Whisper on the Wind (65 page)

‘Sssh, now,’ Kath whispered. ‘Lock it up, Roz? No more for tonight?’

‘Okay. But I shall read them – even if only because I’m certain she knew exactly how I’m feeling, now. It might even help.’

‘Yes. But another night?’

Carefully Roz locked each drawer, then closed the desk-top flap, and locked that, too. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you, Kath, but you know when Jonty found out about the baby and we had that terrible row? Well, he asked me to marry him – for the baby’s sake, he said; so it needn’t be illegitimate. He didn’t expect – well – anything else, he said …’

‘But you said no?’ Kath demanded, startled.

‘I told him no. It wouldn’t have been right.’

‘No. It wouldn’t have. For one thing, you couldn’t love him, Roz; not the way you’re feeling now, anyway. And Jonty’s too good to be used. He deserves to be properly loved.’

‘I know – but I do care for him, Kath. I care enough
not
to marry him.’

‘Then there’s hope for you yet.’ She was growing up. In so short a space of time, Roz had left her youth behind her; had accepted the responsibility for another life.

‘Hope. Yes.’ She placed the key in the little china dish on the desk top. ‘I think I’ll go to bed, now. What about you, Kath?’

‘Me too. I’ll just lock the doors and check that the clothes are all right round the fire, then I’ll follow you up. Off you go. Goodnight, love, and try not to worry too much. From now, things can only get better. Upwards, remember?’

She had been wrong; so very wrong, though it was to take a little time to register in her numbed brain. But she should have known, she told herself afterwards, when the warrant-officer had come to the farm that next morning. He’d walked carefully across the yard, picking his way between the pools and puddles – well he would, she considered, watching him – wearing such brilliantly polished boots.

‘Will you take the milk over, or shall I?’ Roz had asked.

‘Best leave it. The sergeant-major from the camp has just gone into the kitchen.’

‘Oh? And what does he want?’

‘Dunno – you’d better ask Mat.’

‘I will.’ She had a right to know. It was obviously about Marco and Marco worked for Ridings, too. ‘Do you suppose Mat has asked the War Ag. for another prisoner?’

‘Haven’t a clue, though sometimes we could do with one. But when he leaves you can nip over with the milk and ask what it’s all about.’

They had left it at that, because it hadn’t seemed all that important. Not then.

‘It’s a bit of a licker, having it hurled at you out of the blue, like that,’ Mat brooded. ‘And with the harvest on top of us, too. What do they want to do a damn-fool thing like that for? I said as much to the sergeant-major and he said that the camp at Helpsley was the most secure there was around these parts, and that’s why they were moving the Italians out and moving Germans in. The Germans take a lot of looking after; not like the Italians, he said. Seems that a lot of Italian people don’t like Mussolini overmuch and didn’t want to come into the war on Hitler’s side. Those prisoners are easy-going; glad to be out of it, he said, but the Germans are another thing altogether.’

‘So where will Marco be going?’ Roz asked. ‘Did you find out?’

‘Not in so many words – well, he couldn’t tell me, could he? But it’s too far away for us to keep Marco; that he did say.’

‘So will they give us a German prisoner if we ask for one, Mat?’ And thank God Gran wasn’t here to hear her say that – nor Kath, either.

‘Lord bless you, no. Far too sure of themselves those Nazis are. They aren’t going to be allowed to work out, like the Italians – left me in no doubt on that score. Couldn’t trust them not to try to escape.’

‘I’ll be sad to see him go,’ Grace said softly. ‘Marco’s a grand lad – always cheerful, and a good worker.’

‘Aye. He’ll be missed – that he will.’

Missed, Roz thought, splashing through the puddles to the dairy. And by Kath most of all. But nothing went right around Ridings and Home Farm – Ridings, especially. Ever since Gran had miscarried her son all those years ago, worse luck had followed bad. The ill-luck of the Fairchilds people called it; one generation after another, and anyone close to them, too.

She stood in the doorway of the dairy, hands spread on her abdomen as if to protect her child from it.

‘There’s a curse on this place, Kath. A
curse.
’

‘Tell me,’ Kath whispered. ‘It’s to do with Marco, isn’t it?’

‘They’re moving the Italian prisoners out – moving Germans in. They don’t know when, but it could be as – as soon as the end of the week. That was what he came to tell Mat.’

‘End of the week?’ Two, maybe three more days. ‘I don’t know about a curse, Roz, but Somebody up there doesn’t think very highly of us.’ All at once she felt very afraid. ‘There’s no hope, I suppose, that –’

‘That they’ve made a mistake? No. And Mat couldn’t find where they’ll be going – only that it’s too far away for us to keep Marco. I’m so sorry, Kath. I know how you care for him.’

‘I care too much. But maybe it’s as well he’s going – and maybe I’ll be the next to go. If Barney isn’t lucky, I’ll have to get my release to look after him.’

Once she had been so happy that it had been a joy to get up each morning. She should have known it couldn’t last.

‘Don’t say that, Kath? If you were to go I don’t know what I’d do. Sprog and I need you. And Barney might get well …’

‘Yes, but he mightn’t … Oh, Roz – I know this sounds mad, but isn’t there somewhere – anywhere – we could live around here? Being in the country would be far better for Barney than streets and streets of houses. There’d be birdsong for him to listen to, and all sorts of sounds and smells. I could plant a scented garden for him – honeysuckle and roses and pinks. And even if I did have to leave the Land Army, I’d still be near to you all. Isn’t there
anywhere
?’

‘No. Not just now, though I know the Manchester lady won’t want to stay here once the war is over. But it’s
now
we want somewhere, not two or three years on. I’ll try to think of something Kath – I
will.
’

‘I know you will.’ Her face was racked with pain and she closed her eyes tightly against the tears. ‘And oh, Roz, I don’t want to leave you nor Home Farm and I
don’t
want Marco to go.’ Never to see him again nor talk to him; not even to be allowed to write to him. And so little time left. ‘Where is he working this morning?’

‘On Ridings’ land – up near Polly’s. Are you going to him?’

‘No. Later, I’ll see him.’ When she’d had time to pull herself together, to think it all out in her mind; convince herself that what they had had, little though it was, was no more than a bonus – something to think back on, to recall on the sad days; on days when the unfriendly streets she would be going back to were grey and cold. ‘I’ll see him at dinner-break, in the barn …’

He was sitting there when she went to the barn at noon; sitting on the floor, his hands relaxed on his knees.

‘You know, Kat?’

‘I know. Roz told me.’ She sat down beside him.

‘And what are we to do, you and I?’

‘What can we do, but – well – bear it and grin? But you knew, Marco, didn’t you?’

‘Not for certain. But I heard things. The guards talk and they forget, sometimes, that some of us speak English good.’

‘Just a few more days, that’s all.’ The panic that had slashed through her when first she heard was gone, now, and in its place was despair and acceptance.

‘Perhaps not a few days, Kat. Some, I think, will go tomorrow.’

And you’ll be with them.’ The tears were back in her throat, hurting her, but tears she would not cry, because she was married to Barney; to a soldier who was waiting to be taken to an operating theatre and praying as he’d never prayed before that when it was all over there’d be hope.

‘I might be – or I might be lucky.’ He reached for her hand and held it tightly.

‘And after today – or tomorrow –’ she whispered, ‘it’ll be the end, won’t it? I won’t see you again or speak to you. They won’t let me write to you – it would be no use trying. And you can’t write to me.’

‘No. But there might be a way. If I could post a letter – one the Censor hadn’t seen.’

‘But how? How could you buy stamps? Just walk into a post office, would you – or even into a phone-box, to ring me?’

‘No. I don’t have any of your money. But you could give me envelopes, Kat, with stamps on them.’

‘Yes, but how –’

‘How do I post them? If they let me go out to work again, there might be a letterbox, nearby – though to telephone would not be easy. But I shall find a way to write to you – just as I found a way to get out of the camp. You’ll give me envelopes and stamps? Today, Kat, before I leave?’

Today. Now. So he
was
going tomorrow? Once, she had brought soup here. This barn was where they had met and where, perhaps tonight, they would part.

‘Tonight – before the truck comes for you – meet me here and I’ll give them to you. But don’t get into trouble, just to post a letter? I won’t forget you, Marco; not ever.’

No one could stop her remembering; not Barney nor Aunt Min nor anyone.

‘And I shall remember my Kat. Always. And be glad that a war gave you to me and sad that it took you away.’

‘Yes.’ She knew, now, how Roz felt, only for Roz there was no hope. She, at least, could think of Marco and know that somewhere he was alive. She could still hope in her wildest, craziest moments that one day they would meet again; meet, and say
Ciao
! and smile. That would be all, but she’d be grateful, even for that.

And yes, she would take care of Barney; she would even go back to the little house in the Birmingham street, but nothing would ever stop her wishing that she and Marco could have once – just once – been lovers.

‘Have you booked the call?’ Roz asked later that evening. ‘To Edinburgh?’

‘I did. And you’re going to have to let me pay for them. Your phone bill will be awful.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake – phone bills are the least of my worries. And did you –’ She stopped, letting her eyes finish the asking.

‘Did I say goodbye to Marco? Yes. He said that some of them will be moving out tomorrow and I know he’ll be amongst them.’

‘I’m sorry, Kath. This is a bloody awful war, isn’t it? Did he give you any hope – about your meeting again, I mean?’

‘No. I gave him envelopes; he just might be able to get to a letterbox. I hope he doesn’t get searched – that they won’t find them on him. But I’m not fooling myself. We said goodbye, though we didn’t have a lot of time.’

He had been there, waiting, when she got to the barn a little before six. She had gone straight into his arms, saying nothing for a little while; just grateful to be near him.

‘Kat. There is something –’ He’d dipped into his pocket, then, giving her a piece of paper. ‘I want you to have this; it is where I live – my address, in Italy. Perhaps, one day when the war is over – well, that’s where I’ll be.’

‘And Ridings’ telephone – you know the number?’

‘181. It’s easy. And Mrs Ramsden and Roz – they’ll always know where you are?’

‘They’ll know.’ She closed her eyes, searching with her mouth for his. Their kiss was long and tender, touched with sadness. A kiss of goodbye. ‘Don’t forget me, Marco?’

They heard the truck, then, and the driver sounding the horn impatiently. He had kissed her again then pushed her a little way from him, looking into her eyes.

‘
Arrivederci
, Katarina.
Ti amo …
’

‘And I love you, my darling,’ she had whispered. ‘I always will. Take care of yourself.’

‘I won’t see him again. I know I won’t, but I’ll never be sorry I met him. And loved him. When the going gets rough, I shall remember that there’s a little place called Alderby St Mary and once, a long time ago, I had a very sweet love. And that I was happy there.’

‘You’re determined, aren’t you,’ Roz demanded softly, ‘that you’re going back to Aunt Min and that Barney’s operation wasn’t a success? But what if it has been? What if – even at this very minute – that surgeon in Edinburgh
knows
it’s all right?’

‘But he can’t know. They won’t be able to hope, even, till the dressings come off.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘Lord – how do I know? The only thing I’m fairly certain about is that he’ll be coming back to the hospital at Shilton. I tell you, Roz, I don’t know why I’m bothering to ring them. All they’ll say is that he’s comfortable and as well as can be expected.’

‘But you
will
ring, Kath, and you’ll keep hoping.’

‘Yes. Hope can be as strong as prayer – at least that’s what Marco said.’

Marco. Whom she must forget, because it was Barney who needed her prayers, now.

Please God –
please
– let it come all right, for Barney.

‘He’ll be back at Shilton, soon.’ Kath checked her watch with the kitchen clock. ‘He might even be there already.’

Saturday, the first day of August. Seven weeks since Paul’s death, more than seven weeks since a German fighter snarled out of the sun and a lonely woman died in the arms of a prisoner of war. And ten days, Kath brooded, since Barney’s operation and every phone call to the Edinburgh hospital the same.