eyes had lost the coldness she remembered.

‘We had our breakfast ages ago,’ Rose continued, seemingly unconcerned by Adele standing there as if she were in a trance. ‘Mother’s out feeding the rabbits, but it will give her a real boost if she comes in and sees you tucking into this. You know what she’s like!’

‘You look different,’ Adele said weakly.

‘I expect I do,’ Rose said, and chuckled. ‘More like a land girl now than the bar fly I used to be. But you look a lot different too, too thin, pale and anxious. Sit down at the table, this is nearly ready. How do you feel today?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Adele said, for her legs suddenly felt weak and she reached out for the back of a chair to steady herself.

Rose sped to her side, tucking her hand under Adele’s arm to help her. ‘You’re still weak,’ she said, and her voice was soft with sympathy. ‘Oh, Adele,’ she sighed. ‘Your gran may think this was brought on by too much work. But I know the truth. It must have been hell keeping all that grief inside you.’

Adele turned to look at her mother, a sarcastic retort on her lips, but was stopped short by her expression. It was one of complete understanding. Adele was well used to reading expressions in her nursing and she knew Rose wasn’t faking it. Her words had definitely come from her heart.