Whisper on the Wind (49 page)

It wasn’t the thing to ask, when you thought about it, but the silences were becoming oppressive and the ticking of the kitchen clock too loud.

‘Stand? I suppose it’s mine, now,’ she shrugged, ‘or will be, when I’m old enough to inherit. Ridings, Home Farm, six cottages in Alderby and the watermeadow fields on Peddlesbury Lane. Gran said it would be …’

‘No, love. I wasn’t talking about –
things.
I meant you and Paul. Your gran would have said yes, I know she would. What’ll happen, now?’

‘Oh – I don’t think anything will have changed.’ The smallest of smiles briefly lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘Gran told me how it would be, if ever – well, it was all taken care of, I mean. I’ve got three guardians until I’m twenty-one; I suppose I’ll have to ask one of them, now.’

‘But who are they, Roz?’

‘There’s my great-uncle – Gran’s older brother. He never married. Went to Tasmania after the last war. They kept in touch, but things got a bit strained with the war – letters getting lost at sea, and all that. And Uncle John was never very strong, I believe; not strong enough to fight in the last war, Gran said.’

‘And there’s me thinking you hadn’t any family – apart from your gran, I mean …’

‘No. She seemed to cut herself off – to cut us both off. She had a sister, too; Mary, her name was. She was a year younger, but she died when I was little. Mary didn’t have children, either, so there are no cousins on Gran’s side and no Fairchild cousins.’

‘And the other two, Roz? Your great-uncle in Tasmania wouldn’t be a lot of use. It would take ages to get permission from him.’

‘I know. But there’s Gran’s solicitor – Mr Dunston, in York. He’s coming here tomorrow. His father was Grandpa’s solicitor. Gran trusts – trusted – him implicitly. He sends me a card, on my birthday. Dutifully, sort of, and to let Gran know, I suppose, that he’s still mindful of his obligations – and the third,’ she paused, and for a moment the haunted look left her eyes and her face gentled. ‘The third one is Polly …’

‘Polly Appleby? I’d never have –’

‘Never have thought it? But Kath, Polly is all that remained of Ridings – Gran’s
real
Ridings when she had a husband and a little daughter and was carrying her second child. Polly was there in the good times – knew how things had been – and she was there in the bad times, too. Gran wouldn’t have kept her sanity without Polly, she once told me. Polly knows everything. She’ll have been told about Paul and that we want to be married, be sure of it. Polly is family. She’ll say yes, I know she will. So don’t worry about us. Just help me, Kath? Help me get over these next few days – to be a credit to Gran. And don’t leave me. You’ll have to be family, now. Apart from Paul, all I’ve got is here at Ridings and Home Farm. Will you stay tonight? Afterwards – when it’s all over – the funeral, I mean, then Paul and me can be together, here. But not just yet. So will you ring the hostel and ask? And I think I’ll have a bath and make myself look decent.’ A bath might make her feel better; wash away some of the horror and disbelief.

‘You’ll be all right, Roz?’

‘Sure I will. And I’ll feel better when I’ve seen Paul.’

‘Okay. But before you do anything you’re going to get a glass of milk inside you or you’ll be passing out on me, then what’ll I do? No messing, now,’ she called from the pantry, glass in hand. She was going to drink it, Kath thought grimly, if she had to hold her nose and force it down.

She had tapped on the bathroom door and called, ‘You all right, Roz?’ and received a ‘Fine, thanks,’ before she asked the operator for Peacock Hey’s number.

‘Kath – is that you, hen?’ Flora’s lovely Scottish voice, safe and sane. ‘Sorry, but the Warden’s away tonight to a silver wedding party. Where are you? What can I do? And how’s Roz taking things?’

‘She’s bearing up – I’m with her now at Ridings. But she shouldn’t be alone, Flora. I want to stay with her, if I can. Will it be all right?’

‘Of course it will.’ She hesitated for only a second, then said, ‘Do you need me to bring any of your things? Tell me where to find them and I’ll pop over – just have a word …’

‘Thanks, Flora, but I’ve got the bike. I can get them myself – no bother. I’m meeting Paul, you see; Roz wants me to tell him, so I might as well call in. I’ll be there just after eight, if that’s okay with you?’

The Forewoman said it was, though she’d rather have gone to Ridings to tell her about the message, she thought. Not that she knew all that much. The old lady had been agitated on the phone and the line bad, and anyway she’d never been able to understand the half of what those Londoners said. But she’d got the gist of its message, worse luck, and yes, she’d pass it on to Kath Allen, she’d said. That, she accepted reluctantly, was what a Forewoman was for.

But did it have to be today of all days? Wasn’t there upset enough at Ridings without herself adding to it?

Yet trouble always came in threes, didn’t it; just like death. Peggy Bailey, Mrs Fairchild – who next? Hear of one, they said; hear of three.

Flora Lyle sent her thoughts winging to a faraway soldier.

Take care of yourself, my love. For God’s sake, take care.

Roz looked again at the kitchen clock, checked it against her wrist-watch then let go a long sigh of dismay. It was twenty minutes to eight and Paul wasn’t coming.

Half-past seven, they’d said. Always half-past seven in Peddlesbury Lane. And Kath was there, waiting. Kath should have told him by now and he’d have come to her, run to her, concerned. It didn’t take ten minutes to get here. Paul knew the way; in the dark, he knew it, and the short cut through the orchard.

But Kath would still be waiting because they were on ops again tonight, weren’t they? Paul was flying when she wanted him so desperately. Not the need, tonight, for his lips and his fingertips arousing her, their bodies close. Tonight she needed the safeness of his arms and his cheek against hers. She needed to tell him; to say out loud that Gran was dead and for Paul to tell her it would be all right, that the pain and the misery would pass.

But he was flying. This night of all nights, he couldn’t be with her. She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. It was called kicking you when you were down; rubbing it in.

Wrapping her arms around her waist she hugged herself tightly. A quarter to eight. He wasn’t coming. He definitely wasn’t coming.

She glared at the telephone standing smug and silent on the dresser. Paul was at the other end of that thing. All he had to do was lift it and tell her he loved her. He wouldn’t, though. When the squadron was operational no one could get in to the aerodrome and no one could come out. And no one could ring in or ring out, no matter how much it mattered that someone should whisper ‘I love you’.

She wanted to walk in the ruins; walk alone staring down at the grass and think it all out. She wanted to come to terms with what had happened – accept that Gran was dead.

Dead. That was the word for it. Not passed over nor passed away nor even gone to her rest. Gran was dead and she didn’t want to think about tomorrow nor next week; she just wanted – needed – to think about today, about
now
, and she needed Paul beside her so she could find the strength to do it.

She couldn’t go into the garden, though. She must stay here so that when Kath came back she would know where to find her. Anyway, she couldn’t hear the phone from outside.

Why, Gran? Why did it have to be you? Why were you in Beck Lane? If you really had to be there, why wasn’t it a minute before or a minute after? Why
then
?

She thought back to their parting this morning; to their last words. It had been the same as always – perhaps just a little bit better, because this morning Gran had known about Paul. And she had said, ‘’Bye, darling. Take care,’ as she always did and then lifted her cheek to be kissed.

Why, Roz demanded angrily, hadn’t she hugged her and told her she loved her? Why hadn’t she told her she was sorry for all the silences there had been between them; sorry she hadn’t told her sooner about Paul when she’d known all the time that Gran would have understood. And why, this morning, hadn’t she thanked her for always being there; for being her mother and her gran and her friend? Darling Gran, I’m so sorry; I loved you, love you, will always love you. And I’m telling you too late.

There was a knock on the door and Roz wanted to leave it unanswered; couldn’t bear to see anyone now. But Gran, no matter what her grief, would have opened that door and she must do the same.

She walked across the kitchen, listening to the echoing of her footsteps against the stone-flagged floor of the inner hall. She lifted the old, heavy latch, swung the door wide.

And Paul stood there. He was carrying flowers and lifting his shoulders in a little shrug as if to ask, ‘What do I do next?’ and she didn’t believe it because he’d come,
he’d come
!

‘Darling, oh darling, where have you been?’ She closed her eyes, her mouth searching for his and he pulled her to him with his free arm. Why was he bringing flowers? He never gave her flowers. ‘Oh, Paul, I need you so. Just hold me. Hold me tightly and say, “I love you, Roz Fairchild.”’

‘I love you, Roz.’

She heard the flowers fall to the floor, felt his arms around her, pulling her closer.

‘And I love you, Paul.’ There were tears in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks; it was good to weep.

‘What is it, sweetheart?’ He pushed her a little way from him, eyes wide with concern. ‘You’re shaking – what is it? What’s wrong? It’s all right, truly it is …’

‘No, it’s
not
all right. It won’t ever be all right again. Didn’t she tell you? Didn’t Kath tell you?’

‘Tell me what – and when? I haven’t seen Kath since the dance.’

‘But she’s at Peddlesbury Lane, waiting. She’s been there since half-past seven, to tell you about Gran and to tell you to come here.’

‘I didn’t see Kath. I came here over the fields.’

‘We rang you – about half-past six. Where were you, Paul?’

‘On my way back from Helpsley. I went for flowers for your gran.’

‘For
Gran
?’ He didn’t know? But if he hadn’t seen Kath, how was he to know? ‘Darling – Kath came to meet you; tell you I couldn’t come and that you were to come here so I could tell you; tell you that this afternoon –’

She laid her cheek on his chest and between anguished sobs she told him. She poured out her misery and all her regrets. ‘Gran’s dead.’ She needed to say it again and again, to cry out the words to the four winds and for God to hear them. She longed to be forgiven for all the things she had said that she shouldn’t have said and for all the words, the kind words, she had left unspoken; words like I love you, Gran. Her pain poured out in a torment of grief. ‘Dead, Paul. Gran’s dead and you never knew her.’

‘But I did – I
did.
That’s why I’m here. I phoned, but you were in the hayfield, she said, so I asked if she would give you a message, tell you I’d be a little late …’

‘You
spoke
to her?’ She jerked her head up sharply, her eyes disbelieving.

‘Roz – can we walk? In the garden?’ He was still a little reluctant to step inside the house. There was so much he didn’t understand, things he must ask her when she was calmer. He had to tell her why he was here, explain about the phone call he’d made and who had answered it and asked him to come to Ridings. ‘Let’s go out – unless you want me to go and tell Kath I’m here?’

‘No. She was only going to wait until eight. She’ll be on her way to the hostel now, to pick up some things. She’s staying with me tonight …’

‘Good.’ He smiled gently, to give her reassurance, then tilted her chin and wiped her tears away with his handkerchief, all the time kissing her softly. ‘Let’s walk outside, then you can tell me about it. And did I tell you I love you and that I missed you?’

Unspeaking, she shook her head, then linked her arm in his. He had come. He was here at her side and she was safe and loved. For just a little while, nothing else need matter.

‘That’s it, then!’ Kath looked at her watch. He wasn’t coming. Best, now, she should get back quickly. Roz was at breaking point. She mustn’t be alone when it all got too much for her. Poor Roz. Tense as an overwound spring.

Kath pedalled quickly. She had come up and down this lane so often that she wouldn’t mind betting she could do it blindfolded; it stood to reason that in winter, in the blackout, you might just as well have your eyes shut. Winter. So long ago, it seemed. She had lived in Alderby for six months; it could be a lifetime.

Peacock Hey was unusually quiet when she pushed open the back door and went in search of Flora Lyle. Most farmers around were haymaking and many of the landgirls who lived here would be working late. Automatically she scanned the letter-board. Nothing there for Kath Allen; no airmail envelope or pale blue letter-card with
Passed by Censor
stamped on the front and bearing Barney’s name, rank and number on the back. So long since she had received a proper letter, but there must be some explanation. You could never be sure of mail in wartime; not even of letters posted here at home. Ones from abroad were always at risk, with ships being sunk all the time and planes carrying mailbags shot down every day of the week. She must give her husband the benefit of the doubt. He
could
have written; he most probably had. Letters went missing all the time.