Songs of Spring (25 page)

With growing dismay, she studied the timetable again. She had only five minutes in which to catch the train she had believed she and Yves might return to Tonbridge on, and it was the last that could reasonably be expected, allowing the two changes, to get them to Ashden this evening. Get
her
to Ashden, she sadly corrected herself. Yves might just be late, but in her heart she knew this was not the answer, and slowly she walked back to the London platform.

Even if she saw Yves for a few hours tomorrow, there would be no precious night together.

‘I’ll answer it, Percy,’ Felicia called out. She was busy decorating the Christmas tree in the entrance hall, with Phoebe shouting orders at her from the comfort of an armchair.

‘Isn’t it wonderful to be home?’ Phoebe had said.

‘Yes,’ she had answered mechanically, but it wasn’t that wonderful. The deep joy of her new understanding with Daniel was marred by the thought of having to break the news to Luke tomorrow.

‘He’ll take it better than you think,’ Daniel had said consolingly.

‘Yes, but—’ She stopped, for she could not put the thought behind the ‘but’ into words, even for herself.

She opened the front door, and to her astonishment there stood a familiar khaki-clad figure.

‘What on earth are you doing here, Yves? And where’s Caroline? Mother said she’d gone dashing off to Dover to meet you.’ Felicia was alarmed.

His face changed in shock. ‘But I told Luke my train would get in at three-thirty here at Ashden.’

No wonder Caroline had not been at the station to greet him as he had expected and longed for.

Felicia groaned. ‘Luke said it was a bad line. It wasn’t even clear whether you were coming to the Rectory or going to London.’

Yves glanced down at his luggage in despair. ‘I must go.
Now
. She may be waiting for me alone in Dover. This is terrible.’

‘Yes, but—’ This time Felicia could frame the thought behind the ‘but’; it was too late, however. Yves was already running across to Station Road. The ‘but’ had been that it would take hours to get back to Dover, with no surety that Caroline would be there to meet him.

‘Who was that?’ Her father appeared in the hallway.

‘Yves. There’s been a mix-up,’ she explained, and the Rector paled.

‘Caroline would surely have the sense to go to Buckford House if she were stranded?’ It didn’t sound as if he had any confidence about this.

‘She’s more likely to go to London or try to get back here. Probably the latter, seeing how slow the trains will be tomorrow.’

‘She’ll telephone, surely. How long is Yves here for, and where is he?’

‘I didn’t think to ask him – and he’s gone rushing back to Dover.’

‘They’re both as mad as each other,’ Laurence said crossly.

What a to-do. Here it was time for Christmas Eve dinner, and no one knew where Miss Caroline was, and no sign of Mr George yet, though he’d promised faithfully he’d be home. At least Miss Tilly was home, together with Lord Banning and his daughter.

‘Myrtle, get those potatoes out of the oven,’ Margaret commanded. ‘They’ll be done to a crisp. And next Christmas Eve, mind you get that stuffing done quicker.’

Myrtle obeyed, then straightened up as she dumped the somewhat charred potatoes onto the table. ‘There may not be a next year,’ she muttered.

‘What’s that, Myrtle?’

‘I really am going to leave soon, Mrs Dibble.’

Margaret snorted. ‘Leave the Rectory? You’ll never do that, not while the kiddies are here.’

‘I don’t want you to think I’ve not been happy here, Mrs Dibble,’ Myrtle said fiercely, ‘but now the war’s over it’s time to think of kiddies of my own. Times are changing. A girl’s got to look after herself now, and there are no prospects here.’

‘Prospects?’ Dismay made Margaret curt. ‘What do you think you are – a bank manager? You thank your lucky stars you got a job at all, Myrtle.’

‘And I don’t meet any young men here.’

‘There aren’t any to meet any more,’ Margaret replied soberly. ‘There’s many a girl in England not going to have a man of her own ever.’

‘So you see,’ Myrtle came back quickly, ‘I’m right to get out and look around.’

Perhaps Myrtle would change her mind, perhaps she
wouldn’t. Margaret made herself a cup of tea and thought about it. Once she accustomed herself to the idea that Myrtle was leaving, it wouldn’t seem so bad. Just because she, Margaret, would never leave the Rectory, she couldn’t expect the same to apply to everybody else. She’d have to train a new girl though. Agnes couldn’t manage alone. And come to that, what might Agnes’s plans be?

Penelope finished helping Felicia with the Christmas tree, and decided to take a stroll around the village before dark fell completely. Her footsteps took her to the cinema, and she stood outside it for some moments, surprised to see it in darkness and obviously closed up. Then briskly she walked away along Bankside. Where the bombed cottages had been, she had expected to see an empty shell, a scarred hole of rubble, but instead she saw an orderly piece of ground, fenced off and with winter vegetables growing in it. At the moment it also contained Frank Eliot, whom she hadn’t seen since he had returned to Ashden after his illness.

‘Hallo, Frank,’ she said brightly, opening the new wicket gate and going in. ‘Growing for England, are you?’ she continued.

He grinned. ‘Something like that, Miss Banning.’

‘I heard you had gone into the cinema,’ she continued doggedly. ‘I imagined you’d be another Douglas Fairbanks by now, not growing vegetables.’ With his moustache and tall, lean figure, he did have something of the Fairbanks look.

‘Not exactly a Douglas Fairbanks. More of a Charlie Chaplin. I’m afraid the cinema is no more. Swinford-Browne
couldn’t wait to get rid of me in gratitude for all the work I did for his hop fields.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not. It’s given me more time to create this garden. It won’t be a vegetable garden for long. When life is normal again, it will be a flower garden in memory of Isabel Swinford-Browne.’

‘I hadn’t heard about that either. What a nice idea,’ Penelope said approvingly. ‘Are you in charge of the project?’

He hesitated. ‘Partly.’

‘What will you plant—?’

‘I won’t be planting anything,’ he cut in abruptly. ‘I’m leaving the village.’

‘Leaving?’ Penelope was taken aback. ‘But your son—’

‘I hear Rudolf is a good man. He says he’ll take care of him.’

‘But,’ Penelope struggled to cope with this unexpected development, ‘what about Lizzie?’ Having heard no more from Caroline, she had assumed Lizzie had elected to stay with Frank.

‘She says it’s best this way, and I agree.’

‘What will you do?’

He shrugged. ‘Go into hops again, perhaps. Not here, though. I’ve had enough of Sussex, even if the old hop fields are kept up.’

‘Are hops really your life’s work?’ Penelope asked hesitantly.

‘I’m over forty now, rather old for dreams, Penelope – I’m sorry, Miss Banning.’

‘Penelope.’

‘You have youth on your side, so what’s your dream?’ Frank abruptly turned the tables, perhaps, she guessed, to ignore the gauntlet she had just laid down.

She longed to answer, ‘You, Frank,’ but instead she said, ‘Some kind of venture of my own. Some business I can run. I’d be good at that. Now tell me yours.’ She spoke so firmly he could not refuse her this time.

Unwillingly he replied, ‘I’d like to design gardens, huge gardens, small gardens, and then watch them grow.’

‘Then why don’t you?’

‘It requires money,’ he said wryly. ‘And connections. Pity. I’d be good at it.’

Penelope stared at him. In 1914 she had gone on an impulse out to Serbia. Now she felt a similar impulse. Again it was a risk, but she had the same feeling that it was right. ‘That might be no problem.’ She was nervous, not because she doubted herself but because she feared his reaction.

He flushed, and started to say something. ‘My money, my connections, your creativity. Think about it, Frank,’ she interrupted quickly, before he could turn her down.

He looked at her, saw that she was serious, and nodded his head. ‘Very well. I’ll think. May I call on you in London?’ He seemed surprised himself at his answer, and, well satisfied, she strode away.

Frank watched her go. Not for the first time, it occurred to him she had somewhat the look and character of his Jennifer.

Caroline sat despondently on a bench at Tonbridge, waiting for the Tunbridge Wells connection. It was all a
terrible nightmare. There was no Yves and she’d missed the Christmas preparations too. Furthermore she wouldn’t be home until eight o’clock at the earliest, and would undoubtedly miss Yves’ telephone call from London. She felt very sorry for herself indeed, and for the first time tears began to flow.

‘Poor dear.’ The woman next to her on the bench drew nearer. ‘Lost your sweetheart, have you?’

‘Yes,’ said Caroline bleakly. She had. Not once, but twice.

About six-thirty the doorbell rang again, and Felicia ran to open it in the hope of its being Caroline. It wasn’t. In the Rectory drive was a large and unfamiliar army staff car, and on the doorstep were three large male strangers, one in civilian clothes of a very odd type indeed with a three-cornered hat, and two younger men in army uniform, which Felicia belatedly registered was American. All three of them were grinning and had a somewhat familiar air about them.

‘Laurence at home, is he?’ the older man asked, as she confusedly stood aside to let them in. He then proceeded to pump her hand up and down. ‘Where is the old son of a gun?’

Attracted by the loud noise, Laurence came out of the drawing room with Elizabeth close on his heels. He stopped short, and stared at the three of them, his gaze going from one to the other. Then two strides took him to the older man, where he proceeded first to pump his hand up and down, and then to hug him.

‘Gerald! Taken your time, haven’t you?’ He was half laughing, half crying.

‘Sure have. Gave up waiting for you to come over to Colorado, and when Jake and Pete here came over to bail you folks out in France, I thought why not meet them and go down to see the folks?’

‘And I’m delighted,’ Laurence said simply. ‘How did you know to come here and not Dover though?’

‘Dover?’ Gerald grinned. ‘How is the old battleaxe?’

Lady Buckford descended the stairs in stately fashion. ‘The old battleaxe is quite well, thank you, my son.’

No Caroline at the Town Station, and no sign of her at the docks. Yves had gone straight to Buckford House but no one there had seen her either and when he telephoned the Rectory, Caroline had not returned. Someone at the station remembered seeing a young lady wearing a WAAC’s uniform waiting much earlier in the afternoon, but she’d left alone on the London train. He promptly rang the office and then Queen Anne’s Gate, but there was no reply from either. There were two choices. Either Caroline was on the way back to Ashden, or on her way to London and Queen Anne’s Gate. He’d understood Luke wasn’t going to Ashden until morning so she could be planning to travel with him. What a waste of precious, precious time.

‘Pick me a leaf or two of sage, Agnes.’ A little sage went a long way but it was useful because it kept green all winter. ‘And then you’d better make up those three rooms.’ What a to-do! The Rector’s long-lost brother and his two sons
come to stay, which meant a full house at the Rectory. She didn’t know whether she was on her head or her heels.

There was no reply from Agnes who came to with a start as she saw Margaret staring at her. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking.’

Once Margaret would have snapped, ‘No time to think, not on Christmas Eve.’ And certainly not this one, but she didn’t do that tonight. There were more important matters.

Poor Miss Caroline didn’t get home till eight-thirty – and she was alone. Mrs Lilley popped out from the family reunion and had asked Margaret to get her something to eat in the dining room until she felt up to facing her new relations. Margaret promptly whisked out the nice piece of beef she’d kept warm for her. Miss Caroline only toyed with it, however, and seeing that, Mrs Lilley had decided she’d better tell her the truth.

‘Yves has been here, darling.’

‘What?’ Miss Caroline’s eyes grew round with horror. ‘I thought he’d gone to London,’ she wailed. ‘Where is he now?’

‘He went to find you. He’ll be back, Caroline. Do try to eat something,’ Mrs Lilley coaxed.

‘Where did he go?’

‘Dover, of course.’

It was a good job Margaret was still in the room because she was able to slam the door shut to prevent Miss Caroline rushing straight off to Ashden Station again. Mrs Lilley took firm control for once, bless her. ‘No, Caroline. Wait here, we have some news for you. Isn’t that best, Mrs Dibble?’

Margaret nodded.

‘He may think I’m up in London,’ Caroline said desperately, eyeing the door and her chances.

‘You wouldn’t get to Dover tonight. Besides, Caroline, we all need you here, and especially tonight.’

‘You don’t understand – I could get to London at least.’

‘And what if Yves comes here? He
will
come, even if it is tomorrow.’

‘I’ll go to the station then to meet the trains.’

‘No, darling, you will spend Christmas Eve here with us, just as you always have. Now let me explain …’

Of all the stupid things to happen. If Yves was only here for a very short time, he might not have the time to come, he might think it was not worth all the anguish of another parting. Caroline tried in vain to eat the unappetising slice of beef Mrs Dibble had proudly put before her, but found it as hard to digest as the news of Uncle Gerald’s reappearance. In the end, she quietly slid it onto the fire, and compromised with the potatoes and cabbage. Just as she was wondering how to dispose of the roly-poly pudding, there was a ring at the door, and Caroline rushed to answer it, almost colliding with Agnes who promptly retreated.

‘Yves!’ she cried as she threw open the door.