Primrose Square (31 page)

‘In the morning,' Barry repeated. ‘Goodnight, then.'

‘'Night, Elinor,' said Donald.

‘Goodnight, goodnight!' She got herself out of the room somehow and ran downstairs to dress for the cold again, to face the winter evening, catch her tram, arrive home at Friar's Wynd, where Hessie was simmering one of her stews.

‘Poor lassie, you look frozen, eh? Come by the range – there's
The
Scotsman
if you want it. Somebody left it on my tram.'

While her mother put a cup of tea at her elbow, Elinor leafed idly through the paper, then stopped, pierced through the heart. Pierced by something sharp and deadly, though it was only a name, leaping out at her from the announcement page.

‘The engagement is announced between Captain Stephen Muirhead, only son of the late Mr Arnold Muirhead and Mrs Edwina Muirhead, of Edinburgh, and Miss Frances Glenner, elder daughter of Mr and Mrs Bertram Glenner, of Kelso.'

‘You all right?' Hessie's voice asked, from a distance. ‘No bad news in there, eh?'

‘No, no. Just tired, that's all.'

‘Drink that tea, then. I'm nearly ready with this stew.'

Very slowly, Elinor drank the tea, then rose to set the table, help her mother serve up the potatoes and carrots to go with the stew, took her place, ate away as though nothing had happened.

Except that she knew now what her answer would be to Barry Howat's proposal.

Fifty-Eight

The following morning, hurrying up the steps to the Primrose, Elinor saw Major Henderson just ahead. He turned to greet her, but in the light of the entrance hall, suddenly showed concern.

‘Are you all right, Elinor? Seem a little  . . .'

‘Just rather a poor night last night,' she said quickly, knowing there were deep shadows beneath her eyes and that she did indeed look far from well. ‘Nothing to worry about.'

‘That's a relief.' He laughed. ‘Can't afford to have you going on sick leave, you know.'

‘I was wondering, could I have a word, Major? There's something I'd like to tell you.'

‘Of course. Come into my office.'

Always so polite, he set a chair for her and, hanging up his greatcoat and hat on a stand, moved to his desk to face her. ‘Fire away, then.'

‘Well, something's happened you should know about.' She hesitated, keeping her eyes down, then looked up directly into his kindly face. ‘Barry Howat has asked me to marry him.'

‘Oh, God.' He gave a groan and put his hand to his brow. ‘This is my fault, isn't it? I knew something like this could happen and I still asked you to take him out, thinking of him instead of you. I'm sorry, Elinor, I really am.'

‘That's all right, sir. It's nothing to do with you.'

‘What did you tell him? Did you let him down gently?'

‘I  . . . I said I'd think about it.'

‘Think about it? Why, you're not serious! You can't be considering marriage with Barry. He's a sick man, he still has a long way to go  . . .'

‘He says he won't get better without me. He says I'm all that stands between him and – I don't know – disaster, I suppose. I can't just say no.'

Major Henderson leaned forward, his face taut and serious. ‘Elinor, listen to me, what Barry's doing here is very, very common. It's a form of blackmail used by invalids or people with problems, to get their own way. You must just call his bluff. That's if you don't actually want to marry him. You don't, do you?'

‘No, I don't. Not now. Now, it's all over. But you see, I did once. There's something else I should tell you. Barry and me – we were going out together before the war. I really loved him then, and I thought he loved me, but when the war came, he said he didn't want to marry, he wasn't the marrying kind, and he volunteered for the army straight away.'

‘When he could, he didn't want to marry you?' The major again put his hand to his brow. ‘The truth being that he didn't need you then. So, now, when he does need you, when he's become dependent on you, he feels you should marry him because he can't go on without you. He can. We're here to help him, and once he has his artificial leg, he'll have a totally different outlook. You'll see, I promise you.'

‘I daren't risk it, Major.' Elinor stood up. ‘I daren't risk saying no. If anything was to happen, I'd never forgive myself.'

‘Nothing will happen. We'll see that it doesn't.'

Major Henderson came round his desk and took her hand. ‘Look, you can't let yourself do this; you can't sacrifice yourself to him. I've seen too many lives ruined to want to let you ruin yours, too. I'll speak to him—'

‘No! No, don't say anything. I've thought about it and I'm willing to do what he wants. I mean, he's the one who's really made a sacrifice, the way I see it. Maybe I should do what I can for him.'

‘Elinor, there'll be other people in your life. One day, you'll meet someone you really want  . . .'

‘No,' she said decisively. ‘I'm no' interested in thinking about the future. I'll try to help Barry now.'

For a moment or two Major Henderson gave her a quiet, considering look, then he sighed deeply and went with her to the door.

‘If it's what you really want, then go ahead. But perhaps I could suggest that you don't rush into any ceremony? Say it would be best to wait a while, until he is stronger. Will you do that?'

‘Yes, I think you're right, that would be best. And I want to thank you, for talking to me, it's been a great help.'

‘I wish I could think so. But any time you need to talk to me again, please come to see me. You're good and caring, and I'll be glad to listen.'

She smiled briefly and left him, moving fast upstairs to give Barry her answer, knowing that the longer she waited, the more difficult it would be. Once she'd spoken, once she'd burned her bridges, she would feel better. No going back, then.

‘Barry,' she whispered, entering his room, glad to see that he was alone.

‘Elinor!' he cried, and held out his arms.

What could she do, but go to him?

Fifty-Nine

Although Major Henderson was duty-bound to inform the colonel and his colleagues of Barry's engagement to Elinor, it was agreed that the news should not become common knowledge.

‘God knows what'll happen if the other patients think they can start marrying the nurses,' Colonel Shannon groaned. ‘But if some good comes of it for Corporal Howat, I'm prepared not to ask Elinor to leave. We've not had much luck with him and this could be something of a turning point.'

‘If there's real improvement, how about sending him down to Queen Mary's at Roehampton?' Major Henderson asked. ‘He might not have his new limb, but he could learn new skills and trades there. They've had a lot of success with amputees.'

‘And that would solve our problem with him here,' the colonel agreed with enthusiasm, at which the major raised an eyebrow, but thought it best not to say that that had not been his point.

‘I really don't know what to make of it all,' Matron said frostily. ‘Normally speaking, I couldn't countenance any engagement between a nursing aide and a patient, but it appears they were known to each other before and it does seem likely that Elinor can really help Private Howat. If you're happy about it, Colonel, we'll just have to say that circumstances alter cases and hope the whole thing is resolved very soon.'

‘Amen to that,' said Colonel Shannon.

The only person Elinor told, after upsetting Hessie with the news that she was, after all, going to take on Barry, was Brenda, who was of course sworn to secrecy.

‘Are you sure you're doing the right thing?' she asked with so much doubt in her voice, it was plain she wasn't at all sure herself.

‘I have to do it, Brenda,' Elinor declared. ‘Barry's in a very fragile state – if I don't support him, there might be consequences.'

‘Honestly, I think that's his look-out. Why should you have to promise to marry him? You could just say you'll be his friend.'

‘Wouldn't be enough. I could leave him, you see, I could marry someone else. So he'd think he could never be sure – unless I marry him.'

‘At least he's agreed to wait to be wed until he's made some improvement. And if he gets his new leg, maybe he won't need you after all.'

‘Oh, that will never happen, Brenda. He'll never let me go, whether he gets his new leg or not. And the waiting lists are still very long.'

Elinor put her hand on Brenda's shoulder.

‘But what's the news for you? How's Tam?'

‘Waiting for the next big battle. Hasn't come yet, but it will.'

‘Barry's sister thinks he's lucky because he's out of it, but I wouldn't say that, the way he is.'

‘I wouldn't say anyone is lucky in this war, Elinor.'

Whether he could be considered lucky or not, Barry began very slowly to get better. Though still brooding over his failure to obtain an artificial leg, there was no question any more of his being considered a suicide risk. As the weeks went by, he seemed to be responding to Major Henderson's treatment, and to be willing to consider that there might be life after amputation, but to those who knew of his secret engagement it was clear that he was still dependent on Elinor.

‘So, not completely better yet,' Major Henderson told Elinor, as the grip of winter lessened and there was the prospect at last of spring.

‘But we are now considering sending him down to Queen Mary's Hospital in Roehampton. He will benefit from being taught new skills there – even a trade – and that's very important for his future. The only thing is, he will have to manage without you while he's there. You think he can do that?'

She looked dubious. ‘Maybe not. He might want us to get wed before he goes.'

‘Even if you did, you wouldn't be able to join him. And I thought we'd agreed you shouldn't rush into things.'

‘He is getting better, Major.'

‘Even so.' His gaze was meaningful. ‘See how he gets on at Roehampton.'

‘There's no way I can put him off for ever,' she said after a pause.

‘No, but wait a while longer. As I say, see how things go down there. First, of course, I have to tell him about it – he doesn't even know what we're planning. If you're taking him out this afternoon, I'll tell him when you get back.'

In the event, the major didn't have to tell Barry anything, for when he and Elinor returned from their outing, a letter for Corporal Howat had arrived by the afternoon post.

‘What's this?' he wondered, sliding from his wheelchair to the chair by the window in his room, the brown envelope in his hand. ‘Looks official, eh?'

‘Probably wanting money,' called Donald, laughing.

‘They'd be lucky if they got anything out of me, eh?'

While Elinor moved about, hanging up Barry's coat, tidying the room, he opened the envelope and read its contents. Then he looked up.

‘Elinor,' he said, his voice strangely hoarse. ‘Guess what?'

‘What?'

‘They want me to go down to a hospital in Roehampton.'

‘For training?' she asked, mystified that he'd had an official letter about something that hadn't been arranged.

‘No, not for training! For the fitting of an artificial limb. Oh, God, Elinor, I'm going to get my new leg! I'll be walking again, on two legs, with two feet. My turn's come at last!'

Sixty

It was strange, to be at the Primrose without Barry. Elinor couldn't get used to seeing someone else sharing his room with Donald; kept expecting to find him there, waiting for her to take him out, looking glum if she was late, brightening when they were together.

Suddenly, that was all in the past. Barry was far away, achieving what he wanted, and she was  . . . well, she had to admit it – free. For now, at least, for of course he would be coming back. Not to the Primrose, but probably the flat he shared with Bettina, from where he'd probably attend a medical board and some decision would be taken about his future. Even with his new leg, he could not go back to the front, but a job might be found for him at regimental HQ; he might well stay in the army.

She had promised to write to him and had kept her promise, but letters from him were few. One said he was pleased things were going well for him at the hospital with the fitting of his artificial limb, and he would probably be staying on after he'd had his training in the use of it. There was this business of learning a new trade, to fit him for civvy life, seeing as he wouldn't be able to climb ladders in his old job. Hadn't decided yet what it would be, but he'd let her know. Would she please not forget him, anyway? Remember, they'd agreed to be wed one day. As though she could forget it.

A couple of postcards followed, and then a letter saying he'd decided to go for tool making as his new trade and would write more about that later – but no more letters came. No doubt he was too busy, with all that he had to learn at Queen Mary's. Even so, Elinor wasn't pleased and drew her dark brows together, thinking about it. If she meant so much to him, how come he didn't keep in touch?

Then news came of the next big battle everyone had been expecting, and it hardly seemed worth worrying over Barry's failure to write letters. Who could think of anything except the terrible nightmare that was Passchendaele?

All battles were terrible, of course, but the difference between others and the third battle of Ypres, as Passchendaele was sometimes known, was the mud. After the heaviest rain for thirty years on the Flanders Plain, everything was a quagmire, with mud so deep men and horses could drown in it, guns and tanks were lost, food was too damp to eat.

Although people at home couldn't possibly appreciate what conditions were truly like, the newspapers gave some idea, and news came through, anyway, from injured soldiers who had been sent back for treatment. And the cry went up again – what was it all for? Reaching the Belgian coast and destroying German submarine bases, it was said, in the hope of ending the blockades that were preventing food reaching Britain. But at the end of July, when the battle first began, no one knew if that could be achieved. All anyone knew then was that the casualty lists were as long as ever.