Primrose Square (35 page)

‘As soon as he comes back.'

Their eyes met, and the words hung in the air. ‘If he comes back  . . .'

It was a great help to Elinor that Brenda now knew about her relationship with Stephen, for it meant she had someone at the Primrose who shared the anxiety she was otherwise keeping to herself. Of course, Brenda told her, she'd always known there was something between her and Stephen – hadn't she once said so? And now that they were together again, in spirit, anyway, she couldn't be happier for them.

‘Oh, it's such a shame, though, just when you should be so radiantly happy, you've had to be parted, eh? Life's so cruel.'

‘I do feel sort of radiant inside, though I know I don't look it,' Elinor murmured ruefully. ‘No, don't say I do, I'm sure I look as though I've been ill.'

Only one person, in fact, had asked her if she was well, and it was Major Henderson. Stopping her in the hall one morning, he gave her a long, sympathetic look, and said he hoped she wasn't overdoing things, she was so pale. Perhaps she was anaemic? He could arrange to give her a test.

‘No, no, I'm fine, sir, thanks all the same. Just – a bit anxious.'

‘It's not Barry worrying you again, is it?'

She smiled and shook her head. ‘I haven't seen Barry for weeks. No, it's  . . . well, there's someone in the army I care for  . . . he's at the front.'

‘Someone you care for?' His expression had subtly changed, from one of kindliness to one of surprise. ‘Forgive me – I had the impression there was no one.'

‘I knew him before. We had  . . . drifted apart.'

‘And now he's in France? I'm sorry – no wonder you're anxious. Let's hope there's good news soon.'

‘You think there might be?'

‘Everyone believes the Germans are tiring. So are we, of course, but we have the Americans now.' The major shrugged and smiled. ‘Can but hope, Elinor.'

‘I live on it,' she told him, and they went their separate ways.

There were in fact some good things to take pleasure in, mainly Stephen's letters which were as comforting as Elinor had expected. Well written, never downhearted, often amusing, with little drawings and stories of trench life, and always gratitude for her own letters to him. She worried at first that she wasn't as good at writing as he was, but as time went by, found she was improving and came quite to enjoy putting her thoughts on paper to him. As well as sending him his knitted mittens, of course, and small parcels of chocolate and biscuits, if she could find them.

‘It really helps, sending things,' Brenda remarked one day in March. ‘And Tam loves goodies. Will be getting something else soon, though.'

Something about her expression made Elinor's interest rise, and at her look, Brenda couldn't contain herself any longer.

‘I mean news, Elinor. News that he's going to be a father. It was that Christmas leave that did it – I'm going to have a baby in September.'

Oh, that really was good news! Wonderful news! Elinor hugged Brenda over and over again, and almost shed a tear or two, she was so happy for her.

‘But you'll be leaving, eh? And I'll miss you so much. Don't leave too soon, will you? Keep well and keep going as long as possible.'

‘Hey, I'll be wanting to put my feet up!' Brenda laughed. ‘But I'll stay as long as I don't look like a house-end.'

‘You'll be one of those neat ones, I'm telling you. Oh, but this is such lovely news.'

There was more good news a week or two later, even if not quite as personally interesting, except to Miss Ainslie, who brought it.

‘Elinor, Elinor!' she cried, when Elinor was fetched to meet her in the hall. ‘Splendid news, my dear! Did you hear? Have you read about it in the papers?'

At Elinor's blank face, she drew her to one side.

‘We've got the vote, Elinor! We've won the day! Women over thirty are to be given the vote – it's been approved by parliament. Oh, I'm so happy, I can't believe it!'

‘That's wonderful, Miss Ainslie. I think I did read about it now you mention it. But it's no' for everyone, is it? I mean, don't you have to own property, too? That rules out a lot of women.'

‘Well, it's true, there are those qualifications, but it's a start, isn't it?' Miss Ainslie's eyes were shining. ‘After all the work women have been doing in the war, it's no more than common justice that we should be given the vote, and I'm sure it will come to everyone eventually.'

‘You're right, it's a start, and I'm very happy for all the people who've worked for it,' Elinor said truthfully. ‘But are you on leave just now, Miss Ainslie?'

‘Yes, but I'm not idle.' She laughed. ‘The war news is good – we may see an end to hostilities this year. Which means, my dear, that this place will be coming back to us.'

‘Back to the club?' Elinor asked, astonished.

‘Well, it has to come back and I'm making plans already. I don't think I've a hope of getting the old staff together again – they're all doing something else – but I am hoping you will consider an offer I'm going to make?'

‘An offer?'

‘You remember Miss Denny, my assistant manageress? Well, she's now married to someone in the Guards and won't be returning. Her job will be vacant and I want you to take it.'

‘Me? Assistant manageress?' Elinor was stunned, her eyes on Miss Ainslie's face enormous. ‘But I couldn't do that!'

‘Of course you could! Didn't you do that office management course? That will be very valuable for the sort of work you'd be doing, and I know you'd do it well. Now you just think about it and we'll discuss it later. There's no hurry; we're not quite ready to be moving back yet!'

Leaving a bewildered Elinor staring after her, Miss Ainslie flew away, seeming so keen and energetic, it was clear her years of war work had changed her not at all.

Assistant manageress, though? At one time, Elinor knew she would have been over the moon that she could ever be considered for such a post. Now, though, the only words that were really registering with her as she turned away, were those Miss Ainslie had mentioned quite casually: ‘The war news is good – we may see an end to hostilities this year.'

Words that were an echo of others that scarcely left her mind. ‘It'll end this year, Elinor, I promise you. This year, sometime, I'll come back to you  . . .'

This year? It seemed too much to believe that Stephen might be proved right, that this year, the war could be over. Better not think too much about it. Better just keep on. Wait and see. Have patience. Hope.

Yes, and better get back to Private Norris. She'd been halfway through cutting his hair for him when she'd been called down. Not that he'd be wanting her to hurry back, had probably been smoking ever since she left.

Slowly, she began to climb the stairs.

Sixty-Six

On November 11th, 1918, a beautiful word entered everyone's heads, and it was ‘Armistice'.

Though its meaning was truce, a truce could be temporary, and to the damaged people of Europe, the real meaning of the Armistice was peace. Permanent peace. The time when the two sides realized they'd had enough. When the Kaiser had abdicated, the guns were silent. And when the soldiers would come home.

Not at first, of course. There would be formalities. Demobilization couldn't take place overnight. But, sooner or later, the men would be back, the main thing to remember being that they were now safe.

‘Thank God,' said Brenda, bringing her baby daughter, Tamsin, round to the Primrose just before Christmas. There were hugs and kisses and exchanging of little presents, before fond farewells and promises to keep in touch the minute anything was heard from the loved ones, who would be coming home as soon as possible.

‘Can't believe that this place will soon be returning to a ladies' club again,' Brenda remarked as she left, with Tamsin in her pram. ‘And then the hospital will be as though it had never been.'

‘Don't know about soon,' said Elinor. ‘These things take time. Now I'd better change and dash – it's my afternoon off and I've to do more shopping.'

But on the steps of the Primrose, she looked across to the gardens, still handsome in the severity of winter, still with enough light for a quick walk round to clear her head before she faced the shops. And, of course, she still had her key. Wouldn't have that for much longer.

She walked quickly across to the gate and let herself in, succumbing at once to the peace of the haven she so much enjoyed. How tranquil she could always feel in this green space – at least, when she knew that Stephen would be coming home, and was safe. No more battles. No more reading of casualty lists, heart in mouth, trembling fingers turning the page  . . .

Armistice, she murmured. Oh, thank God, it's come!

Brushing a bench with her gloves, she decided to sit for a while and sank into a reverie that brought Stephen to her now. Not officially demobbed, but simply spirited into her arms, a figure from a dream – her dream.

Was she dreaming, then, when she thought she heard his voice?

‘Elinor, let me in! Elinor, open the gate! Elinor!'

She sprang to her feet, instantly terrified that something had happened to him, that it was not he calling but his spirit, for she'd heard of things like that, everyone had stories, in wartime—

‘Elinor!' she heard his voice again, so strongly, she knew it was no spirit's, and ran, stumbling, to open the gate.

‘Stephen, Stephen!' she was crying, and he was there, painfully thin in his uniform, leaning on a stick she hadn't seen before, but smiling at her as only a real-live man could smile.

‘Elinor!'

He let go of his stick, gazing at her, as she gazed back at him, each dwelling on the other's face as though they could never see enough, never be sure it was actually there.

‘I thought you were a ghost,' she whispered. ‘I thought I'd called you up and you were a spirit. I thought you might be dead.'

‘Dead? A ghost?' He laughed and put his arms around her. ‘Do I look like a ghost?'

Clinging together, they kissed, strongly and passionately, with no thought of strangeness, as though the intervening years of disillusion followed by the nightmare of war had never happened. So secure were they in their rediscovered love, when they finally drew apart, Elinor was smiling in contentment and Stephen was laughing again.

‘Do I kiss like a ghost?' he asked. ‘Thank God, no. You don't need to tell me. No ghost could feel as I do, being back with you. I've dreamed of it for so long, you know. So long, because we lost so much time.'

‘I know. My fault.'

‘Don't let's go into it. All over now.'

‘Yes, all over. I'm so glad, Stephen. So glad.'

Her smile, however, as she looked down at his stick and handed it to him, had vanished.

‘Why?' she asked quietly. ‘Why the stick?'

‘It's just my knee playing up after an old injury, that's all. Sometimes I need the stick, sometimes I don't. Look, shall we sit down for a moment? Let me look at you, believe you're really here.'

They moved to a bench and sat close, as close as they could, their eyes still fixed on each other, still seeking reassurance that their closeness was no dream, was real, as real as all they'd been through that now was over.

‘Are you still in the army?' Elinor asked, running her fingers down his gaunt cheek, thinking he was as handsome as ever, but different. Of course he was different. What he had endured, what he had seen, would have left its mark, just as their experiences had left scars on the patients she tended in the Primrose.

‘You're in uniform – are you just back because of your knee?'

‘I'm still in the army. Won't be demobbed for a few weeks; I'm just on leave at present.'

‘You'll no' be going back?' she cried in alarm.

‘No, no. I haven't had any leave at all for months, except for a weekend in France, and the powers that be decided to let me go. Seeing as I might have to have a small op on this knee we've been talking about.'

At the look on her face, he shook her arm gently. ‘Only so that I can do without the stick. Don't worry.'

‘As though I could ever stop worrying.'

‘Yet you look so beautiful. Just the same as you always did.'

Again, they kissed for a long moment, until Stephen pulled a little away and asked in a whisper, ‘When can we be married? As soon as possible?'

‘Oh, yes, yes!'

‘Would you mind a civil wedding? Mind giving up the trimmings? If you want them, I don't mind, I'll stand the wait somehow  . . .'

‘I don't care about the trimmings. I just want to be with you.'

‘And then what? Will you come and work with me in my hostel when I get it? Use all those lovely business skills I taught you?'

‘Someone else wanted those,' she said lightly.

‘Someone else?' His brow darkened. ‘Who?'

‘Miss Ainslie. Offered me the post of assistant manageress at the club when it re-opens.'

‘And you'll take it?'

He was so instantly afraid, she immediately covered his face with kisses.

‘Of course I won't! I want to be like you, doing what I can to help people like me. I mean, people who haven't been as lucky as me.'

‘It might be a drop in the ocean, what we achieve,' he said seriously, ‘but I take the view that oceans need drops, anyway. Are you really sure you want to work with me, then?'

‘Really sure.'

He took her hands and kissed them.

‘You know what – it's freezing here, and getting dark. Why are we always meeting in the dark?'

‘What dark?' she cried. ‘The gardens are full of light.'

They strolled slowly back to the gate, Stephen saying soon they must meet their two mothers, make everyone happy, and they would be, he knew, but for now, why not make for Maule's and have a Scottish afternoon tea? Another thing he'd been dreaming about all his long years away. It was terrible, he had to admit, the amount of time he and everyone at war spent thinking about food.