Nightingales Under the Mistletoe (41 page)

‘Just leave him be,' Grace whispered. ‘He's only lashed out because he's scared and angry. He'll calm down soon.'

She tried again to get Alan to take the spoon, but his fingers remained slack and inert. In the end Grace picked it up and started to feed him herself. All the while, Alan's sad gaze stayed fixed on his friend in the next bed. Tommo kept his own eyes averted, staring up at the ceiling with studied indifference.

Poor Alan, Grace thought, simmering with fury. He understood more than anyone imagined, and Tommo's cruel comments must have hurt him deeply.

When lunch was finished and the dishes were cleared away, Grace had to take Tommo's neighbour, Sergeant Jefferson, down to the X-ray department. Usually they would get an orderly to do it, but as they were few and far between, more often than not Grace had to do it herself. She didn't mind too much. It did her good to get off the ward for a while, and she enjoyed chatting to the wounded soldier as she wheeled him down the passageways.

Of course Sergeant Jefferson wanted to discuss Tommo.

‘I'm not surprised that lad doesn't have any mates,' he grumbled. ‘He's his own worst enemy.'

‘I suppose it's the way he was brought up,' Grace said. ‘Growing up in a workhouse, you're bound to feel as if all the world's against you.'

‘No one's against him,' Sergeant Jefferson insisted. ‘We're all in this together, and we'd all give him a chance, if he didn't go round putting people's backs up.' His mouth set in a grim line. ‘Not sure anyone will give him the time of day now, though. Not after what he said about poor Alan.'

‘Hmm.' Grace agreed with the soldier, but she couldn't help feeling sorry for Tommo, too. She knew that underneath his tough exterior he had a good heart. He liked Alan, and once he'd got over his upset and disappointment, he would be sorry that he'd hurt his friend.

When they returned an hour later, Grace was aware of a change of atmosphere on the ward. She paused in the doorway, frowning. Something had happened, but she wasn't sure what.

It was Sergeant Jefferson who noticed it first.

‘Will you look at that?' He nodded towards Tommo's bed.

Grace looked, and for a moment she couldn't believe her eyes. Alan was sitting – actually sitting – at Tommo's bedside. Tommo was lying there, facing in the opposite direction, staring into space, seemingly unaware of his friend's hand resting on his shoulder.

‘How did he get there, I wonder?' She spoke her thoughts aloud.

‘Someone must have helped him,' Sergeant Jefferson replied.

‘Actually, they didn't,' Miss Wallace said as she hurried past. ‘Would you believe, he walked those few steps by himself? We were all speechless. It was like witnessing a miracle.'

‘I'll bet.' Sergeant Jefferson shook his head. ‘Would you credit it, Nurse? That's the first time I've ever seen him get out of bed.'

Grace watched Alan, tenderly patting his friend's shoulder, his expression full of concern. ‘Perhaps he's never had a good enough reason before?' she said.

‘MARRIED?' HER GRANDMOTHER
said flatly. ‘You're getting married?'

‘You don't look very pleased about it,' Millie said.

‘Yes, of course I am, my dear. If that's what you want. I'm just rather – surprised, that's all.'

‘I don't know why. You know how often Teddy's been calling lately.'

‘Yes, but I didn't realise things had progressed this far. Not to the point where you've discussed marriage.'

‘Well, they have.' Millie reached for Teddy's hand, for reassurance as much as anything. He smiled encouragingly back at her. He was going to be her husband, she thought with a slight sense of shock. She had been engaged for less than twelve hours, and she was still getting used to the idea.

‘So I see.' Lady Rettingham looked from Teddy's face to Millie's and back again. ‘Well, in that case, I'm delighted for both of you.' She gave Millie one of her rare smiles of approval. ‘When were you thinking of getting married?'

‘As soon as possible,' Millie said promptly. ‘Next week, perhaps?'

‘Next week?' Her grandmother's smile froze. ‘Oh, no, my dear, I don't think so. These things take time to arrange if they're to be done properly. It will take at least a month to arrange for the banns to be read in church …'

‘Yes, but we don't need to do all that, do we?' Millie said with a touch of desperation. ‘Surely we could just get a special licence at a register office? Couples do it all the time these days.'

‘Only if they're in a particular hurry,' Lady Rettingham said. ‘If they're called up for service, or if they – have to marry.' Her lip curled with distaste. ‘And I'm sure we don't want anyone thinking that there's a reason for you to marry in such indecent haste.'

Her questioning gaze fell on Millie's waistline.

‘Of course not!' Millie laid her hand over the flatness of her stomach. ‘I just thought it would be best, that's all. We don't really need a lot of fuss, do we?'

‘It's your wedding. Why shouldn't you make a fuss?'

Millie frowned at her grandmother. Wasn't it enough for her that they were getting married, without having to go through all this rigmarole, too?

She glanced at Teddy for his support, but he simply shrugged and said, ‘Your grandmother is quite right, darling. Why not wait and make an event of it? After all, it's not every day one gets married, is it? And I'm sure my mother and father will want to make something of the day, especially as they probably never thought it would happen!'

His expression was so bright and hopeful, it took a moment for Millie to remember that this was her second marriage but Teddy's first. Of course he would want a big wedding.

She had been looking at it all wrong. It wasn't just rigmarole, it was a cause for celebration.

‘Of course,' she said, summoning a smile. ‘We'll wait, and make it a day to remember.'

Millie was grooming her horse in the stable yard. William watched her from the window of the briefing room, drinking in the sight of her. There had been times during the previous night when he wasn't sure he would ever see her, or anyone else, again.

He had already closed his mind to what had happened. He'd already had to relive it once before his superiors in the briefing room, going through the technical details of the incident: the flak that tore the heart out of the plane, how they'd limped back over France, before he'd managed to bring her down in a field, by sheer luck as much as skill. There had been a couple of broken limbs and a head injury among the crew, but at least they were all alive.

And now it was over. William wasn't interested in the Wing Commander's praise or his promise of a commendation. All he wanted to do was forget it.

He would never fly again otherwise. Every time he climbed into a cockpit, he had to clear his mind of every near miss, every exploding fuselage and failing engine, every friend and comrade he had ever lost.

It was the only way he could get through it.

There had been some ribbing in the officers' mess about his brush with death. But William was more interested in hearing about what had been going on while he'd been away.

‘You've heard about the little boy – Lady Amelia's son?' one of the other officers said, as William tucked into his bacon and eggs. It was every airman's reward at the end of a mission.

William dropped his knife and fork. ‘No? What happened?'

‘Horse got spooked by the planes and carted him off into the woods. Knocked himself clean out, apparently.'

‘Is he all right now?'

‘As far as I know. But you should probably expect a visit from Her Ladyship shortly, asking if you could take off and land more quietly!'

The officer guffawed with laughter, but William didn't join in. He knew how much Millie adored her little boy. She must have been utterly terrified, he thought.

He had made up his mind to see her, even though they hadn't spoken since the day she'd told him she wanted nothing more to do with him. He'd been angry and hurt, and had done his best to stay out of her way. But he knew she would be upset about Henry, and he cared too much to ignore her pain.

Millie looked up briefly when he came out into the yard, then went on with her grooming.

‘I hope I'm not in the way?' she said. ‘I meant to finish the job last night, but I – had an emergency to deal with.'

‘I heard what happened to Henry. How is he?'

She paused, then went on brushing down her horse's gleaming flanks. ‘He's fine,' she said. ‘No sign of concussion, thank God. But I'm keeping an eye on him.'

‘The horse was spooked by the planes taking off, so I'm told?'

She nodded. ‘But it was my own fault. We shouldn't have been up there, but Henry so wanted to see them.'

There was a long silence. William wondered whether he should leave, but his feet were rooted to the spot.

‘I'm sorry I wasn't there,' he said quietly.

‘Why should you be?'

‘Because I care about him – and you.' William took a step forward. ‘You needed help, and I couldn't be there.'

‘You can never be there. That's the trouble,' Millie muttered under her breath.

Her comment hit home. ‘You make it sound as if it's my choice,' he bit out. ‘As if I decide to get into a plane and fly into enemy fire, night after night, just to provoke you.'

I almost died last night
, he wanted to shout. But he pushed the memory to the back of his mind. He couldn't bring himself to say the words.

Millie went on brushing her horse, long unhurried strokes over the gleaming chestnut flanks.

‘Anyway, I wasn't on my own,' she said, not looking at him. ‘Teddy was here. He stayed the night, actually.'

William bristled. He wasn't sure if Millie was trying to make him jealous but it had worked. ‘I'm glad,' he forced himself to say.

As he turned to go back to the house, she said, ‘I think you should know, Teddy and I are engaged.'

William swung round to face her. ‘Since when?'

‘Yesterday.'

He paused, struggling to get his thoughts in order. ‘Do you love him?' he asked.

She stopped brushing and straightened up to face him. ‘Yes,' she said.

‘But you're not in love with him, are you?'

Delicate colour rose in her face. ‘Of course I am,' she said. ‘Why shouldn't I be? He's kind, thoughtful, he adores Henry—'

‘And he has a nice, safe desk job,' William finished for her. ‘That's the most important thing, isn't it? Never mind if you truly love him or not, as long as he comes home to you every night?'

Her chin tilted in defiance. ‘So what if it is important to me? What's wrong with not wanting to live in fear for the rest of my life? Oh, I know other women have to put up with it,' she said as he opened his mouth to speak. ‘And I put up with it too once, remember? I put up with it every day until that telegram arrived.' She pointed the brush at him. ‘Do you blame me for not wanting to live through that moment again? For wanting to protect myself, and my son?'

William stared at her, and his mind was suddenly filled with a horrific image from the previous night – a splintering crash, the smell of burning gasoline mingled with sweat and panic as half a dozen young men stared death in the face.

He knew in that moment that she was right. He loved her too much to want to put her through that kind of hell. Far better that she be with someone else than suffer that.

‘No,' he said wearily. ‘No, I don't blame you at all.'

JESS WAS WITH
Sam in Victoria Park. It was a perfect summer's day and they were on the boating lake together. Sam was rowing, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscled forearms, while Jess lay back, eating an ice cream and enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face and the sound of the brass band playing on the band stand.

Sam was fooling about the way he always did, pretending to drop the oars and making the boat wobble from side to side until Jess had to hang on for dear life and beg him to stop. Even though she was terrified, she was still helpless with laughter.

As they floated past the boat shed, Jess heard someone calling her name. She sat up.

‘Who's that?'

‘It's no one,' Sam said. ‘Take no notice. Here, look.' He distracted her, putting down the oars to skim a stone across the water.

Jess smiled as she watched it skipping across the water, shattering the mirror-calm surface. Then she raised her gaze and saw a young man standing on the opposite bank. Tall and lanky, with a shock of brown hair, he was polishing his spectacles on the hem of his white coat.

‘Dr Drake?' she said his name aloud.

Sam looked up. ‘I don't see anyone.'

‘You must see him. Look, over there.' She pointed. Dr Drake was waving to her, calling out her name.

‘Nurse Jago? Jess? Can you hear me?' His voice drifted across the lake, mingling with the soft splash of the oars in the water and the quacking of the ducks.

Jess looked away, annoyed. ‘I wish he'd go,' she said. ‘I don't want him here, spoiling our day. What's he doing here, anyway? He shouldn't be here.'

Sam smiled at her sadly. ‘I think he's come to take you back.'

Jess sat upright. ‘What do you mean? I don't want to go anywhere. I'm happy here with you.'

‘I know. And I want you to stay, truly I do.' He was staring down at the space between her feet as he said it, his face downcast. ‘But you've got to go, Jessie.'

‘I don't want to go!' Jess heard the panic in her own voice.

The sun drifted behind a cloud, casting a dull grey shadow over the surface of the water. A chill breeze came out of nowhere, pimpling the bare skin of her arms.