Together for Christmas (19 page)

‘Sit by the fire and warm yourself.’ The doctor went over to a highly polished wooden cabinet in the corner. Opening its doors, Flora was surprised to see a row of dainty glasses and
several bottles. ‘A small port, Flora?’

‘Thank you.’ Flora didn’t much care for the smell of port when she poured it out for the patients on Christmas Eve. But she wanted to please the doctor and smiled as he handed
her the glass.

‘Your good health, Flora.’

‘And yours, Dr Tapper.’

He stood with his back to the fire, swaying slightly on his heels as he savoured the port. Flora took a small sip and wrinkled her nose at the liquid which tasted like cough medicine.

Just then, there was a tap on the door. The doctor put down his glass. ‘That must be Michael. Would you welcome our guest while I see to the food?’ He walked away to the kitchen.

Left alone, Flora felt her stomach twist anxiously. Why was she feeling like this? Perhaps it was the effect of the port.

‘Happy Christmas, Flora.’ The wide smile that lit up Michael’s face made her catch her breath as he stepped in.

‘I’ve brought champagne. It’s quite a good one.’ He handed her a large bottle.

‘Thank you and happy Christmas,’ she replied, as she clutched the bottle tightly. She was sure that champagne was a very expensive gift and didn’t want to drop it. From her
pocket she managed to extract the card she had made for him. The picture on the front was one she had drawn from memory: a red motor car with black hood. She had made her own snowflakes too, from
white pieces of paper glued with flour and water. Inside, she had written, ‘Many good wishes for 1916, from Flora.’

‘What a keen eye you have for sketching, Flora. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She felt embarrassed as he leaned his cane against the wall and slid the card into his overcoat pocket. Did he really like it, or was he being polite?

‘The beast refused to start this morning of all mornings,’ he said as he took off his overcoat and hung it on the hallstand. Loosening the button of his expensive-looking dinner
jacket, Flora caught a glimpse of a waistcoat with black satin facings and a pristine white shirt beneath.

‘Did you manage to start it again?’

‘Yes, with a little persuasion. The engine can be temperamental in cold weather. I shall do something about it soon in the workshop at Mama’s. The workshop, as I call it, is just an
old shed, really, but sizeable enough for the car.’

Flora thought how different this young man was to anyone she had ever known. Not that she had known any men from his class. But she had seen plenty of striking men who drove through the park on
a Sunday in their open-top motor cars. And many more in the city with their fashionable partners on their arms, walking with a swagger and not a little arrogance. Michael was not like them. He had
a reserved way, a quiet strength, even with the walking cane that he so hated so much. But today he looked every inch the gentleman, not the wounded soldier who limped into the surgery and watched
her as she worked, his green eyes studying her without flinching. Today, he was someone of standing, who wore his exquisite clothes with natural ease; a man of breeding.

‘Flora! Michael! Are you both there?’ the doctor called.

Flora led the way along the narrow hall. Now, anxious thoughts were racing through her mind. A whole afternoon spread out before them. Suddenly, she feared the hours ahead that would make it
quite clear how little experience she had in making intelligent conversation. What could she contribute to the wealth of knowledge of two learned men? She was just a doctor’s assistant, an
orphanage girl, who had been fooling herself that a young man of Michael’s background could possibly have an interest in what she had to say.

‘A most accomplished dinner, sir,’ Michael said, as they sat by the fire after their meal, the doctor in his chair and Flora beside Michael on the sofa.
Flora’s earlier concerns had disappeared as the hours had slipped by without her noticing. The two men had drunk several glasses of champagne, though Flora had discreetly put her glass to one
side. When she looked in the mirror, she saw that she had developed very pink cheeks and bright, twinkling eyes.

‘Had you always had an eye for the army?’ the doctor asked Michael, as he took the poker and stoked the fire; the flames leaped and sparkled above the coal. The air was full of the
scent of cigars that the two men had just smoked.

‘It was adventure, sir,’ replied Michael without hesitation, ‘though, poor Mama was disappointed when I joined the military at twenty. She had hopes of a professional career
for me. But four walls and a desk were not my idea of adventure. Papa, though I never knew him well, held some influence over me as a child. He was such a colourful character, you see, and made
quite a fortune when he was young, importing exotic goods from abroad. Our house was crammed with such things as ivory, tiger skins and hunting trophies from the Far East. But his Achilles heel was
gambling, in particular the illegal card game of baccarat. Debt soon befell him. Mama insists it was the stress of this that prematurely stopped his heart.’

‘A great pity,’ the doctor sympathized. ‘Tell me, would there be a connection in your family to the Applebys of Buckinghamshire?’

Michael smiled in surprise. ‘Yes, indeed. My paternal grandfather was Professor Reginald Appleby of Buckinghamshire.’

‘A well-respected medical man.’ The doctor nodded.

‘You’ve heard of him, sir?’

‘I’ve read the papers he published. On the aetiology of tuberculosis, if my memory serves me correctly.’

‘The study of infectious diseases was his field,’ Michael agreed eagerly. ‘Under grandfather’s direction, Papa studied for medical school in his early days, but soon
quit. Their relationship suffered after this I’m afraid, and although I never knew either of them well, I understand they were clearly very different men. I hope I’ve kept the best of
them in mind whilst I’ve made my own direction in life.’

‘It’s clear you have a strong and independent spirit,’ the doctor said insightfully, ‘just as Flora has.’ He turned to smile at her. ‘Without Flora as my
nurse these past three years, my practice would have been severely tested. I was most fortunate to have been offered the opportunity of employing her. And that she agreed to be my
assistant.’

Flora felt her cheeks fill with hot colour. The doctor made it seem as though she were someone of importance in his life. He had never spoken like this before.

‘Good fortune for me too, in meeting you both,’ Michael replied, ‘as I now look on my injury more positively. But I fear that I may burden you too much . . . or take up too
much of your time.’

‘Not at all.’ The doctor opened his hands. ‘I am grateful to be able to revive some techniques that I hope might help future patients. As for Flora, the experience she is
having will set her in good stead for the future.’ His expression became wistful. ‘It almost pains me to admit that she would do very well in the hospitals, who are under great pressure
for skilled nursing staff. I have even thought of advising her to become a qualified nurse but so far have been too selfish to suggest it.’

Startled, Flora looked at the doctor. What could he mean?

‘In all but name, you are a very capable nurse,’ he told her. ‘Has it never crossed your mind to try for your certificate?’

Flora shook her head. She was very happy working for Dr Tapper.

‘The time will come for you to spread your wings. After all, your friend Hilda has done so already.’

Flora looked into the doctor’s kindly but slightly troubled face. She knew that she would never leave his side. But before she could reply, Michael spoke again.

‘Who knows what might happen in 1916?’ he said, with a rough edge to his voice. ‘I heard only last week that the men who survived Gallipoli are to be deployed
elsewhere.’

‘To the Western Front?’ the doctor enquired.

‘Some are to go to the Anglo–French force at the Greek port of Salonika.’ Michael blinked his dark lashes. ‘It seems there is no rest from the advance of Axis
troops.’

Flora saw the doctor nod thoughtfully. Very soon the talk turned to the events in Europe that had carved a deep gulf in the earth from Flanders to the French fortress town of Verdun, where the
doctor suggested that Wilfred might have served before being reported as lost in battle.

‘There is still a chance, sir, that he may be found.’

Flora decided to let the two men exchange confidences and slipped discreetly away to the kitchen. She knew that the doctor would be able to talk about Wilfred to someone who understood and would
give him some consolation in the absence of his dear son.

In the kitchen, Flora found that Mrs Carver had baked a rich fruit cake. It was covered in snowy white icing and decorated with green marzipan leaves. Carving several thin slices, Flora set them
on the tray and began to make a pot of hot coffee.

Whilst the water boiled, she thought of what Dr Tapper had said today. Could she really become a nurse, as he suggested? The thought of taking examinations and working in a hospital gave her a
feeling of unease. She had found happiness at Tap House and couldn’t imagine herself being anywhere else. So much had happened this year. The war had unnerved everyone. She didn’t have
the courage that Hilda had to change her life.

Flora gazed out of the kitchen window to the twilight of Christmas Day. This year had proved to be the very best Christmas of her life. The cold pale blue of the afternoon sky had faded to a
darker hue. The rooftops were covered not in smoke and grime but a blanket of ice that shimmered like polished silver. The world seemed so very beautiful. Yet, across the English Channel, a war was
raging. With Will so far away, caught up in the killing, how could she be happy?

But she was.

The cold crisp night was silent as Flora, wrapped up in her coat, scarf and hat, stood outside Tap House. She and Michael had taken their leave, though Flora thought that
neither of them had wanted to end the day. They had spent the evening playing backgammon, the doctor’s favourite parlour game. The fire had burned down until the embers glowed scarlet. Now it
was ten o’clock and their breath was forming clouds of vapour in the frosty air.

‘May I see you again?’ Michael’s face was in shadow under the light of the lamp. ‘I mean of course not as a patient, but as a friend.’

Flora dug her hands deep in her pockets and folded her fingers tightly. What was she to say?

‘Are you worried the doctor might not approve?’ he asked.

‘You are his patient, after all.’

‘But what can be wrong in two friends meeting up? I would of course speak to the good doctor first.’

Flora knew she wanted to be with Michael again. But would that be right?

‘I’m sure we would enjoy one another’s company,’ Michael urged. ‘A drive to the country perhaps? A trip to the theatre? Or just tea in the West End at Lyons or a
decent hotel? You see, I haven’t been able to talk to anyone the way I’ve talked to you.’ He added quickly, ‘And of course the doctor. I understand now why you think of him
as very special. But . . .’ He shook his head, pausing a few seconds. ‘Forgive me for doubting you,’ he said in a gruff voice. ‘Sometimes my frustration gets the better of
me.’

There was an awkward silence as they stood in the street. Flora shivered.

He touched her arm. ‘You’re cold. I’ve kept you out here too long.’

‘Thank you for such an enjoyable Christmas,’ she said.

‘Happy Christmas, my dear Flora. And please think over what I’ve asked of you.’ Then he took a small box from his pocket. ‘This is for you. A small token of my
appreciation.’

‘But I didn’t buy – I have nothing for you—’ Flora began but he put his finger to his lips.

‘You gave me a card made by your own hand and I shall treasure it.’

Flora opened the box. Inside she saw a gleam of silver. ‘Oh, how beautiful!’

‘I hope you like it.’

Flora took out a dainty silver butterfly. It sparkled under the lamplight.

‘I tried to find one similar to the one at the market.’

‘That was very kind of you. But you shouldn’t have done this.’ Flora put the brooch back into the box. ‘I can’t accept such an expensive gift.’

‘I want you to know how grateful I am.’

‘I’m supposed to help all the doctor’s patients.’

He closed her hands over the box. ‘Am I just that to you, a patient? I hoped I was more.’

Flora didn’t know what to say. She wanted this too, but she was afraid.

‘Please take it. I know that when you wear it, you’ll have thought of me as you put it on.’ Then, before she could reply, he turned and was lost in the darkness. A few minutes
later, the engine of his car rattled into life and the dark shape moved off and into the night.

Flora stood there for some time afterwards. The box felt very precious in her hands. Even though she was very cold she wanted to remember this moment. Christmas was almost over and she had
something very special to remember 1915 by.

In the early hours of the morning, Flora lay in bed, thinking of the pretty brooch that Michael had given her. It was very like the one she had seen on the market stall, the
day they had first met. How had he managed to find one to resemble it? The brooch and the shawl were together in the drawer. The shawl was a reminder that she once had someone who loved her as a
mother might. The brooch was from a young man who could become a part of her life, if she let him.

It hadn’t mattered to Michael that she was an orphanage girl. The empty space inside her that she had tried to fill had begun to warm with a very different kind of love indeed.

Hilda slowly buttoned her dress, the familiar emptiness filling her, as Lord Guy Calvey got up from their bed of straw. As usual, after the strong wine that he had urged her to
drink, she felt muddled and ashamed. Hilda knew that what she had done was very wrong in God’s eyes. But she hadn’t been able to help herself. On New Year’s Eve, he had sought her
out on the servants’ staircase and kissed her with such passion that she hadn’t been able to refuse him. And now he had captivated her. She only lived to be with him again.