The Returning Tide Read online

  Father is wonderful. I still have no idea what he does. I’m not sure why a surgeon is in an office most of the time and not in a hospital. But it’s not me or any woman running this war. I think we might do it all very differently. Enough of that.

  We had dinner and went to the 400 Club afterwards. How we laughed at the antics of a duke who was there without his duchess but with someone else’s wife! Father and I danced into the small hours and Angus and Eddie appeared. Both were asking after you, especially Eddie.

  I bit the edge of my nail then forced my hand away from my mouth. Grandmother’s voice rang out in my head, telling me I’d never find a husband worth having with hands that looked as though they belonged to a fishwife. But did I want a husband? Yes, in theory, someday. Philip came to mind. I hadn’t seen him in ages. But my stomach tightened just thinking about him. I longed to spend time with him in London and visit nightclubs like the 400. Sighing, I imagined us dancing in the smoky haze that filled the club so that it felt as if we were the only people there. Of course that was never the case.

  How is Mother? When I finally reached her by telephone she sounded distracted, but it could have been because Grandmother came in during the call with a live rabbit asking how to kill it. Is she all right? Grandmother seems to be coping surprisingly well, but Mother I’m concerned about.

  I miss you and Cornwall so much. It’s not that London isn’t wonderful. Seeing everyone is brilliant but I long to be near the sea and you. Mind you, there aren’t many occasions to wear evening dress in Cornwall from what you say and I do enjoy it so much. Thank you for sending me your blue silk dress. I know how you love it. I promise to look after it and might try and pretend I’m you while wearing it. Who knows what will happen if I do!

  Do fill me in on all the details. I don’t want to miss a thing and I know you are keeping things from me.

  Love you, miss you,

  A xxx

  P.S. Thanks for the stockings. Where did you get them? No, don’t answer that question. Love you. Xx

  I looked around at the cabin. Even after all these months I stumbled to call my bedroom a cabin, along with all the other naval terms like galley for kitchen, gangway for corridor, deck for the floor and gash for rubbish.

  The cabin was more like a dormitory. Four bunks, two chests of drawers and one mirror – not homely at all, and I was beginning to count the days until we were finished. The accommodation in many postings would be much more basic than this but at least we would be doing something. The waiting was the main reason for my restlessness. Learning telegraphy was challenging but I was over halfway through training and while I wasn’t able to march well, I knew my Morse code. In fact I found myself dreaming in it and hearing it as if it was English being spoken. I smiled. A few nights ago I dreamed that Philip had declared his love for me, but in Morse – it was as if he was whispering to me and the dit dahs were as beautiful as English. I laughed at my own foolishness; first at the dream itself, and second that Morse had become so engrained I didn’t have to translate it, I just knew. The switch had taken place, as French had the year we spent in France when we were ten.

  Amelia would be proud. I was even mastering the technical requirements, never my strong point. Patience was hard. Right from the start Amelia was working productively, but then she already knew how to drive and take an engine apart. Not, it would appear, that she’d had to do much messy work. I had to be patient and I’d never been very good at that.

  29 October 1943

  Rain pelted down as I dashed to quarters. Ever since I’d seen Aunt Margaret and Uncle Reg at the beginning of October the good weather had disappeared. It had been all grey and dull. No sight of the sun or blue skies. All was bleak. I longed for tea and quiet. Of course there would be tea, but chatter would bounce off the mess walls. In the hall as I watched the scurry for the post I thought a letter from home might lift me out of this blue funk I’d slipped into. But I wasn’t sure. The air felt heavy with dread. It might have simply been the days drawing in, or the fact that I was missing Amelia and jealous she was at home.

  ‘There’s post for you.’ A fellow Wren handed me two letters, one from Mother and the other from Amelia. I smiled my thanks and walked to my cabin, which was blissfully empty. Despite gurgling complaints from my stomach I climbed onto my bunk and read Amelia’s letter first.

  28 October 1943

  Dearest Half,

  How the time is flying. I loved hearing about your exploits and I’m so jealous that you’ve seen both Eddie and Angus. Are you sure you’re not a little in love with one of them? Do try and have fun. Despite your stories of dancing until the small hours, I can tell you are focused on work, which is right. I can’t argue with that but don’t miss the fun. No, don’t lecture me. I am being very careful and very selective. They have to be handsome, very handsome! But I do see the way Grandmother looks at me and I know she knows I’m up to no good. But it is good – it lifts my morale and theirs, and it’s fun.

  Have you noticed Yanks in London? They are appearing everywhere and my God they are so good-looking. They are a lovely distraction from this endless war. It drags on so but the Yanks seem to smile in the face of it.

  Mother isn’t well. I don’t mean physically – she is thriving that way – but when she thinks she’s alone I’ve seen her crying. Her telephone conversations with Father sound so business-like and none of the lovey-dovey stuff we used to hear. I am concerned.

  I know you’ve told me that Father is frightfully busy and very preoccupied when you see him and I’m sure he is but he needs to think of Mother. Of course Grandmother is having none of it. It’s all ‘don’t be ridiculous’ and ‘get a hold of yourself ’.

  Last night at ten to six after Grandmother turned on the wireless in anticipation of the news, she turned to me. I knew it would be at least five minutes before the thing would be warmed up. She had a ‘lecture’ look on her face. I braced myself and thought of offering to get her sherry but she had anticipated that and I saw one on the table beside the sofa. However, she surprised me. It wasn’t about my activities but about the Americans. She was absolutely scathing about them. Too many teeth, too much hair and too much sex drive – simply vulgar. She’s been listening to the local gossip and my goodness is it working, and we don’t even have that many of them here yet. I know you can picture her saying it took them too long to join our efforts. She ended just as the wireless came to life, warning that she would disinherit me if I engaged with them in any way!

  I knew exactly what Grandmother meant. She was right. They were vulgar and London was beginning to fill with them. Surely Amelia wouldn’t be that foolish. Grandmother was worrying over nothing. Amelia was a bit reckless, that was all.

  She is really becoming more and more eccentric by the day but her vegetables are the better for it. She spends hours out there lecturing them. It does us no good at all, but the cabbages seem to love it!

  I miss you so much and I know you know that. Glad you’re out dancing every now and then. Do remember that all work and no play makes Jill a very dull girl.

  Best love,

  Xxxx

  P.S. Will send more stockings soon and yes, it’s best not to ask.

  P.P.S. Barbara in the village is pregnant and everyone is whispering because her husband hasn’t been home for six months … I’m remembering to be careful. xxx

  P.P.P.S. I was out early this morning and met Jim Bolitho on the way back from his aeroplane watch. The poor man looked exhausted having watched the sky all night then off to tend the cows. He told me that his brother had thus far survived as a gunner on a Lancaster bomber.

  P.P.P.P.S. We’ve just had awful news and I can’t bear to write but Mother is

  My heart stopped. I ripped open Mother’s letter.

  1 November 1943

  Darling Adele,

  It is with heavy heart that I write to tell you Philip is dead.

  I cried out but couldn’t take in air. The words blurred but wouldn’t go
away.

  Patricia is devastated and could barely speak when she telephoned. He is her only child and she is beyond consolation. I know you liked him, possibly even more than liked him. Amelia gasped your name when she heard the news, confirming what I had always thought. Both Patricia and I had realised early on that you were a good match with both of you being the quiet, academic sort. Dare I say your father and I had hopes that he of all the boys could capture your finicky heart.

  Had hopes. My hands shook. Philip. My dream.

  I know this news will be particularly hard for you as you are so far from us. I’ve spoken with your father. He rang as he had seen Harold who confirmed Philip’s death.

  Death is everywhere at the moment taking all our best. I am so grateful that I have girls. I know I shouldn’t say this but I am. This war is killing all that is good and I see no end in sight.

  I wish I were there to hold you. I know you will be brave about it all. You are more like your father in that. I fear I’m not being brave at all. Amelia has taken it hard and isn’t talking about it.

  Everything else here at Windward is fine. The relentless rain is depressing as always. It feels as if all the mud in the fields has come into the house. Your grandmother forgets there is no one to clear her messy footprints off the hall floor but me. Sometimes I do wonder about her.

  I have no other news and can’t find any happy things to say. I am missing you desperately.

  With love,

  Mother

  A lone tear rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away and looked to the window. The sky was dark and I couldn’t see the rain, but I could hear it beating against the glass.

  Seven

  Falmouth, Cape Cod, Massachusetts

  21 August 2015

  As ‘Lord of All Hopefulness’ faded, the crowd filed out of the church behind Grandie’s coffin. Leo walked ahead with Betty, and Lara with Maeve, who squeezed her hand as she spotted Pierre standing in the last pew. Lara caught her breath as he smiled, slightly bowing his head. Light from the window gleamed off his jet-black hair. This was not the way things should be. He should have been at her side, not standing like an unwanted mourner at the back of the church. He looked up and his eyes said sorry in so many ways.

  Sunlight blinded her as they stepped outside. Lara pulled her sunglasses out of her pocket and slipped them on. Her mother leaned closer to her. ‘Are you OK?’

  She nodded, even though it was too big a question to answer.

  ‘It was good of Pierre to come.’

  Again Lara nodded. Speech wouldn’t be a good idea at the moment; tears were threatening.

  ‘I don’t think he’ll come to the grave or back to the house,’ said Maeve.

  Lara helped her mother into the limo. ‘No.’ She knew he wouldn’t because that would require them to talk; not that they hadn’t been speaking to each other before the divorce, just not actually talking. They had both been very good at saying the right words at the right time to ensure that no one was angry. No voices had been raised, no other people were named in the divorce – they had simply grown apart. That somehow made it sound worse, on today of all days.

  ‘It was a very good turn-out at the church,’ her mother said, adjusting the seatbelt.

  Lara nodded. ‘Is Gerald going to come in the limo with us?’

  The corners of her mother’s mouth lifted. Gerald was the first man Maeve had allowed in her life since Lara’s father had died so long ago. ‘He’s taking his own car. He didn’t want to intrude.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lara looked out of the window as the hearse began to move and the motorcade fell into line, snaking behind Lara and her mother. Leo and Betty’s heads were just visible in the limo in front. ‘Did Betty ever get on with Grandie?’

  Maeve shook her head. ‘There was always a distance in that relationship.’

  ‘That’s one way to put it. Do you know why?’

  ‘No, but I often wondered if it was because Amelia died when Betty was so little.’ Her mouth lifted on one side. ‘He made a brilliant great-grandfather but that was much later in life.’ She paused. ‘I sometimes wonder if his years in the Army had toughened him too much to be the only parent of a girly girl.’

  Lara’s mouth twitched. Her mother had nailed Betty with the ‘girly girl’ thing. Lara chuckled, thinking of how fastidious Betty was with her appearance.

  ‘All right, chick?’ Maeve placed her hand on Lara’s as they pulled up at the cemetery.

  ‘As all right as it’s possible to be … at the moment.’ The limo came to a stop by a mound of soil and both Lara and her mother pasted on their public faces before walking to the graveside.

  Following the burial, Eventide was full of chattering people just as Grandie would have wanted it. Lara smiled. She wished she could discuss it all with him, and hoped he was looking on from heaven, pleased with the turn-out. She was less happy with the canapés, and now regretted not organising the catering for Betty herself. At least Leo had been in charge of the drinks. She turned the champagne flute in her hand, and watched as small bubbles rose to the top. When she was six Grandie had used the bubbles in a glass of champagne to explain souls rising to heaven leaving the body behind, an image she’d never forgotten.

  This champagne was excellent, and had been his favourite. She remembered her first glass of Pol Roger at the age of fourteen on New Year’s Eve. It had a lovely dryness to it and it had remained her favourite sparkling wine all these years, even though she’d enjoyed the best that France and the world had to offer. She leaned against the balustrade. Manhattan seemed a long way away at the moment. Closing her eyes for a second, the noise of the hushed conversation around was reminiscent of being back at the restaurant.

  Lara watched her brother talking on his mobile. It must be Deborah, his girlfriend, who was out in Beijing on business. She hadn’t been able to make it back for the funeral and Leo missed her. He finished the call, picked up a bottle of champagne and came over to fill up Lara’s glass. ‘Here’s to Grandie and his good taste in drink.’

  Lara raised her glass to his, letting them touch lightly. ‘What did he always say about it?’

  ‘He’d quote Churchill. Something about how a single glass imparts a feeling of exhilaration.’

  ‘Yes, I remember now. And that a bottle produces the opposite effect.’ Lara twisted the thin stem. ‘I may have had too much already, then.’

  ‘Is that the first time you’ve seen Pierre since the divorce was final?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How have you escaped it, being around here?’ He waved a hand.

  ‘By being very low key and avoiding going back to our house – along with just about everywhere we used to go.’

  ‘How long will you be able to continue this?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Look, sis, you need to do something.’

  She tilted her head. ‘I’ve spoken to Cassie and I’ve booked my flights.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘I’m just not sure what comes after I’ve had a month or two away, that’s the problem.’ She winced.

  ‘And you don’t fancy working in a greasy spoon diner after hitting the heights of the Michelin stars so young?’

  She frowned. ‘Not really, but then you know that.’

  ‘You’ve climbed so swiftly.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk.’

  He chuckled. ‘Fair point – but maybe you should set your sights a little lower to build your reputation again.’

  Her shoulders fell and she closed her eyes for a moment. Her dreams of her own restaurant and life with Pierre were all gone. It was time for a big rethink. Hopefully a stretch with her best friend away from here would provide it.

  25 August 2015

  As the morning sun rose higher, Lara breathed in the fragrance of the cedar shingles as the dew baked off them. It was a smell that always reminded her of home. She slipped onto the beach in front of Eventide and stopped to look out on the water. The n
ine o’clock ferry was already making its way toward Oak Bluffs.

  A shell hit her on the head. ‘Hey, you.’ It had been thrown by Leo, who was standing at the edge of the beach, tapping his watch. ‘Time to get back,’ he called out to her.

  ‘I know.’ Looking towards Eventide and beyond the sea grass dune separating them from the house she could see Betty and Kevin chatting by their rental car. They would be heading off shortly.

  ‘It’s been great having you around.’ Walking to her, he picked up a pebble and weighed it in his hand.

  She looked up. ‘You’re normally working so hard that if I was here, I’d never see you.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘I feel like I’m running away,’ said Lara, as she skimmed a stone.

  Leo paused and looked out to the Vineyard. ‘You’re taking a sabbatical.’

  ‘Is that what you call it?’ She skimmed another stone.

  ‘Well, I must speak the truth.’ He grinned.

  ‘You are a shit-hot lawyer. I thought you never spoke the truth.’

  He laughed and linked his arm through hers. ‘You need to think about your future. You gave Pierre the house, and, well, I advised against it at the time but you didn’t listen to your little brother.’

  She looked up at him. Leo had received the height as well as the academic genes. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but it was my fault the marriage failed.’

  ‘It takes two for one to fail.’

  ‘I’m not so sure.’ She glanced out towards the Vineyard.

  ‘I am. Trust me, I’m a lawyer.’

  ‘That’s every reason not to trust you!’ They both laughed and looked up at Eventide.

  A gentle wave pulled the last bit of water from the sand, revealing a startled crab and the fragments of a jellyfish while returning the seaweed to the sea. The tide always revealed new treasures – the odd bit of sea glass, a scallop shell, and now sadly more than ever before the debris of modern life, like plastic bags. She bent to pick up a jingle shell, glistening gold in the early morning sun, but it was so light it slipped through her fingers. She left it where it fell. Together with Leo, she walked slowly back to the house to say goodbye to their grandmother.