The Returning Tide Read online

  I turned to Bobby. ‘Tell me about your home.’

  He looked at me, his eyes narrowed from the glare. He had altered once we had entered the grounds of Trebah. ‘It’s beautiful but different.’ He glanced across the estuary. ‘Mostly though the land is flatter.’ He took my hand. ‘I’m asking so much of you.’

  I sighed. ‘Yes.’ The water of the river reflected the cloudless sky. The beauty hurt. Maybe it was best not to dwell on what I’d be leaving behind and to focus on what I was going to. ‘But you’re worth it all.’

  He studied me. ‘I hope I don’t let you down.’

  ‘You won’t.’ I kissed him then pulled him towards the pub.

  Twenty-Nine

  Knightsbridge, London

  28 May 1944

  The tearoom was empty except for an old woman sitting in the corner. I looked up from the teapot in front of me when I heard the bell on the door ring. Amelia was in London and we hadn’t seen each other in months. Her letters told me so little but she seemed changed. Gone was the exuberance, no doubt due to Eddie’s transfer to the Far East.

  Another old woman came slowly through the door and I stared out of the window again, watching the bustle of London life in the street outside. It had been years since our family had fled the city. I didn’t miss it but I did miss Cornwall. Those few days with Bobby there had reminded me of what I’d left behind – Amelia, Mother, Grandmother, Windward and simply the land and the sea as they lay together, distinct yet tied. A bit like Amelia and me.

  Would Amelia be altered in appearance? I knew that I had changed irrevocably since she had last seen me. Bobby had transformed everything. Today I’d even been to Farm Street Church in Mayfair to speak to a priest. The sooner this obstacle was out of the way the better. Days ago the padre in Weymouth had been helpful but very American. The priest today had been kind and given me a book. It was a beginning.

  I poured another cup of tea. She was late. There were so many disruptions these days, which somehow we all took in our stride, but today I had little patience. I longed to see her and hear all her news. Her letters were wonderful but I needed to be with her. Aunt Margaret had become the only person in the family who saw everyone. She’d had a lovely time with Mother and Grandmother and had said Father was well when I had had breakfast with her that morning. She was behaving a little oddly, though, very distracted. But then, so was I.

  In fact I hadn’t even told Amelia Bobby’s name yet. Maybe it was fear that if I spoke it he would disappear. By holding him close and not sharing him with anyone other than those who were with me at HMS Attack, he felt more mine and I felt more me and not just a twin. I frowned, realising that I hadn’t told Bobby that Amelia was not just my sister but my twin. Maybe the time had come to tell him; after all, we were engaged.

  The bell on the door jingled and in walked Amelia. My breath caught. Like me she was in uniform, and as always it startled me to see myself. She looked radiant, happier than I had ever seen her. I leapt to my feet and embraced her. ‘Melia, look at you.’

  ‘My God, Del, you are glowing.’

  ‘You’re the same.’ We let go of each other and collapsed into the seats. People around us stopped talking to stare, but we’d grown used to this reaction. With the matching uniforms we must have looked startling to most people, with our pale blonde hair and amber eyes in duplicate, even down to the matching mole just below our left eyes.

  ‘Tell me all about this mystery American.’

  I looked down. ‘Nothing much to say.’

  ‘You brought him to Cornwall.’

  ‘He was going anyway. I simply tagged along.’ I stirred my tea in my cup.

  ‘I can’t believe you were there when I was away. Bloody bad luck.’

  ‘Language,’ I said, and looked into her laughing eyes.

  ‘Sorry, I know. It’s slipped terribly since I began driving.’

  I shook my head then poured my sister a cup of tea. ‘I’m so thrilled to see you.’

  ‘Same. I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Tell me all about Eddie.’

  ‘You always knew, didn’t you?’ She peered at me over the rim of her cup. If she felt for Eddie half of what I did for Bobby then it was perfect.

  ‘Possibly. But what I can see now is that you’re happier than you’ve ever been.’

  ‘I am. Can’t hide it.’ She clasped her hands around the cup.

  ‘Why try?’ I reached out for her hand. Connection was made and something realigned inside me.

  She raised her eyes and looked into mine. A shadow fell across them. ‘Because I’m afraid being this happy is wrong.’

  My breath caught. ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘I can hear Grandmother’s voice saying that too much pleasure is indecent and will never last.’

  I laughed. Grandmother had said that years ago, when she’d been talking about a cake that Amelia had made. She’d disapproved of the fact that Amelia could cook at all. The cook would do the cooking, she told us, not the lady of the house – that was the way of things. Poor Grandmother had eventually discovered that knowing how to cook during a war was a key survival skill.

  ‘Come on. Tell me about your American.’

  ‘Nothing to tell.’ I glanced away as a soldier and a woman entered. Her face was solemn. I wondered why. Turning back to Amelia I continued, ‘He’s just been promoted to captain and been transferred, therefore he has less time to spend with me.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ She grabbed my hand then blurted out, ‘Have you seen Father?’

  ‘No. Will you see him?’

  ‘I hope so but it’s looking doubtful. I was lucky to have this leave. It coincided with an admiral needing to be in London urgently.’

  I frowned. ‘You didn’t take the train?’

  ‘No, I drove to London and will drive back the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Ah, leave cut short, yes.’ I squeezed her hand. ‘I was lucky to receive permission to come to London.’

  ‘I was puzzled when I rang, not daring to hope.’

  ‘Luck was on our side.’ I looked at the waitress serving another table. I couldn’t tell my sister I had already planned to come to London to visit a priest at Farm Street Church. I’d never kept secrets from her before. Was it the war that made me secretive or was it just part of separating? When I turned back to Amelia I could see that she knew, but she smiled all the same. I’m sure she had things she no longer shared with me. With distance that sense of knowing the other had abated. Although I could tell when she was unhappy, everything else from her felt further away. ‘What news of Eddie?’

  ‘Last letter arrived two days ago and all is well. He loves India. His letter was full of the exploits of his navigator’s dog, which has become the company mascot. In fact he sent a photo of the dog.’ She rifled through her handbag and pulled out two photos and handed them across the table. One was of a small dachshund and beside it its official flying logbook. In the second picture were Eddie and another officer.

  ‘That’s the owner of the dog, Gordon George.’ She took them back with a smile. ‘By all accounts they’re having a wonderful time.’

  ‘So pleased all is well.’ I thought of Bobby. It was good that he was close at hand, although I only had a letter from him once a week.

  ‘Shall we get another pot of tea?’ Amelia looked for the waitress.

  ‘Let’s go shopping.’

  She laughed. ‘There’s nothing to buy, but let’s anyway.’

  I paid the bill and linked my arm through hers. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she said as we walked down the pavement towards Harrods.

  My breath caught. ‘Same.’

  ‘But I can see you’re happy with your Yank, even if you won’t tell me about it.’

  I laughed. ‘I am. Just as happy as you.’

  She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘You’re engaged?’

  I frowned. ‘Yes, but we’ll wait to marry until the war is over.’ I looked down at my hands. ‘I haven’t told anyo
ne.’

  ‘I understand.’ She peered into a window. ‘You’re right, there is nothing to buy.’ She grinned. ‘Let’s forget shopping and go and have a drink. We need to celebrate our engagements!’

  A few moments later Amelia had flagged down a taxi and we were on our way to the Savoy. On the back seat of the cab, still smiling, she took my hand. ‘So you’ll be … ?’

  ‘Mrs Robert Webster.’

  ‘And I’ll be Mrs Edward Carew.’ Her big grin faded, turning to a frown. ‘We’ll be even further away from each other.’ We both sat in silence while this information registered. I looked out the window and away from Amelia. I wanted my own identity separate from her and I’d been achieving that, but the Atlantic was vast. I swallowed. The taxi paused in front of the wreck of a building with only the back wall still upright. How was it still standing unsupported? Rubble filled the hole in front of it – the charred and broken remains of lives. I turned away as we arrived at the Savoy.

  Paying the fare, it seemed hard to believe that this was where I had met Bobby for the first time just a few months ago. How my world had changed. Amelia and I waltzed through the doors to the Savoy shoulder to shoulder, smiling at everyone who stopped to take a look at us as we went through the lobby. It had been so long since we’d been together I’d forgotten what a stir we could cause.

  ‘I intend to have a gin and dubonnet!’ Amelia walked up and sat on a stool in the American Bar. I held back. ‘Don’t be a spoilsport. You shall have one too.’

  I glanced around looking for anyone who might know us. Surely this would get back to Grandmother? Amelia turned from me and spoke to the bartender. She was flirting again. It was just the way she was. I sighed and slipped onto the empty chair beside her at the bar.

  ‘Delly, you still need to lighten up.’ She grinned at the bartender and raised her glass. ‘Here’s to us and to our men.’ She took a big sip. I laughed then joined her. ‘I wish they were both with us tonight but we shall go dancing and lift some other poor soul’s spirits.’

  I pursed my mouth, thinking.

  ‘Come on, Delly. We’ll be married and boring soon. Let’s paint the town red tonight.’

  I laughed. ‘Yes, let’s.’ Our glasses clinked, we both sipped our drinks, and I felt the alcohol and the excitement inside me mingle. I smiled, looking at my sister. We would make it through this war and win. If we could cope with everything that had been thrown at us so far, we had to win. If we didn’t, Bobby and I could never be together and that didn’t bear thinking about.

  Thirty

  Constantine, Falmouth, Cornwall

  19 September 2015

  The doorbell rang and Lara opened the door to Jack. Curled by the fireplace, Snowy put his head back on his paws and watched the newcomer. ‘So this is where Mrs Carr’s cat ended up,’ said Jack.

  ‘You know Snowy?’

  ‘Snowy?’ Jack frowned at her. ‘You mean Sid.’

  Lara eyed the cat. Snowy definitely suited him better than Sid. ‘Can I bring him back to her?’

  He shook his head. ‘She’s gone into a care home outside Birmingham near her daughter.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ll make sure she knows he’s found himself a new abode.’

  Lara frowned, unsure how Cassie would feel about that. ‘How’s your grandmother this morning?’

  ‘Awake, and she’s reluctantly taking the high-calorie drink recommended to build her up.’

  ‘Yuck.’

  ‘It’s not too bad.’ He leaned on the doorframe while she collected her jacket and her bag, which was weighed down by the Tante Marie cookbook she was bringing along.

  ‘You said she became ill after the wedding?’ Lara said, as she locked the front door.

  He nodded. ‘For some reason she went to check things when the storm blew through. I found her sheltering in the morning, frozen and very wet.’ Having walked her to the car, he opened the door for her then got in himself. ‘I’d put it down to the hassle of Peta’s wedding.’

  ‘Weddings cause a lot of stress.’ She cast him a glance and one side of his mouth lifted. ‘But are you sure it’s that?’

  As the car eased out onto the road, she looked out the window at the passing scenery and wondered what Grandie had thought of it here. ‘My great-grandfather was ninety-four and his health seemed to decline very quickly. There never seemed to be a cause – simply old age, and I think tiredness as well.’

  As they were turning into the drive at Windward, Jack’s phone rang. Lara waited in the garden while he took the call, and used the opportunity to once again look at the wedding photo of her great-grandparents. She walked around to the front of the house, pulled the picture from her bag and held it up for comparison. The window matched and the view looked the same. Grandie was obvious, even out of focus, but Amelia was hard to make out, aside from her classic 1940s rolled hairstyle, part hidden under the veil.

  Lara thought of the hundreds of shots taken of her own wedding day. All of them perfect and capturing a love that hadn’t lasted. At least with Grandie’s it was a love that he had held onto all of his life.

  Of course she was still puzzled by his last word. Adele. Even now she could see the moment clearly. The tide had been about to turn as she and Leo held him and he looked out to the Sound. His eyes had been focused on the horizon to the east and he had sighed and said ‘Adele,’ not once but twice.

  Her phone beeped and she read the text from Cassie.

  Mum much improved. Parents send love.

  C x

  She was still with her parents and would be for a few more weeks. The business was ticking over and the christening party at the weekend didn’t need Lara’s input, as Cassie had said her team could do the event blindfolded.

  The wind blew the lavender below the roses, sending a waft of scent Lara’s way. She pulled out the Tante Marie cookbook and looked at the proportions for the rosehip syrup. It wouldn’t take too long to harvest a sufficient number.

  Jack’s voice floated on the breeze and Lara wandered to the edge of the terrace. All evidence of the wedding was gone and on this crisp fall morning the bay in the distance glistened and clouds scudded across the sky. She pictured the beach in front of Eventide and homesickness flooded her. The landscape here was beautiful with the house in grey stone sitting happily above the water. The colour of the granite was almost the shade that the weathered cedar shingle turned after a few seasons in the New England elements.

  Her sneakers were damp from the dew. The hum of a lawnmower in the distance and the smell of cut grass brought her instantly home. She loved the fall, with the turning of the leaves and the less crowded roads.

  She stopped. Wasps were busy on the apple trees laden with ripening fruit. In her childhood her family would make an annual pilgrimage north to New Hampshire and return with an abundance of apples, mostly Macintosh but with other varieties thrown into the mix. The trees here in the garden looked close to perfection. After making the rosehip syrup today, they could work with apples. In her experience a bit of apple and cinnamon appealed to all but the most finicky eaters. But of course eating wasn’t the only problem for Jack’s grandmother. Pneumonia was so dangerous in the elderly.

  Jack came towards her and she held the wedding photo out to him. ‘Has this house always been in your family?’

  He frowned, taking the picture. ‘Not sure. My grandmother would be able to tell you.’

  She watched his expression while he studied the photo, looking back at her and then down at the black and white image again. ‘It definitely looks like Windward, and it’s hard to tell but I’d say the woman resembles my grandmother when she was young.’ He looked at Lara. ‘And like I said, you look a lot like she did back then.’

  ‘I don’t quite know what to make of that.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ They walked to the kitchen. ‘Maybe if she’s feeling up to it later, I can introduce you, and show her your photo.’ He handed it back to her.

  ‘Thanks. But firs
t we need to harvest the rosehips.’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, let’s get to it,’ she said, and smiled.

  ‘Rosehips?’

  ‘Trust me.’

  He tilted his head to the side and studied her. ‘Fine. I’ll grab some gloves and the secateurs. Drop your things here, I won’t be long.’

  As he disappeared she grinned at the thought of a day of cooking, as well as maybe coming a step closer to finding answers.

  I looked at Jack’s eager face and lifted the spoon to my mouth. The aroma took me back to Christmas 1943. Rosehip syrup. Mrs Tonks. He was trying to build me up when I wanted to let go. I smiled at him and tasted the pudding – tapioca. Nursery food. The sweet yet sharp taste of the rosehips with the creamy sweetness of the pudding was perfection. I ate another spoonful and he smiled.

  I frowned. ‘Did you make this?’ He was a good cook but he didn’t do puddings often.

  He grinned. ‘Well, I had help.’

  ‘Who? Did you pick up the syrup from the WI?’

  ‘No, I harvested the hips with my own fair hands this morning.’

  I opened my eyes wide and ate some more. ‘What inspired this new type of cooking?’

  ‘Lara.’

  I raised an eyebrow. It was a name I hadn’t heard before. ‘Who?’

  ‘She’s a chef.’

  I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth. ‘You hired a chef?’

  ‘No, she volunteered after I helped her.’

  I frowned. ‘And she …?”

  ‘Offered to help me find ways of making food more enticing than something chemical out of a tin.’

  My mouth lifted. It had worked. I’d finished the bowl and the taste of times long past stayed with me. I closed my eyes. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘A pleasure, Gran.’ He took the bowl and kissed my forehead. ‘Get some more rest.’

  ‘I will.’ But I wasn’t sure if my mind would let me. The taste had taken me back to a summer night in 1944 when Pat had arrived with a bottle of gin and we’d sat by the tennis courts drinking gin mixed with rosehip syrup. The evening had been warm and the sky clear. I had even seen Orion’s Belt. I’d slept well that night despite the constant worry about Bobby. It must have been the gin and the taste of Cornwall in the syrup.