A Song At Twilight Page 11

  Olivia shut the oven door and straightened up, turning to face him. ‘You don’t think it’s that bad, do you? Oh, I know it’s dreadful – the whole war is dreadful. But surely we can put it right, eventually? It’s got to come to an end one day. Nobody can go on like this for ever.’

  Ben looked at her. He wished he had not said anything – he wasn’t even sure why he had. The thoughts he had just expressed were those that came to him in the night, when he couldn’t sleep, when his fears about the dangers he faced every time he took off in his aircraft outweighed his joy in flying. And when men like Tubby Marsh were killed. Tubby, and all those others he had seen go to their deaths during the past two years.

  ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘Of course they can’t. It’ll come to an end one day, and we’ll sort it all out and put it right then. And it can’t be too long before that happens. Not after all we’ve been through.’

  ‘I hope not,’ Olivia said, staring with troubled eyes at the cluttered table. ‘Oh, Ben, I do so hope not.’

  John and Alexandra returned in time for lunch, strolling arm in arm up the path that led from the churchyard. Jeanie and Hope had had their lunch first and gone for a walk, despite Olivia’s protests. ‘You want your family to yourself,’ Jeanie had said. ‘It’s only right. We’re going down to the Suttons’ farm to see Sylvie and the others – we’ll be back by teatime.’ She pulled on her coat, wrapped Hope’s scarf around her neck and departed.

  Olivia shook her head. ‘She really doesn’t need to do that. She’s one of the family now.’

  ‘Is she?’ Alexandra asked. She hadn’t seen as much of Jeanie as Ben had done. ‘Does she have her meals with you all the time, then?’

  ‘Of course. She does most of the cooking, after all, and we usually eat in the kitchen these days. It would be silly for her and Hope to have their meals separately.’

  ‘I suppose so. Still, it’s nice to be on our own.’ Alexandra sat down at the table. ‘Mm, stew. It smells lovely – better than we get at Haslar.’

  ‘It’s always more difficult to cook large amounts.’ Olivia spooned out a helping of rich brown gravy, filled with carrots, onions and meat. ‘It’s rabbit again, I’m afraid, Ben, but it’s almost impossible to get any other meat now, except in tiny amounts. I don’t know what we’d do without Percy Fry bringing us rabbits. He brought two beauties this week – must have known you were coming.’

  ‘I like rabbit, anyway,’ Ben said, helping himself to mashed potato. ‘That pie Jeanie made last night was scrumptious. She’s turned into a really good cook, Mum, and all due to you.’

  ‘Oh, she wasn’t a bad cook when she first came. She just hadn’t had much chance, that’s all.’ Olivia served the rest of the stew and sat down. Alexandra looked impatient.

  ‘Do we have to talk about Jeanie all the time? After all, she’s only the maid, isn’t she? And if she didn’t have that child she’d be doing proper war work, like the rest of us have to.’

  There was a brief silence. Ben opened his mouth indignantly, but before he could speak his father said quietly, ‘We don’t look on her as a maid, Alexie, but I’m sure she wouldn’t want us to be talking about her anyway. Tell us what you’ve been doing with yourself in your spare time.’

  Ben glanced at his sister and saw the flush on her cheeks. He knew that she wouldn’t like being reproved by her father and hoped she wouldn’t go into a sulk. There was little enough time for them to spend together as it was. Swallowing his own annoyance at her remark, he said encouragingly, ‘Yes, what films have you seen lately? Or have you been dancing on your nights off?’

  Alexandra ate in silence for a moment or two, then she said reluctantly, ‘I went to see Jane Eyre, with Joan Fontaine and Orson Welles. That was good. And Ingrid Bergman in For Whom the Bell Tolls.’

  ‘I saw that, too,’ Ben said. ‘I thought it was rather good.’

  ‘I’ve been to a few dances as well,’ Alexandra went on. ‘We go over to Southsea mostly. They have Joe Loss sometimes, and Ambrose – all the big bands. And sometimes we push back the beds and do a bit of jitterbugging in the dormitory – one of the girls brought in her gramophone. I’m collecting Frank Sinatra’s records. I’ve got “You’ll Never Know” and “My Heart and I”.’

  ‘I like Glenn Miller best,’ Ben observed. ‘Have you heard his new one, “American Patrol”?’

  They went on chatting and Jeanie was forgotten for the time being. Later, however, as they sprawled in armchairs in the sitting room in front of the fire, drinking tea and reading newspapers, they heard Hope’s voice piping on the pathway, and a moment or two later the front door opened. Alexandra glanced up from her paper and said, ‘Do they make themselves at home everywhere? I mean, will they be coming in here?’

  ‘No, I don’t expect so,’ Ben said. ‘Jeanie understands that Mum and Dad want us to themselves. I think she sits in here with them sometimes when they’re on their own, though. It makes sense, after all. There’s no point in having two lights burning.’

  ‘I suppose not. I hope she realises how lucky she is, falling on her feet like this.’

  ‘I think she earns her keep,’ Ben said quietly. He looked at his sister and said, ‘You’re a bit jealous of her, aren’t you?’

  ‘Jealous? No, of course I’m not!’ Alexandra flung down her newspaper and glared at him. ‘Why on earth should I be jealous?’

  ‘Well, I can’t think of any reason at all,’ he said, ‘but you might have one. Like, she’s here all the time, and you’re not. And you’ve never had to share your home, or Mum and Dad, with another girl before.’

  ‘Share them? I’m not sharing them! She’s a maid, that’s all – and I think it’s a pity she doesn’t know her place. She’s certainly nothing to be jealous of!’

  ‘That’s all right, then, isn’t it?’ Ben said. He was having some difficulty in keeping his temper under control. ‘Because I happen to like Jeanie. I like her a lot. And she isn’t “just a maid”. So I’m glad you’re not jealous of her.’

  Alexandra stared at him. ‘You’re not falling for her, are you, Ben?’

  ‘I just think she’s a nice girl, who’s a help and a comfort to Mum and Dad, and she doesn’t deserve to be treated the way you’re treating her, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m not treating her in any way at all! I’ve hardly spoken to the girl!’

  ‘All right, I don’t like the way you’ve been talking about her.’

  ‘That’s easy to put right then, isn’t it? I won’t even mention her again.’ Alexandra picked up her newspaper and held it in front of her face. Her hands were shaking and Ben reached across and pulled the paper away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sis. Don’t let’s argue – we’ve only got a few hours at home and we don’t want to upset the parents.’ He looked at her pleadingly and she pulled a wry face and shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘I suppose not. But honestly, Ben, don’t you think she’s got her feet under the table a bit too much? She and her brat—’

  ‘My goddaughter,’ he said quietly, feeling his temper begin to simmer again, as Alexandra sighed with exasperation.

  ‘There you are, you see! Oh, all right, I’m not going to start again. We’ll forget all about her, if we can. And you needn’t worry, I won’t be rude to her. How about a game of draughts?’

  ‘Good idea.’ He fetched the board and they set the pieces out and settled to their game. Gradually, their irritation diminished and when Olivia opened the door to bring in a tray of fresh tea and a loaf of bread to be sliced and toasted on the fire, they were laughing.

  ‘Oh, that’s so good to hear,’ Olivia said, setting down the tray. ‘My children, playing together just like when they were little. If only Peter and Ian were here, it would be just like old times.’

  Ben and Alexandra glanced at each other. He gave her a rueful grin, and she replied with a tiny shrug. The quarrel was over – but the questions it had raised lingered in both their minds, and Ben wondered again what Jeanie would do once the
war was over.

  The visit was all too quickly over. They all walked through the village later that evening to see Alexandra off on the ten o’clock train and, after an enormous breakfast next morning, Ben went reluctantly upstairs to bring his kitbag down. His parents and Jeanie, with Hope clutching her mother’s skirt, stood in the hall waiting for him.

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t come to the station with you,’ John Hazelwood said, already in his cassock, ‘but old Mrs Turnbull would never forgive me if I didn’t get back in time for Matins.’

  Ben grinned. ‘It wouldn’t do to get on the wrong side of old Mrs Turnbull. Your life would be a complete misery.’

  They all laughed, though their laughter was a little uncertain. Saying goodbye was always difficult; the thought was never far away that this might be the last time they would see each other.

  Ben and his father shook hands and the vicar walked through the garden to the church gate. The rest of them set off along the lane to the railway station.

  It was a cold November day, not exactly raining but full of a heavy damp that hung around the trees and turned the fallen leaves to a slippery mush. A few rooks flew overhead, cackling to each other, and a magpie crossed the lane in front of them. Jeanie watched it anxiously and gave a sigh of relief when it was followed by another.

  ‘That’s two for joy, anyway. I know you’re not superstitious,’ she added to Olivia, ‘but it don’t do no harm to be on the safe side.’

  Apart from the ancient porter, the little station was deserted. As they arrived, he shuffled out of the waiting-room with a bucket and began to shovel coal into it from the pile at one end of the platform.

  ‘Morning, Mrs Hazelwood.’ His voice sounded like the coal he was shovelling. ‘Morning, young Ben.’ He glanced at Jeanie and nodded, his seamed face cracking into a smile at sight of Hope. ‘And how’s the little lady, then? Come to see Master Ben off, have you?’

  Hope was busy looking for the elderly cat who spent his days sunning himself on the platform or dozing by the fire in the stationmaster’s office. She found him crouching by a small hole in the ground beneath a rose bush, and immediately scooped him into her arms.

  ‘No, don’t,’ Jeanie said, trying to loosen her grip. ‘He doesn’t like it.’

  ‘He does like it.’ Her arms tightened and the cat squirmed and objected loudly. Jean prised her daughter’s fingers apart and he dropped to the ground and scurried away, stopping at a few yards’ distance to wash himself as if he felt contaminated.

  ‘He did like it,’ Hope said mutinously. ‘He likes me.’

  ‘Well, he was too busy to be picked up. He was waiting for a mouse.’ They looked along the line as the train chuffed slowly into view. Both women turned to Ben and Olivia drew in a small breath while Jeanie took hold of Hope’s hand.

  ‘He wasn’t busy.’

  ‘Be quiet, Hope,’ Jeanie said distractedly, but the other two weren’t listening. Olivia had taken both her son’s hands in hers and he was looking at her with sudden gravity. He’d meant to be cheerful – meant to leave his mother with a smile and a wave – but somehow, now that the moment had come, he was filled with sadness. Almost a premonition, he thought suddenly, and thrust the idea away.

  The train drew up beside them, the steam and smoke from the engine enveloping them in a warm, damp cloud. As it began to clear, the porter opened a carriage door and heaved Ben’s kitbag inside. There was only a minute or so left. Ben glanced at Jeanie and saw that her eyes were bright with tears. He turned hastily to his mother and put his arms around her.

  ‘Cheerio, Mum. Take care of yourself, won’t you.’

  ‘It’s you who must take care of yourself,’ she said. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this, but I do worry about you, Ben.’

  ‘I know.’ He didn’t tell her there was no need to worry; they all knew that there was every need. Everyone worried, all the time. Mostly, the worry was kept hidden, but it was always there. War brought worry with it, like a many-clawed creature that fastened itself into your heart and mind and refused to be dislodged.

  He turned back to Jeanie and hesitated, remembering the kiss they had shared on the landing. He glanced at Hope, staring up at him with huge brown eyes, and bent to gather her in his arms.

  ‘Goodbye, little princess.’ He buried his face against her soft, warm neck, then set her on her feet again and now it seemed quite natural to take Jeanie in his arms as well and kiss her gently on the cheek. ‘Goodbye, Jeanie.’

  ‘Goodbye, Ben,’ she whispered, and turned her face to return his kiss.

  There was a moment of silence and then he gave them all a distinctly shaky grin and stepped up into the carriage. He leaned out of the window and reached down and they both reached up to take his hand. Then the engine snorted and gave a preliminary jerk before starting off again. Ben leaned a little further out, then let go of their hands, gave them a final wave and was gone.

  The three of them stood there for a few moments and then Olivia straightened her back and said, ‘Well, that’s that, then. I must go back. I’ll be too late for church, but I can start the lunch. Are you coming, Jeanie, or do you want to take Hope for a walk?’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Jeanie said, guessing that Olivia wanted her company. She felt sad and empty, as if something precious had been taken away from her. The kiss Ben had given her on the landing had remained with her during the whole weekend, and she had been half afraid, half hopeful that it would be repeated. Now, she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that it hadn’t, and she knew that she still hadn’t forgotten Terry.

  They walked along the lane together, each absorbed in her own thoughts. Hope dragged on her mother’s hand, still looking for the cat. When the boy came round the corner of the lane by the vicarage gate, riding his red bicycle, none of them realised at first what it meant.

  Then Olivia put her hand to her throat. She stared at him, and then at the envelope he was holding out.

  ‘No,’ she said in a dry, hopeless whisper. ‘Please. No …’

  Chapter Ten

  It was Peter who was missing. His ship had gone down in the Far East, with only a few saved and taken prisoner by the Japanese. There was no word yet as to who had survived but, like the Taylors when they heard that the Hood had gone down with only three survivors, the Hazelwoods knew that Peter’s chances were slim.

  ‘Even if he was picked up,’ Olivia said, her voice husky as if the tears she had shed had left her throat dry, ‘he’d be a prisoner. And you know what they’re saying about Japanese prisoners of war. They’re treating them dreadfully.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I can’t bear to think of our Peter being tortured.’

  ‘We don’t know that for certain.’ John took her in his arms and she leaned against him, fresh tears coming as if she had discovered a new well deep inside. ‘It’s hearsay only.’ But he spoke without conviction. ‘Olivia, my dear, we mustn’t despair. He’s in God’s hands.’

  ‘And so were all the others,’ she cried bitterly, lifting her hands away to stare at him. ‘All those who have died, died horribly – all those who are suffering now, never mind which side they’re on. The Germans are Christians too, or supposed to be – are they in His hands? And the Japanese themselves – is He looking after them too, even if they don’t believe in Him? You say He’s an all-merciful God, but who is it who receives His mercy, when all the people on earth are fighting one another like spiders in a jar? Is He going to let thousands of others die, yet save Peter, just because he’s ours? I’m sorry, John, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe any of it any more.’ She pressed her hands to her face again.

  John sighed. He could find no words of comfort or reassurance; in truth, he needed them too badly himself. All he could do was cling to his own faith, the faith that had been so severely tested during the First World War, and it was as if he too could feel it slipping from his grasp. He was like a drowning man, clinging to a lifebuoy and feeling the waves tearing it from his numbed finge
rs.

  Olivia felt for her handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be giving way like this. I should be more like you, strong and sure of myself and my God. I should have some courage – I should set an example. I’m not the only mother to have lost her son this morning. Or any morning, come to that.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘There are people receiving telegrams like this every day. Every single day.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and some of them in this very village, too. Wasn’t young Billy Watson on Peter’s ship?’

  Olivia stared at him in horror. ‘Of course he was! Oh, John, that poor woman – he was her only child. And she lost her husband only last year. Oh, we must go and see her at once.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘As long as you’re sure you’ll be all right. I’ll get Jeanie to make you some more tea—’

  ‘No. I’ll come with you.’ She rubbed away the tears. ‘It’s the least I can do. Just give me a few minutes to wash my face.’ She was on her feet, deathly pale but determined. ‘It’s all right, John. I shall feel better to be doing something.’

  He watched her go, her slender back straight again, and felt the love and admiration bloom in his heart. Whatever her own feelings, Olivia would always put others first. This news about Peter was what they had both dreaded ever since the war began – their eldest son, missing, believed killed – and he knew the anguish she was suffering, because he suffered it with her. Yet because he must go and give comfort, she would put that pain aside and go with him. Because her pain was so sharp and deep, she was all the better able to share that of another woman.

  At some time, he would have to try to help her with the loss of her faith as well. But he was very afraid that it was as unlikely to survive as Peter was.

  Ben was told the news when he arrived back at Harrowbeer. Andrew called him into his office the minute he appeared in the mess and Ben, wondering what could be the matter, followed him into the small room on the first floor of the big, gracious house.