The Lie (33 page)

After she had gone, Amelia confessed that she didn't care for Vanessa much. ‘She didn't say anything when Vane married me, but I've always known she didn't approve. I think that is why she hardly visits her father these days.'

‘Oh, surely not,' Emily said, though she had noticed some coolness between the two. ‘She seemed quite upset over her brother and she was nice to me.'

‘She can be as sweet as she likes, but you haven't seen the other side of her,' Amelia said, with a wry grimace. ‘Oh, well, I don't suppose we shall see her again for months.'

If that was how Amelia felt it was just as well, Emily thought. She hadn't given much thought to the family – or the future, come to that, because her plans to leave with Terry would have to be delayed. She couldn't just walk out on Vane now; he wasn't well enough to start looking for someone to take over the convalescent home yet. Christmas had caught up with them, and the party for the men had to continue despite the shadow that hung over their own lives.

Emily was determined that they should have a Christmas tree with lights and small gifts for all their guests, and the party on Christmas Eve was already planned down to the last detail.

She spent the day checking everything, visiting the men, and talking to them and the relatives who had come to stay over the festive period. She spent longer with Corporal James Bell, who had no visitors, because the whole of his family had been killed during the Blitz.

Corporal Bell had lost both legs while on active service, but his family had been killed while they were eating their evening meal in their own house. Now he had no one and no prospect of being able to leave the home in the near future, unless someone would take him on. Despite that, he was cheerful and popular with the others, flirting with all the nurses and with Emily whenever she found time to sit with him.

That day he presented her with a small gift of a basket he had made during recreation classes, which he had somehow arranged to fill with flowers. The deep red chrysanthemums smelled fresh and exotic, and she was touched by his thoughtfulness.

‘How lovely!' she said. ‘This must have taken ages to make. I shall keep it in my office to remind me of you.'

‘That's torn it,' he said, and grinned at her. ‘I shall get double the enemas now, shan't I?'

‘Oh, I don't know about that,' she said, laughing as he'd intended. ‘I'll try to keep Nurse Baines from getting too ambitious with that side of things – for Christmas anyway.'

Emily walked back towards the house. She was wondering if there might be a letter or perhaps a card from Terry. She had written to him twice and sent a rather special card she had found in a local shop, but as yet he hadn't replied, which seemed a little odd. Of course he had probably been very busy, but he had promised to write to her, and to let her know how his search for a flat was going.

A pile of letters and cards was waiting for her in the hall. She picked them up, seeing several whose handwriting she recognized as belonging to people she knew. There were cards from Frances; Henry and Mary; Connor; and her friend Maura had put a letter inside with the latest pictures of her son.

Emily always enjoyed getting letters from Maura, who wrote every few months, and often sent photos of her little boy. The photos were never very clear but from what she could see Maura had a lovely child, and she seemed happy enough.

However, there was nothing from Terry, though right at the bottom of the pile she discovered a letter with a Cambridge postmark. Now who could that be from? Emily wondered about it as she took her post into the sitting room.

Vane had come down that afternoon. He was looking a little better, though he had declined to attend the party at the home.

‘Is everything going well?' he asked. ‘You've hardly had a moment to spare these past few days, Emily.'

‘No, I have been busy, but I wanted it all to be right for this evening. It means so much to the men and their families.'

‘Even more to those who haven't got any family.'

Vane sounded so unlike himself that Emily was struck. She felt anxious as she saw how grey he looked, wondering if he was close to having another attack. She put her cards and letters unopened on a little table and sat down in the chair near to him, feeling uneasy.

‘How are you? Is there anything I can do for you?'

‘I'm perfectly all right, don't fuss,' he said testily. ‘Amelia fusses too much. I'm not about to die – even if I do look like the spectre at the feast.'

‘Oh, not quite that bad,' Emily said, and smiled. ‘Just a bit tired and feeling low, I expect.'

‘What have I got to be cheerful about?'

‘As much as Corporal Bell, I should think,' Emily said. ‘At least you have Amelia and me to worry about you.'

‘And for how long shall we have the pleasure of your company?'

‘I don't know for certain,' Emily replied. ‘I'm not thinking of leaving immediately. Once you are well again I might think about my own life. But if I do leave I shall arrange a replacement.'

‘But you'll go,' he said. ‘We can't expect you to stay now that Simon is dead.'

‘Simon wasn't my main reason for staying,' Emily said. ‘As it happens, I take my work seriously – and I am quite fond of you, Vane.'

‘Humph,' he muttered. ‘Can't see why. We've none of us been fair to you, Emily. Amelia told me you know about Simon's little problem. Can't understand what got into the boy. Never been anything like that in our family before. I told him straight to stop messing about and do his duty by the family.'

‘Well, that's all water under the bridge now, isn't it?' She smiled and picked up her post, taking it to her favourite chair by the window. She pored over the pictures of Maura's little boy, lingering over them as she wondered just who they reminded her of, then opened the rest of her cards. Opening the last of her letters she realized that it was from her friend Carole Mortimer. It was ages since she'd heard from her. Carole had rung her a few times when she was working in Liverpool but this was the first time she had ever written to Emily. She began to read the first paragraphs, then as she realized what Carole was talking about she stood up, gave a little gasp and fainted.

‘Good grief,' Vane said, as Amelia hurried to her side. ‘What on earth has happened?'

‘I think she fainted,' Amelia told him. ‘Something in this letter  . . .' She was patting Emily's face, opening the neck of her blouse. ‘Are you all right, love? Was it bad news?'

Emily stirred, opening her eyes. For a moment she stared blankly at Amelia, wondering what on earth had happened to her and then, remembering, she felt the tears build inside her and begin to well over.

‘He's dead,' she whispered. Her mouth felt dry, her lips rubbery as she tried to speak and found it almost impossible. ‘Terry has been killed  . . .'

Thirteen

V
ane insisted that she go and rest on her bed for a while, and Amelia accompanied her, looking at her anxiously all the time. She wanted to send for the doctor but Emily begged her not to, and Amelia agreed reluctantly to let her have her way.

‘Perhaps you've been overdoing things, Emily.'

‘It was just the shock,' Emily said. Her throat felt tight and it was all she could do to keep from screaming at Amelia that she wanted to be alone. ‘A friend of mine, a fireman, has been killed in a gas explosion  . . .'

How simple and unemotional that sounded, as if she were speaking of a stranger, something that had happened to someone she hardly knew. Yet there was no way that she could tell Amelia that the news had torn her world apart.

‘Yes, well, that is terrible, of course,' Amelia said. ‘But you have been looking a bit peaky for a few days, Emily. If I were you I should make an appointment to see Dr Jones.'

‘Honestly, I feel fine,' Emily said, though she was lying. Her heart felt as if it were being slowly torn in two and she was bleeding inside. She gave no sign of it, though her face was ashen and her eyes told their own story. ‘It was just the shock. I shall rest for a while and then I'll get ready for the party this evening.'

‘You aren't still going?'

‘Yes, I am.' Emily raised her chin defiantly. This throbbing inside her head was almost more than she could bear, and her chest was so tight that she felt she might suffocate, but she had to keep going, because if she didn't  . . . she would not be able to bear her grief. ‘I can't let the men down – and I don't want anyone else to know about this if you don't mind. Would you leave me now, Amelia, please? You've been very kind but I would like to lie down and rest for a while.'

She needed to be alone to absorb her grief, to try and understand what had happened, to come to terms with what it meant, the death of her dreams.

Amelia nodded her understanding and went away, anxious to discuss her thoughts and suspicions with her husband. After she had gone, Emily decided not to lie down but went instead to sit in the chair by the window, taking out the letter from Carole once more.

Carole had had no idea that she was involved with Terry. Her letter had been a bald statement that her fiancé's brother had been killed in a gas explosion while attending a fire in the Docklands area of London and that she had attended his funeral. The news had come as such a shock that Emily had fainted, something she'd never done before in her life. She had been feeling well enough before that, Emily thought. It was Amelia's imagination that she was looking peaky. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she tasted their salt on her lips

She stared at the letter in bewilderment. How could this have happened? And so soon after she had left him, only a few days! Had he suffered? Carole's letter had told her nothing but the bare fact. She prayed he had not suffered, that his death and been quick, not slow and lingering.

It was so unfair, so cruel that Terry should die and that she should know nothing about it until after the funeral had already taken place. If Carole hadn't written to her she might not have heard for months, and she would have started to think that Terry had deserted her, that he hadn't really loved her.

But she knew that he had loved her very much indeed, there was no room in her mind for doubt. For a brief while they had been truly happy. At least she had that, Emily thought, fighting the wave of grief and despair that swept over her. She had been loved, truly loved.
But we had so little time!
The thought flashed into her mind: three days and nights, no more. Every nerve in her body was screaming in protest at the way happiness had been so cruelly snatched from her. She had done her duty in standing by Simon while she imagined he might need her, and then, when his confession had set her free, she had lost the man she truly loved.

Why? Why had it happened to Terry? Why must
he
be the one to die? She railed at a cruel fate and then remembered the night he had snatched that child from the burning house. He was brave and good and kind, and it made no kind of sense, no justice that he should die. But it was the kind of man he was, she realized. Terry would always have done his duty, gone that extra mile to help others, and Carole's letter said he had been trying to get an injured fireman out of the danger area when the gas mains exploded.

Emily stood up and went into the bathroom to wash her face and get ready for the party that evening. She felt numb, her grief tearing at the curtain she'd dropped in place to keep it at bay. This wasn't like Alice refusing to accept Dan was dead, because she knew there was no hope of Terry coming back to her, but she couldn't let go now – her boys were relying on her for their Christmas party.

Amelia watched as Emily hosted the show that evening, introducing the various artists she had asked to perform for them, keeping up a light banter with the men and nurses, serving drinks and food, giving out the gifts she had bought, and wrapped in pretty paper herself. Anyone who didn't know that she had received bad news would never guess that anything was wrong, but Amelia could see the shadow in her eyes, sense the pain she was suffering but refusing to admit.

However, Emily went through the motions and even made a little joke about Rose Baines being their own ‘forces sweetheart'. She led the applause when Rose belted out Vera Lynn's popular songs and introduced the next act, but anyone who knew her must have sensed that something was wrong.

This friend must have meant a great deal to her, Amelia realized. Was he the friend Emily had been staying with that
lost
weekend, when Amelia had tried to find her and failed? There had been something about her when she came home that evening, a glow that came from inside her, and a look in her eyes. Was this man who had died her lover? Amelia had her suspicions, though she hadn't voiced them to Vane – but she had mentioned another idea that had been in her mind for a day or two now. It was something about the eyes, a certain look she had seen in other women, but it hadn't occurred to her that Emily might be pregnant until she fainted.

Of course she'd had a shock, but she hadn't fainted when Simon died or when she'd learned that Vane had had a heart attack, despite being very upset. This fireman had clearly meant a great deal to Emily, and it was possible, just possible that she might be having his child, though perhaps she wasn't aware of it herself as yet.

Christmas passed in a haze for Emily. She hardly knew what she was doing as she handed out presents, smiled, talked and did all the things that were expected of her. A part of her was dying inside, her heart aching so much that she could scarcely bear it, and yet outwardly she gave no sign of her grief. Perhaps her manner was cooler than usual, a little remote, but in the general atmosphere of Christmas celebration it went unnoticed. Mrs Vane was a busy woman; she had things to do, and couldn't be expected to join in all the practical jokes and games that the men and nurses got up to. They all respected her, liked her, but understood that she was busy and they mustn't intrude. Rose Baines asked her once if she was feeling unwell, but Emily smiled and said she was fine, and everyone else was too busy to notice.