The Hills and the Valley (34 page)

Britain was on the offensive now. Huw was night-flying as part of the fighter force which escorted the bombers to their targets in France – small groups of Lancasters and Halifaxes which flew down from their bases in Lincolnshire and Yorkshire and made their rendezvous with a close-support wing of thirty-six Hurricanes or Spitfires over the fighter base to create the formation known as the ‘beehive'. Sometimes, Huw was a part of this, more often he flew with the target-support wings, timed to arrive in the target area at precisely the same time as the ‘beehive'. As he watched the dark waters of the Channel pass beneath the wings of his Spitfire and the coast of France loom ahead Marcus was wining and dining Barbara; by the time the bombers had off-loaded their cargoes of destruction onto some French factory which was working for the Germans and turned for home, Marcus was kissing her goodnight in the deep shadows under the trees where he parked his two-seater Bentley.

She thought of him sometimes as Marcus held her, whispering in her ear the sort of sweet nothings which Huw never had. They rolled easily off his tongue and started a strange dark excitement inside her. It was pleasant to be told she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met, possible to believe it almost when good food and wine and the tantalising touch of his lips had filled her with excitement. It made her feel desirable and feeling that she responded accordingly, learning to kiss as he kissed, with tongue and teeth as well as lips, murmuring those intoxicating words of love against her skin. In spite of this she sometimes thought of Huw and it was like a sweet sad yearning which somehow only heightened the response she offered Marcus.

Forget Huw. Forget him. He doesn't want you. Marcus does. He holds you and whispers nice things to you. He spends a great deal of money on you and wants to be with you often. Forget Huw. Forget him!

Gradually the self-hypnosis began to work and she began to believe that Marcus could replace Huw in her heart.

At the beginning of April news reached Hillsbridge that Alec was with the British Invasion Force in Greece but it was one subject Barbara did not raise with Marcus, being slightly ashamed of her cousin's lowly status as Private when Marcus had been a Captain.

Then, on 18th April, the very same day that the
Mercury
reported seventy people dead from a bomb which had demolished a block of flats in Berlin, Marcus had news of his own.

‘We're having a few changes in family business,' he told her as they drove around the lanes to their favourite restaurant. ‘My brother has decided to volunteer for army service.'

‘Really?' Barbara was surprised. Henry Spindler was his father's right arm. While Sir Richard ruled the colliery companies, Henry was responsible for administering the estates, the farms, cottages and other holdings which went to make up the Spindler empire. It was for this reason, she imagined, that he had so far escaped being called upon to serve his country, for the successful administration of Britain's assets could be considered in many ways essential war work, though when other young men from Hillsbridge had failed to put a case to satisfy the Exemption Board there had been occasional murmurings of unfair treatment. ‘It's one thing if your name is Spindler, quite another if you're plain Smith or Jones' was one comment that had been made in the Working Men's Club on more than one occasion.

Marcus manipulated the Bentley around a bend with a burst of acceleration which made Barbara wonder just how much petrol he was burning – and where he managed to get it.

‘The point is there should be a Spindler doing his bit,' he said. ‘Unfortunately it can't be me now – this leg has put paid to that. So Henry is going to join my old regiment and I am going to take over his job.'

‘But you don't know anything about it,' Barbara objected.

He laughed. ‘Not as much as Henry does, maybe, but I'm learning. What do you think I've been doing all these months – sitting around and twiddling my thumbs? Of course not! I've been working with Henry, learning to do what he does. Which compared to being an army officer, with men's lives in your hands, is child's play.'

‘Is it?' Barbara said doubtfully. The course she was engaged on was teaching her that there was a great deal more to business than she had at first suspected and she had already decided that although she would be having her eighteenth birthday the following week, she would see the course through to the end of the year at least before volunteering herself for one of the women's services.

‘Do you wish you could be the one to go back into action?' she asked. ‘Or are you glad your war is over now?'

He glanced at her, his well-shaped mouth curving.

‘With a lovely lady like you by my side is there any doubt about where I'd prefer to be?'

She experienced the familiar flush of pleasure but refused to allow it to show. ‘Seriously.'

‘Seriously, it is not very nice to feel one is no longer of any use.'

‘Oh, but that's rubbish!' she said hotly.

‘Unfortunately, it is
not
rubbish.' He paused, seemingly on the point of saying something.

‘At least you have the satisfaction of knowing you were invalided out a hero,' Barbara said into the small silence.

Marcus pressed his foot down hard on the throttle. The car shot forward.

‘Yes,' he said and there was an undertone in his voice she did not understand. ‘Yes. I suppose at least I have that.'

Henry Spindler left to begin his training as an Army Officer the following week in almost as much of a blaze of glory as Marcus had come home to.

The night before he left the Spindlers held their own private farewell party and for the first time Barbara was invited to their home.

The prospect of meeting his family did not intimidate her, but as they passed between the lodge gates and into the tree lined drive leading to Hillsbridge House she felt the first twinge of nervousness.

The house was so enormous! Even now, shrouded in blackout, she could imagine the way it must have looked when dinner parties or balls were held in peacetime with lights shining out of every one of the dozens of windows and illuminating the broad forecourt and the willows which overhung the lawns.

Marcus parked with an unceremonious screech of brakes, helped her out of the car and led the way up the flight of steps, guarded by magnificent stone lions, to the main door. Once inside, the brilliance encompassed her. The hall, larger than their own drawing-room, was illuminated by a crystal waterfall chandelier; a broad stairway swept upwards beneath a cupola, now hung with blackout. Barbara glanced furtively around, glad she had saved enough clothing coupons for the blue shantung which Amy's dressmaker had been able to turn into something more suitable for such an occasion than the ‘utility clothes'which were all that could be purchased in the shops these days.

A door to the right of the hall was ajar, and voices were floating out, genteel voices with no hint of Somerset accents. As Marcus led her in she glimpsed pale gold velvet and brocade, fresh flowers and valuable antiques. His arm was around her shoulders as he made the introductions.

‘My dear, how lovely to meet you at last. We've heard so much about you!' Lady Spindler was tall and slim, dressed in silver-grey silk. Her hair, too, was silver-grey, a shining cap; her features slightly faded yet still pretty, her long neck showed to perfect effect a double choker of pearls caught at the base of the throat by a small and perfect cameo. She reminded Barbara of a swan. Over her shoulder Sir Richard beamed at Barbara.

‘Capital. I must say you know how to choose'em, Marcus my boy!' He stopped short of actually clapping Marcus on the back but Barbara felt that he would have liked to do so. ‘Now, my dear, what would you like to drink? Sherry? Or don't you indulge?' He laughed a little too heartily.

‘Oh yes, she indulges, don't you, Barbara?' Marcus said, smiling at her. ‘And so will I.'

‘I knew
you
would,' Sir Richard said jovially. ‘Drinks too much since his wartime experiences, you know. But I dare say it won't do him any harm.'

‘As long as it doesn't make me garrulous, Father,' Marcus said and Barbara cringed. But Sir Richard, seemingly unaware of the sarcasm in his tone, rumbled on.

‘They say the army marches on its stomach. Myself, I'm not so sure. Marches on the bottle if you ask me. Where would we have been in the Great War in the trenches without a rum ration?'

‘Don't forget Barbara's sherry, dear,' Erica Spindler said gently.

‘No, of course not. Marcus, introduce Barbara to your brother, will you? He's been talking to that blasted Clara Oldthorpe for the last half hour. And if he's off to war he may as well take the image of a pretty face with him as a plain one, don't you agree?' He winked at Barbara and she felt that as far as Marcus's father was concerned at least she had passed the test.

By the time they went in to dinner Barbara was enjoying herself. Henry Spindler, quieter and altogether more serious than Marcus, had been very sweet to her and if his companion Clara Oldthorpe, a doctor's daughter from Bath, had shot her the occasional less-than-friendly look Barbara counted that as yet another mark of triumph. When a girl was as plain as Clara Oldthorpe it must be very difficult to refrain from jealousy, Barbara thought, trying to be kind but unable to avoid the conclusion that the obviously expensive gown she was wearing did nothing whatever for her flat chest, thick waist and decidedly bandy legs.

Dinner was served by a maid in a black dress, cap and apron. Barbara recognised her as a Hillsbridge girl, one of a family who lived in the same rank as her Aunt Dolly, and fervently hoped she would not show any sign of recognition herself. She did not. She was far too well trained for that.

They were in the middle of dessert – wafer-thin crêpes in flamed brandy – when the air raid siren began to wail. Although Hillsbridge House was a good two miles outside the town the sound carried clearly across the valley and Barbara paused, spoon halfway to her mouth, waiting to follow the lead of the others. They did nothing, but noticing her alertness, Lady Spindler smiled.

‘We ignore it, Barbara,' she said serenely. ‘It's probably a false alarm, but in any case there is nothing I deplore so much as a spoiled meal.'

‘Waste of good food – nothing short of criminal in these days of shortages,' Sir Richard agreed.

‘Oh yes!' Barbara said and popped the spoonful of crêpe into her mouth. But it no longer tasted quite so good. The bomb which had demolished the Chapel and killed poor Ron Hodges had made her nervous – since then she had never been able to summon up the same nonchalance about a raid – and looking across the table she realised Marcus was feeling much as she did. His handsome face was drawn suddenly, his eyes wary and she knew that like her he was listening for the drone of the bombers. That was experience for you, she supposed. A little went a very long way.

On this occasion, however, Lady Spindler's optimism was justified. After a few minutes they heard the siren again, this time the reassuring ‘all clear' and Barbara heaved a sigh of relief. There would be no raid tonight – at least not on Hillsbridge.

The ladies retired while the port was passed – how old fashioned! thought Barbara. Then there were more drinks in the splendidly furnished drawing-room with portraits of Marcus's ancestors glowering balefully down from the walls.

‘I'm very proud of my sons, you know!' Sir Richard said, as if addressing the portraits. ‘One the best Estates Manager I have ever had, the other a hero. And now they are going to swap roles and show they can do just as well in each other's spheres, too.' He raised his glass, obviously well in his cups and enjoying it. ‘Let's drink to them. Henry and Marcus.'

‘Henry and Marcus,' they all echoed dutifully, but Barbara could not help thinking it was unlikely Henry would be as good a soldier as Marcus had proved to be. Of course he was cut out for it, she thought with a touch of pride. His sporting achievements, his whole personality fitted him for it. And it never crossed her mind to wonder if he could also be as good an Estates Manager as his brother.

Marcus was after all the perfect English gentleman. Success would surely follow in everything he attempted.

Glowing, Barbara finished her drink.

‘Well, did you like them?' Marcus asked.

He had parked the Bentley in the usual place under the trees at Valley View and slipped an arm around her shoulders.

‘Oh, I did!' she said happily. ‘Your mother is so serene! And your father is not a bit frightening.'

‘Did you expect him to be?'

‘Just a little, maybe. Do you think they liked me?' she asked.

‘I'm sure they did. All of which makes what I want to say to you a good deal easier.'

‘What's that?'

‘Can't you guess?'

‘No.'

He turned her slowly towards him. In the moonlight he looked more than ever like a young Greek god. ‘I want to ask you to marry me.'

‘Oh!' she said.

He laughed, a small forced laugh. ‘Is that all you can say – oh!'

‘Oh!' she said again.

He had taken her totally by surprise. Though they had been seeing one another for several months now it had simply never entered her head that he might be this serious.

‘Look – you don't have to say anything now,' he said. ‘I can see I've given you a bit of a shock. I've shocked myself as well if it comes to that. But I'm in love with you. I think I have been ever since I first saw you that night in the George and I've known for weeks that I wanted to marry you.'

‘Why have you shocked yourself then?' she asked, playing for time to get her breath back.

‘Well, coming out with it just like that of course!' He smiled. ‘I should have done it properly on bended knee with a bouquet of red roses and a family heirloom ready to pop on your finger. But I've had enough to drink to give me Dutch courage and all of a sudden I didn't want to wait a moment longer. Please, darling Barbara – you honestly don't have to say yes now – as long as you do say yes!'