The Nurse's War (33 page)

‘A bit, but there’s still danger. They brought evacuees down at the beginning of the war, but recently they’ve had to send them on to the West Country. I don’t think the powers-that-be ever thought bombs would fall here. But they have, and since March the whole of the south coast has been a defence zone.

‘I wouldn’t think the town large enough to be worth the bombers’ trouble.’

‘It’s not a main target, but any Luftwaffe pilot with bombs left after attacking London, drops them here.’

They had stopped by a fortified enclosure and Daisy leaned over the barricade to take a closer look. ‘I think that must have been a paddling pool.’

‘A children’s paddling pool, wired off and no doubt mined. What we’ve come to!’

Despite his words, his expression was cheerful. His face had lost the weariness it had worn lately, she noticed, and standing in the bright sun, hair glinting and his skin slightly tanned, he looked the man she’d first known.

He gave her shoulder a gentle touch. ‘Shall we walk back? I’d like to take you to the Pavilion while it’s open.’

‘I’m amazed the building is still standing.’

‘So far, at least. Not one hit.’ They struck inland and
started along the road running parallel to the seafront. ‘It’s sparked a rumour that Hitler plans to use the palace as his headquarters when he invades.’

She looked up at him, half expecting him to be laughing. ‘It’s just a rumour,’ he reassured her, ‘but they’ve moved all the artworks to the countryside for safekeeping.’

‘At least they’re preserving some treasures. Just look at that.’ An enormous mound of scrap metal had been heaped together on the opposite side of the road. ‘They must once have been beautiful railings. Wrought iron as well.’

He shook his head. ‘You have to wonder sometimes whether we’re destroying as much as the Germans. The old tram tracks have been torn up, too. Such a shame.’

They’d arrived at a spot immediately behind their hotel, and from here it was only a short stroll to the exotic palace they’d come to see. Daisy gave a gasp when its minarets first swam into view. It was as though a piece of India had been dropped from the sky into the decorous heart of an English resort.

‘Do you like it?’

‘I’m not entirely sure,’ she puzzled. ‘It’s a little …’

‘On the wild side? It
was
built as a pleasure palace, though there’s precious little pleasure in town these days. Even the racecourse has become an internment camp. The Regent would
not
have approved.’

‘But it’s such an extraordinary place.’ She was finding it difficult to drag her eyes away from the rash of cupolas and decorated arches.

‘You can look your fill later,’ he said in her ear. ‘We should go in now. Remember, we’re on a hunt.’

‘But will they still have the records we want? After all, the building isn’t a hospital any longer.’

‘True, but I believe the basement offices still house an archive of stuff from the Great War. With a little persuasion, I think we can get whoever’s in charge to let us look. But we should see something of the palace first.’

‘I’m already dazzled.’

‘That’s nothing.’ Grayson smiled down at her. ‘Wait till you get inside.’

And he was right. She was overwhelmed by the building’s sheer opulence. They walked slowly from room to room, each more magnificent than the last, and by the time they reached the Music Room, she was wide eyed and stupefied. She sank down on a bench and tried to take it in.

As elsewhere, the ceiling here was gilded and supported by pillars covered in gold leaf, and decorated with carved dragons and serpents. A lamp made to resemble a huge water lily, and coloured crimson, gold and white, hung from the centre with gilded dragons clinging to its underside. More dragons embellished the crimson canopies of the four doorways leading out of the room, and still more writhed above the blue and crimson window drapes. Large ottomans decorated with fluted silk and covered in enormous satin bolsters lined all the walls and an Axminster carpet of spectacular design flooded the floor: a riot of golden suns, stars, serpents and dragons on a pale blue ground.

She sat entranced by the grandeur and hardly noticed when Grayson found a seat beside her. ‘You’ve been sitting motionless for at least ten minutes,’ he said indulgently. ‘Perhaps we should make our way to the basement now—try our luck with those archives.’

‘Do you really believe my mother could have nursed in this marvellous place?’

‘I do. I’m not sure how marvellous it would have been then, but I
am
sure she trained the Indian orderlies who nursed the wounded. We should find her name in the records, and then you’ll believe it.’

It took a little while. The custodian needed no persuading. Indeed he was eager for them to look at treasures that most people passed by, but the pile of dusty registers took some time to trawl. Then she saw the name, Lily Driscoll, and her fingertip hovered over the entry. It seemed as holy to her as any saint’s relic, and she stroked her finger back and forth across the faded ink. ‘She really was here,’ she said in the lowest of voices.

‘She was,’ Grayson agreed.

‘And you found her. How very clever of you.’

‘I do work for the intelligence service,’ he teased. ‘When I can tear you away from the register, I think we should find somewhere for dinner. I know it’s early, but there’s a curfew to beat.’

‘I’d rather like to wash and change first. Can we go back to the hotel?’

‘We can. We might even find there’s enough hot water for a bath, though I’m not promising.’

There was ample water and she lay back in the tub, feeling relaxed and dreamy. The bruises along her arms and legs were still fading, but the cuts on her face had mended. She hoped her mind had mended too. She felt right somehow, right in a way that had earlier been missing. She’d enjoyed being with Grayson today. He had found her mother for her and that was priceless. But it was the feeling of being close that she’d loved most, the feeling that now there were no secrets between them, no resentments.

She dressed in the frock she’d worn to the Ritz. It was too elaborate for a simple meal but she didn’t care. It was the only decent thing she had, and she wanted to look her very best. She tied a band of black velvet ribbon around her dark curls and thought she looked well. No dark marks, no drawn cheeks. That was hardly a surprise. She must have slept for England this last week, but it was more than that. For the first time in a very long while, she was happy, truly happy.

They found a small restaurant a few yards past the Palace Pier. The meal would be uninspired, she knew, but that hardly mattered. It would be a wonderful evening. Her heart was singing and she wondered that nobody could hear it. Grayson looked particularly handsome. He’d found a smart grey suit from somewhere and the crisp white of his shirt made his eyes appear bluer than ever. She found
it difficult to stop her glance straying in his direction and lingering a little too long.

The dessert plates were being cleared when he said, ‘Shall we go back to the hotel? It won’t be long before we have to, and I can’t drink another cup of what passes for coffee to save my life. We could order some brandies at the bar. They’ll do us good.’

She wasn’t so sure when she took her first sip. The liquid was fiery and she gave a small choke. But, after a while, the taste mellowed and she was encouraged to sip again. The hotel bar was snug, a log fire burning in the grate, and she felt her body ease into its warmth.

‘Did the agreement ever get signed,’ she asked lazily. ‘The one Mr Patel came to negotiate?’

‘No, it didn’t. When Congress heard the news, they were quick to recall their envoy.’

‘So Sweetman was successful in disrupting the talks after all?’

‘Only for a while. And he didn’t succeed in much else. His plan seems to have been to discredit the Service, to spread rumours that we were behind Patel’s murder. That would have ensured there would never be an agreement.’

‘But it will be a long time before there is one.’

‘I don’t believe so. The future stays open and negotiations will go on. His grand project is in tatters. Botched and beaten by a slip of a girl.’ Grayson stretched his legs to the
fire. ‘In any case, since then things have moved on. You won’t know, but a new regiment—the Burma Regiment—is being formed this autumn. It will recruit from among Moslems and Sikhs, so Indian participation isn’t that crucial. Sweetman is old news.’

‘He’ll stand trial though?’

‘He will, and be found guilty. And almost certainly executed. His people back in India will do their best to forget him as soon as they can.’ Grayson swirled the amber liquid around his glass and watched it on its circular journey. ‘But that’s all past. I’m more interested in the future.’

‘Connie is getting married to her doctor,’ she offered. ‘She met his parents last week and apparently she was approved. It’s likely to be a late summer wedding. She tells me you’ll be getting an invitation, so make sure you watch your post.’

‘Connie’s forthcoming nuptials aren’t what I had in mind.’

‘They’re what I’ve got in mind,’ she retorted, her forehead puckered. ‘I haven’t a clue how we’re to manage a wedding dress. Parachute silk would do for the underskirt and bodice, but it’s sure to be difficult to get hold of. And even if we find some, we’ll still need netting to finish the gown.’

He leant towards her. ‘I was talking about you and me. What the future holds for us, Daisy.’

She felt suddenly very shy and unsure of just where they stood. Grayson was clearly content in her company, and
she knew he was relieved they were friends once more. But lovers? He’d not behaved as a lover today. He’d made no move to take her in his arms, to kiss her in the way he’d kissed her before. She’d disappointed him too many times, and he wasn’t willing to take another chance. She couldn’t blame him.

‘Perhaps we can leave the future to sort itself,’ he said gently, when she made no attempt to answer. ‘You’ve been through an awful lot these last few weeks.’

Including losing my husband for a second time, she thought. She’d deliberately avoided talking of Gerald. On the surface, it should be simple and, as long as she didn’t think of him, it was. Two days ago, she had walked from his graveside and thought herself free at last. But then she found she hadn’t been able to lose him completely. The image of his body lying dead in the ruins of Ellen Street kept returning. When she’d seen his face—a face she had once adored—with a bullet hole in the temple, she’d felt genuine sorrow, a yearning for things to have been different. And the feeling still haunted her, a shadow over any future she might have.

Grayson was as good as his word. For the rest of the evening, he made no mention of the terrible events they’d passed through or the future that lay ahead. Instead, he talked about the sights they’d seen in Brighton that day, the latest news from Baker Street, how his mother was winning the war single-handedly in Pimlico. Later that evening, he walked her to her bedroom door and she wondered what
would happen if by chance, he asked to come in. How would she react? She need not have wondered. It seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

‘It’s been a good day,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I hope you enjoyed it.’

‘I did—immensely. Coming here was the best idea you could have had. It’s been wonderful to be out of London, and especially wonderful to see my mother’s name in those archives.’

‘I’ve been wondering if we should make tomorrow another Indian day. We don’t need to leave town until after lunch and, if the weather holds, you might like to visit the Chattri. We’d have to take a bus though—I’ve only just enough fuel to get us back to London.’

He must have seen her blank expression. ‘It’s a monument a little to the north of Brighton, dedicated to the Indian solders who died here. I believe it’s a fair walk up on the Downs, so if you’d rather not go, just say.’

The thought of walking across the wonderful hills she’d glimpsed at the back of the town was enticing. ‘I’d love to go. Let’s have an early breakfast and walk.’

He bent his head and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek, then walked down the corridor to his room. ‘Till tomorrow,’ he called over his shoulder.

She found it difficult to sleep that night and she knew why. The past still unsettled her and she thought that maybe it
unsettled Grayson, too. Or at least made him uncertain. When he’d mentioned their future, she was sure he’d had only friendship in mind. He wasn’t thinking of giving himself to her, heart and soul. That moment had gone, squandered by her foolishness, but perhaps he hoped for the kind of loving friendship she’d once envisaged. If that was the case, she would feel fortunate to have salvaged at least something from the mess she’d made.

Grayson was special. He always had been, as intriguing as he was attractive. On the surface honest and decent, a man you could trust with your life. But scratch a little and a different character emerged. Still honourable and decent, but someone who’d chosen a job that was lived for the most part in the shadows. And that beguiled her. Her fellow orphans at Eden House would have called him ‘soft’, yet he was anything but. He’d known a comfortable home, the best schooling that money could buy and a family eager for him to succeed. But he’d chosen to ignore the prizes he’d been gifted, and follow a very different path.

From the first she’d suspected he was a man who enjoyed hazard and she’d been right. He’d said no to the ceremonial glories of a military career and walked away from a safe life as a sugar planter. Instead, he’d found his niche in the Intelligence Service. It was a murky business and a dangerous one. She had no idea if he was involved in operations abroad, but these past few weeks had shown his safety couldn’t be guaranteed, even in England. And
the dangers wouldn’t end now. There would be other Sweetmans in the future. But that didn’t deter her. She loved that part of him, the part that delighted in adventure. She loved every part of him. If only she could shake off the echoes of the past, if only he could see how much she wanted to love him.

C
HAPTER
20