Never Forget Me (24 page)

‘Oh!’ Her breath left her as he kissed her. She closed her eyes, and she could smell the scent of their intimacy on him. His tongue touched hers, and her belly clenched. Then he let her go.

‘Bonne nuit,’
he said roughly. ‘It was an evening I will never forget. On a day the world will never forget.’

She was too confused to reply properly. She managed a brisk goodnight that made her sound uncannily like Matron and had her cringing even as she closed the door behind her. Desperate to escape what she was fast beginning to think of as the scene of her crime, Sheila ran along the corridor, down the stairs, and out into the dawn.

* * *

Back at Number 5 General, safe in her hut, which was thankfully empty, she quickly changed into the dressing gown that her mother had sent her the Christmas before. It was more like a coat really, fashioned from hand-woven dark brown tweed that Màthair had woven herself. Though rough on the skin, it was deliciously warm, and was much envied by her fellow VADs. It was a symbol of Glen Massan and home. So many things she’d experienced since coming here at the end of 1915, so changed was she by it all, that her wee Highland village seemed like another world, another life.

Now that the war was over, she thought as she made her way to the shower block, she would go home, but only for a visit. She wasn’t the Sheila Fraser who had been born into service at the Big House. Whatever the future held for her, it certainly wasn’t going to involve going back to working as a maid for Lord and Lady Carmichael. She’d earned the right to more than that, and she was determined to claim that right.

Chapter Three

Glen Massan, Argyll, Scotland—March 1919

‘I
’ve managed to get the trustees to fund the position, but remember, Sheila, the new chief surgeon will have the final say with regards to taking you on,’ Flora Cassell said. ‘He arrives tomorrow, and the Alex Carmichael Trust Hospital will be under his management. We’ve pulled off a bit of a coup in persuading someone so distinguished to come and work here.’

Sheila smiled wearily at her childhood friend. ‘I really do appreciate it. I hate having to involve you, I was so determined to get something on my own merit, but—well, it’s been a tough few months.’

‘It’s just so unfair!’ Flora jumped to her feet and began to pace back and forward between the window and the fireplace of the small parlour. ‘You worked your socks off as a VAD. The wealth of experience you picked up nursing at the front, you’d think it would be invaluable, wouldn’t you, to say nothing of the sacrifices you’ve made for your country, yet it counts for absolutely nothing.’

Sheila grimaced. ‘Less than nothing, according to some of the rejections I’ve had. I am not a qualified nurse, so I can’t be employed to do the job I’ve been doing for the past four years unless I start all over again with the General Nursing Council.’

‘That’s a damn disgrace.’

‘Flora Carmichael! If I have to ask you one more time to mind your language...’

Both women looked up as Lady Carmichael entered the room. ‘It is Flora Cassell now, Mother! If I have to remind you one more time that I’m twenty-eight and a married woman...’

Her ladyship closed the door behind her and took a seat by the fire. ‘Your language is atrocious. I blame that husband of yours. He will have you waving the red flag and tying yourself to railings, if you are not careful.’

‘His name is Geraint, Mother, as well you know. And though it is true he has opened my eyes to politics, my views are entirely my own,’ Flora said with a tight smile.

‘Why you require any views at all on such matters is quite beyond me.’

‘You’re over thirty, Lady Carmichael—you’ll be eligible to vote in the next General Election,’ Sheila said mischievously. ‘Don’t you think you ought to acquire some opinions yourself before it’s called?’

Her ladyship shuddered. ‘I shall vote as the laird instructs me. Good day to you, Sheila. I presume my daughter has informed you that she has been pulling strings on your behalf?’

‘She has, and I’ve just been telling her how grateful I am.’

‘Mother, do you know, the only positions Sheila has been offered since she was demobbed are as a lady’s companion and a lady’s maid?’

‘Where is the shame in that?’ Lady Carmichael demanded. ‘Reliable staff are in short supply these days, and as I said to Mrs Fraser myself just the other day, Sheila, the laird and I would be delighted to rehire you. Especially after all you did for poor Alex.’ At the mention of her youngest son, her ladyship’s expression crumpled. ‘I can’t tell you how much of a comfort it was to the laird and I that Alex was not among strangers at the end. We will be eternally grateful to you for that.’

Lady Carmichael dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye. The death of her youngest, favourite son just a month before the end of the war had taken a severe toll on her austere good looks, though she bore the loss more stoically than her husband. Sheila had been horribly upset when she had first encountered the laird on her return, stooped and frail, his expression so distant, a shadow of the man she had last seen striding out over his beloved moors.

It had been such a shock when Alex had been admitted. Of all the thousands of young men who had been wounded, it was incredible that her best friend’s baby brother should end up under her care. She was glad of the small miracle, though, glad that the last face he had seen had been a familiar one.

So many parents, wives, sisters and sweethearts she had comforted over the past few years, but it was easer to speak in false platitudes to strangers. She doubted she could have done the same to the laird and his wife, whom she had known all her life. But Alex had been so dosed up with morphine, he hadn’t even realised he’d been wounded. He’d recognised Sheila, though. He’d held her hand, and reminded her with that endearingly quirky smile of his, of the time he’d snatched a kiss from her under the mistletoe when he was twelve years old. ‘I’ll be twenty-one in a month,’ he’d whispered. ‘Coming of age. The war will be over then. The laird will throw a big party, and I’ll beg a kiss from the prettiest girl in Glen Massan. That’s you, incidentally. Looking forward to that. But think—may need to practise.’

She had kissed his cheek. He had died a few moments later. Poor Alex. Poor Lord Carmichael. And yes, poor Lady Carmichael, too. But the war was over, and Sheila was determined that Alex’s death, like all the others, would have some purpose. She would not be forced back into the box from which she had escaped.

‘Since you seem set on taking up this post, I must wish you luck, Sheila,’ Lady Carmichael said, getting to her feet. ‘However, if things do not work out, please be assured that there will always be a position for you here at Glen Massan Lodge.’

‘You’re staying here, even though Glen Massan House will no longer be yours?’ Sheila asked in surprise.

Her ladyship grimaced. ‘I would prefer to leave. It is one of my daughter’s better suggestions, to move to a place where the past is not on the doorstep to haunt us, but the laird—he’s never known anywhere else.’ She turned away, dabbing at her eyes with the black-edged handkerchief that had become her constant companion. ‘What pains me, my husband finds a comfort, and so we will stay at Glen Massan. At least we have left a fitting memorial to Alex in the form of the hospital. You will excuse me now, I must go and find the laird. If I do not stand over him at meal times, he quite forgets to eat.’

The door closed behind her. ‘She might be old-fashioned, but she’s a trouper,’ Sheila said admiringly to Flora.

‘She is. I worry how she’ll cope when I leave here, but...’

‘She’ll be fine, Flora. I’ll be here to keep an eye on her, don’t forget—providing this new surgeon likes the cut of my jib. Besides, you must be desperate to join Geraint now that he’s been given a date for his release from the convalescent home. Isn’t he getting impatient?’

‘Very.’ Flora smiled, a secret little smile that made Sheila rather envious. ‘I still can’t believe he’s made such a full recovery. He’ll have a limp for the rest of his life, but there was a time when we thought he wouldn’t walk again. Though he’s so determined, I shouldn’t have doubted him’

Sheila pressed her friend’s hand. ‘All I’ve had to worry about is finding a job. Between Geraint being wounded and losing Alex, you’ve had it rough.’

Flora shook her head. ‘It’s my father I’m worried about. It wasn’t just Alex’s death, it started with the requisition. His whole world is utterly changed. When the army informed us that they would be closing down the hospital and handing the house back, I hoped it would be the boost he needed, but then he just—I don’t know, sort of abdicated. He told Robbie it was up to him to do what he wanted with the estate, but Robbie is rebuilding his wine business now the war is over, and he spends as much time in France as London. You haven’t met his wife, Sylvie. She’s lovely and I’ve never seen Robbie so happy.’

‘How did your mother take to his marrying a foreigner?’ Sheila asked laughingly.

‘French is preferable to Welsh, apparently, and a school teacher is an improvement on a miner’s son,’ Flora said wryly. ‘It was Robbie’s idea to establish the trust in Alex’s name, and the laird’s idea to have it dedicated to treating ex-servicemen. When it looked as if Geraint would still be in convalescence for some months, I agreed to come up here and manage the handover from the army to the trust, but now I
have
to be with Geraint. So you see, it’s been a blessing, really, that you came along looking for something to do, because I can leave with a clear conscience. Do you know, in four years of marriage, we’ve never actually lived together.’

‘You must miss him madly.’

‘Oh, much more than madly,’ Flora said with another of her secret smiles. ‘You wouldn’t believe the things I say in my letters. Sometimes I think the paper might burst into flames.’

Sheila laughed, though she was rather taken aback. ‘My goodness, I never thought I’d hear you say such a thing.’

Flora blushed. ‘I love my husband in every way,’ she said with a touch of defiance. ‘I don’t see why I should pretend we don’t—you know—or that I don’t enjoy it.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’ve been away from Glen Massan for more than four years, Sheila Fraser, but the one thing that hasn’t changed about you is that you’re still the bonniest lass in the Glen. Don’t tell me there weren’t men tripping over themselves to ask you out, over in France. Was there anyone special?’

An image of herself naked under the lean, thrusting body of her Armistice-night lover popped into Sheila’s head, making the blood rush to her cheeks.

‘I knew it, there was someone,’ Flora exclaimed triumphantly. ‘Spill the beans. Was he one of the doctors?’

Another face, Dr Mark Seaton’s, replaced the previous image.
You’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick, poor girl, and now everyone else has, too. Frankly, my dear, you’re becoming an encumbrance.
Sheila shuddered, not so much at the memory of Mark’s contempt as her own naivety. ‘There was no one special,’ she said.

‘I don’t believe you. What happened, Sheila?’ Flora looked at her with concern. ‘Oh, no, did he die? I’m so sorry.’

‘No, no. Nothing like that.’ Sheila turned her face away from her friend’s anxious gaze. ‘You know what it was like out there, no time for anything but work, and nothing more important, either.’ Which was true, had always been true for her, even when she had thought herself in love, even if the man she thought herself in love with had believed otherwise. She managed a weak smile. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

Flora looked unconvinced, but to Sheila’s relief, decided not to press her. ‘You’ll meet someone special, I’m sure of it.’

‘I’m not interested in finding a husband. I don’t
need
a husband. I want to stand on my own two feet, and I want to be judged on my own merit, and I intend to start by securing this post at the hospital,’ Sheila said with conviction. ‘Though I have to tell you,’ she added wryly, ‘it’s not easy, living in the village again, sleeping at home in my old bed, buying groceries at the shop, as if the past five years haven’t happened.’

Flora rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t I know it. You heard my mother, talking to me as if I was still a wee lassie. Is yours the same?’

‘I love her, I really do, but she simply doesn’t understand why I don’t want to slip back into my old life. She can see I’ve changed, but she doesn’t know the half of what it was like out there, and I don’t want to disillusion her. I feel like I’m pretending, all the time I’m here. Don’t you feel sometimes, there are those of us who were there, and those who weren’t? And between us there’s this thing called the war that we’re all desperately trying to put behind us, but it’s there all the same.’

Flora frowned. ‘It will always be there, and it’s just as much a part of those who were left behind. We’ve all changed, Sheila. Look at my father. Look at that memorial in the village to the fallen. Geraint says the trick now is to look forwards, not backwards. We have to rebuild something better from the ashes of the past.’

Sheila grinned. ‘It sounds like Geraint is going to have competition when he finally gets up on his political soapbox.’

Flora looked sheepish. ‘His enthusiasm is infectious. But he’s right,’ she said. ‘We need to embrace change. A brave new world and all that.’

Just how much she had changed would surprise even Flora. For a moment, Sheila considered unburdening herself to her friend. It was not embarrassment that stopped her. She hadn’t been in love, but she’d thought she was, and Flora would not condemn her for behaving improperly. As to Sheila’s lack of judgement, however—would Flora be able to overlook that? This job was far too important for her to take the chance. ‘Since we’re swapping slogans—actions speak louder than words. I’ll make a success of this job, and then maybe everyone will see I’m not just the chambermaid from the Big House who’s become too big for her boots.’ Or think that she clung to the coat-tails of her lover to advance her career. ‘Thank you for setting this up for me, Flora. I won’t let you down, and if I make a success of it, who knows where it might lead.’