The Lie (2 page)

‘This is Simon Vane,' Frances said. ‘We've only just met this afternoon, but he flies with Marcus as his navigator – Simon, this is my sister, Emily.'

‘Hello.' Simon grinned at her in a friendly way. ‘Things are looking up suddenly. Here I was thinking the only pretty girl in the place was spoken for – and now you appear. It must be my lucky day.'

‘Do you flatter all the girls like that?' Emily was smiling. She was drawn to him immediately, liking his smile and his extreme good looks, but she didn't intend to fall at his feet.

‘Certainly not! Cross my heart and hope to die.'

‘Don't say that,' Frances said, and glanced at Marcus across the room. ‘I'll leave you two to fight it out, I think. Bye for now  . . .'

Emily watched her sister flit across the room to join her fiancé, turning to discover that Simon's eyes were on her. They were a deep blue, his hair a dark honey-blond, though his brows were darker, which made him very striking to look at. He had a lazy charm about him that Emily found attractive, though she noticed that his lips were quite thin.

What was it people said about thin lips? She couldn't recall for the moment  . . .

‘Do you have to stay here?' Simon asked, glancing around the crowded room, which was full of people he obviously didn't know. ‘We could go for a spin in my car if you like  . . .'

Emily glanced at her sister. Frances was laughing at something Marcus had said, obviously happy. Margaret seemed to be deep in conversation with Clay. They looked as if they might be arguing, though she had no idea why. Henry seemed not to have shown up, but he was probably busy on the farm, and he usually avoided anything like this if he could.

‘I don't think anyone will notice,' Emily said, feeling reckless. ‘Have you got enough petrol for pleasure jaunts?' Most people were suffering from shortages of all kinds because of the war, but she believed that there were ways of getting round the petrol rationing if you knew the right people.

‘My father gets more than his share – privileged member of the Government's legal advisory service,' Simon whispered, and winked at her. ‘He makes sure I have a full tank when I need it. For some unknown reason he is rather proud of me  . . .'

‘I expect he would be,' Emily replied. ‘We're all proud of you. Let's go then. I've put in an appearance, and I didn't want to come at all.'

‘Don't you like parties?' Simon asked, as they escaped through a side door and he led the way to where his Morgan sports car was parked. ‘Special present just before I joined up.'

Emily was suitably impressed. ‘I haven't seen one of these before. It's beautiful – and yes, I do like parties, but not just at the moment.'

‘Any particular reason why?' he asked, with a lift of his brows.

‘Hasn't anyone told you?'

Simon shook his head.

‘My father died a month ago after a nasty illness. I haven't got over it yet.'

‘I should think not!' He glanced back at the house, from which music and laughter could still be heard spilling out into the quiet village street. ‘Bit soon for all that, isn't it?'

‘Frances had been planning her twenty-first birthday party for months. Marcus sent her a telegram suggesting they get engaged. I suppose you can't blame them – the way things are  . . .'

‘No, it's a bit fraught at the moment. We none of us know if the next mission will be our last.'

Emily slipped into the car as he held the door for her, carefully tucking her dress inside before shutting it. ‘It must be terrifying. I'm sure I would never have the courage to go up in a plane, let alone go into battle.'

‘Oh, you would if you had to,' Simon said, dismissing the subject with a shrug. ‘One day I might take you up for a spin if you're game.'

‘Are you allowed to do that?'

‘Shouldn't think so for a minute,' Simon quipped. ‘That never stops me if I want to do something enough. I might get a rocket from the CO but he won't ground me. Can't get enough of us as it is.'

He had started the engine. It roared to life as they shot down the High Street and round the tight corner by the church.

‘Where shall we go?'

‘I don't mind.' Emily laughed as he put his foot down. If he was trying to scare her, it wasn't working. ‘You turn that way for Cambridge – the other will lead you to Ely.'

‘Let's go there,' Simon said. ‘We can walk by the river and then go to a tea shop and indulge ourselves. They had some rather good honey the last time I was there.'

‘And when was that?'

‘Yesterday. I am interested in the cathedral as a building. That's what I was training for before this lark started – classical architecture.'

‘That sounds fascinating – and clever.'

‘Fascinating, certainly; I can't vouch for clever. My father thinks it's just an excuse to get out of following him into the law. Now you
do
have to be clever for that  . . .'

‘Have you designed anything yet – anything that has been built, I mean?'

‘Nothing important. I was still studying, you see.'

‘Will you go back to your studies after the war?'

‘Probably, if I can. It's all I want to do. I'm not interested in being a barrister or sitting on the bench, as Father does. Awfully proud of the old boy, of course – but each to his own. Wouldn't you agree?'

‘Yes, I think so. My brothers have gone into farming, except for Daniel. He joined the Army at the start of the war, but I suppose he'll go back to the land when he comes home.'

‘And what do you do?' Simon looked at her curiously. ‘Anything interesting?'

‘I left school at Christmas last year. My father wanted me to stay at home until I get married, but I would have liked to train as a teacher. I agreed to help out with volunteer work for the Fire Brigade, though. I'm on fire watch five afternoons a week in Cambridge. Two mornings a week I help out at the village school.'

‘And is that enough for you, Emily?'

Emily liked the way he said her name, making it sound special. She liked the way he talked altogether. She considered for a moment before answering.

‘Yes and no,' she said. ‘At the moment the Fire Brigade needs girls like me to man the phones. They can't get enough of us, and it's a very important job. My shift is from one o'clock until seven at night, but I often don't get to my room until gone ten, sometimes much later. Most girls of my age are joining the services or becoming nurses. What I do is less glamorous but very necessary. Sometimes I have to take a mobile unit out if we're at full stretch. I had to take extra driving lessons and a special test for that. If there has been an explosion or a big fire in the gas mains it can be a bit scary.'

‘Yes, I can imagine it might,' he agreed. ‘And it is a necessary job – but what about when this is all over?'

‘I'm not sure. I might go to college then. I haven't really thought that far ahead.'

‘I expect you will get married and give up all thought of work.'

‘Perhaps,' she agreed. ‘But only if I find the right man.'

‘So that means you haven't yet?'

‘No, not yet.'

‘I like the sound of that,' Simon said, and grinned at her. ‘It means there's a chance for me  . . .'

The pain in his arm was bloody, a constant reminder of the horrors he was trying hard to forget. Weeks of hellish agony proceeded by days of mental and physical exhaustion, and the terror of knowing they were stranded on that damned beach in France, with little hope of rescue. The fact that so many of them had survived Dunkirk was due in part to the courage of ordinary chaps. Men who had put to sea in frail river craft to help out the big ships, often with nothing but luck and determination to see them through, sometimes succeeding where the larger navy craft failed. At times it seemed to Daniel that he could still smell the stink of oil from the ships that had been sunk during the rescue operation, hear the screams of men wounded or drowning, taste the blood in his mouth  . . .

‘May I sit there?' A young woman in a smart navy outfit was looking pointedly at the only spare seat in the carriage. Daniel realized his cap was in her way and mumbled an apology. ‘Thank you.' She glanced at him as he winced. ‘Oh, I am so sorry. Did I knock your arm?'

Daniel shook his head and turned away to look out of the window as fields, trees and soot-ridden houses flashed by. She hadn't touched him. It was merely that every movement was an effort. It was July 1940 now and the memories were still as sharp, still as terrifying. If he'd had any sense he would have stayed in the military hospital for as long as they would have him. Already he was regretting his decision to make this journey, but Emily's letter had made him uneasy.

It was too late for him to attend his father's funeral, of course. Robert Searles had died a month previously, when Daniel was still marooned on that beach. He'd known nothing of it until his sister's letter had been given to him two days earlier. It had been opened, as all their mail was, and someone had decided to withhold it until he was considered strong enough to be told.

The shock, just when he'd begun to feel better and think fondly of a home visit, had been almost unbearable, especially as he had believed his father had come to him when he lay hovering between life and death. His eyelashes were moist as he thought about his father on that last day before Daniel had left for his first posting. Robert Searles had been so proud of his third son, the only one to volunteer to fight. Henry and Clay had both chosen to take exemption. They had claimed they were needed on the farm, and since the nation had to be fed, their claims had been accepted.

‘I'm proud of you, son,' Robert had told Daniel, and hugged him with visible emotion. ‘I'll see you don't lose by it. When you come back you'll have land of your own – and that's a promise.'

‘You don't have to reward me for doing my duty, Father.'

‘You would see it that way,' Robert said. ‘But I've been thinking of buying a nice little smallholding that's going begging, lad. I shall go ahead and put your name on it.'

Daniel had merely smiled and hugged his father one last time. The end of the war had seemed a long way away. He hadn't been sure he would survive, wasn't sure of it now. His arm was healing, his shoulder less painful than it had been. He'd been given three months' leave to recuperate, but after that they would want him back.

There had been no point in telling his father at that moment that he didn't want to follow his brothers on to the land. Robert wouldn't have understood. Farming was in his blood. He had done well, was a wealthy man, and his two elder sons had never considered doing anything else.

Daniel had an idea of what he wanted to do with his life, when and if he survived the war and returned in one piece. He closed his eyes, shutting out the waves of grief and pain that washed over him every time he thought of his father. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
His
life was the one at risk, not his father's. It was difficult to understand how it could have happened, but apparently it had been an accident on the farm. Just a deep cut that had turned bad. Robert had refused to see a doctor until it was too late.

Anger slashed through Daniel. For God's sake, why hadn't anyone called the doctor sooner? Why hadn't someone noticed Father was ill? If he had been there  . . . but he'd been stranded in France, expecting to die on that beach.

Regret tasted as bitter as gall in his mouth. Nothing could turn back time. His father was dead and there was no changing that.

He opened his eyes as he realized the train had stopped and it was time for him to get out. He had only one small case, the rest of his stuff having been lost in the disastrous landing at Dunkirk, but it didn't matter. He'd been given as much as he needed for the moment, and there were clothes at home, in his wardrobe, left there by the bright-eyed, eager young man who had thought war was a matter of honour.

He got out of the train, wincing as the pain started up again. No point in looking for anyone to give him a lift; he hadn't bothered to tell them he was coming home. It wasn't that far to Rathmere; he could walk it if he took it easy.

The road from the station became a hill as he approached the village outskirts, the beautiful old Norman church at the top rising out of a peaceful sunny afternoon, a cloud of pigeons fluttering around the tower. The sky was blue with just a sprinkling of fluffy white curls drifting in the distance, and from someone's garden came the scent of sweet-smelling flowers. He breathed deeply, glad to be free of the stink of the hospital at last.

Daniel stopped halfway up the hill to put his case down for a moment. Not much further now, but he was damned near exhausted. His strength wasn't back to normal yet, and the case seemed extraordinarily heavy, even though there wasn't much inside.

As he stopped to pick up the case once more, a young boy went whizzing by on a bicycle, then circled and came back to stare at him uncertainly. Daniel stared back, then started to grin as he recognized his younger brother.

‘Is it Connor?' he asked. ‘You've grown, lad!'

‘Daniel?' Connor frowned as he noticed how pale and strained the soldier looked. It wasn't easy to recognize his brother, but some inner sense had made him circle back, recognizing that the man was in difficulty. ‘Is that case heavy? You can rest it on my bike if you want and I'll wheel it.'

Daniel hesitated, then lifted the case to rest over the seat and handlebars. ‘Thanks. I could do with some help.'

‘That's what made me come back,' Connor said. ‘I thought you might be in trouble. I'm glad you're home. Emily told me you'd been wounded. I thought that meant you were going to die.'

‘Not this time,' Daniel said, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘The bloody Germans had a good try, mind you.'