The Returning Tide Page 10

Ten

  London

  1 December 1943

  Dearest Half,

  I’m so sorry you couldn’t get leave to meet me in London. I missed you.

  I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love! I don’t know how we managed to both have leave at the same time, but I was with Eddie in London. From the moment he met me at the station and pulled me into his arms and covered me in kisses I was lost. In some ways I felt like I was living your life in London except I wasn’t sneaking out to go to the 400. What an evening we had. Aunt Margaret loaned me a dress and we danced, how we danced. Just to be in his arms was enough. But it wasn’t, of course. He told me he loved me. I’m in heaven but you know that. We only had forty-eight hours and I don’t think I slept at all until I was on the train. I didn’t want to miss a minute with him.

  I placed the letter down, ignoring the pang of jealousy. It couldn’t be real love. It was too quick. Surely it was infatuation like Philip and me. Love was a slow thing. It had to be if it was meant to last a lifetime. That’s what I’d always been told. I touched my lips, wondering what the kisses had felt like. Those few innocent embraces with Philip had only hinted at more. Amelia’s excitement was with me. I shivered. She’d been so near.

  There was a thump from the floor below and a happy shout. Tomorrow training finished. I looked around my cabin. The others were all out. I would miss their chatter and silly pranks. It had been a bit like boarding, except the work was much more important, if boring. I paced the floor. Excitement bubbled in me, as did worry. Eddie was wonderful and in truth perfect for her, but … I picked up a pen and sheet of paper then settled on my bed with a book to use as a desk.

  Dearest Half,

  Have you lost your mind? It’s madness to fall in love now. Your heart will be broken, especially with a pilot. But Eddie is wonderful, no argument. And I have seen him as you know and he has eyes for no other.

  I thought of Philip. I hadn’t been in love with him. But with his death a part of me had died too.

  Wait for love after this war. Someday it will end and then it will be safe to love. I have to believe it will. I can hear you saying you don’t intend to put your life on hold and that we may all be dead tomorrow.

  I put my pen down and looked at the photograph on top of the chest of drawers that I shared with Sue. We were only allowed one picture and hers was of George – George of the heavy spectacles and lopsided grin. I’d become rather used to having him there next to my photograph of Mother and Father that Amelia had taken at Windward two summers ago. Although the picture of them was in black and white, it had caught the rays of the setting sun falling on the bark of the old pine tree, and even now I could remember the almost-red glow on the trunk.

  Sue popped her head around the door. ‘Fancy a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes.’ I stood up. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs.’ I tucked the letter under my pillow, figuring I’d finish it later. I was distracted and wasn’t really focusing on it, mainly because I was half wondering where I would be posted. We would find out tomorrow.

  Downstairs I listened to the chatter and was surprised to find Sue standing in the galley alone. We had left HMS Pembroke in Mill Hill and this private home in Hampstead where we were now quartered felt like a girls’ dormitory combined with a grand house. The months here had flown by, lost in the dots and dashes of Morse.

  ‘Excited?’ Sue turned from the teapot as I entered.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Scared?’

  I bit my lip. ‘A little, but I’m also desperate to start doing something worthwhile.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She handed me a cup. ‘Do you think we’ll get leave?’

  I shrugged. I hadn’t been back to Cornwall since I’d left six months ago. It had been early summer then and now it was almost Christmas. I didn’t feel quite whole away from my home, but that was what the war did. It took parts of you and only if you were lucky would they come back. Maybe that’s what Mother had meant when she’d said we were lost. After all, the Great War had taken many of their generation. Mother had been lucky that Father had survived. ‘It would be good to go home for the holidays,’ I said, ‘but they may want us to relieve others.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Heard from George?’ I saw the letter on the counter.

  She smiled. ‘Yes. All was well as of ten days ago.’

  ‘I don’t know how you bear it.’

  ‘You do. We all do.’

  I sipped my tea. ‘My aunt makes light of my uncle being gone, but I can see the worry in her eyes.’ I blew on the surface of the tea. ‘I see it in your eyes too. A letter arrives and your spirits lift but then there’s a long gap and although you smile I know you’re worried sick.’

  Sue laughed. ‘You can’t always choose when to love. It chooses you.’

  ‘Pah. You have a choice in everything.’

  ‘Do you?’ She stroked the outside of the envelope. I knew there was no sense having this discussion with her.

  ‘Just you wait, Adele,’ she said. ‘When you aren’t looking, someone will steal your heart, and then, only then, will you understand. I can’t wait to see it happen.’

  I laughed. ‘Not likely.’

  We stood to attention as our Chief Wren came in. ‘Ready for tomorrow?’ she asked.

  We nodded. Tomorrow was the passing-out parade and the Duchess of Kent would be there. Despite the general excitement, I didn’t think this would go well. I was supposed to lead the parade, having achieved the highest marks in telegraphy, but marching was still not my forte.

  HMS Attack, Portland, Dorset

  6 December 1943

  I emerged from the tunnels and dragged fresh air into my lungs. Even though the tunnels were ventilated, I couldn’t help thinking the atmosphere inside them was as tired as I was. However, it made the end of my shift more of a delight as I felt the wind on my face and smelt the tang of the sea. HMS Attack in Portland hadn’t been my choice at all, but none of us had been sent to posts that we had selected. The war had needs of its own and had dictated our transfers. At least, like Cornwall, the water was everywhere in Portland. Although not a ship, in some ways with the sea surrounding the peninsula it did feel like a boat, especially with the harbour filled with so much activity. Just days ago I’d come on the train across the long, narrow stretch of land that connected Portland to Dorset. Chesil Beach lined the west side of this strip and the east side curved around the harbour as Portland rounded outward and upward from the water like a tassel dangling off the south coast of England.

  From the base of the hill on this grey December day, I looked across the rough expanse of water to the chalk cliffs that marked the Dorset coast. None of Cornwall’s dark dramatic rocks were here, only clean bright ones. I needed to write to Amelia, not that I could tell her much. I longed to describe where I worked. With each shift I entered the tunnels at the base of the hill behind HMS Attack. The wall curved up and around, echoing the shape of the almost circular metal plate that held the door at the entrance. I imagined it was like we were large moles when I walked up the corridor. Each room off the hallway, which bent around in a squared-off U, was a hive of focused activity. It was so different from training. Distraction was everywhere, from someone’s footsteps to a sneeze. The signals never seemed to be clear. My head hurt from trying so hard to listen. There was no room for mistakes now.

  The wind was bitterly cold, reminding me of standing in the garden looking out over the bay. I wouldn’t be home for Christmas. It would be the first time Amelia and I had been apart for it. I wasn’t sure how I felt. Loss, yes, but also a sense of freedom. I was sure that as Christmas Eve came I would long to be with my family, but right at that moment I felt a purpose that I’d never felt before.

  The wind tugged at my hair and threatened my hat as I walked up the steep incline to our quarters, a Nissen hut built into the sloping base of the cliffs. All the cabins were named after ships and housed six girls in double bunks. The five others in mine had all
had been welcoming, despite the cabin’s name being ‘Tormentor’. But it was early days, and I’d only just finished my sixth shift. Straightening my shoulders, I took a deep breath then another before I walked into the building. The blur of voices chatting sounded loud compared to the Morse tapping I had been listening to for the past hours in the tunnels.

  Georgette, one of my room-mates, greeted me as she looked up from the letter she was reading. I nodded in her direction. Judging from the red flush on her cheek, it must be from her fiancé. His picture rested on a chest of drawers. He had a kind face that I didn’t mind looking at when I went to get my clothing. However, another one of the girls, Pat, had taken up with one of the Americans, and his smile irritated me as it beamed from the photograph beside her bunk. I couldn’t say why except that it was just too big and brash. I’d thought there were lots of Americans in London, but they were everywhere here. I couldn’t avoid them even though I tried. They were our allies, of course, and I knew we needed them, but that didn’t mean we had to like them.

  I shook my head. I sounded like my grandmother sometimes.

  Georgette glanced at her watch. ‘I’d lost track of the time.’ Folding the letter, she tucked it in her bra, above her heart. I watched her walk away and said a silent prayer for the opportunity to be alone, but then Pat arrived and slipped some stockings into her drawer. Without her telling me, I knew where they were from – the Yanks. I couldn’t say that I wasn’t jealous about the stockings – that would have been a lie – but I just didn’t like the thought that there might have been some payment in kind for them. The Americans were oversexed and over here. On the train the other night, one of them kept running his hand up and down my leg, but it was hard to confront someone in the dark. No matter how many times I pushed that hand away, it came back, along with his beery breath.

  ‘Adele.’ Pat stood up. She was a good head taller than me, dark and exotic. Her eyes smiled when she spoke and despite her choice of boyfriend I liked her. She worked on the docks, doing maintenance in the electrical workshops. In her overalls and headscarf she didn’t look glamorous, but it was all there in her full mouth and almond-shaped eyes. ‘Going down to eat?’ She straightened.

  ‘In a moment, need to collect myself a bit.’

  ‘It can all be a bit much to start.’ She smiled and slipped out the door. I sank on to my bed and pulled my writing pad from under the pillow.

  Made it through my sixth shift. It feels so different from all the training – so important. Not surprising but still a shock. I can’t say much except that sometimes it’s so boring and then at other times I haven’t a moment to think. What I do has to be automatic and I pray I don’t make a mistake. I don’t think it breaks any rules to tell you I work underground. The ceiling curves around you and you can smell the damp, the odour of bodies and something that could almost be adrenaline. But I miss fresh air and daylight. When working it’s like I slip into another, endless world.

  While I think about it, can you have a word with Mother? She seems to be under the illusion I am on a boat. I tried to tell her Attack was a shore establishment and it was just a Navy thing to call them after old warships. She just wasn’t listening and went on about the war going so badly that they were putting women on ships. She worked herself into a real state.

  I paused, then scratched out the last three sentences.

  Right now I would like to collapse on the bed drinking cocoa until I fall asleep, but I’ll head to the mess hall and be sociable for a while. In some ways you would have been more suited to this type of life, a bit like when we boarded. You thrived on the busyness and the camaraderie while I hid in the library. I miss you right now. I would send you to be in my place, to be the social butterfly, but down to the mess I must go.

  I placed the pad and pen back under my pillow. I would finish the letter tonight and post it tomorrow. Maybe it was being so close to the sea, but I was homesick for Cornwall, for Windward. The trees would be bare, so the vistas normally hidden from the house would be on view. I swallowed, missing home and missing Amelia.

  London

  20 December 1943

  I stood in the lobby of the Savoy waiting for Father. He was late but that wasn’t unusual these days. The world was upside down, or at least London was, but it did at least feel a bit like Christmas, especially with the decorations in the window displays I had peered into on my journey here. This opportunity to come to London had happened at the last minute. I wouldn’t be home for the holidays, but it would be wonderful to see Father and at least have some contact with my family. I’d thought I would be fine about being away for Christmas, but as it approached I couldn’t deny the longing I felt.

  Elegant women swayed in on the arms of men in evening dress. I was still in uniform. I had hoped to change at Aunt Margaret’s but there hadn’t been time. My overnight bag with my dress in it sat at my feet. I longed to change, as dinner at the Savoy was a treat. Looking up, I saw a tall American lieutenant watching me. A smile hovered on his lips and there was a gleam in his eyes.

  I couldn’t help myself. My mouth lifted in response then I looked at my watch. Father had been due half an hour ago. The American walked over to me.

  ‘Is your date late, ma’am?’ he asked. His voice was deep and his eyes blue. My nose crinkled. Father and ‘date’ didn’t quite go together.

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘So is mine. I think I’ve been stood up.’

  Over six feet, with broad shoulders, I doubted anyone would stand up this dark-haired officer even if he were American. ‘I’m positive I haven’t been.’ My smile was prim. I knew it. Americans were so forward. I scanned the people milling through the lobby, looking for any familiar face.

  ‘I like confidence in a woman.’

  Laughter burst out of me. I could be confident that my father wouldn’t stand me up, but not so confident had it been a real date. Then I frowned. I’d never been on one.

  ‘What have I said?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing. Sorry.’

  ‘What are you sorry for?’ He tilted his head to the side and I could see yellow flecks in his blue eyes. They were intelligent eyes, and not frivolous as I had supposed.

  ‘“Sorry” is the English way of avoiding the subject or filling a gap in conversation,’ I said.

  ‘I see.’ The corners of his full mouth lifted. ‘I know this is forward, but shall we give them both another ten minutes, and if they don’t appear, may I take you to dinner?’

  I glanced again at my watch, as if that would somehow make my father waltz through the front door. A polite way to say ‘no’ hovered on my lips. How would Amelia handle this? I needed her right at this moment. Looking up, I saw the American was smiling, but not in a cocky way.

  ‘Yes, that would be fine,’ I said.

  ‘Fine?’

  ‘Yes, fine.’

  He chuckled and it seemed to come from deep within. My grin widened and to my surprise I found myself hoping my father would be late – maybe because of a sudden emergency that required his medical knowledge. At eight thirty in the evening that would be unusual, but it was the war and nothing was out of the ordinary any more – even accepting dinner invitations from strange American officers.

  ‘I’m Bobby Webster.’ He held out his hand. It appeared strong and showed signs of having been outdoors a great deal. A large gold ring stood out on the tanned skin. It wasn’t a signet but worn on his left ring finger.

  ‘Adele Seaton.’ He clasped my hand in his. My skin looked so pale in comparison to his, but then I’d been working inside for weeks on end. I imagined he might have been training outdoors – somewhere in the southern States possibly.

  ‘Lovely to meet you. May I call you Adele?’

  I squinted. The Americans were so casual. How the world had changed in the past few years. I pressed my lips together. He was far too familiar, yet he had asked, and it would seem churlish to say no, so I nodded.

  Then I looked up and saw my father enter
the lobby, closely followed by a sour-looking major. Father spotted me immediately, and I turned to the lieutenant. ‘Thank you for the kind offer, but my date has arrived. Goodbye.’ I extended my hand. The American held mine for a second too long and disappointment flashed in his eyes. My heart raced and I knew I felt the same way. He released my fingers and I dashed towards Father, away from the temptation of the lieutenant with beautiful eyes.

  ‘My darling girl.’ Father swept me into his arms and held me close for a moment before setting me back onto my feet and indicating to his right. ‘Let me introduce you to Major Percival Parkes.’

  ‘Major.’ I nodded and waited for him to respond, but he turned to my father, and as he did so I saw Bobby Webster slip past us, out of the lobby and into the darkness.

  ‘I haven’t long,’ said the major.

  ‘Yes, sorry.’ Father took my hand. ‘I hate to do this but I need to have dinner with Parkes, as we ran out of hours today. I’ll meet you day after tomorrow for lunch. Come to the office, yes?’ He gave my arm a squeeze.

  ‘Of course.’ I tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek. I could see he didn’t want to do this but had no choice.

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ he said. I watched as they walked towards the basement, where the restaurant had been located since the Blitz, before I turned back to the main doors and left the lobby.

  Out in the darkness I strode to the Strand, hoping there wouldn’t be an air raid. As I allowed my eyes to adjust, I wondered if Aunt Margaret had any food in the house. My stomach growled, reminding me I’d been cheated out of a dinner at the Savoy. I could have had supper with Lt Webster had I known. It was always the way. My luck always ran to what could have been. Had it been Amelia here and not me, she would have accepted the handsome American and left Father without a companion. She was a law unto herself. Yet that was the thing. I was not my twin. I was Adele and I needed to be just me without her. It was hard but I hadn’t told anyone since I began training in June I was a twin. Over the years I had learned that if that fact came out, everything focused on the circus show of being identical twins and not on anything else.