Broken Rainbows (35 page)

Maurice crept softly along the landing on the second floor of Bethan's house. Trembling at his own audacity, he laid his hand on the doorknob of the room Liza shared with her younger sisters and turned it, panicking when the hinges squeaked. He waited a moment. When all remained quiet he peeped around the door into the darkness.

‘Who's there?' Liza's voice quavered, tremulous with fear.

‘Me, Maurice. I have to see you. It can't wait.'

‘I'll be out in a moment.'

He retreated to the foot of the staircase that led to the top floor. He could hear Liza whispering to her sisters. A few minutes later she appeared on the dimly lit landing, wearing a woollen dressing gown over her pyjamas. Glancing nervously over her shoulder, she joined him.

‘It must be serious if it can't wait.'

‘It is.' Taking her hand he led her up the stairs into the room he shared with Dino.

‘Maurice, I can't come in here.'

‘No one's in. Colonel Ford sent me home from town because he's going to be late, Dino's visiting Megan, and Lieutenant Rivers is on night duty.' Closing the door, he faced her. ‘I'm not supposed to know, so don't tell a soul, but we're moving out tomorrow.'

‘You're leaving Pontypridd?'

‘The whole regiment is going. But I'll be back,' he assured her, his heart racing at the downcast expression on her face. ‘First leave I get, we'll be married, I promise. I wrote to my folks about you. They'll love you as much as I do when they meet you, you'll see.'

She sank down on to the only chair in the room, shivering from a mixture of cold and shock.

‘Here.' Taking a blanket from his bed he wrapped it around her.

‘You'll take care of yourself?'

‘You bet I will.'

She looked around the bare room. The few personal possessions, like combs and hairbrushes, that hadn't been packed into the bulging kitbags looked sad and pathetic. She stared at a highly-coloured calendar picture of Betty Grable posing provocatively in a swimsuit.

‘Dino's idea,' he muttered in embarrassment.

‘Maurice, I've never done it. You know what I mean?'

‘Neither have I,' he confessed.

‘If you want to, we could do it now,' she suggested nervously.

‘No. It wouldn't be right.'

‘The nurses in the hospital talk about it all the time. You don't have to have a baby. There's ways of stopping it from happening. I hoped you'd know about them.'

‘It's not that I don't want to,' he mumbled in embarrassment. ‘But I promised the colonel and Dino I'd behave like a gentleman with you.'

‘Then we could get into bed and just hold one another?'

‘We could. But wouldn't you mind?'

‘I love you, Maurice. And I want to give you something special before you go.' Without waiting for him to reply, she took the blanket from her shoulders and spread it over his bed. He hesitated for a moment, then locked the door. Untying her dressing gown, she turned her back and unbuttoned her pyjamas. His heart travelled to his throat and beat there while he watched her undress.

‘I've never seen a woman naked before,' he said huskily as she dropped her jacket and trousers on top of her dressing gown.

‘And I've never seen a naked man.' She slipped between the sheets as he shrugged off his jacket. In shirt-sleeves and braces he sat on the bed beside her. ‘You can't come in like that.'

‘You want me to undress too?' His face flamed at the thought.

‘At least take your boots off'

He bent down to untie them, glad of an excuse to hide his blushes.

‘If you're shy you could put your pyjamas on. It would make it more like we were married.'

‘They're under the pillow.'

She took them out, but held them back. ‘Maurice, this is the same for both of us. I love you. We shouldn't be ashamed of our bodies. My mother used to tell me that the right kind of love between a man and a woman is the most important thing in life.'

‘I bet she also used to tell you that it should come after the wedding.'

‘But we're not going to do anything wrong. You promised.' She tossed his pyjamas on to the floor. Unable to meet her eyes, he stripped down to his shorts, folding his uniform neatly over the chair before turning to the bed. She moved away from the edge, holding back the sheet as he lay rigidly next to her.

‘You look as though you're lying to attention,' she joked in an attempt to dispel the tension between them.

‘I was afraid you'd laugh at me.'

‘I thought you would laugh at me.'

‘Why should I?' He turned to face her. ‘You're beautiful, Liza.'

‘I'm not. I've got fat legs and no bust …'

‘You look just perfect to me.'

‘Do you really think so?'

‘The perfect girl for me.' He risked putting his hands around her waist and pulling her close.

‘I never thought it would feel like this,' she breathed headily.

‘Nor me. You sure you don't mind?' he asked, folding down the sheet so he could see more of her.

‘No. This feels right. As though we were meant to be with one another like this.'

‘I never imagined that just holding you could make me feel so good.'

She hugged him tight. ‘You could …'

‘I will, but after we're married. When we can lie like this every night.' Unable to trust himself to honour the promise he'd made to his commanding officer if he remained next to her any longer, he left the bed.

‘I didn't realise how beautiful a man's body could be.'

Disconcerted by her admiration he pulled on his trousers and buttoned the flies. ‘Men aren't beautiful.'

‘You are.'

He sat beside her. ‘I love you. And I can't wait until we can be alone together every night.'

‘After the war.' She closed her hand over his as he touched her breasts through the sheet.

‘The minute I get permission. You'll see.'

‘Thank you for coming to see Mrs Raschenko with me.' David Ford offered Bethan his arm as they walked up Taff Street.

‘Thank you for going to see her. It would have been terrible if she'd heard about Chuck's death from a customer.'

‘I could see that the news about Chuck reminded her of her husband.'

‘Alma doesn't need anything to remind her of Charlie. I doubt a minute goes by without her thinking of him.'

‘Is there any hope that he's still alive?'

‘After three years? You're the soldier, you tell me.'

‘I wish I could reassure you. But it seems that Mrs Raschenko doesn't need any help to keep her faith.'

‘No, she doesn't. When the telegram came to notify her that Charlie was officially declared dead, three months after he was posted missing, my father and I went to see her. We took some brandy to toast his memory. Alma refused to touch her glass. What worries me is what's going to happen after the war when she may be forced to give up hope.'

‘There were hundreds of cases of men reported dead in the last war who turned up alive after the peace treaties were signed.'

‘And this war?'

‘Time will tell.'

She stopped at her car. ‘Thank you for walking me back.'

‘I was going to beg a lift home. Not knowing how long we'd be with Mrs Raschenko, I gave Maurice the night off.'

‘Jump in.' She unlocked the door.

‘The end of the war may come sooner than you think, Mrs John,' he said when the doors were closed and there was no danger of anyone overhearing them. ‘The regiment is pulling out tomorrow.'

‘All of you?'

‘Yes, but before you breathe a sigh of relief, another will be coming in.'

‘Then the invasion -'

‘My orders are to relocate to the south of England for more training,' he interrupted pointedly. ‘Did I tell you that my son is on his way over here?'

‘No.'

‘I'm still hoping he'll be too late for the worst of the fighting.'

‘It's strange, for the last eighteen months we've been such good friends. Yet now you tell me this I don't know what to say.'

‘“Goodbye” does seem rather inadequate,' he agreed.

‘I could write.'

‘I'd like that, although I can't promise to be a good correspondent. ‘

‘You'll be busy.'

‘The army has plans for me.'

Taking the silhouette of the massive, old chestnut tree in her garden as a marker, she slowed the car, turned into her drive and switched off the ignition.

‘I'm going to miss you.'

‘And I you, Mrs John. Especially our late-night talks.' Slipping his fingers beneath her chin he lifted her face to his and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘It was the wrong time and place for us.'

‘I …'

‘No, please. I have no right to ask anything of you. But I do envy your husband. You're a woman worth coming home to.'

Kurt tossed and turned on the cold, damp bed in the front bedroom for an hour before giving up trying to sleep. Pulling on his shorts, he went into the kitchen in search of a glass of water. He was rinsing the glass when he heard something that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

He crept to Jenny's door. Tapping lightly, he called out,

‘Are you all right?'

When there was no reply, he opened it.

‘Jenny?' he whispered into the pitch darkness.

‘Go away,' came the muffled reply.

‘I will tomorrow.' Feeling his way slowly across the room, he reached the bed.

‘I don't want you near me.'

‘Who are you kidding?' Ignoring her anger he stroked the tumble of hair on the pillow. She sat up and grasped him, fiercely, savagely, kissing him with an intensity that bordered on brutality.

‘This changes nothing,' she said when she released him.

‘Of course it doesn't.' Kicking off his shorts he climbed in beside her.

‘Don't you mock me, Kurt Schaffer.'

‘I wouldn't dare. But would it be so awful of you to admit, just for this one night, that you love me back?'

Chapter Twenty-three

Bethan switched on the light as she walked into the kitchen. It wasn't even five o'clock. She could have stayed in bed another half-hour – if she'd been able to rest. She sat at the table, picked up yesterday's newspaper from the chair beside her, and reread the article that had prevented her from sleeping.

Forty-seven British and Allied airmen have been shot by the Gestapo after escaping from their prison camp. Ninety-six officers tunnelled their way out of the camp. Fourteen are still at large.

‘They were airmen in a Stalag Luft, not army officers in an Oflag. So Andrew definitely wasn't among them. And even if by some miracle he had been, you would have heard from the War Office by now.'

‘Possibly not, if he was one of the fourteen still at large.' Bethan looked up at Jane as she folded the paper.

‘Wherever he is, I'm sure he's fine,' Jane reassured her as she filled the kettle. ‘I take it you couldn't sleep either?'

‘I don't know what's the matter with me.'

‘Everyone's marking time. You only have to read the papers to know that the invasion of France is going to happen any minute. All those notices about coastal areas being banned to visitors, and that American General with the German name …'

‘Eisenhower,' Bethan supplied.

‘That's the one … being put in charge. The sooner they go over there the better. Five years is quite long enough for any war.'

‘They'll still have to fight when they get to France.'

‘It's strange to think of boys like Maurice killing people.'

The letterbox rattled. Bethan suppressed her initial reaction to run to the door. Jane went instead. She knew that Bethan had written to Andrew every day since Dr John had visited before Christmas, but she still hadn't had a reply.

Bethan continued to sit and wait, superstitiously believing that if she didn't go into the hall herself, something would be there. Knowing that Andrew wouldn't have had her letter until the end of March at the earliest, she couldn't reasonably expect an answer, until the end of June, and that's if he'd opened it and replied by return. She had weeks more of waiting – but she could almost see the blue envelope addressed to her in Andrew's sloping hand – hear the crackle of the paper as she picked it up …

‘Is this what you've been hoping for?' Jane teased gently as she dropped it on to her lap. ‘I'll make the tea. If you go into the drawing room to read it, I'll bring you some in when it's ready. But take a blanket,' she warned as Bethan left her chair. ‘It's always cold in there until the sun moves round.'

Shivering, Bethan curled up on the sofa, draped the blanket around her shoulders and slid her thumbnail beneath the gummed section. Flattening the paper on her knee she began to read.

Dear Bethan,

I've tried to reply to the letter you wrote a dozen times this morning, but I was so ashamed of myself I didn't know where to start. So, I'm determined that no matter how this turns out, you will read it, otherwise the war will be over before you hear from me. Now there's a thought!

I'm grateful that you, my darling, never stopped writing in all the time I behaved so stupidly. After I read the letter you so cleverly got Rachel to address to me, I read everything else you'd written over the last eight months. You see, I kept every one of your letters. Even after Mrs Llewellyn-Jones wrote, I couldn't bring myself to destroy them. I don't know why, unless a part of me couldn't really believe, even then, that you had been unfaithful.

If I'd had the sense to open them when they'd arrived I would have seen straight away that Mrs Llewellyn-Jones was lying, because, as ever, in them is the strength I need to keep on living from day to day, and hour to tedious hour in this place.

My father has written explaining everything that you didn't. I can understand Mrs Llewellyn-Jones's bitterness over what happened to Anthea, but I will never forgive her for what she did to us. You were right to be angry with me. For almost four years I have been preoccupied with my own problems to the exclusion of everyone and everything else. But your letters and my father's have shown me that you have suffered as much, if not more.

You have forced me to look at a side of my character I have always chosen to ignore, and have come to hate. Now I realise I am a selfish egotistical man who only sees things as they affect himself, not the people around him. It amazes me that someone as kind and generous as you has put up with me all these years. I promise you I'll change, Bethan. When we are together again, I'll be a different man. When I behaved so stupidly after receiving Mrs Llewellyn-Jones's letter, one of the lieutenants looked after me. I think the consensus of opinion was he was the best man for the job. His wife had a baby two years after he last saw her. Unlike most of the other officers in here who've been through the same thing, he forgave her. He's of the opinion that if she'd been locked up for five years no one would have expected him to live like a monk, so why should she live like a nun? His favourite saying is ‘if you still love and want the woman, what the hell's another kid in the family?' I wish I had his outlook on life and had listened to him instead of reading and rereading Mrs Llewellyn-Jones's letter until it drove me mad.

I'm running out of room to write. I love you, I need you, please don't ever give up on me, and kiss and hug the children. All of them including my new daughters. Why didn't you tell me that you and Alma had adopted them? Surely you didn't think I'd be angry? I know you well enough to realise that you would never turn your back on anyone in real need, especially a child.

All my love now and for ever,

Andrew

‘Tea?' Jane pushed the door open to see Bethan staring down at the letter. ‘Is everything all right?'

‘Thanks to Dr John he no longer believes that I had an affair with David Ford.'

‘That's good news.'

‘I suppose so.'

‘You're still worried about him?'

‘No, just angry that he didn't trust me.' Bethan curled her fingers around the cup Jane handed her, siphoning off the warmth. ‘And then what if I'd had an affair? Made the mistake of looking for consolation with another man for a short while. He's been away for nearly five years.'

‘But you didn't have an affair,' Jane interrupted firmly.

‘I wanted to.'

The silence between the two women was palpable.

‘I'm sorry, that was tactless of me,' Bethan apologised.

‘When I married Haydn I never thought I'd look at another man, much less fall in love with one.'

‘Then you really do love Tomas?'

Jane nodded. ‘Yes, but I can't simply forget Haydn. Even without Anne there is so much between us.'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘What can I do? The divorce will be final in another few months. Haydn can't make it any plainer that he regards our marriage as finished.'

‘Haydn's stubborn. You hurt his pride, but he still loves you. I know he does.'

‘He'll never admit it, Beth. Not again.'

‘And Anne?'

‘Haydn wants me to keep her because he intends to carry on touring after the war is over. I promised Tomas that I'd give him an answer to his proposal when the divorce is finalised. If it's yes, he'll want us to go to America with him.'

‘And will you say yes?'

‘I don't know. I love him, Beth, but I love … loved Haydn and that wasn't enough for either of us. I've made a mess of one marriage, will I do the same again?'

‘What happened between you and Haydn isn't your fault.'

‘I can't blame everything on the war. Haydn has his faults but basically he's a kind, wonderful man. I'd like to settle everything between us amicably. If I could only be sure that marrying Tomas is the right, not selfish thing to do, for Anne and Haydn as well as myself, I would do it.'

‘Only you can know what's right.'

‘At the moment I'm incapable of deciding whether to make toast or porridge for breakfast, let alone anything as monumental as reply to a marriage proposal.'

‘So, nothing is resolved between you and Tomas, any more than it is between Andrew and me. This -' Bethan folded the letter – ‘doesn't solve anything. We're back to where we were last year. Neither really knowing the other, both of us trying to please too hard. The latest is that he's promised to change. Be a different man when he comes home. Why can't he see that it was the old Andrew, flaws and all, that I married?'

‘And it's the old Andrew you still love?'

Bethan stared at the photograph of Andrew on the mantelpiece.

‘I don't think so,' she said seriously. ‘But I can't picture him any more. I look at his photograph and I see a stranger's face. An arrangement of light and dark that could be anyone's likeness. I've forgotten his voice, his presence. I can tell you what his taste in food and clothes used to be, but if I ever knew what made him laugh, I no longer know what it was. And I can't help feeling that he doesn't want
me,
Bethan, the person I am now, but the good, faithful wife he's established I've been. So, we're back to writing meaningless, polite letters full of trivia.'

‘It will be different when you finally see him.' Jane reached out and touched Bethan's hand. It was icy cold. ‘And it can't be much longer.'

‘I hope so,' Bethan said fervently. ‘And you?'

‘I'm seeing Tomas this afternoon.'

‘Whatever you decide I know it will be right for you and Anne.'

‘I wish I had your faith in me, Bethan.'

‘Damn this war!'

‘Now, that is one sentiment I can agree with.'

A year of clandestine meetings in Tomas's room hadn't dulled or diminished the magnetism between them. Jane only had to catch a glimpse of his tall, olive-skinned figure striding down the hospital corridors for her heart to start pounding, just as it had the night they had met. She only felt truly alive when she was with him. But her love for Tomas couldn't blot out the look on Haydn's face as he had walked out on her. It was ingrained in her subconscious, and intruded even when she was alone with Tomas. That afternoon was no different. It was almost as though Haydn was there, in Tomas's room with them.

‘This may be the last afternoon we'll spend together here.' Tomas closed the door and locked it. ‘I've been transferred to the south of England. They're relocating most of the medical centres.'

‘Ready for the invasion?'

‘Probably. Come with me?' Taking her hand he pulled her down on to the bed beside him.

‘To England? How can I?' she pleaded, gazing into his dark eyes. ‘I've my job and Anne to consider.'

‘Exactly, you're a mother. You don't have to work. Haydn's pushing through the divorce. I can take care of you and Anne until everything's finalised, and then we'll get married.' He ran his fingertips lightly over the contours of her face. ‘As soon as the war is over we'll go to America.'

‘You make it all sound so simple.'

‘It is.'

She plucked nervously at the bedcover. ‘There's still Haydn.'

‘Do I have to remind you that he's divorcing you? In a few months you'll be free.'

‘I think he still loves me.'

‘And you?' he asked quietly, looking into her eyes. ‘Who do you love, Jane? Him or me?'

‘I feel so guilty I don't know what to think or do any more,' she confessed wretchedly. ‘When we're apart I think I should run back to Haydn, if only for the sake of Anne and the family we were, then when you're close enough to hold me, like now, I can't imagine life without you.'

‘Then I'll keep on holding you.' He kissed her, his moustache grazing her cheek, his arms, warm and comforting around her back. When he released her she picked up his hand and caressed his long, tapering fingers.

‘I can't go with you, Tomas. Not now. Not without knowing what's going to happen to Haydn. I can't bear the thought of him hating me for the rest of his life. Please, try to understand.'

‘I understand that you won't even give us a chance.' Leaving the bed he paced restlessly to the window.

‘If Anne and I do go to America with you, I want us to start out fresh and clean, with no regrets.'

‘And Haydn's blessing?' he asked tersely.

‘Would that be so terrible?'

‘Yes, because you're not going to get it, Jane. You were married to the man for three years. After being here with you just a few hours a week I can imagine what that must feel like. And if I was him, I would never give you up. Never!'

‘You're not Haydn.'

He stepped closer and cradled her head in his hands. ‘Leave with me next week?'

‘No.' She moved away from him and went to the door. ‘I'm going back to Bethan's.'

‘Stay, just a little while. We don't have to make love, or even talk. I need to be with you, Jane.'

‘And I need to think, Tomas, and I can't do that here.'

‘And us?

‘You'll write?'

‘Oh yes, I'll write,' he agreed bitterly. ‘If your address is all you'll give me, I'll write.'

The new troops, who moved into Pontypridd a week after David Ford's South Carolina Regiment shipped out, did not take the place of those who had left. There were fewer of them and the rooms on the top floor of Bethan's house remained empty. Some went to church and attended socials, but they were in the minority. Most spent their free time in the pubs and organising crap games amongst themselves.

The townsfolk devised excuses for the lack of integration:

‘They're not as nice as the other boys… not as friendly … not in the same class …'

But Bethan felt that it was not the troops who were at fault, but the people of Pontypridd. They had waved goodbye to their fathers, husbands, sons and brothers, then made friends with the Americans only to suffer the same indefinite, and possibly final parting. She sensed that she wasn't the only one in the town who had nothing left to give strangers.