‘It’s your handsome wing commander.’
‘I wish people would stop referring to him in that way,’ Romily muttered irritably. ‘It quite gets on my nerves.’
‘In that case,’ said Sarah, ‘perhaps I can help you out on that score. I rather like the fellow, so what do you say to me tossing my cap into the ring, so to speak? Be honest. Would you be offended if I were to make a play for him?’
Romily laughed. ‘Sarah, of all the things you could have asked me, that would be the least offensive thing ever. Especially after everything else you’ve thrown at me today.’
‘You mean you wouldn’t mind? Not in the slightest? Not even the teeniest-weeniest bit?’
‘Not in the slightest. He’s a lovely chap, but not for me.’ She blinked and blew on her cocoa. ‘Not after Jack. So go right ahead and make your move.’
Her lively eyes dancing, Sarah smiled. ‘I will, rest assured. Although heaven only knows when we’d be able to meet up.’
Romily smiled back at her friend. ‘Knowing you, you’ll find a way.’
‘I have one more thing to say, something I want you to promise. I want you to think very hard about what I’ve said. The war needs women like you, Romily, women who can rise to the challenge and who aren’t afraid to leap into the unknown. Do you promise?’
‘I do. If only to keep you quiet.’
‘Good. Now then, how about a tot of something in this cocoa to help us sleep well?’
Chapter Sixty-Nine
June 1940
Florence had not heard from Billy in weeks. Nor had anyone heard from Elijah or Tommy.
The news on the wireless about the evacuation of Dunkirk frightened her half to death. There were reports of boats of all sizes, some just small fishing boats, rescuing soldiers, and worse still, there was talk of returning soldiers being in a dreadful state. Eric Mallow, a reservist from the village and one of the first to be rescued and sent home on leave, had arrived back two days ago. Mrs Bunch had spoken to him and said he barely opened his mouth to her and flinched at the slightest noise. ‘I’ve known him since he was a cocky boy in shorts, and I swear I’ve never known him so quiet,’ she’d said.
Yesterday, on her day off, Florence had taken the bus to Sudbury to treat herself to some new shoes, and had got chatting to a couple of soldiers who’d made it back from Dunkirk. They’d told her it had been hell on earth, with nowhere to hide while the Luftwaffe dropped bomb after bomb on them. They said they’d seen dozens of soldiers blown up before their eyes. It had been a terrible sight when one of the lads had begun to cry, and once he’d started, he just didn’t seem able to stop. Florence’s heart had gone out to him, and had she been braver, she would have given him a hug, but as it was, the other lad, whose head was swathed in a bandage, put his arm around his pal like he would a brother.
The lad with the bandaged head didn’t have a good word to say about the Belgians, who’d surrendered without warning and left the BEF soldiers stranded. ‘Bloody King Leopold,’ he’d said furiously, ‘declaring the Allied cause lost – well, it’s not bleeding surprising when you’ve got cowards like that in charge. And where was the RAF in all this?’ he’d gone on. ‘Where were they when the Germans were slaughtering us and we were trapped like bleeding rats in a barrel?’
A po-faced woman in the seat behind Florence had tutted and said there was no need to use such coarse language, and at that the soldier had turned away to look out of the window, his lips moving with some inaudible response. Florence had plucked up the courage to ask if either of the soldiers knew anything about Billy Minton and Elijah Hartley, seeing as they were from the Suffolk Regiment, but neither of them could help her.
Florence didn’t think she would ever forget the bitter anger and bleak despair of those two young lads. She could picture them now, as she opened the windows at Winter Cottage to let in the fresh morning air, their grim, tired faces staring blankly out of the bus at a world that probably didn’t seem real to them any more.
Ever since the evacuation of Dunkirk had begun, just over a week ago at the end of May, and the small seed of hope had grown within her that Billy might be brought home to safety and given a few days’ leave, Florence had been coming here to ensure the cottage was ready for them to stay in as man and wife. She hoped Elijah wouldn’t mind; that he would be happy for the little house to be kept clean and tidy rather than left to its own devices. She had also made a daily trip to Clover End Cottage to air it ready for Elijah’s return, using the key he’d left behind for Allegra so that she could come and go as she pleased.
Going up the narrow winding staircase to the floor above, the wooden boards creaking beneath her feet, the words of the gypsy woman from last summer played in her head – You’ll find love and you’ll lose love. From the moment they had learned of the news about the evacuation, the words had taunted Florence cruelly. It was the last thing she thought of before going to sleep at night, and the first that she woke to.
The rosebud-patterned curtains swaying in the warm breeze, she stood at the open window in the bedroom that had been Allegra’s and looked down on to the overgrown garden. Brambles and weeds and grass as high as her knees had quickly taken hold since the cottage had been left empty. If Florence had more free time, she would do something about it, but she had her hands full with looking after Annelise and Isabella. Bob Manners, their gardener at Island House, had said he might have the odd hour going spare, but since the Local Defence Volunteers had been formed, he’d been too busy.
To everybody’s surprise, Lady Fogg had offered the volunteers one of her barns to use on a permanent basis so that the platoon of men didn’t have to share facilities at the village hall. Billy’s dad, George, had signed up with the LDV and had told Florence that Lady Fogg made them all a hot drink at the end of their meetings, even inviting them into her house, although she did make them take off their boots before crossing the threshold. The new Lady Fogg was a definite improvement on the stuffy old one!
Without a doubt, the war felt so much more real now. Hope had told them that Dr Flowerday was working round the clock in London treating hundreds of returning soldiers who were badly wounded. Some, she said, were in a shocking state, with limbs blown off, or their insides hanging out; it was a miracle they’d made it back at all.
In complete contrast to the horror of what those poor soldiers had gone through, Florence rested her elbows on the windowsill and watched a pair of swallows merrily darting through the air, swooping up and down as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Which they probably didn’t.
She hadn’t really wanted to visit here today, not again, not when it would bring another day of disappointment that Billy wasn’t one of the thousands of soldiers evacuated to safety. But Miss Romily had insisted that she come every morning to air the cottage, then return in the evening to close it up. Perhaps it was a way to keep her mind busy; to stop it dwelling on Billy.
While the pain of hoping against hope that Billy was alive wore her down, Florence knew that it was nothing compared to what those two soldiers on the bus yesterday had gone through. It worried her how altered Billy might be if he did make it back. Would his mind be so badly affected he’d no longer be the same man? It had happened to countless men returning from the Great War – some never recovered from the horrors they’d witnessed; they went clean off their heads.
Yet so long as Billy came back to her, Florence would take care of him no matter what. She loved him and would help him to mend. She had meant it that bitterly cold January day in church when she’d said the words, for better or for worse, and that was what she would do.
But what of Elijah? What if he returned badly injured; who would take care of him? And what about Isabella if he didn’t survive the carnage the Germans were inflicting on the Allies as they pushed relentlessly forward?
At Miss Romily’s instruction, all Allegra’s personal things, such as they were, had been carefully stored at Island House for when Elijah wanted to go through them; he would be the one to decide what to keep, in particular what to keep for Isabella when she was old enough to want to know about her mother.
