We'll Meet Again (31 page)

“Inevitably it came to an end. Marianne came in one day with the news that the British soldiers were only a few miles away. She took out a tattered tricoleur from one of the drawers, muttered fiercely over it, and hung it from one of the windows.

“Lisette told us: ‘Her great-grandfather hung it there when the Germans came in 1870.’ The cloth was fluttering from the window when we left. I said to Marianne: ‘I do not know how to thank you.’ She began to speak rapidly and Lisette translated: ‘She is happy to have you here. It is her duty to France … and she like you.’

“‘We owe her our lives,’ I said. ‘We shall not forget.’

“‘When war is over, maybe you come back,’ she said.

“Violetta, you will come back with me? I want to show it to you.”

“We shall go together,” I said. “And what about Buster?”

“He will want to see it again, I daresay.

“The rest is predictable,” he continued. “We joined the army which was getting closer every day. Buster thought they’d want him to stay but they sent us both home. We had been all that time in a prison camp and they thought we should both be checked. They set in motion the necessary arrangements and we left. Before we did so, the army doctor looked at my arm and did not much like what he saw. He said it needed attention long ago. When we arrived in England, Buster went his way and I went mine. I am to report to Poldown Hospital without delay. So, here I am.”

“I still can’t believe it.”

“Nor I. We’ll go ahead with our plans, shan’t we?”

“Oh yes, Jowan.”

“And the war can’t last much longer. We must be near the end. It will be as we planned it. We’ll forget the years between.”

“We will.”

“You haven’t thought of changing your mind?”

I laughed. “No. I always believed you would come back. I could not have borne it otherwise. Others thought you never would, but your grandmother and I went on believing.”

“And I believed you would be waiting for me. That belief helped me through. I used to recall details of those meetings we had. Do you remember the first time at Smithy’s … all those years ago? And I thought of you, wondering … and there was no means of getting a word to you.”

“It is all over now. This wretched war has brought misery to millions. One man’s mad dream and a deluded nation following him! Well, disaster is overtaking them now and we can only rejoice. But enough of that. Let’s talk about ourselves.”

So we talked. He was not sure what his future would be; it might well be that he would rejoin his regiment.

“I wonder what happened to Buster,” he said. “He must have been undernourished after those years in a prison camp, although his energy had not flagged in the least.”

“You must ask him to our wedding,” I said.

“He would love that!” He looked blank, and went on: “Do you know, I haven’t got his address. I could get in touch with him through the regiment, I suppose.”

“I should like to meet him.”

“He’s a fine character. You’ll be impressed.”

“He saved your life. That will be my main reason for liking him.”

And so we talked and planned.

Life was wonderful. When I went into the town, people rushed up to congratulate me. Gordon was very kind. I thought what a good man he was and remembered that, in the beginning, I had been suspicious of him. But in those days everything at Tregarland’s had seemed uncanny.

Dorabella rang often. She said how happy she was for me. She knew what it was to be happy and she wanted the same for her twin sister. My parents were constantly in touch. They urged me to bring Jowan to Caddington, but they understood that that was not possible immediately. As soon as it was, we would come.

When Jowan reported to hospital, they were a little grave about his arm. It needed special treatment and there might have to be an operation when he was considered fit to take it. In the meantime, there must be daily visits to the hospital and there would be no question of his rejoining his regiment just yet. I rejoiced in that.

Richard telephoned.

He had heard of Jowan’s return.

He said: “You were right. I never thought he would return. Are you happy now, Violetta?”

“Yes, Richard, I am.”

“Well, I must congratulate you.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish you great happiness and the best of luck. I hope everything goes well with you. If …” He paused for a few seconds. “If, any time, you need me … if I can help … just let me know.”

“Thank you, Richard, I will,” I said.

That night I dreamed I was in the teashop near the Ministry and Richard’s wife was sitting opposite me. She was smiling her cold smile, saying, “I want a divorce and I am citing you. You are very pleased with life, but what will this wonderful lover of yours have to say when he knows you are being cited in a divorce case?”

I awoke and sat up in bed. I felt a terrible foreboding. Jowan would have to know. I had assured him I had waited for him and that never had I swerved in my fidelity to him. I had said that vehemently and he had assured me that it had been the same with him. And now it was very likely that Richard’s wife would be granted a divorce because of her husband’s alleged misconduct with Miss Violetta Denver.

I had recovered a little from the first shock of this revelation when Richard had told me what was happening. I had convinced myself that there would be no publicity which would affect me. Perhaps there would be a reference to it in some little-read gossipy publication—no more. I had been lulled into thinking this would be a trivial matter.

But it did not seem so now. All through the night I lay awake. What should I do? In the morning I had made my decision. There was only one way. I must tell Jowan.

He knew something was wrong. I could not stop thinking of that woman with her cold, calculating eyes.

I had driven Jowan into the hospital where they had examined and dressed his wound, and when I was taking him home, I went instead to that field where we had first met. I pulled up the car and we sat there.

“Tell me all about it,” he said. “What’s troubling you? Have you changed your mind? Are you going to tell me that you are having second thoughts about marrying the poor old invalid?”

I forced a laugh. “I want to marry you more than anything. I have something to tell you, though.”

“I guessed that,” he said. “Well, what is it?”

“It was when I was working at the Ministry with Mary Grace. Her brother is, of course, Richard Dorrington.”

I heard him take a deep breath and his manner changed slightly. He would remember the time when Richard had come to visit me in Cornwall and he knew that Richard had once asked me to marry him. That was before the war had started.

“I saw Richard now and then,” I went on quickly. “He would have short leaves. Just a few hours sometimes. He knew that I was waiting for you. There was nothing but friendship between us. Someone lent him a flat and we used to go there, and usually I prepared a meal for him.”

“It sounds rather … intimate,” said Jowan.

“Richard always knew that there could be nothing but friendship between us.”

“I expect he hoped I wouldn’t come back.”

“I want you to know that what I am telling you is the truth.”

“And what happened?”

“I was caught up in an air raid when we were in the flat together. Richard was hurt … not really badly, but badly enough to prevent his going to France for the landings which he would otherwise have done. Richard was married.”

“Married! But I thought …”

“So did we all. He had just kept it secret. She is a society girl and often mentioned in gossip columns. The marriage was a failure and they both wanted to be free of it. She was waiting because she thought he might go to France and not come back and that would be a way out of it for her. But when she heard he was not going, she decided to get her divorce in the quickest way possible. She is using the incident of the bombing to support the evidence that I was in the flat with him. You see, it was late in the evening. The fact is, she is divorcing him on a charge of adultery … and …”

“With you?” he said.

I felt a certain withdrawal and he murmured: “Good heavens!”

“It worried me,” I went on quickly. “But Richard said it would very likely go unnoticed. Before the war, the papers reported these cases in detail. It is different now.”

I was watching him closely and I could see a hint of doubt in his face.

I said vehemently: “You must believe me. There was nothing … nothing …”

He turned to me and kissed me fiercely. “Violetta … my love … of course I believe you. And suppose it were … It was a long time … a long and weary time. I would have gone on loving you whatever you had done.”

My relief was intense. I had told him. It no longer seemed of any importance.

“Oh, Jowan!” I said. “I love you so much! I could not bear it if anything went wrong now.”

“It can’t if we won’t let it.”

“But you believe me?”

“I believe you. Well, now that’s over. You can smile again. We are here together, aren’t we? We love each other too much to allow anything to upset that. We know what it means to have been separated and we will never allow that again.”

“Jowan, I am so thankful.”

He took my hands and kissed them. “I don’t think we should delay our wedding, do you?” he said. “This wretched arm of mine will be cleared up soon, but we won’t wait for that.”

“I don’t want it cleared up until the war is finished,” I said.

We sat for a moment in silence; his arm was round me, holding me close to him.

Then he said: “There was something that happened in France. As this is the time for confessions, I should tell you, I suppose. It is all rather vague, and I am not sure … but I’d like you to know.”

“You mean … ?”

“Let me explain. I told you about Marianne … I mean, the sort of woman she was. She had loved her husband dearly, but I doubt whether she had been entirely faithful to him. There was something earthy about her. She was motherly and deeply sensuous. I think Lisette will be the same. Marianne had a deep tenderness for men. She regarded them as little boys. I think the soldiers whom she had helped had comforted her in more ways than one. There was one night when my arm was particularly painful. I vaguely remember her dressing it for me; she settled me into bed, murmuring tender sympathy … and there she was, beside me, her arms around me, holding me tightly and kissing me to make the pain better … just as you hear mothers with their children. It was a disturbed night. I was not sure whether I was dreaming. I kept thinking of you. I thought I was with you. I was only half aware. I thought I was with you … that you were there beside me. I must have been delirious. Someone was there. I believed it was you … what happened during that night, I could not say. It may be that I was unfaithful to you … I was in that farmhouse … and there was this woman and, Violetta, I do not know …”

“Strange things can happen during wartime,” I heard myself say uncertainly.

“I cannot say,” he went on. “I fancied she regarded me differently after that. I was never very sure about those nights of delirium. So often I thought you were there with me, and I remember the bitter disappointment when I awoke and found you were not. The longing was almost unbearable.” We were both silent. It was difficult to find words. All I knew was that we must not look back. The war was going to be over. We would be happy. We were determined on that.

W
E WERE MAKING ARRANGEMENTS
for our wedding. I had never seen Mrs. Jermyn so pleased with life. She had seemed so much younger when she started the convalescent home and now, of course, her happiness was unbounded. Jowan was back and her dreams were coming true. I knew she was visualizing a wonderful life ahead with her grandchildren running round. She told me that, if she could have chosen a wife for her beloved grandson, I would have been that one.

We were a little emotional, still very much aware of our good fortune, and one day she said: “I do believe that, if it had not been for this terrible war, I could not have been so happy as I am now, for it has all been brought home to me how precious life is, now that I realize how near I came to losing what I most cared for.”

Jowan’s arm was getting better under treatment. There was still some way to go before it was completely well, but we were not going to delay our wedding for that.

Those were wonderful days. Each morning I awoke with a thrill of excitement. I was staying at Tregarland’s in my old room, but I would be at the Priory every day. We still had a number of soldiers whom we were looking after, but there was an air of rejoicing everywhere, for the Germans were in retreat and the end could not be far off. The future looked dazzlingly bright to me.

It was late one afternoon. Jowan and I were in the solarium with Mrs. Jermyn. She liked a cup of tea at this hour and for us to have it with her if possible. We were, of course, discussing the coming wedding, when the maid came in to tell us that we had visitors.

“Who is it, Morwenna?” asked Mrs. Jermyn.

“Well, ma’am, it’s a Mr. and Mrs. Greenley seemingly. I’ve never seen ’em before. They’s got a young girl with them. They do want to see Mr. Jowan Jermyn, they said.”

“Well, you’d better bring them up. I don’t know a Mr. and Mrs. Greenley, do you, Jowan?”

“Like Morwenna, I’ve never heard of them,” said Jowan.

“Well, let’s see.”

When the trio were brought in, there was a cry of astonishment from Jowan.

He stood up and went towards them.

“Why … Lisette. What are you doing here?”

Lisette, her dark sloe-like eyes wide with pleasure and her thick black hair falling about her shoulders, cried: “Jowan … darleeng, I am here. I have come because …”

She hunched her shoulders and raised her eyes to the ceiling.

“And Mr. and Mrs. Greenley,” began Jowan.

“We’ve been living in France,” explained Mrs. Greenley, “since ten years or so before the war started. We couldn’t get out until now. Lisette had to come, so we took her under our charge and promised her mother to bring her here.”

“And Lisette, why …” said Jowan. “You … your mother … ?”