Secrets (63 page)

Rose half smiled. She thought her friend was such a child sometimes. It was almost as if she believed in fairy godmothers, and that with a wave of a wand, Michael and Adele would just waft down the aisle without even a glance backwards. For all they knew, Adele could be seeing someone new, she might never feel the same way about Michael as she once did. As for Michael, they didn’t know the full extent of his injuries, and they certainly couldn’t even guess at the impact the news that his real father was buried somewhere in the fields of Flanders was going to have on him.

‘Don’t tempt fate,’ Rose rebuked her. ‘Anyway, as it’s almost impossible to buy a lipstick or face powder now, do you really think we’d find a shop with decent hats?’

‘Let’s buy something extravagant for Honour then,’ Emily suggested. ‘What about some pretty pyjamas?’

Rose laughed. She found the thought of her mother slinking around in fetching pyjamas hilarious. ‘That would be a waste of money and coupons. She’d appreciate the thought but she wouldn’t wear them, she likes a flannel nightie. She’d much prefer a pair of slacks or some knitting wool to make herself a jumper. Or even chocolate.’

‘My mother said she was very beautiful as a young woman. She said she wore the most lovely hats when she first moved into Curlew Cottage. Your father was a handsome man too, Rose. Mother said all the ladies used to admire him.’

Rose smiled. She could recall her parents dressed for dinner when they lived in Tunbridge Wells, Honour wearing midnight-blue velvet, with sparkly combs in her hair, and smelling divine. Frank was tall and slender, and his fair hair was thick and curly. She remembered him in a maroon waistcoat with mother-of-pearl buttons, and she’d made him laugh when she said he looked like a prince.

‘They were a handsome couple,’ Rose agreed. ‘But I don’t think either of them really cared for dressing up in finery. They had everything they wanted with each other, they were happy with a simple life.’

‘I wonder if I would have been like that if I had run off with Billy?’ Emily said thoughtfully.

‘I couldn’t see you living in a gardener’s cottage,’ Rose said. ‘You weren’t really born to rough it.’

‘Neither was Honour, or you,’ Emily said.

Rose was quite shocked to see how shabby London looked. She had come up on several flying visits in the last couple of years, but as she was alone and going straight to Hammersmith, she hadn’t noticed any significant changes. But as she and Emily strolled in the sunshine up the Haymarket, through Piccadilly and on to Regent Street, she felt saddened by the boarded-up windows, the soot-stained facades, and the general dreariness of everything. It was true that the West End had had its share of damage during the Blitz, but she had expected it all to have been put right again. The rubble might have gone, but there were parts of buildings missing, weeds growing in gaps in the bricks.

This part of London had always been synonymous with glamour to Rose. Elegant women wearing the latest fashions stepping out of taxis. Flower stalls that boasted blooms never seen away from the West End. Jewellers’ windows displaying fabulous gems, and gown shops stuffed with beautiful clothes.

There were no smartly dressed women window-shopping now. Everyone looked shabby and down at heel. There was little to excite Rose and Emily in the shop windows either, just dull utility clothing, nothing frivolous or glamorous. Nor were there many men in uniform around. Clearly they had all gone off to Normandy for the landings.

In a coffee shop, which in fact did not serve coffee, only tea, they overheard a couple of women on the next table talking about the doodlebugs. It seemed they had caused a great deal more destruction than Rose and Emily had imagined. ‘If the engine cuts, that’s it for you,’ one woman said to the other. ‘No point in running, you can’t escape.’

‘Still, we’re safe enough around here,’ her friend replied. ‘It’s Croydon way and the East End that gets them. I’ve got a neighbour who knows about them and he says they can’t fly further than that.’

‘Do you think Adele is all right?’ Emily whispered nervously. ‘Should we go over there?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Rose snapped. ‘Look what happened to Honour when she went there! Besides, Adele would’ve told us not to come to London if it was dangerous. We’ll be all right up here, that woman said the rockets can’t reach the West End. And we can telephone the hospital later to speak to Adele.’

The two women forgot about the threat of doodlebugs when they went into Swan and Edgar’s at Piccadilly Circus and Rose found some nice scented soap, and a pair of navy blue linen slacks that were her mother’s size. Emily bought a pretty blouse, then, cheered that there were actually some goods worth buying in London shops, they decided to go up to Selfridges in Oxford Street, and go over to Hammersmith after lunch.

The two women stopped just before reaching Selfridges’ doors because there was an old-fashioned hurdy-gurdy organ playing. The owner was wearing a battered top hat and bedraggled tails, and he had a little monkey dancing on top of the organ.

For both women it was evocative of their childhood, when such sights were commonplace, and they went into raptures over the cute little monkey in its red coat and fez. Since war broke out, pets had become rarer because of food rationing. Most people had hung on to ones they already had, of course, but they weren’t replaced if they died. As for a monkey, it was the first one they’d seen in years.

The monkey’s owner let Rose hold it, and it clambered up on to her shoulder and perched there silently. Emily wanted to hold it too, but she was nervous of it, and she giggled like a schoolgirl.

Suddenly they heard a plane overhead. They looked up, as everyone else did, and the monkey on Rose’s shoulder suddenly began to chatter and show its teeth. The hurdy-gurdy man snatched the monkey back. ‘Doodlebug,’ he informed them, and caught hold of his machine and began wheeling it away, down a side street.

Rose looked around her, and saw everyone around them on the pavement was just standing looking up, or ignoring it completely and walking on and into Selfridges. No one was rushing for shelter, and although she wanted to flee, she was afraid of looking foolish.

She reached out for Emily’s hand as the droning noise came closer. ‘Oh Rose, I’m frightened,’ Emily exclaimed, holding her hand very tightly.

‘It’s all right,’ Rose said, although she was frightened too. ‘It’ll pass over us, you’ll see.’

All at once they appeared to be isolated from all the other shoppers who had moved into shop doorways, or disappeared down into Bond Street Tube station. Instinctively they moved towards a shop with a striped sun awning. Then suddenly the droning noise stopped.

Remembering what they’d overheard in the café, Rose dropped her shopping bag, flung her arms around Emily and held her tightly. She heard a kind of whistling buzz, and the ground vibrating beneath their feet. Dust flew up like a snowstorm, and as they bent their heads into each other’s shoulders, Rose felt rather than saw the awning falling down above them, for it was like a black shadow engulfing them. Something else hit them too, knocking them to the pavement, still locked in each other’s arms. The last thing Rose thought as she felt the pounding of rubble burying them, was that they should have followed the man with the monkey.

It was Myles who first received the news of Rose and Emily’s death. He had spent all day in the courts and had gone back to his chambers at around half past four. He was collecting up some files to take home with him, when his secretary came in and said a policeman wanted to see him.

Myles was in a jovial mood. He’d had a good day in court, the case he had been prosecuting had been wound up a day early. As he had no real need to be in London tomorrow and the weather was so beautiful, he thought he would go down to Winchelsea tonight for a long weekend and surprise Emily.

‘Honest, guv, I didn’t do it, whatever it was,’ he joked as the tall, thin policeman with a rather hangdog face came into his office.

When the policeman didn’t smile, Myles immediately realized he’d come to report something unpleasant.

‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ the policeman said. ‘There was a bomb in Oxford Street earlier today. We have reason to believe that one of the victims might be your wife. Was she in London today?’

Myles went hot, then cold. He’d heard earlier in the day about a doodlebug in Oxford Street, but paid very little attention. In the first few weeks of the V1 attacks there had been panic. The lack of warning, the very nature of a pilotless rocket, was terrifying. But like during the Blitz, people got used to them, even blasé. Although at first cinemas and theatres closed through lack of audiences, that soon changed and everyone carried on with their lives regardless.

He hadn’t even asked if there had been any loss of life at this attack today.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, trying to control himself. ‘She did say she was planning a day out with a friend. But she didn’t say what day, or where she was going. Why do you think it was her?’

‘We found your business card in with her ration book, sir,’ the policeman said. ‘Was her friend a blonde, with the surname of Talbot?’

‘Yes,’ Myles whispered, and slumped down into his chair. ‘Are they badly hurt? Which hospital are they at?’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the policeman said, bowing his head. ‘They were both fatally injured.’

‘They’re dead?’ Myles looked at the uniformed man before him in horror. ‘They can’t be. It must be a mistake.’

‘No sir, no mistake. There were several people killed today, and more injured. Is it possible for you to come with me now to identify them? And can you let me know the next of kin of the other woman, Mrs Talbot?’

‘Her daughter is a nurse here in London,’ Myles said brokenly, and tears sprang to his eyes. ‘Oh God, I can’t bear this! Why pick them?’

That same question ran through Myles’s head throughout the procedure of identifying the bodies and taking a taxi afterwards to see Adele. Rose and Emily had been taken to the mortuary just as they had been found, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Although their bodies had been crushed by falling masonry, their faces were unmarked. In a strange sort of way that was comforting to Myles, for they were both beautiful and somewhat vain women. And he’d loved them both.

Chapter Twenty-nine

‘Funerals are always so harrowing, but at least it didn’t rain. Sad her elder son couldn’t get leave though.’

‘I don’t think they got on. He hardly ever came to visit his mother. But I think that’s his wife over there talking to the daughter.’

Adele moved away out of earshot of Mrs Grace and Mrs Mackenzie. They both lived in Winchelsea and were well-known gossips. Adele guessed that by the time they’d had a second sherry they wouldn’t even bother to keep their voices down as they were now.

It felt strange enough to be back in Harrington House with all the memories it evoked, let alone having to cope with so many people. Both the dining and drawing rooms was crowded, and many more had gone out into the garden. Most Adele knew by sight if not by name, but there were a fair few total strangers too.

She would have felt a little more comfortable if she could have gone out into the kitchen and helped there, but Myles had hired four women to serve the refreshments, and she knew neither he nor her grandmother would approve if they saw her handing out cakes and sandwiches.

Myles and Honour were together in the corner of the drawing room, their heads bent together in earnest conversation, and even though Adele knew she could and should join them, she felt unable to do so.

Sidling out into the hall, she took a quick look round to make sure no one was watching, then, opening the front door, she let herself out.

*

From the night nine days ago when Myles had come to the nurses’ home to tell her Rose and Emily were dead, she hadn’t been able to sleep or eat. She had been chatting to some of her friends when he arrived, and she’d barely taken in the devastating news before he bundled her into a taxi to catch the last train from Charing Cross back to Rye.

There was no taxi at the station and so they walked to Curlew Cottage. As they got to the end of the lane, they saw Honour waiting, torch in hand. It transpired that she had expected Emily and Rose back around eight, and when they hadn’t turned up she had assumed that they’d stopped to see a show or a film and would catch the last train. Afraid that they might trip in the dark without a torch, she’d come out to meet them.

‘Where are the girls?’ she called out, while they were still some distance from her. ‘Have they stopped off in Rye?’

Adele remembered how Myles gripped her hand. He didn’t know how to respond. Then all at once Honour must have realized it wasn’t some sort of wild coincidence that they’d also been on the last train, and she began to wail.

Adele thought she had witnessed every kind of grief while nursing in London, yet she had never seen or heard anything so tragic as her grandmother’s reaction.

It wasn’t a sob, or a scream, but the sound of pure heartbreak. A dirge-like howl that came from deep within her. The light from her torch was moving every which way, and Adele ran to her blindly, Myles following close behind her.

Since that first terrible long night when Honour sat hunched in a chair, rocking and wailing like a madwoman, Adele had watched her closely, for she was afraid that in her grief, Honour might attempt to take her own life.

In the days that followed she became completely silent. While she was able to wash, dress, feed the animals, and even chop wood, she was locked into a world of her own. She didn’t even seem to be aware Adele was with her.

Adele knew all about shock, she saw it daily in the hospital and was aware that it took many forms. But she was equally shocked herself, and she needed to talk about her mother, to express how she felt about her, both alive and now in death. She couldn’t deal with a wall of silence, or the way her grandmother looked at her as if she were an intruder.

The vicar from the church in Winchelsea called at Myles’s request, for he had felt Emily and Rose should be buried, as they died, together. But it was as if he was invisible to Honour. She stalked around the room as he was asking her about hymns she liked, and even when he got up and took both her hands, there was no light of recognition in her eyes.