Chapter 24
Megan woke with an uneasy feeling that refused to be dispelled. Whilst being excited and eager to paint Treweham Hall, this feeling was matched with slight hesitation at what she had agreed to take on. Not just the task of reflecting the magnificence of such a splendid building, but the inevitable contact with the Cavendish-Blakes. The tour of the Hall had proved to be very interesting. She loved the place, totally steeped in family history, from the décor of the grand rooms to the secret passages and priest holes, to the picturesque lawns and working kitchen gardens. Treweham Hall was a well-oiled machine that seemed to run smoothly, with its small team scurrying in the vast kitchen, washing, chopping and packing all the fruit and vegetables to be distributed to local businesses, and the groundsmen who worked on the estate and also in the greenhouses, vegetable plots and orchards. Megan couldn’t help but be impressed.
She had witnessed the easy manner with which Tobias treated them. He clearly had good working relationships with his staff. Finula was right, he didn’t lord his position over them, or anyone else. Despite his reputation, he genuinely did appear to be a decent man. Certainly not someone who would drive recklessly, as Nick would have her believe. She pondered over Nick and Tobias and why their opinions of each other were so low; and also why Finula obviously couldn’t stand Nick either. Then another quandary entered her head. The letters. She leant to the side of her bed and pulled out the Parma violet tin from under it. There they were, all the letters and photographs of Gran and ‘E’. With a shaking hand, she decided to read the rest of them.
17 February 1945
Dearest Gracie,
Let me start off by telling you how much I miss you, and how I long for the day we are together again. Darling, I do love you so. I get a lump in my throat just looking at your picture. I am desperate to get home soon. I am so sick of this war, but it looks like the end is in sight – I hope so.
In your letter you mentioned having attended a wedding. What kind of a wedding do you want, my sweet? Or should we wait until I get home so you can tell me?
I will never forget how I felt that night I left you at the train station. It was then that I was sure, oh so sure.
This is Saturday night and always the loneliest night of the week for me. Oh, Gracie, how I would love to be with you, to have you in my arms, to talk and talk. I wonder what you are doing tonight. I sit and brood over how we are cheated of so many precious moments on account of this terrible war. I am not complaining, darling. I also get a lot of enjoyment dreaming about you and the things we will do when I return.
War news is again looking good. Although the end is in sight the war will be as hard or even harder than before. Everyone over here has given up predicting the date of its end, but hoping it will be over soon.
Will close, darling, hoping all is well with you, and that you are thinking of me tonight.
All my love,
E.
28 March 1945
Your letter was wonderful. The men know that they can ask for almost anything on the days that I receive a letter from you. I can tell I have a letter from you before it gets into my hands because the mail clerk has a big smile when he comes up to me.
The war news is wonderful. It should be over soon. It would be a great gift from God if it would end before Easter Sunday.
I am getting that spring feeling also and long more and more to be with you. Do you ever see me in your dreams? Most every night when I fall off to sleep I live over the times we were together – the things we did – what we said and the many things we should have said… Oh my sweet, how I miss you. All my prayers are to get home in one piece to you.
All my love,
E.
8 April 1945
Dearest Gracie,
Oh Gracie, I am praying for this war to end and for me to get home to you. The way it looks now Hitler is going to fight until the last German. I can’t understand how a few men can have such control over a country when the majority know that they are fighting for a lost cause. Such useless loss of life and limb.
When you receive this letter, we will be working hard to end this miserable war. Remember, my sweet, that I am always thinking of you and that you have all my love.
E.
Tears ran down Megan’s face. The last letter ‘E’ had sent was dated April 1945. Megan calculated that Gran must have been four months pregnant, as her mum had been born the following September. So that was it, Grace had actually been expecting when waving ‘E’ off to war, standing on the station platform, ignorant of the events due to unfold. ‘E’ was undoubtedly her grandfather, as the dates made that clear. But why hadn’t Gran told her any of this? What about Granddad Michael, the caring, gentle giant that had worshipped her mum? Did her mum know any of this? Megan’s stomach clenched. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, so many things that needed explaining. The one resounding certainty echoing in her mind was that Gran had chosen for some reason to share this with her now. Why else leave a tin full of love letters and photographs, the quiet, living evidence of a past life, a family secret that had never been shared? Her gut instincts told her that her mum didn’t know, because if she did Megan was sure she’d have told her. Why not? And if Gran had never told her own daughter, why tell her granddaughter? The whole scenario left her with a burning curiosity. Her coming to Treweham had been premeditated; Gran must have known what she was doing when bequeathing Bluebell Cottage to her. She was determined to learn more about the man behind the letters, however hard it was going to be.
Her heart melted, being transported back in time to when a young couple had been cruelly torn apart by a vicious, raging war that dictated they be at opposite sides of the Channel, ‘E’ fighting for his life and Grace pining for the father of her child. Tears swelled once again when reading ‘E’s desperate words, ‘How about you throw me a rope?’ If only. How must Gran have coped when learning of his death?
Megan’s thoughts then went back to Granddad Michael, who gallantly stepped into the breach and married an already pregnant Grace. Her heart then warmed, recalling how good they must have been together. Her mum had been the apple of Granddad’s eye. Megan was convinced she knew nothing about ‘E’, or her parentage. So justwhywould Gran want her to know? The same questions kept repeating themselves in her head.
A loud noise interrupted her thoughts. Getting up and drawing back the bedroom curtains, she saw a truck parked outside Ted’s cottage. It was unloading a skip. Was Ted’s home about to be emptied? A lump rose in her throat. She felt emotional about losing old Ted for a neighbour and cautious as to who would be replacing him.
*
Dylan’s mobile rang. ‘Bloomers’ flashed before him. With a knowing smile he answered. ‘Hi.’
