The Postcard (48 page)

‘I think he was exactly your destiny the minute my postcard fell into your hands. It brought you both together. It brought us all together. Believe me, I know what it’s like to find
the special one in your life in the wrong time and the wrong place. It’s never convenient, but follow your heart, not just your ambition, Melissa. Look and learn from one who knows what
it’s like to lose everything. Promise me you’ll think about this?’

Callie’s wise words were hitting hard by the look on Melissa’s face. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance, even you, young lady,’ Callie added. ‘You young have
choices we never had. It’s all ahead of you. Don’t feel guilty about enjoying your musical gift and a lover too. I had a love life but it was shattered by war. How different would all
our lives have been if Ferrand and I could have lived together?’ She sighed, shaking her head. ‘You, of course, might never have been born. There isn’t a day when I don’t
regret some of my decisions. My losing Desmond Louis created a sort of madness, a grief that never went away. All those years we might have shared, and my mother waiting for a reconciliation that
never came. I broke her heart too. Why do we not understand our parents until it is too late? We all find ways to ease our pain. I was lucky because Madge and Alfie gave me a second chance
here.

‘You have to forgive your father for taking flight from his sorrows in his binges. Alcohol is such a comfort for the lonely and bereaved, a slow suicide for some in their despair. Not all
of us can be strong-minded, Melissa. I know he hurt you deeply by his absence. What parents forget sometimes is the most important gift we can give to our children is time together, listening time.
I let my son down so badly in so many ways.

‘I owe the Cottesloe Sanctuary for giving me a reason to get out of bed. The love and loyalty of a bunch of wounded dumb animals was my reward, and now to be given a sight of you, in whom
Desmond and Ferrand had a part, is more than I dared hope for. Don’t be afraid of giving your heart in love. It’s what makes us the best we can be.’

Mel hadn’t slept much after that warning. It was hard to admit her fears. She cared more for Mark, too, than she wanted to admit. These past months had been lonely and
empty because of his absence. Still, she decided, mistakes are great signposts and the next time she’d be more thoughtful to a partner. She found she was humming to herself the old folk song
‘I Know Where I’m Going’. I only wish I knew where I’m going after all this, she sighed.

She heard the van arriving in the church car park. It was time to check her new dress in the makeshift dressing-room mirror among the cassocks of the vestry. It was a deep magenta velvet,
strapless, with a tight bodice and a long-sleeved bolero edged with ribbon. Round her neck was a collar of pearls that Callie had lent her from Phoebe’s estate, in a box with matching drop
earrings. She felt as glamorous as if she were Maria Callas at La Scala, and nervous in that special way. Time to wish each player ‘toi toi’, the musicians’ secret good-luck wish,
each to each other. This may not be Covent Garden but it felt like the most important recital of her life so far.

It was a relief to see the church so full. Callie smiled with satisfaction. The great and the good of the county were assembled in their finery. She’d enjoyed choosing a
long black skirt and velvet jacket, having her wispy hair dressed into what Melissa called was an ‘up do’ and she had squeezed into some heeled shoes. Now her eye kept glancing to the
door just in case.

The concert started on time with the string quartet’s music soaring up to the rafters. There was beautiful piece for flute, and then Melissa walked onto the chancel steps, magnificent and
majestic-looking, so poised and beautiful.

When Melissa’s voice soared to the rafters, Callie was stunned by its rich quality. The audience turned to each other, surprised by such power and control. Callie was no expert, but even
she could see this girl was a star in the making.
And to think she came from me and mine.

Melissa was staring across to her, smiling. ‘In honour of my Scottish ancestry, I have chosen to sing something from Robert Burns: “O My Love is Like a Red, Red
Rose”.’How could all this talent come from such love and loss, from Phoebe, Arthur, Ferrand, Desmond and all the messiness of their separations? Here was truly a new beginning. This
girl brought such pleasure, pride and meaning back into her life. Callie hoped she could return the favour in some small way. After thunderous applause, Melissa began the haunting
‘Shepherds’ Song’ from
Songs of the Auvergne
. Callie reached in her pocket for her hanky as her teary eyes roamed over the audience, young and old, all joined by a love
of music.

She had hardly slept since she read the email with the offer to sell Dalradnor Lodge She had sworn never to return there without Desmond. It made such sense to secure the shelter here, but the
Trust knew their lease was now up. It was only a matter of time before things must change. The sale would solve all their problems and yet . . . This was not the time to be worrying about the
future.

Only one thing was missing. She glanced over the faces, searching around until she spied a tall young man covered in snowflakes edging slowly through the door, his eyes fixed only on Melissa.
That looks promising, she smiled to herself. Vera’s last-minute invitation had worked . . . Everyone deserved a second chance in life. If only she could be sure she was doing the right thing
for the future of the Trust in what she might do next . . .

Callie sat among the roses in the walled garden of Dalradnor Lodge. The scents were fainter now to her older nostrils but the blossoms still filled her heart with pride:
‘Boule de neige’, the ‘Albertine’ climbing over the wall, the edging of lavender, ‘Madame Alfred Carrière’ arching over the gate
.
All her ladies
were doing fine.

Here she felt close to Phoebe, Arthur and Desmond; all those childhood memories were waiting for her here. Never go back, they say, but sometimes you have to return with older wiser eyes to
round the circle of life. Desmond had not forgotten the scent of roses and how she sang to him. Arthur had taken comfort from this in his dugout. She couldn’t bring her son back to life but
she’d been granted the next best thing, his daughter.

They’d flown up from London after Mel’s latest concert. Callie had taken some persuading to join her and Mark for a summer holiday, but she owed it to everyone to make this visit, to
thank the villagers who had helped her granddaughter. Besides, she had another motive in returning.

How could she have ever thought of selling off Dalradnor to strangers? It wasn’t hers to give away. It must be held in trust for others. She had inspected the old stables with interest,
the surrounding fields so perfect for her guests. The Cottesloe would continue but in another place. There were rooms for students, plenty of outbuildings and no landlord breathing down their neck.
Everything could be planned for the future. Mark Penrose would organize that for her.

Once she’d been happy and safe here, and just as peaceful as she was feeling now. Arthur Seton-Ross had seen to that when he gave it to Phoebe. Now it would shelter the weary, wretched and
broken in life; animals and humans alike
.

I’ve come home and I’m going to stay here for the measure of life left for me, she smiled. There was still time, she prayed, to effect the smooth transfer of the Cottesloe Sanctuary.
That decision was instant once she’d stepped back into this blessed space.

It was Ferrand who had once consoled her in Cairo with the old adage that mistakes are pearls to be cherished. What a string of pearls she’d made in life, but what a jewel of a golden girl
was linking them all together as she strolled down the path to greet her now.

I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to my agent, Judith Murdoch, my editor, Jessica Leeke, and my copy editor, Yvonne Holland, without whose immediate support and assistance
this book might not have been published. They stepped in when I suddenly became ill, and put the final flourishes to the editing process. Thank you so much.

Although my characters are fictitious, I was inspired by the life of Eileen Nearne – special agent, SOE French section – and accounts of her escape from
Ravensbrück Women’s Concentration Camp gave me a structure for achieving the same for my own hero.

The difficult choice made by Desmond as a boy was not unusual at that time and was based on a true story told to me many years ago.

I must thank my cousins, David and Pat Rodger, for helping me find ‘a Dalradnor Lodge’ close to Balfron, Stirlingshire.

Finally, to all my friends and family, who rallied round at a difficult time – you lifted my spirits and lightened the load.