The Silver Locket (25 page)

‘Alex?’ she said softly, crouching down beside his chair.

‘Rose?’ At first he looked as if he’d seen a ghost, but then the smile he gave her made her want to sing.

‘At first, I couldn’t believe it.’ Rose wanted desperately to touch him, make sure he was real and would not disappear. ‘I thought it was some horrible, cruel joke.’

‘I’m sorry, Rose.’ Alex looked so stricken she longed to kiss the frown away, to make him smile again. But she couldn’t even touch him, not with all the nurses and other patients staring, and with doctors hovering about.

‘What happened?’ she asked, gently.

‘I’d gone out with two other chaps. One of us got hit and set on fire. I wrapped David in my jacket, which had all my papers in the pockets. Then I must have got blown up myself. When they found me I was crawling round a crater, miles away from our position. God know how I got there. I suppose I was trying to get home.’

‘Then you and the other soldier got mixed up.’ Rose shook her head at him. ‘Why don’t you men wear chains around your necks, with your names and numbers on metal disks? Those silly little cardboard things are useless. More than half the men I see have lost them, and no wonder when you tie them round your necks with bits of string.’

‘So we should have necklaces and lockets?’

‘Maybe,’ Rose replied. ‘Who exactly found you, then?’

‘Some chaps who’d been out mending wire.’

‘You said you couldn’t hold a pen.’

‘I can’t.’ He looked down at his hands, and Rose saw the burns were at a stage when any movement would be painful. But they were going to heal. Of course he’d have some scars, the skin would always pucker and those angry weals would never fade, but in a couple of months he would be able to use his hands again.

‘Where else were you hurt?’ asked Rose.

‘Something must have hit me on the head. I remember waking up in this place, but everything before it was a blank. I didn’t have any papers and I didn’t know my name.

‘They tried to trace my regiment, of course. But thousands of poor chaps are missing, and a lot of them must look like me.’ Alex shrugged. ‘People have even come out here from England, hoping I might be their son.’

‘What happened next?’

‘A week or two ago, one of the sisters came in humming a tune they used to play at dances, in the summer before the war. Suddenly I saw a woman in a long pink dress, and it was you.

‘I grabbed the sister’s arm and made her hum the tune again, over and over. She humoured me, but God – she looked so frightened! She must have thought I’d really lost my mind. Then, everything started coming back to me.’

‘Captain Denham, it’s a lovely day.’ The nurse in blue smiled down at them. ‘If Miss Courtenay helps you to the terrace, I’ll bring you both some coffee.’ She held out Rose’s boots, which had been cleaned.

So Rose took Alex through the double doors. They sat down on a lichen-clad stone bench, and turned their faces to the sun.

Still she couldn’t touch him. She didn’t dare, for she was afraid that if she did she’d feel Maria shaking her and saying she’d overslept.

Then she looked at Alex, at the little creases at the corners of his eyes, at a thin white scar that snaked along his forehead, then disappeared into his raven hair. This mundane appraisal could not be the stuff of dreams.

‘When I heard from Henry,’ she began, ‘when he sent my letters back and told me you’d been killed, I thought I’d die of grief.’

‘Poor Rose.’ Alex carefully brushed a strand of hair back from her face. ‘Poor darling, I can see you haven’t slept.’

‘When I first got Henry’s letter, I didn’t think I’d ever sleep again.’

‘I couldn’t wait to see you.’ Alex stroked the coil of hair with one stiff, awkward hand. ‘Actually, I wondered if you’d come. I thought you might have found somebody else.’

‘Alex, don’t be absurd.’ Rose took his hands in hers and worked the fingers, smoothing and massaging them. ‘When you didn’t write,’ she whispered, ‘and I didn’t know about the raid, I wondered if you’d changed your mind. I thought perhaps you had gone back to Chloe, and–’

‘You idiot, how could you think that?’ Then Alex took Rose in his arms and kissed her with such fervour she forgot she was on public view, that other men were walking on the terrace.

She came back to reality only when she heard the nurse suggesting they ought to drink their coffee before it was stone cold.

‘The great attack, I missed it,’ muttered Alex. ‘I wasn’t there, I let them down.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ Rose took his cup and put it on the tray. ‘If you’d been there, you would have died with them.’

‘I might have thought of something. I might have kept a few of us alive. I’m being sent home, you know.’

‘For good?’ asked Rose, delighted.

‘I hope not!’ Alex grimaced. ‘They say I need to see a specialist. I’ve been hit on the head so many times they want to do some tests. They’re going to send me to a hospital in London, to let some psychiatrist look at me.’

‘It might be for the best.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? Rose, I might have lost my memory, but I’m not insane.’

‘Of course you’re not. But you’ve been badly hurt. You need a rest.’

‘I won’t get one in Dorset.’ Alex looked earnestly at Rose. ‘I’m going to ask Henry if he’ll talk to Chloe. She might be persuaded to divorce me. She can have any terms she wants. Of course, I might take far too much granted. Maybe you wouldn’t want to marry me?’

‘I don’t care about being married. So do as you think fit, as long as you’re in this world, not the next.’

It was late September when they finally let him go and he left Forges les Eaux for the last time. He paced the deck of a big troop ship full of wounded soldiers who had copped their Blighty ones, watching for the first sight of England rising from the sea.

Henry was there to meet him as arranged, but his heart sank like a stone in water when he saw Chloe was also in the car.

‘Hello,’ she said, as he got in beside her and noticed she was looking extraordinarily well. Rose had been so thin and drawn and haggard, he’d felt shoulder blades as sharp as bayonets when he’d hugged her, but Chloe looked prosperous, plump, relaxed. In a new black musquash coat and tiny matching hat, complete with a flirtatious little veil, it was clear the widow had gone to lots of trouble to choose attractive weeds.

‘You’ve come back from the dead,’ she murmured, as she offered him her well-rouged cheek.

‘I’m not good enough to die.’ Alex kissed the air beside her head.

‘Off we go, Macnaughten.’ As the chauffeur drove out of the station, Henry Denham turned to beam at Alex. ‘It’s splendid to have you back again,’ he said, and Alex saw the old man’s eyes were bright. ‘But we’re going to have to feed you up – don’t you think so, Chloe?’

‘Yes, he needs a few square meals,’ said Chloe, distantly.

Henry’s house was still the ruinous pile Alex remembered from his wandering childhood. Since the war began, it had been very hard to find good servants, and the house was far too large for Henry’s two elderly, arthritic maids. So although the army had been thrilled when Sir Gerard offered it the splendour of the Minster, the requisition board turned Henry Denham’s offer down.

Chloe had occupied the best, south-facing bedroom. When she retired for the night, she told Alex pointedly that she’d had a maid make up the bed in his old room.

The following morning, Henry bumbled off to see his bailiff, leaving Chloe and Alex sitting at the breakfast table.

‘How have you been managing for money?’ he enquired.

‘I haven’t been extravagant, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’ Chloe looked defensive. ‘I bought a house in Weymouth in the spring. Of course, it isn’t paid for yet. But there are tenants, and they pay off the loan with some to spare. I don’t waste my allowance.’

‘No.’ He looked at her and saw she wasn’t clinging, weak and helpless, as he had arrogantly supposed. She didn’t need his pity. If he hadn’t married her, she wouldn’t have had the baby in the workhouse. Of course her parents would have ranted, said she was a fool, but they would not have thrown her out.

‘How are your parents?’ he enquired politely.

‘They’re both well.’ Chloe shrugged. ‘Of course, my father didn’t go to France. They kept the older sergeants at the depot. My mother is hoping it will all be over before my brother Jack is seventeen.’

‘I hope so, too.’ Alex met her pale, blue-glazed gaze. ‘Chloe, will you divorce me?’

‘I was wondering when we’d come to that.’ Chloe’s blank expression didn’t change. ‘I know about you and that woman. Henry and Mrs Sefton were discussing it, they must have thought I was out in the garden or stone deaf. She had a baby, did you know? Everybody talks about her, they all think it’s scandalous, the way she has the nerve to walk round Charton as if she owns the place. But I suppose these spoiled, rich women think–’

‘Chloe, that’s enough.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I don’t wish to hear the local slander.’

‘You’re telling me the baby’s not her child?’

‘I’m telling you that none of it is any of your business.’

‘There’s no need to shout at me!’ Chloe’s blue eyes brimmed. ‘I tried to be a proper wife,’ she sniffed. ‘I know you never loved me.’

‘I don’t think you loved
me
. You panicked, and I made the wrong decision. Chloe, I know we made our bed, but we don’t have to lie on it. You’ll always be provided for, I promise.’

‘Your promises are worthless,’ Chloe wept. ‘You made a promise before the registrar, you said you’d spend your life with me. No, I won’t divorce you. It’s a disgrace to be divorced. My friends would sneer and point at me.’

‘You shouldn’t care for people as mean-spirited as that.’

‘It’s all right for you to talk.’ Chloe stared around the breakfast room. ‘You were brought up in a different world. I know about your mother. I know what she did. You live in a world where such behaviour is allowed.’

‘You know nothing at all about my mother.’

‘How long has it been going on?’ asked Chloe. ‘I mean between you and that Courtenay woman, when did it all start?’

‘I’ve loved Rose since I was twelve years old.’ Alex got up and walked out of the room.

The hospital which specialised in head wounds was near Charing Cross, but instead of getting a cab Alex thought he’d walk from Paddington and savour the delights of being home.

He loved London, dirty, stinking, fog-stained London, where his mother and he had lived in basement flats and tenements with a wide variety of men. But he’d always known he was cherished. A lover might be occupying her bed, but he was always in her heart, and she had loved him best.

He had to see two specialists today – a psychiatrist first, who asked him lots of questions about his family, most of which he parried or evaded.

Then things got more personal.

‘Did you love your mother, Captain Denham?’ asked the doctor.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘But maybe you were jealous of your father?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t answer that.’

‘We’ll leave it for the moment.’ The doctor looked at him. ‘Do you find it hard to form relationships with women?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Captain Denham, please don’t be obstructive.’

‘I thought I’d come here to be medically examined, not be grilled about my private life?’

‘We’re trying to help you in the best way we know how.’ The psychiatrist smiled professionally. ‘Your recent loss of memory suggests you are repressing something that could be important. But you should be aware it’s no disgrace to feel afraid. If you’ve been in actions in which you didn’t acquit yourself with honour, there’s no need to be ashamed.’

‘I lost my memory when something heavy hit me on the head.’ Alex scowled at him. ‘When I’m in a front line trench, I’m constantly afraid. So is everyone else with any sense. I’m not ashamed of it.’

‘You missed the great attack this summer.’ The doctor wrote down something on his pad. ‘You must have lost some friends?’

‘I don’t wish to talk about it.’ Alex put his hat on and stood up. ‘Good morning, Dr Searle.’

The other doctor merely poked and prodded him, shone lights into his eyes and made him walk along a line. As he buttoned up his shirt, the doctor frowned at him. ‘You need to put some weight on,’ he said, tartly, ‘but otherwise, you’re in good shape for someone who’s been in it from the start.’

‘So I’ll soon be going back to France?’

‘Of course you won’t, your hands aren’t better yet. They’ll need another month at least, and lots of exercising to increase their flexibility. I’ll give you a chart.’ The doctor leaned back in his chair. ‘In any case, I think you’ve done your bit.’

‘You mean I’m going to be downgraded?’

‘I mean you could be useful here in England, on the Staff.’

‘I want to go to France.’

‘Well, you must spend the winter here in England. In my frank opinion, you won’t be fit again until the spring.’ The doctor scribbled something on his notes. ‘By then, this ghastly business might be over. Let’s hope so, anyway.’