Guarded Passions (3 page)

Dr Price stopped. A tall, spare man, he was neatly dressed in a dark grey suit, offset by a crisp, white shirt and striped blue and grey tie. As he passed a long, thin hand over his greying hair, he stared at her in surprise from over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses.

‘I'd quite forgotten you were at home, Helen. Your mother has just telephoned from Bulpitts for this medicine,' he said, holding out a wrapped bottle. ‘Could you take it along to her?'

‘Yes, of course I can, but who's ill?' she asked in alarm. Bulpitts was owned by the Bradys who were family friends. Donald and Isabel, though a few years older than Helen, were almost like her brother and sister.

‘Didn't you know, they've turned the place into a military hospital?' Dr Price said in surprise. ‘Your mother has taken on the job of Matron. I hope it's only going to be temporary,' he added in a worried voice, ‘she has enough to do here with all the servants gone.'

Sturbury has certainly changed since the war, Helen mused as she walked past the Post Office and General Shop. Instead of their usual colourful displays, the windows were full of official-looking notices about ration books, clothing coupons and blackout regulations.

Since Sturbury was surrounded by farms, it was hard to believe that the people living there had to put up with shortages of dairy foods and meat, just the same as those who lived in towns.

Even the gardens of the grey stone cottages she passed, which should have been a riot of colourful sweet-smelling flowers at this time of the year, were either neglected or turned over to vegetables.

Up until now the war hadn't really affected her life very much. She was occasionally shocked by what she read in the newspapers about bombing raids and the injured, but she hadn't actually come face to face with any suffering. The nearest bombs had been in Bristol, thirty miles away.

In fact, until now, the only disturbances they'd known in Sturbury had been the arrival of the evacuees, and being asked to donate their iron gates and railings to help in the war effort. Now, it seemed to be catching up with them.

At St Margaret's she'd grumbled along with all the other girls if butter was in short supply and when, twice a week, on meatless days, they were served Woolton Pie, a concoction of vegetables topped by a fatless pastry crust that tasted like cardboard. That, and being expected to economise on hot water and remember about blackout regulations, had been all the discomforts she'd experienced.

As she reached Bulpitts, it seemed incongruous to see ambulances and army vehicles, all camouflaged with mottled green markings, parked on the wide, gravel drive. At the front door of the gracious old Georgian building, an armed soldier challenged her to stop.

‘It's all right,' she told him, ‘I've come to deliver some medicine.'

‘May I see your identity card?'

‘I'm not carrying it,' she said in surprise.

‘Wait here. You'll need an escort.'

‘You needn't bother. I know my way around this house blindfold,' she announced airily.

‘Sorry. We have our orders,' he told her in clipped tones. ‘Please follow me.'

He escorted her to the Guard Room, where the sergeant in charge seemed equally suspicious even though she showed him the medicine. He insisted on accompanying her to one of the large front bedrooms to find her mother.

Helen couldn't believe her eyes when she went into the room that had been Isabel's. The lace drapes had all been replaced by heavy blackout curtains. All the carved oak bedroom furniture, even the canopied four-poster bed, had gone and in their place were eight narrow, iron bedsteads. Mrs Price, in a blue print dress covered by a starched white apron, a red cross emblazoned on the front, was leaning over one of the beds, dressing a young soldier's leg wound.

‘I'll be back in a second,' she said, taking the medicine from Helen. ‘Find someone to talk to – they all need cheering up.'

Shyly, Helen stood in the middle of the room, conscious that eight pairs of eyes were watching her. Colour rushed to her cheeks as several low whistles reached her ears, and someone called out theatrically, ‘Water! Water!'

‘Why don't you start with me?' a voice said from the bed nearest to her, and a pair of vivid blue eyes, under a thatch of thick dark hair, met hers challengingly.

For a moment she was tongue-tied as she studied the long, broad-shouldered figure lying on top of the bedcovers. Then, with a cautious grin, she shook her head. ‘You don't look ill to me,' she told him.

‘What
do
you mean by that?' he exclaimed in mock dismay. With an exaggerated groan he made a pretence of lifting his left arm, which was encased in a plaster cast, then letting it fall back heavily onto the bed. Before Helen could reply, her mother had returned.

‘Come along, dear, and have a look around. Poor Donald won't know the place when he comes home.'

Helen felt a mounting mixture of sadness and exhilaration as she followed her mother through the various rooms and saw all the changes that had been made. The sight of so many young soldiers lying there, some heavily bandaged, brought home to her the reality of the war.

‘Isabel was horrified when she saw it all,' Mrs Price said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘She looked very smart in her WAAF uniform. That greyish-blue colour suited her. She came to collect some of her personal belongings before everything went into store. She says that from now on she'll spend any leave she gets in London.'

‘In London?'

‘With her parents. Colonel Brady is something at the War Office,' her mother told her briskly. ‘He and Margaret have a flat in London. She decided that if he was going to be at the heart of things then she wanted to be there as well.'

‘And Donald?'

‘I'm not too sure what he's going to do. We've stored his things up in one of the attics.'

As they reached the hallway, Mrs Price looked at her watch. ‘I must get back to the wards. Now, what are you going to do for the rest of the day? You'll have to see to your own lunch, I'm afraid. I don't finish work here until mid-afternoon.'

‘I haven't really made any plans. I might go and see Aunt Julia.'

‘Well, I'm not sure if you'll find her at home. She's very involved with civil defence these days and always seems to be out organising ARP wardens and so on.'

‘Whatever for? There haven't been any bombs near here,' Helen said in surprise.

‘Not yet, but you never can tell. Jerry seems to be coming further and further inland these days. If he does strike then we want to be ready for him. The Civil Defence help with ambulances, too, so it's very useful work your Aunt Julia is doing.'

‘Yes, I'm sure it is,' Helen said hastily. ‘I think I'd better go,' she said, grinning, ‘before you find work for my idle hands.' In her starched Red Cross uniform her mother seemed so different, so full of her own importance. It was almost as if she was actually enjoying the war and the role she was playing.

‘We could certainly do with some extra help,' her mother agreed. ‘Still,' she added, giving Helen a gentle push, ‘you run along and enjoy yourself. When we know which university you'll be going to we can decide how you fill in your time until the new term begins.'

Out of curiosity, and because she needed time to think, Helen wandered around the gardens at Bulpitts. She was dismayed to find that the once sweeping green lawns had been rutted by army lorries and the flower-beds had all been ploughed up and planted with potatoes and cabbages.

Even the box hedges that lined the path leading to the water-gardens were ragged and overgrown. And, when she reached the ponds, she found they had been cleared of lilies and turned over to watercress. The pagoda summerhouse, where in the past they had taken afternoon tea, was now being used as a storehouse for the flat, wide baskets used to harvest the watercress.

Despondently, she made her way to the Silent Pool. The smallest of the ponds, it was shaded by a willow tree and hidden away in the far corner of the gardens. When she and Donald had been quite small, Isabel had told them a terrifying story about a child that had drowned there and how its ghost still haunted the spot.

After Isabel had gone away to boarding school, the Silent Pool no longer held any terrors for them, and the stories they built around it were much more romantic. Donald claimed there was an old legend that said if you stood at the side of the Silent Pool, closed your eyes and concentrated hard, when you opened your eyes again you would see the face of the one you were to marry, reflected beside your own in the water. It was a game they often played, and always it was each other's face they saw when they gazed down into the mysterious dark depths.

Now, as she walked towards the pool, through the tangle of weeds and overgrown grass, Helen felt the old compelling urge to ‘test the magic'. The willow fronds swept down over the water, almost completely cutting out the sunlight, obscuring the brilliant July day and making it shadowy and mysterious. She shut her eyes as she counted to a hundred. Then she opened them and stared down into the mirrored surface of the dark pool.

She saw the smooth oval of her own face, framed by long hair that was brushed back from her brow and spread like a fan over her shoulders. As she smiled at her reflection she was startled to see a man's face reflected beside her own. It wasn't Donald's round, full face, but one that was strong and lean and topped by a shock of close-cropped hair.

She turned quickly, then jumped as she saw the khaki-clad figure standing next to her.

‘Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you.'

‘Are you following me?' she asked sharply, recognising the young soldier who had spoken to her in the ward.

‘Of course!'

His answer took her by surprise. She studied his tall, lithe figure, the broad shoulders and slim, tapering waist. Standing there in the shadows, with the sun behind him, he looked like the statue of a Greek god. His disarming smile, revealing strong, even teeth, made it difficult for her to remain aloof.

‘You're trespassing, you know.'

He shook his head, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘No, we are allowed to walk in the grounds. I've never been to this spot before though,' he admitted. ‘Quite spooky here, isn't it?'

‘You're not afraid, are you?' she teased.

‘No, but there
is
something eerie about the place,' he said. Frowning, he looked around at the riot of weeds and shivered slightly.

Helen looked at him with interest, surprised that he should be so sensitive about atmosphere. Shyly, she found herself blurting out the legend.

He listened intently, nodding from time to time.

‘I've never told anyone before,' she said, a little awkwardly. ‘It's … it's a secret shared only with Donald.'

‘Donald?'

‘Donald Brady. His people own Bulpitts. He and his sister Isabel have always been friends of mine.'

‘A wonderful playground. You must feel sad to see it taken over by the Army.'

She looked at him sharply, wondering for a moment if he was laughing at her, but his blue eyes, as they met hers, were full of understanding.

‘I must be getting back,' he said, looking at his watch. ‘Are you going to stay here a little longer?'

‘No, I'll walk part of the way with you and you can tell me how you were injured.'

‘I'm afraid it wasn't anything heroic,' he said, with a wry grin. ‘I was swinging the engine on a truck and didn't let go in time when it backfired. The plaster comes off soon and then I'll be going back to my unit.'

‘Oh!' To hide her disappointment she asked quickly, ‘Where's that?'

He pursed his lips in a silent whistle. ‘You're not a spy, are you?'

‘No,' she smiled, shaking her head.

‘Well, I'm not too sure,' he teased. ‘They come in all shapes and sizes, and what better way to trap an unwary soldier into giving away the position of his unit than by sending a pretty girl along to chat him up?'

‘If I remember correctly, you followed me, not the other way round,' Helen reminded him. She stopped as they reached a spot where the path joined the driveway. ‘Your quickest way is to the right,' she told him. ‘I'm leaving by the side gate. I've seen enough soldiers for one day.'

‘But only for one day. You
are
going to come back? I
am
going to see you again?' His blue eyes held hers, trapped.

‘It depends on how soon they remove your plaster, doesn't it?' she said, looking away and colouring.

‘I can still see you, even after I rejoin the unit,' he said determinedly. ‘We're stationed at Mere and that's only about five miles away.'

‘Ssh!' Helen held a warning finger to her lips. ‘You shouldn't be telling me that. I might just be a spy after all,' she added impishly.

They had reached a spot where the path divided and, before he could answer, she had taken the small, twisting path to the left that she knew led to a side gate.

As she reached the first bend, she turned round. The soldier was still standing there, watching her and waving.

She hesitated, wondering if perhaps she had been rather offhand with him. He was nice – and very good-looking. It had been exciting meeting him. She wanted to see him again, but an inner caution stopped her from telling him so. Resolutely she continued along the path. Too late she realised she hadn't even asked him his name.

It was almost six o'clock when Helen arrived home. After leaving Bulpitts she had gone for a long walk, her mind buzzing with thoughts of the soldier she'd met there.

‘Is that you, Helen?' her mother called as she walked into the house. She came hurrying into the hall, her face beaming. ‘I've got a wonderful surprise for you! Come and see who's here.'

Helen's heart pounded and she felt the blood rush to her face. She knew the young soldier had been interested in her but even in her wildest fantasies she hadn't thought he would find her so soon. She wondered if he had come back with her mother when she'd finished duty. Still, details didn't matter, only that he was here.