Nightingales at War (30 page)

KATHLEEN WAS HAVING
tea in Fortnum’s with James Cooper when Constance Tremayne walked in.

‘Oh, no!’ Panic surged through Kathleen at the sight of the neatly suited figure, hair done up in a tight bun, making her way across the Fountain Restaurant towards them. ‘We should leave—’ She glanced around for a means of escape.

James, by contrast, was very relaxed as he sipped his tea. ‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘We’re only having tea together. What’s wrong with that?’

Kathleen stared at him in disbelief. ‘But she’s the head of the Trustees! Oh, no, she’s seen us. She’s coming over. Now what do we do?’

‘Smile, darling.’ James turned in his seat as Mrs Tremayne bustled over. ‘Mrs Tremayne!’ he greeted her warmly. ‘How lovely to see you.’

‘Mr Cooper . . . Matron.’ Constance Tremayne fixed her beady eyes on Kathleen. ‘I’m surprised to see you here, I must say.’

‘Dedicated as we are, even we need some time off from the Nightingale,’ James said smoothly.

‘Indeed.’ Mrs Tremayne’s mouth pursed. ‘I’m just surprised you choose to spend your free time together, that’s all.’

Kathleen felt the blush sweeping up her body, starting from her toes. It had reached her knees by the time James said, ‘Actually, we were discussing Nightingale business. The new drainage system, in fact. Won’t you join us?’ Much to Kathleen’s horror, he waved to the waiter for a spare chair.

‘Thank you, but I’m already meeting someone.’ Mrs Tremayne looked at Kathleen again. Her piercing gaze seemed to go right through her. ‘Have a nice time, won’t you?’

‘And you, Mrs Tremayne,’ James said.

As Mrs Tremayne walked away, Kathleen leaned towards him and hissed, ‘What were you thinking? Why did you invite her to join us?’

‘Because I knew she’d say no.’ He lifted the lid on the teapot and peered inside.

‘She might have said yes.’

‘And spend all afternoon discussing drains? I very much doubt it. I think we need some more hot water. Or shall we order a fresh pot?’

Kathleen stared at him, lost between exasperation and admiration. ‘You have nerves of steel,’ she said.

‘Of course I do. I’m a surgeon. Besides, it’s far less suspicious than jumping about like a cat on hot bricks,’ he added, sending her a meaningful look.

‘I suppose you’re right. But I can’t help it.’ Mrs Tremayne made Kathleen nervous at the best of times, but now . . .

She was still watching from across the restaurant. Kathleen looked away, convinced guilt was written all over her face. She and James Cooper might be innocently taking tea together now, but a few hours ago she’d been in his bed.

‘If only it hadn’t been Mrs Tremayne,’ she said. ‘You know how deeply moral she is, and how much she detests me. She would have a field day if she thought I was having an affair with a married man.’

‘You make it sound so tawdry. My wife and I are living apart, remember?’

‘I know, but you’re still a married man in the eyes of the law.’ And, more importantly, in the eyes of Mrs Tremayne. ‘We could both lose our jobs.’

‘In that case, perhaps we should run away together?’

Kathleen smiled reluctantly. ‘That sounds like a wonderful idea.’

‘I mean it. I want to be with you, more than anything in the world.’

‘And I want to be with you.’

‘Then what are we waiting for? Why don’t we just pack our bags and go?’

She caught the gleam in his eyes and realised he was deadly serious. ‘Where would we go?’

‘I don’t care. Anywhere, as long as it’s with you. I’m sick of sneaking about, hiding away. I want to be able to tell the world how much I love you.’

‘You can tell the world, as long as you don’t tell Mrs Tremayne!’ Kathleen joked, flicking her gaze over to the other woman, sitting in a corner of the restaurant.

‘I’m serious, Kathleen. I can’t wait two years for this divorce to come through. I want to be with you now, and to hell with Mrs Tremayne and everyone else.’

‘And what about your career?’

‘I’m sure I’ll find work at another hospital. Or if not, I’ll give it up and become a sheep farmer, or a shoemaker, or anything at all. Just as long as you’re there with me.’

He started to reach across the table but Kathleen drew away from his hand. James sighed with frustration.

‘Isn’t that what you want?’ he pleaded. ‘For us to be together?’

‘You know it is.’

In spite of having to keep their romance a secret, the last few weeks had been the happiest of Kathleen’s life. She hadn’t loved anyone the way she loved James Cooper, or been loved so completely either. Her only regret was that she had missed out on so many years of feeling this way.

And yet . . .

‘Running away isn’t the answer,’ she said. ‘It won’t solve our problems, it will only create more.’

‘Then we’ll deal with them. Together.’

Together. Just hearing the word warmed her.

‘It’s still a big step,’ she said.

‘Promise me you’ll think about it, at least?’

‘Of course I will.’

‘I love you, Kathleen.’

‘I love you too, James.’

His hand snaked across the table again, his fingertips brushing hers. And this time she didn’t pull away.

When Kathleen returned to the Nightingale, the first person she met was Veronica Hanley.

‘I’ve just had a meeting with the cook,’ she announced, dropping a pile of papers on to Kathleen’s desk. ‘She tells me you haven’t agreed next week’s menus with her yet.’

‘Oh, dear, I completely forgot. I’ll go and talk to her—’

‘It’s quite all right, Matron, I’ve already attended to the matter.’ Miss Hanley pursed her mouth. ‘Although in future it would be preferable if you could try to remember these things. We all have to pull together if this hospital is to run properly, you know.’

‘Of course, Miss Hanley. I do apologise.’

Kathleen smiled through gritted teeth. The idea of running away with James Cooper had never seemed more tempting.

‘
NOW DON’T FORGET,
try to look interested in what he’s saying, even if you don’t understand it. If you don’t, just smile and nod. And whatever you do, don’t look bored!’

‘But what if he
is
boring?’ Eve asked Cissy’s reflection in the mirror.

‘That doesn’t matter. You’ve still got to make him feel as if he’s the most fascinating man on earth. And
you’ve
got to be fascinating, too,’ Cissy warned, pulling a pin out of Eve’s hair so that a curl tumbled down to her shoulder.

‘How do I do that? You know how tongue-tied I get, I’ll never think of anything clever to say.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to be clever. Men don’t like women who are too clever.’ Cissy combed the curl around her fingers. ‘In fact, try not to say anything at all. Just sit there and look mysterious, as if you’ve got a secret. You know, like Bette Davis?’ She sighed at Eve’s blank look. ‘Like this.’

Eve studied Cissy’s mysterious face. She looked more like she had a stomach ache than a secret.

It was all very nerve-racking. She was relieved Cissy had the morning off and could help her prepare for her lunch date.

‘I didn’t realise there was so much to remember.’ If she’d known going on a date with Simon Jameson was going to be this complicated, Eve would never have agreed to it in the first place. ‘Why do I have to remember all these rules, anyway?’

Cissy sent her an almost pitying look. ‘Because you have to captivate him,’ she said patiently. ‘You have to be the woman of his dreams.’

‘Yes, but surely if I really were the woman of his dreams I wouldn’t have to pretend to be – ow!’ Eve yelped as Cissy pulled out another curl and yanked her scalp with it.

‘And you have to suffer to be beautiful, too,’ Cissy said primly.

Eve suddenly thought of Oliver, and what he’d make of it all. He would probably laugh at her, she decided. Or say that it proved his point: she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

Which was true, she thought. A lot of what Oliver had said made sense to her now, no matter how much she might have denied it at the time. She had modelled herself on Cissy and Jennifer because she wanted so badly for them to like her, and didn’t believe anyone could ever accept her as she was.

But Oliver had. It was there, in the portrait he’d painted of her. He’d seen the real Eve, and he still liked her. Not only that, he preferred her the way she used to be.

She wished she still had the portrait so she could look at it again and try to see what he’d seen in her. But the day after their argument, she’d found it discarded in a corner of the attic. Seeing it abandoned had hurt Eve deeply. Oliver had taken so much trouble over it, and in rejecting it she felt he’d also rejected her.

‘There, all done.’ Cissy stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘You look lovely, Evie. Simon Jameson won’t know what’s hit him.’ She paused to tweak a loose curl into place. ‘Y’know, I’ve got a funny feeling about you two. I think you might really hit it off. You might even end up getting married.’

‘Stop it! I’m only going out for lunch with him. I might decide I don’t like him.’ But even though she was smiling, Eve felt a prickle of unease. This was all going too far, too fast. She felt as if she was hurtling along the track of someone else’s life.

‘Oh, you will,’ Cissy predicted confidently. ‘Jen and I have always had a soft spot for him, so I expect you will, too.’

Eve left Cissy’s house, promising to report back with all the details at work the following morning, then returned home to the vicarage to get changed.

It was nearly midday and Mrs Stanton was putting on her hat ready to go and play the organ for choir practice when Eve let herself in.

As usual, Mrs Stanton was full of admiration for Eve’s appearance.’ Your hair looks so lovely like that,’ she said. ‘I hope your young man’s worth all this effort!’

‘He’s not my young man,’ Eve said. ‘To be honest, I hardly know him.’

Mrs Stanton sent her a shrewd look. ‘You’re not getting cold feet, are you?’

Eve was so grateful she could have hugged her. At last, someone was allowing her to say how she really felt, instead of telling her what she was supposed to feel.

‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted. ‘I think I like him, but I don’t know if I like him – in that way. But I won’t be able to tell unless I go out with him, will I? And Cissy keeps telling me we’re made for each other, so I suppose she must be right . . .’

Mrs Stanton turned away from the mirror to face her. ‘Do you want to go out with this young man or don’t you?’ she asked.

‘I don’t want to let anyone down,’ Eve said lamely. ‘Everyone’s expecting me to go.’

‘If I were you, I’d worry less about other people’s expectations and more about what you want.’

Eve blinked at her. The idea of ever trusting her own judgement was such a revelation to her, she didn’t know what to think.

‘Go upstairs and get changed,’ Mrs Stanton said kindly. ‘He’s not due for another half an hour, is he? That’ll give you a while to make up your mind what you want to do.’

Eve’s pink dress was laid out on the bed where she’d left it that morning. And next to it there was a piece of paper that she hadn’t seen before.

She picked it up. It was another sketch, this time in pastels. A portrait of her looking pretty in her rose-pink dress, her hair curling softly around her flushed cheeks.

Once again, Oliver had captured her perfectly. But what caught her eye were the words he’d written underneath.

Hope you like this better. It was a labour of love. Oliver.

In a sudden rush of emotion, it came to her. She was doing this all wrong. Mrs Stanton was right, she was trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations, trying to be the person they wanted her to be, instead of doing the things that would make her truly happy.

She thought she had been liberated when she escaped Aunt Freda. But really all she was doing was swapping one person’s set of rules for another. Whether it was Aunt Freda or Cissy, they both insisted on telling her how she should look, how she should behave, who she should speak to.

And she’d listened to them, because she had grown up needing to please everyone.

But not any more.

Eve heard the knock on the front door and apprehension surged through her. If she was going to start living her own life, now was the time to do it.

She would explain to him, she decided as she went downstairs. If Simon Jameson was as nice a man as he seemed, he would surely understand that she’d had second thoughts. All she had to do was tell him she’d changed her mind . . .

‘Eve?’ Mrs Stanton appeared in the doorway to the sitting room as she reached the bottom step. ‘You have a visitor.’

Eve followed her into the room. ‘You’re early—’ she started to say, then realised it wasn’t Dr Jameson.

There, standing by the fireplace, was Aunt Freda.

‘Really?’ she said. ‘Looking at the state of you, I’d say I’m already too late.’

MRS STANTON CAME
up behind Eve. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise, isn’t it?’ she said tightly. ‘But you really should have warned us you were coming, Mrs Ainsley. As you can see, both Eve and I are going out this afternoon. Isn’t that right, Eve?’

Eve couldn’t speak, couldn’t even open her mouth to make a sound. Aunt Freda had her pinned helplessly with her basilisk stare. She suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable in her pretty dress and make-up.

This couldn’t be happening. Any moment she would wake up and find it was all a horrible dream.

‘Her young man is picking her up soon,’ Mrs Stanton went on.

‘Is he now?’ She had forgotten how sharp Aunt Freda’s voice was, rapping out the words as if she was aiming stones. ‘Well, you can tell him he’s not welcome.’

‘Now, just a minute—’ Mrs Stanton started to argue, but Aunt Freda whipped round to face her.

‘I’ve discharged myself from hospital and come all this way to see my niece because the Lord came to me in a vision and told me she needed saving. And it looks as if I was right to come, doesn’t it?’ Eve felt herself shrivelling under her aunt’s piercing gaze, what little confidence she had turning to dust.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Mrs Stanton’s voice rose indignantly. ‘Are you saying we haven’t looked after Eve?’

‘I entrusted her to your care believing she would be kept on the righteous path,’ Aunt Freda said. ‘But instead I find that you’ve allowed her to turn into some kind of – harlot!’

‘A harlot?’ Mrs Stanton gasped in disbelief. ‘Just because the child is allowed to take a bit of pride in herself doesn’t make her wicked, Mrs Ainsley.’

‘That’s all you know, isn’t it?’ Still Aunt Freda’s gaze was fixed on Eve. ‘Perhaps I didn’t make it clear, Mrs Stanton, but my niece has bad blood in her veins. She is sinful to her very bones. I’d hoped you and her husband would give her the discipline she badly needs.’

‘I think Eve has had all the discipline she needs, growing up with you! What she badly wants now is a bit of kindness. When I think what a terrible state she was in when she first came to us. The poor girl was a bag of nerves—’

‘You can save your well-meaning nonsense for your friends in the WVS,’ Aunt Freda cut her off. ‘I know my own niece, thank you very much. Now I’ll thank you to leave us alone.’

She turned away from Mrs Stanton, dismissing her. Mrs Stanton looked as if she would have argued, but Eve stepped in.

‘It’s all right,’ she said quietly. ‘Aunt Freda’s come all this way to see me, it’s only right that I should speak to her.’

Mrs Stanton looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure, my dear? I’m certain they can manage without me at choir practice for one day if you’d like me to stay.’

‘You heard her,’ Aunt Freda snapped.

‘I’ll be all right, honestly,’ Eve said. Mrs Stanton’s kindness had overwhelmed her, but she knew she owed it to her aunt to listen to her.

‘Well, you know where I am if you need me.’ Mrs Stanton laid her hand on Eve’s arm. ‘Don’t forget, my dear, you’re safe here,’ she whispered. ‘You have no reason to fear. Remember that.’

Eve nodded in mute acknowledgement, too choked to speak.

Mrs Stanton looked past her to where Aunt Freda stood by the fire, stiff as a poker. ‘But let me just say this to you, Mrs Ainsley. From what I can see, the only bad blood in your family is running through your veins, not Eve’s!’

And then she was gone, leaving them alone.

‘Well?’ Aunt Freda demanded. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’

As the shock of seeing her aunt again subsided, Eve began to feel calmer. All the old fears were still there, lighting up her nerve endings. But this time they were overlaid with a sense that, for the first time, she didn’t need to run and hide. In the eight months she had been working at the hospital, Eve had seen and dealt with situations that previously she could never have imagined. She had been tested to the limit, and she had emerged stronger. She had developed a proper spirit, and Aunt Freda was never going to break it again.

Besides, she wasn’t in Aunt Freda’s house any more. There was no leather strap, no dark and haunted cellar, no punishment her aunt could give her.

You have no reason to fear. Remember that.

She faced her aunt. ‘What do you want me to say, Aunt Freda?’

Her air of calm only seemed to enrage her aunt further. Cords of rage stood out on her thin neck.

‘Answering me back now, are you? You’ve grown bold, haven’t you? And what’s all that paint on your face?’

Eve put her hand up to her cheek. ‘It’s make-up, Aunt.’

‘You look like a Jezebel.’

‘All the girls wear it. Even Muriel Stanton.’

‘Muriel Stanton isn’t the daughter of a whore!’ Aunt Freda’s mouth curled. ‘Although I daresay her mother lets her get away with anything. I really expected better of Reverend Stanton, but I can see now this is a home of loose morals, just like all the rest.’

‘You can’t say that. The Stantons have been very kind to me.’

‘Too kind!’ Aunt Freda snapped. ‘You’ve been allowed to get above yourself. Look at you, bold as brass. The sooner I get you out of here, the better.’ She nodded towards the door. ‘Go and pack your bags,’ she said. ‘We’re leaving.’

Panic surged through Eve. ‘Leaving?’

‘I’ve rented us some rooms in Battersea. I’ve decided I need to get you away from this area, make a new start. Once I’ve got the money from the insurance, I’ll buy a new shop and we’ll start the business up again . . .’

But Eve had stopped listening. All she could see was everything she had achieved, everything she had learned to treasure, being taken away from her. ‘I don’t want to go,’ she said.

Aunt Freda’s head reared back in disbelief. ‘What do you mean, you don’t want to go? You’ll do as you’re told, my girl. Do I have to remind you, you’re in my care until you’re twenty-one?’

‘I don’t care,’ Eve said. ‘I won’t go. If you won’t let me stay here, I’ll move to the nurses’ home at the hospital—’

The ringing slap came out of nowhere, catching her unawares. ‘How dare you answer me back!’ Aunt Freda’s face was twisted with rage. ‘You’re just like—’

‘My mother? So you’re always telling me.’ Usually Eve would have known better than to mention her mother. But the blow must have dislodged something in her brain, because she suddenly felt strangely unafraid. ‘But I’ve only got your word for that, haven’t I, Aunt? Because you’ve never told me anything about her. I’m not even allowed to see a photograph of her.’

She saw her aunt flinch, and realised with a shock that Freda Ainsley was nervous. It was all very well for her to wield her sister’s name like a weapon, but she didn’t like it used against her.

‘What was she like, Aunt?’ Eve asked. ‘Why did you hate her so much?’

‘I’ll tell you what she was like, shall I?’ Aunt Freda recovered herself. ‘She was an evil, conniving little whore. Only no one else could see it but me because she had the face of an angel and could twist anyone she liked around her little finger.’ Freda’s face was bitter. ‘I did everything,’ she said. ‘I stayed at home, ran the business, looked after our parents while she ran around doing exactly as she pleased. But did I get any thanks for it? Of course I didn’t. My father adored her all the same, even left her half the business when he died. The business that I’d worked to build up, that should have been all mine!’

‘Is that why you hated her so much? Because you were jealous of her?’

‘Jealous of her? Oh, no, you’ve got that wrong.’ Aunt Freda laughed. ‘Lizzie was the one who was jealous. She couldn’t let me have anything to call my own. She had everything, but that was never enough for her. Whatever I had, whatever I cared for, she had to take it away from me. The business, our parents – even the man I loved!’

Realisation suddenly dawned, like a light coming on. ‘Uncle Roland was my father, wasn’t he?’

Aunt Freda went utterly still and silent, as if she’d been turned to stone. When she finally spoke, her voice barely rose above a murmur.

‘I wanted her to go away and have it, to give it up quietly. But of course she couldn’t even spare me that, could she? She wanted to flaunt it in front of me. And she knew how much I wanted a child of my own . . .’ She swallowed hard, her throat moving convulsively. ‘She never said anything, and neither did he, but I knew. I could see it in the way they looked at each other, all those secret little smiles when they thought I wasn’t watching . . . But at least the Lord was on my side.’ Freda smiled maliciously. ‘I prayed to Him for deliverance and He answered my prayers. He punished her for her sin. But then they made me look after you, her bastard child.’ She raised her gaze to fix on Eve. Her eyes were full of hatred. ‘My mother insisted on it. She said I could finally have the child I’d always wanted. I had to watch you grow up, knowing where you came from, and no one cared that I was dying inside.’

Eve thought about Uncle Roland, patiently teaching her his trade.

‘It’s in your blood,’ he used to say. Eve had always thought he meant her mother’s blood. But now she understood the truth.

No wonder it had always enraged Aunt Freda to see them together.

She looked at her aunt as if seeing her for the first time. Suddenly she realised the pain Freda must have endured, being forced to bring up a child she couldn’t love. Had her mother loved Uncle Roland? Eve wondered. Or was she conceived out of spite, as Aunt Freda seemed to believe?

Not that it really mattered. When she looked at her aunt now, all Eve could feel was compassion.

‘Oh, Aunt, I’m so sorry.’

Aunt Freda turned on her, her face twisted with anger. ‘How dare you feel sorry for me!’ she bit out. ‘I don’t want your pity! I don’t want anything from you!’

She moved to hit her again, but Eve sidestepped the blow.

‘Don’t, Aunt, please,’ she begged. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this. I know you’re angry, but it’s not my fault. You don’t have to hate me.’

‘Hate you?
Hate
you? I should have done away with you when you were first born! You don’t know how many times I longed to put a pillow over your face while you were sleeping. But he was always watching over you . . . He loved you, you see. More than he ever loved me. She took him away from me once, and then you did it all over again!’

Aunt Freda flew at her, knocking Eve backwards. The next thing she knew, her aunt was on top of her, pinning her down, hands like sharp claws around Eve’s throat, digging into the delicate skin of her neck.

‘Aunt . . . please . . .’ Eve stared up into the contorted face, the bloodshot eyes full of rage, and realised with a shock what she had always suspected: that Aunt Freda was capable of killing her.

Then, as if a switch had been flicked off, the life suddenly seemed to go out of her aunt and she slumped against Eve, pinning her down with her dead weight.

Eve pushed her off and struggled to her feet. Aunt Freda lay lifeless, face down on the rug.

‘Aunt Freda!’ Eve scrambled to feel for her pulse. At first there was nothing, then she felt a faint flickering under her fingers. ‘Aunt Freda, wake up!’ She sat back on her heels. ‘Oh, God, please help her!’

The knock at the door made her jump. Eve shot to her feet, torn between staying with her aunt and finding help. In a split second she made up her mind and rushed to the front door.

There, standing on the doorstep, was the answer to her desperate prayer.

‘Sorry,’ said Dr Jameson. ‘Am I late?’