The Postcard (32 page)

Mima smiled. ‘Welcome home, Miss Callie. You’ve been sorely missed. Your mother’s having a wee rest. She had a stroke a while back. It’s knocked the stuffing out of her,
as you will see.’

Callie noted Mima didn’t comment on her appearance, which was a relief. The house looked just the same, draughty, quiet, with just the tick of the old clock and a whiff of log smoke.

‘Come away in and get the warmth of the fire. I’ll call Miss Faye.’

There was no sign of Desmond, no bat and ball or clutter of toy cars, no dog to greet her, but then he wasn’t home from school yet. They’d not keep him off lessons just because she
was coming home.

Phee came down the stairs slowly, clutching the banister rail, smiling. ‘You made it. Did you have a good journey? No kisses or hugs, no fussing, just her usual gracious theatrical
entrance, except Phee had aged too. She was still trying to be dignified but clearly struggling, and her shoulders were stooped. ‘I have to take my time these days. Let me look at you . . .
Oh, my dear, you’re so thin, but it suits you. And your hair . . .’

‘I’m fine,’ Callie said, knowing she looked a mess. ‘But you’re not. When did this happen?’

Phoebe dismissed her comments, shaking her head. ‘I’m much better than I was, stronger each month. It’s slowed me down but it could’ve been worse. Come in. Mima will
bring us a sherry.’

‘I’m not a visitor. I can fix a drink for myself. When’s Desmond back from school? Does he know I’m coming? What have you told him?’ There was a pause as Mother
shifted into her chair.

‘Caroline, there’s been a few changes here, my dear. You have to understand I wasn’t well enough to see to him, and with Jessie getting married—’

‘So you’ve packed him off to boarding school. I thought you might. Which one did you choose?’ Callie replied, feeling flat now she knew Desmond wasn’t home to greet
her.

‘Not exactly. Sit down . . . There’s something you should know . . . When Jessie married her airman, he wanted to take her back to Australia and sent for her.’

‘You mean the Aussie from Stirling? What’s that got to do with Desmond?’

‘Quite a lot, as it happens. Now you’re not to get upset, but I had this stupid stroke and was in hospital while you were doing whatever you were doing overseas. I thought
they’d tell you, but of course with a war on . . .’ Phee was garbling and Callie suddenly felt uneasy.

‘Spit it out, Phee. What’s happened to Desmond? Not an accident? Oh, my God!’

‘He’s fine. It’s just that Jessie offered to have him for a while when I was ill but I said no, of course.’ She paused, staring into the fire.

‘And then . . .? Tell me!’ Callie snapped, her heart racing with suspicion.

‘She took him away with her one night behind my back . . .’

‘You called the police? Where is she now?’ The panic was rising. ‘You let her take my son . . .? Where to?’ Callie jumped up and began to pace round the room. This was
terrible news.

‘They sailed for Australia before Christmas to join her husband. I don’t know any more than that.’

‘But that was ages ago, and you did nothing?’ Callie was screaming. ‘The police must have done something. I wrote to you telling you I was alive and coming home long before
that.’

‘We thought you’d died. The first I knew was a telephone call from London. I never got a letter from you. If we had, things wouldn’t have . . . I’m so sorry.’ Phee
began to weep.

‘I sent a postcard from Leipzig. The nuns posted it. I was in hospital. I was sick. This is ridiculous. You never informed the police that she’d taken my child without my consent or
yours? How could you do such a thing?’ Callie spat the words out like bullets at her mother.

‘Caroline, don’t blame me. I was in bed, unable to speak. I couldn’t look after a little boy. Jessie was his nurse. I trusted her. He’ll come to no harm with her. She
loves him like her own.’

‘But he’s
my
child, not hers. How could you even think I didn’t love my baby?’ Callie was weeping too. ‘It’s not fair. I wrote to you as soon as I
got my memory back. We must go to the police right now.’

‘But we thought you were dead. No one knew where you were – or if they did, they wouldn’t tell me. Don’t blame all this on me. You chose to volunteer and join up to have
your adventure and leave us,’ Phee argued, not looking her in the face.

‘And you couldn’t wait to off-load my son, could you? What sort of grandparent are you to do such a thing? How dare you call my war work “an adventure”? Did you think I
was playing at war games? You have no idea what I’ve been through . . .’

‘I’m a sick woman. I can’t be expected to cope, and Jessie loves him. No one would tell me anything about your work.’

‘Jessie’s his nurse, not his mother.’

‘Think how you loved Marthe . . . not me.’ Phee was pleading but Callie felt ice cold in her fury.

‘I didn’t even know you were my mother. How weird was that?’

‘At least I protected you. Things were different and your son had a father somewhere.’

‘Not any more, he doesn’t. The war saw to that.’

‘So Toby is dead. He’s no loss to the world, is he?’ Phee snapped back.

Callie couldn’t take any more. She stood looking out of the bay window, deciding what to do, then made up her mind to tell the mother the truth. ‘You think I’d let that man
father a child? That waste of space is still somewhere out there fleecing the hide off some poor sucker. He’s not Desmond’s father. Louis-Ferrand van Grooten was. He was shot for his
country. I have his medal in my bag. It’s all Desmond will ever have of that dear brave man now.’

‘And you call me callous? You let us think your husband was his father, but all the time you were having an affair?’

‘Louis-Ferrand was more than an affair. We loved each other, we planned to be together. I wanted Desmond to be safe here, out of the war, and he was until you . . . We could all have been
happy now. What have you done to me?’ Callie screamed. ‘What have you done to
us
?’ She turned on Phee with burning eyes.

‘Don’t blame me for your mistakes. This is all your own doing, Caroline, can’t you see? You stayed away too long. You put yourself before your boy. Every choice in this world
has a price, as I know only too well.’ They were facing each other square-on now.

‘I only did what you did in the last war. I did my duty for my country. I chose to serve. I thought Desmond would be safe. How wrong I was. I never expected you to betray me like
this.’

‘You should’ve learned from my mistake. We’re both as bad as each other, so don’t keep putting the blame at my door. I won’t have you talking to me like this. No
woman should leave her child to do such dangerous war work, whatever it was, and I have no desire to know. What’s done is done.’

‘How do you think this war was won? By ordinary women sitting on their behinds sipping tea? You have no idea how many brave patriots put their family feelings and duties behind them to
fight oppression. In every country, women gave their lives. I know, I met hundreds of them in Ravensbrück and many are just dust now. I owe my life to three French women who befriended me. Do
you think for one moment I’m letting it rest at this? I have to fetch him home. He doesn’t belong to Jessie Dixon. He’s mine. If I’d thought this would happen I’d have
never left him with you. His place is here, in this house, not across the world with strangers. I have to go to him right now.’ Callie made for the door.

‘Just calm down. You’re distraught. We’ll have tea and talk this over. I know it’s a shock but we’ll think something out. Perhaps take a holiday on a ship and visit
them in due course.’

‘Are you mad? Do you think I can stay in this place a minute longer, knowing my son is out there with strangers, thinking I’m dead? I have to write to them at once, let them know
I’m coming for him. How did she get past the authorities? You must give me every detail.’

‘No one’s heard from them yet. I have no address, but the Dixons will have one. Calm down, you’ll wear out your shoe leather pacing the floor. We’ll ring for
tea.’

‘Stuff your bloody tea.’ Callie stormed out for her coat and bag. ‘I’m not stopping here without Desmond. I came back for him and I’ll not rest until I find him. It
was thoughts of him brought me back from the dead. How can I go on living without Ferrand and our child? I could kill you for what you’ve done to us!’

‘Oh, Caroline, don’t be foolish. It’s getting dark and you’re exhausted. Come back and rest!’

‘Rest? You can all rest in hell, for all I care. I’ll never rest until I see Desmond again. If he’s not here then this won’t be a home of mine ever again.’

‘Caroline, darling, think what you’re doing . . .’

Those were the last words thrown at Callie as she rushed out the door and into the night.

‘Come away to your bed,’ Mima urged Phoebe from her chair in the drawing room. ‘She’s long gone to a hotel, the poor lassie. I hardly recognized her.
You can see she’s been through bad times. It’s written on her face. It was never going to be easy breaking such news.’

Phoebe stared into the dying embers. ‘Things got said in anger that can never be unsaid.’

‘Aye, our tongue’s a fearsome tool right enough, but she’ll come round one day.’

What have I done?
Phoebe felt sick with worry. The two of them were like strangers yelling insults to each other. If only there’d been a better way to break the news, but short of
lying and delaying the moment . . . And now Caroline was gone. She’d charged in and got it all wrong and made things worse.
Who am I to talk for making things worse?

Phoebe felt so bone weary, so old and out of touch, helpless as if the world was rushing on, leaving her far behind. Her career was over, her dear friends dead and now her child was abandoning
her. But she would never abandon Caroline. While she lived, this place would always be waiting for her daughter and her grandson’s return. Whatever comforts she’d gleaned from her
success would be all theirs one day, but at this moment she’d gladly give every penny she owned to have her family back by her side. How could she go on living if she never saw either of them
again in this life?

She climbed the stairs stiffly, one by one, vowing to make things right. She paused at the top of the stairs, breathless, when an idea came to her. Perhaps Callie’s old friend Primrose
might step in and help, talk some sense into her daughter before it was too late. She must find out just where Jessie was hiding, inform her lawyers. There had to be a way to restore the child back
to his mother. If only she hadn’t been ill and feeble, wrapped up in her own worries and careless of her charge. If only she knew how to make amends . . .
If only –
the deepest
of her regrets were held in those two little words.

‘Has that kid wet the bed again?’ yelled Bob Kane as Jessie gathered up his sheet, trying to hide it with the rest of the wash. ‘Make him wash the bloody
thing himself.’

‘Oh, Bob, he’s still out of sorts with all the changes. Give him time to settle in,’ she argued, as Desmond hid behind the door out of sight. There were always arguments over
him, ever since he’d walked through the door at Ruby Creek. Bob had taken one look at him and shrieked, ‘Crikey, Jess, I wasn’t expecting that little runt.’

Adie had delivered the pair of them and left promptly for her own family close to Marree. They were dumped on the doorstep of the farmhouse, miles from anywhere. The sheep farm was surrounded by
sheds and cabins and fences, and in the distance was a line of mountains with hundreds of sheep scattered over miles of fields. Bob’s leg was still in plaster from his motor-bike accident
and, helpless, he shouted orders from a chair. He couldn’t use his truck or horse, but he made sure Jess learned to drive him about and do the chores he couldn’t manage. He didn’t
look like the man in uniform she’d married in Dalradnor. He didn’t shave and his skin was the colour of burned toffee, he smoked a cheroot and shouted all the time.

‘This accident fair shook him up,’ Ma Kane explained. ‘Banged his head, out cold for a week, he was . . . Nice to have another pair of hands around the place and no
mistake.’ She was a tubby old lady with skin like leather and wore slippers on her swollen feet.

‘You must be quiet around the house,’ Jess whispered to Desmond. ‘Uncle Bob’s father died while he was away and the farm needs a lot of work. This is the worst thing that
could happen. We must help him get better.’

‘When can I go to school?’ Desmond asked.

‘I’m not sure. We’re too far out of town for you to walk, and they can’t spare the petrol, but there’s a school on the wireless we can listen to. Just let’s
get Uncle Bob on his feet.’

Desmond looked out of the window to the far mountains. All the colours of the earth and sky were different from Scotland. There wasn’t a loch to swim in, and the creek was dry. There was
no one to play with and Jessie was busy cooking meals for the farm men, washing and clearing, while Bob’s mother did her farm chores. No one ever sat down from sunrise to sunset. He was
expected to see to the chickens and the eggs. He hated being left with Bob, who sat in the porch giving him orders.

One morning when Jessie was busy, Bob called him over. ‘I’m sick of potatoes and beef, fancy a plump roast chicken tonight, so bring me a good bird, choose one of the old ladies and
be quick.’ Desmond wasn’t sure which one to choose so he chased them round the yard and caught the one that pecked him. He tucked it proudly under his arm and brought it back to the
porch for inspection.

Bob nodded. ‘Now kill it,’ he ordered. ‘Go on, it’s about time you earned your keep. Wring its neck.’

Des jumped back, holding onto the bird. ‘But she lays good eggs,’ he argued.

‘We’ve plenty more where she came from. Just pull and twist.’ Bob made a gesture.

‘You do it, please,’ Des pleaded. He’d never killed a living thing before.

‘Do as I tell you, boy. If you live here under my roof, eating my food, you do as you’re told. This is not your fancy house in Bonnie Scotland with everyone at your beck and call.
This is a working farm, and the sooner you learn how we do things . . . I didn’t want a namby-pamby brat foisted on me, so behave. Once Jess has kids of her own, you’ll be out on your
ear. There are places you can be sent and you’ll never see Jess again. Is that what you want? Now do it!’