We'll Meet Again (11 page)

‘Meg, dear girl. What are you doing out here on your own?’

Her father’s voice from behind made Meg spin
around. The scent of Havana cigar wafted in a cloud about him as he strolled up to her.

Meg flung her arms around his neck. ‘Oh, Pa. I’ve made such a mess of things.’

Three weeks later it was Meg who opened the door to the telegram delivery boy. Asking him to wait in case there was a reply, she ran to the study where her father had taken refuge after breakfast.

‘I hope it’s not bad news.’ She saw that his fingers trembled as he opened the envelope, and she shifted anxiously from one foot to another as he read the telegram. ‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’

He took off his reading glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. ‘No, Meg. Although your mother might think it is. Read it for yourself.’

She scanned the lines of print and burst out laughing. ‘Addie and Frank got married by special licence. You’re right, Pa. Mother will be livid. But why would they do such a thing?’

‘I suspect that Frank’s father is in a position to know more about what’s going on in Downing Street than we are. Anyway, what’s done is done. You’d better go and break the news to your mother.’

‘The boy is waiting to see if there’s an answer.’

‘I suppose congratulations would be in order?’ Charles said, smiling.

Meg had a nasty feeling that like the Greeks or the Romans, or whoever it was, she might be slaughtered for being the bearer of bad tidings. Before she
went to find her mother, she searched for the bottle of smelling salts, slipping it into the pocket of her jodhpurs, just in case. Muriel read the telegram and collapsed on the sofa with a muffled groan. Meg rang the bell for Marie, who took in the situation with one glance and went off to fetch the decanter of brandy from the drawing room.

‘Of all the ungrateful children,’ Muriel sobbed, taking alternate sniffs of sal volatile and sips of brandy, ‘mine are definitely the worst. David defies family tradition and goes off to join the RAF instead of the army, and now Adele ruins my plans for her wedding. It was going to be the social event of next year and she goes off and gets married in secret.’

‘Hardly in secret, Mother. It was at Caxton Hall.’

‘Be quiet, Meg. You don’t know anything about it. Getting married in a register office is as good as doing it in secret. It’s underhand and everyone will think that she was in the family way. I’ll be a laughing stock.’

‘Why don’t you go upstairs for a lie down, madam? I’ll bring you up a cup of camomile tea,’ Marie said, with a meaningful nod of her head to Meg.

‘That’s a good idea, Mother,’ Meg said, backing towards the door. ‘Let Marie help you upstairs and I’ll go and put the kettle on.’

‘Next thing you’ll be bringing home a German or something equally hateful,’ Muriel said, holding out her glass to Marie. ‘Just a drop more, please. For medicinal purposes.’

*

‘I blame that awful man Hitler,’ Muriel said bitterly as she spread the wedding photographs on the dining table. ‘It’s all his fault.’

‘I don’t think he knew that Adele was due to be married in the spring,’ Charles said with a wry smile.

‘There’s no need to be facetious, Charles. You know what I mean. If it weren’t for all this warmongering Addie would have got married from home as she was meant to. And anyway, it’s all right for Angela Barton to send smarmy letters after the event, but they could have invited us, however rushed the arrangements were. I can’t think why we were excluded. It’s too humiliating for words.’

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Don’t patronise me, Charles. I’m not in the mood for your cutting remarks.’ Muriel pushed the photographs away and marched out of the room.

He sighed, shaking his head. ‘Be nice to your mother, Meg. She’s taken it all far too much to heart.’

‘I’ll try, Pa. But at least I won’t have to be a bridesmaid and wear the hideous frilly pink dress that Mother had lined up for me.’

After a long, hot day at the end of harvesting, Meg sat on the steps in front of the house examining the blisters on her hands. She had done a man’s work simply because it took her mind off the nagging sense of loneliness that overcame her when she had nothing better to do. She had not heard from Gerald
since the night of Adele’s engagement party and she had not really expected to. The feelings of guilt had worn off, and now all she experienced was exasperation and a degree of puzzlement as to why he had thought he was in love with her. She came to the conclusion that it must have been the champagne talking, or the effect of the moonlight and the soft summer evening, which had made him maudlin and romantic.

She shifted to a more comfortable position on the stone step. Now that the harvest was over and done with she hoped that her parents might be persuaded to let her go and stay in Oxford with Aunt Josie. Walter was still studying medicine and she thought that he would be pleased to see her, even if it just gave him an opportunity to spend more time in Josie’s company. She wondered what Uncle Paul would make of Walter’s crush on her aunt, but was inclined to think that he would be unlikely to notice even if he caught them kissing on the sofa. Uncle Paul spent far too much time at work, in Meg’s opinion. He did not seem to realise what a treasure he had in his wife. She would not blame Josie if she did occasionally take a walk up the primrose path.

The sound of the Bentley’s engine made her look up as Eric turned the car into the drive. Rising to her feet she walked slowly down the steps to meet her father as he stepped out of the car.

‘How did the meeting go, Pa?’

He passed a thin hand across his forehead. ‘The
Lieutenant-Governor has issued an order that all ranks should be called up.’

‘It’s not looking good then?’

‘There’s no doubt in my mind that we’ll soon be at war with Germany, Meg. Not that I think we’re in any danger here on the island, we’re too small and insignificant to be of any use to the Germans. But, my dear, it’s obvious we’re going to be marooned here indefinitely while hostilities are going on. I think that you and your mother ought to go and stay with Adele in England, at least until we know exactly what’s happening.’

‘Mother can go if she likes, but I’d rather be here with you. Running away wouldn’t be the Colivet spirit, would it?’

To Meg’s surprise her mother also refused to leave, although she was obviously dying to visit Adele and see her new home. ‘It can wait,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m sure they’ll come over for Christmas and then perhaps I’ll arrange a visit to them in the spring. I’m not having it said that I left my home in a panic. We mustn’t give in to the Germans or let them see that we’re afraid.’

It had seemed liked a normal Sunday. The soft September mist hugged the tops of the trees and a thick coating of dew on the grass sparkled in the sunshine. Meg and her parents had breakfasted as usual, and had been preparing to leave for the short walk to church when the BBC newsreader announced that the Prime Minister would address the
nation at eleven o’clock. There was no question of missing the morning service, but when they arrived at the church they found it packed to capacity and the vicar had brought his wireless from home. The congregation sat in silence, listening to Neville Chamberlain’s grave tones.

‘It’s almost a relief to know the worst,’ Muriel said as they made their way home.

Charles shook his head. ‘This is a tragedy, my dear. We’re at war.’

‘After all this shilly-shallying about at least we know that something is going to be done about Hitler and those beastly Germans.’

Meg eyed her father anxiously. ‘It won’t last long, will it, Pa?’

‘I don’t know, Meg. I just don’t know, but I hope for all our sakes that it will be over by Christmas at the latest.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ Muriel said confidently. ‘Our boys will soon put the Germans in their place, and then we’ll have all the family together at Christmas. If Angela Barton thinks I’m going to allow Adele and Frank to celebrate the festive season in Hampshire, she can think again. What a year it’s been. First we miss our own daughter’s wedding, and now there’s going to be a war. Personally speaking, I’d like to shoot Angela Barton and Hitler.’

In spite of the declaration of war, it seemed to Meg as if nothing changed very much in the following few
months. Every evening they listened to the BBC news but, chilling as it was, what was going on in Europe seemed far removed from their daily lives.

Muriel was in her element organising meetings and supervising jumble sales and whist drives to raise money for the Red Cross. Charles spent most of his time at more serious meetings in the States offices, but business with the mainland went on very much as before. Walter wrote to say that he had joined the Wiltshire Regiment and asked Meg to write back and enclose a photograph. She replied to one in three of his letters and sent him a very old snapshot of herself taken on L’Eree beach.

Even when hostilities continued long after Christmas, everyone said it could not last much longer and quite soon the Germans would be beaten and everything would return to normal. The occasional Stuka flew overhead causing enough concern for those who could afford it to construct air-raid shelters, and just in case of an air attack people stuck crosses of sticky tape on their windows to prevent flying glass. Gas masks were distributed and blackout regulations came into effect. Muriel was amongst the first to instruct Mrs Vaudin to make up blackout curtains for every window in Colivet Manor. Marie and Cora spent a week taking down and washing the existing curtains before attaching the newly made black linings and laboriously rehanging the heavy, inelegant results.

Despite the fact that ration books had been issued
to the islanders, there was no shortage of food and the mail boats continued to operate as ever. Meg kept her worries about Rayner’s safety to herself. She wished with all her heart that she could forget him, but she knew that that was impossible. She worried about David, of course, but on the odd occasions when he telephoned home he sounded cheerful and positive. He had qualified as a pilot and was now flying Spitfires from an aerodrome somewhere in East Anglia. Meg realised that he risked his life every time his plane was scrambled, but either David was a very good liar or he was genuinely enjoying the challenge. Adele on the other hand seemed to be blissfully happy in her new home. Frank had been declared medically unfit for military service and he continued to work in the Southampton office of his father’s shipping company. Never a great correspondent, Adele limited herself to writing a few words on a postcard each week.

One morning at the beginning of May, Meg came down to breakfast but to her surprise there were no appetising smells emanating from the kitchen. She wondered what could be wrong. Eric and Marie were never late for work. She glanced out of the window to see if there was any sign of the Bentley entering the drive, but all she could see was the postman getting off his bike to post the mail through the letter box. Scooping the pile of envelopes off the doormat, she arranged them neatly on the console table. She fingered Adele’s latest communication,
which had been hastily scrawled on a card depicting New Forest ponies and as usual contained little more than a list of her social engagements and acquisitions for the home. Meg was wondering if she ought to take it upstairs to her mother, who was laid low by one of her bad headaches, when the front door opened and her father entered the house, pale-faced and moving like an old man.

Meg was alarmed. ‘Pa, where’ve you been? I thought you were still in bed.’

‘I’ve been at a meeting all night, Meg.’

‘You look exhausted, Pa. Are you all right?’

‘I need to talk to you and your mother.’

‘Mother’s got one of her heads. She isn’t up yet.’

‘This is extremely urgent, Meg. Fetch her now. There’s no time to lose.’

‘I’ve registered you both for evacuation,’ Charles said solemnly. ‘It’s for the best, Muriel.’

‘I’ve a dreadful headache.’ She clutched her forehead, closing her eyes for a brief moment. ‘Is it really that urgent?’

‘I’m afraid so, my dear. The government has demilitarised the islands. The local defence forces and military will be disbanded and evacuated to the mainland. We’ll be unprotected should the Germans decide to invade us. I want you and Meg to leave on the first available boat.’

Meg could hardly believe her own ears. ‘Surely they won’t bother with us, Pa? What good would it do them?’

Charles met her anxious gaze with an attempt at a smile. ‘They would have invaded part of the British Isles, thereby creating a stepping stone to the mainland.’

‘Your father is right,’ Muriel said, fanning herself with her hand. ‘We must leave as soon as possible. We’ll stay with Adele until all this silliness is at an end.’

Meg fixed her gaze on her father’s serious face. ‘But what about you, Pa? Will you come with us?”

‘I’ll stay here, Meg. I’m not leaving Colivet Manor for the Germans to loot and destroy. Besides which I have responsibilities to the tenants. But you and your mother must go.’

Meg shook her head. ‘I said I’m not going and I meant it.’

‘You’ll do as you’re told, young lady.’ Galvanised into action and apparently forgetting her migraine attack, Muriel leapt up from her chair and hurried towards the door. ‘Come along, Meg. We’ve got to pack.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go on your own, Mother.’

‘I don’t know how anyone is supposed to manage with just one suitcase,’ Muriel said, pulling on her white kid gloves as Eric hefted her bulging case into the Bentley.

‘It will give you the opportunity to take Adele on a shopping trip to the West End, my dear.’ Charles held the car door while Muriel settled herself on the back seat.

She leaned out of the open window. ‘You should be coming with me, Meg. It’s not too late to change your mind.’

‘I’m staying, Mother. Give my love to Addie and Frank.’

‘You’re a stubborn, stubborn child. You’re just like your father.’

‘Yes, Mother.’

Muriel made an exasperated tut-tutting sound.
‘Well, I think you’re very silly.’ She turned to Charles. ‘Aren’t you coming to see me off?’