Nightingale (18 page)

Claire wished her friend hadn't spoken. Even so, she could see that this nugget of information only made it worse and she watched the nurse's complexion blanch. ‘What's wrong? Did he have a relapse? Has he been moved from Cairo? What?'

Abby shared an uncomfortable glance with her colleague. ‘He died, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry to be the one to tell you . . .'

‘No!' Claire gasped, a hand up in defence before Abby could say more. ‘That's not right. It can't be. He was showing almost miraculous healing. He was propped up in bed and talking to me . . . we planned . . . promised . . . no!'

She felt Rosie clutching her tightly. ‘Claire —'

The other two nurses were apologising with their eyes, their hands reaching shyly, words tumbling from their mouths. Claire felt as though the walls she'd built around Jamie and her were suddenly a house of cards falling down.

‘He was going to be fine, I tell you . . .'

Rosie pulled her out into the corridor, Abby following, concerned. She spoke to Rosie now.

‘I was there,' she murmured. ‘It had to be three weeks ago at least. He was feverish and died of infection. I can't properly remember – malaria probably, rather than his wounds.'

‘Describe him,' Claire said.

Abby shook her head. ‘I don't think I can. It's just the notion of the bird that triggers the memory and I think he was called James. We were inundated – there was no time to linger with anyone. To be honest, we knew them more by their wounds than their names or even features. Oh, actually I do know he didn't have any ID tag on.'

Claire gasped again and was convinced she could feel the treacherous tag like a scald through her pocket now.

Abby looked over her shoulder. ‘I'm so sorry. I have to go . . . will you be —'

‘I'll take care of her,' Rosie assured. Claire was staring at the floorboards.

‘Claire?' Rosie's voice was tender, unsure.

She couldn't help it. The grief hurt so deeply she felt dizzy. It didn't pay to love. If you don't give up your heart, it can't be broken. But even as she thought this she hated herself for so quickly hating his memory, and despair came out in a low moan of anguish as she slipped down the wall to squat on the floor, hat and hatpin discarded carelessly nearby. It was unseemly and certainly unbefitting of her role but she was not in uniform and in this moment didn't care about anything but how unhinged she suddenly felt.

‘Come on, now.' She could feel Rosie holding her, rubbing her hands. She thought absently that her friend must have pulled off her gloves or she wouldn't feel Rosie's skin against hers. Where were her gloves? Did she care?

She was aware of the world around her and yet felt trapped within a cage of dismay and indecision. She could hear concerned voices echoing down the corridor and Rosie assuring them. She could smell the disinfectant from the floor and feel the ceiling fan stir the strands of her hair that had escaped her loose chignon. But inside she could feel nothing but helplessness. Claire absently became aware of being pulled to her feet and guided away. She didn't care where they were going. Early summer gleefully welcomed them back into its warmth and the sun registered on her skin, as she squinted into its sharp light and noticed how suddenly dry her throat felt.

‘Claire. Just sit down here,' Rosie said. ‘I'm going to see if I can learn some more and get you some water. Don't move.'

Claire needed more than placations. She knew how to cope with loss. And it wasn't loneliness that scared her. But she needed reassurance that this feeling of spinning helplessly on the foaming angry current of her emotions without a rudder would pass and that she would find calm. She stood, rubbed her palms dry of their nervousness on her dress and straightened the cotton fabric. Out of habit she touched her hair to make sure it was still intact and picked up her wide-brimmed straw hat and pale suede gloves that Rosie had placed on the hospital's verandah table. She affixed the hat to her head with the pin, put on her gloves to protect her hands from the burn of the sun, and none the wiser to the fact that Jamie had sat in this precise spot awaiting her several weeks previous, she left the shadows.

Hurrying away, she paused only to speak to a soldier with one side of his head bandaged and an empty shirtsleeve dangling beside him.

When Rosie returned, the one-armed soldier introduced himself and duly passed on the information he'd been asked to.

‘What do you mean? Where's she gone?' Rosie queried.

‘That's all she said, luv, I'm sorry. She'll see you on the ship as scheduled. She said you knew what that meant. And if you feel like going dancing, I've still got my legs.'

Rosie smiled sadly at him. ‘Sorry, I have to find my friend.'

‘Next time, then.' He winked.

________

Claire had glanced briefly at the rows of tents and huts that the ANZAC and British troops had erected along the Corniche but her mind was set to one mission and she hurried on, arriving slightly breathless onto the verandah of the five-storied Windsor Palace Hotel. Curiously the flavour of violets hit her senses as she walked beneath the cool awning and recalled her disastrous sherbert of her previous visit with Rosie. She scanned the clientele reclining in chairs reading newspapers or talking quietly in pairs over pots of tea. She looked anxiously until her gaze fell with intense relief on the familiar face of Eugenie Lester, taking tea alone. Her silvered hair was swept up into a neat chignon to take her sun hat and Claire could see the wide-brimmed hat cast aside on the chair next to her, whose striped ribbon matched perfectly with the soft pebble grey of her cotton dress, which was inlaid with panels of ivory open-work lace. She sat straight-backed and still, a picture of elegance.

The older woman sensed her arrival before Claire could speak and she looked up and beamed her a smile of such absolute delight that Claire instantly felt stronger for the sight of her wise friend.

‘I wondered if I'd see you again before I left. Good heavens, girl, you look exhausted.'

Claire blinked, struggling to find the words, but in spite of her internal battle, she felt her control returning now in this woman's calm presence. She couldn't be bothered explaining that she'd been hurrying between Alexandria and Cairo and back again for most of this day. ‘May I join you?'

‘Of course, my dear, how delightful for me.' She signalled to the waiter for another cup and saucer. ‘I take a strong brew at this time with lemon, dear, is that suitable for you?' Eugenie gestured for her to seat herself.

Claire was reminded of Aunt Anne and afternoon tea in the Palm Court. ‘Yes, thank you.'

‘Fearsome temperature today,' Eugenie continued as though they had been mid-conversation. ‘But I warn you it shall only get worse before it gets easier.'

Claire nodded, not sure if they were still talking about the weather.

‘In spite of your obvious fatigue, you look exquisite, Claire; I suspect you don't bother to get out of uniform too often and can only imagine you have done so for your soldier sweetheart.' She sighed and fixed Claire with a familiar unblinking stare. ‘Are you going to tell me why you're here and not with him?'

The waiter returned and set down the tea things. Eugenie silently dismissed him with a nodding smile as she reached to pour for Claire.

Every part of her willed itself not to succumb to tears; every fibre needed to stay strong through this test. She fought it and won but its cost was the difficult silence that Eugenie allowed to stretch. Finally, Eugenie nodded. ‘I see. Well —'

‘The nurses in the Cairo hospital told me he's dead. I don't believe it.'

‘Good. Why not?' Eugenie handed the cup and saucer to her. It was a strong brew but the lemon scent rose on the steam and its citrus fragrance enlivened her.

She sipped and sighed. ‘I would feel it, wouldn't I? Shouldn't my heart somehow know . . . my rationality accept, even if the emotional side of me refuses to?'

Eugenie gave a smile of such tender empathy that Claire had to start fighting her tears all over again. ‘Indeed. Why don't you tell me what has occurred?'

It came out as a torrent: all of it, down to the decision not to marry until the war was over and the pact to meet on the first April Fool's Day as soon as peace was declared.

Finally, when Claire took a breath, Eugenie gestured towards the dainty china cup of tea for her to keep drinking. Claire picked up cup and saucer again and inhaled the scent of the lemon zest heated and perfuming the air.

‘I wouldn't give up hope, my dear. Not at all.'

Claire's hopes flared. ‘Really?' she breathed and the tea felt soothing to sip.

‘Well, from what you tell me, no one is at all certain about anything. I suggest you banish the anguish and hold tight to hope, my dear. I wouldn't be at all surprised if many names got muddled – all that would have mattered in those hours was saving lives. Even the most diligent of document keepers would have been challenged.'

‘I have nothing to go on.'

‘Of course you do!' Eugenie admonished. ‘You have a man's word that he will meet you on a given day. You have his promise that he wants to marry you and no other. You have his oath that he will not die, not under any circumstances.' She smiled gently. ‘He's a wren, remember? Wily, smart, knows how to remain invisible and cautious.'

Impossible though it seemed, Claire realised she had found a small curl of a smile.

‘There we go. Hold that feeling, child. It's called hope. And when you have hope, you have everything.'

‘What if it's an empty hope?'

Eugenie gave a tutting sound. ‘There is always hope and it comes with no qualification. When it exists in your mind, you will remain strong. Now, while you say you have no proof of your young man's survival, the truth is that you actually have no proof of his demise. Not even that nurse who seemed to have some recollection of him could unequivocally confirm that the soldier she was thinking of was your soldier.'

Claire sighed. ‘There were coincidences, though, Eugenie . . . the bird name, the regiment, the lack of ID tag . . .'

‘I knew a man called Starling once. It isn't the same as Wren, but do you imagine the two might be confused in extraordinary circumstances?'

Claire stared at her, hardly daring to breathe now.

‘And a regiment is a lot of men, my dear. Many thousands, presumably.'

Claire opened her mouth to say something but Eugenie spoke on. ‘I admit to knowing four people called James. No, make that five. And those are just the ones here in Alexandria. If I bothered to sit down and count up how many men called James I've known in my life, it is probably double that number. Perhaps you might counter that these two men with similar surnames might also both be called James.'

‘That's a lot of coincidence,' Claire muttered.

‘Coincidence by its very nature is odd but coincidences happen every day to every one of us – it's just that a lot of the time we barely notice them. How many women are wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat in this very hotel?'

Claire dutifully glanced around. ‘Dozens. That's not a co­incidence, though, is it, Eugenie? Just practicality, surely?'

‘With a cream silk ribbon?' Eugenie pressed.

‘Well, that's just fashion.'

Eugenie's wrinkles shifted as her smile shone from her face. ‘No, dear girl. It's about perspective. And your perspective is skewed right now because you're frightened. I'm not suggesting you have no reason to be concerned, but a series of unrelated facts do not necessarily make up the full account. Leave some room for oddities because life, I have found, is rarely neat. Drink your tea. It has magical properties to make every shock feel less dramatic.' Eugenie's indulgent smile deepened. ‘I'm glad you came.'

‘I couldn't breathe. I deserted my friend in Cairo. I didn't have a single straight thought all the way here other than I needed to find you because I knew you'd help me make sense of it.'

‘And have I?'

‘You've made me feel a lot better than I did when I arrived. Thank you.'

‘Don't mention it. I meant to give you this last time but didn't have one on me.' She dipped into a small lace purse that hung from her wrist. ‘My address in Hertfordshire, just in case – you are most welcome to stay any time. The invitation stands. I'd like to hear more about your trip to Turkey to return the prayer book too.'

Hope genuinely found its wings in her heart now. ‘Do you think I'll ever get to do that with him?'

‘Oh, you must, even if you do it alone. There's a father grieving somewhere and it matters not which side his son fights for.'

Claire glanced at her watch and a spark of panic trilled through her. ‘I must go, Eugenie. My friend Rosie is going to be frantic as it is, but I have to report back shortly at the ship.'

‘Of course, my dear. Now you must promise me that you will keep faith with the vow you gave James Wren. We can only imagine that wherever he is, he is clinging to that to keep himself safe.'

Claire instinctively reached for the name tag, wrapping her fingers around it in her pocket to keep him close as she had promised him she would. She kissed Eugenie Lester farewell on both cheeks and then hugged her.

‘Thank you for making me feel strong in here again,' she said, tapping her temple.

Eugenie touched her heart. ‘
Al'afw
,' she murmured, and they shared an affectionate smile in memory of their first meeting.

________

Claire arrived back at the dock's meeting point where the face of her friend who greeted her looked frightened rather than angry, as she'd expected Rosie to be.

‘The man who died was a light horseman, Claire, I'm so, so sorry.' Her voice wobbled but she checked herself and took a breath. ‘I made sure. One of the other nurses had seen his uniform, remembered it because it stood out from the everyday soldiers' garb. He was from the 9th, she recalled, because he kept repeating that he had to get back to his brigade. The 9th was Jamie's brigade, wasn't it, 3rd Regiment, you said?' The words were tumbling out in a warble.