Hothouse Flower (46 page)

That night neither of them slept. They made love and talked of the future and of where they would live when he returned, both relishing each moment and knowing it was their last night together for some time.

‘You know I’ll write every day, don’t you?’

‘And I write to you?’ said Lidia. ‘You give me your address.’

Harry had already considered this. He reached into his bedside drawer and brought out a piece of paper. ‘This is where you must write to.’

She read it, then stowed it carefully in her basket.

Harry had given her Bill’s address. He trusted his young sergeant implicitly; the bond which had formed between them was unbreakable. He remembered the dreadful days before their capture, when Singapore was falling into the Nips’ hands and their battalion was surrounded by Japanese soldiers, far better prepared for jungle warfare than a few fellows from North Norfolk. Harry had bowed to Bill’s superior military instincts, as he deferentially suggested the best plan of action to save their skins.

One morning, Bill had spotted a sniper lurking in the thick vegetation. Five minutes later, a hail of bullets had hit the small band of exhausted British soldiers, immediately taking out four of their party. When all had gone quiet, Harry had stood up, dazed, his ears still ringing from the gunshots. Bill had pounced on him and thrown him to the ground, whilst a volley of bullets meant for him whistled past and hit a banana plant.

‘That was a close shave, sir,’ Bill had breathed, still shielding Harry.

In return, Harry had done something for Bill. When they reached Changi, he had recommended Bill and his gardening ability to the Nips as the man to tend and organise the ever-expanding cemetery. This placement undoubtedly saved Bill’s life. Whilst men were taken away to the north in their thousands to work on the Burma railway, Bill had kept his head down and got on with the gruesome job of burying his comrades, and the Nips had left him alone.

Now Harry needed Bill again. He was the only man he could trust: someone to receive Lidia’s letters and post Harry’s replies. Whilst he was at home, there was no need to hurt Olivia unnecessarily by flaunting his love for another woman, and he could not afford for her to chance upon their correspondence.

Harry let out a deep sigh and Lidia looked at him with concern. ‘What is it, Harry?’

‘Nothing, my darling, other than I’m dreading leaving you.’ He reached for her and took her back into his arms. ‘At least I’ll know that you’re safe here at the hotel whilst I’m away, so that’s a comfort.’

‘Yes, I will be safe and dreaming every day of your return.’

Morning came all too soon. When Harry was dressed, he put his arms round Lidia and held her tightly.

‘My darling, please believe me when I tell you I love you with my very soul … and I will come back for you.’

She looked up at him, her face calm. ‘And I will wait for you here.’

41

England

1946

As the early morning mist cleared and a weak sun broke through the clouds, Harry snapped the locks closed on his suitcase and went out on deck to watch as Felixstowe came into view. The purser had said it would be an hour until the ship docked; an hour before he must face the grey shadows of a former existence he barely remembered.

Even though it was late May and quite mild for England, Harry shivered in the morning breeze. He had endured an agonising month on board, contemplating how he should break the news to his parents and his wife. As the outline of Felixstowe appeared, Harry’s nerve began to fail him. He knew he must remain calm, determined, and be impervious to any emotional entreaties to stay.

He only had to picture Lidia’s beautiful face and her perfect, naked body beneath him, as they made love. No matter what the cost, he could not let that go.

Olivia sat in a dreary dockside café with other nervous wives and parents awaiting the return of loved ones. As she sipped her watery tea and thought how much she hated powdered milk, she wondered whether she would even recognise her husband.

When Bill had returned a few weeks earlier, Elsie had come up to the house the following day and broken down in Olivia’s bedroom.

‘Oh, miss, his hair has gone completely grey and his skin sags like an old man. His legs are like twigs, they are, but he’s got this huge belly on him, which makes him look like he’s expecting twins. He says it’s the rice that did it for him, that all the men in Changi were the same.’ Elsie had blown her nose. ‘I could cope with that … I mean, I’m just grateful that he’s home and alive. But it’s the way he stares, like he’s somewhere else. Like he hardly knows me.’

‘Elsie,’ Olivia had comforted, ‘you must give him time. It’s a shock for him, coming home and back to his family in England after three and a half years in that ghastly place. He’ll settle down, I’m sure he will.’

‘I know, but I was so looking forward to seeing him. I haven’t slept for the past week with excitement.’ She had shaken her head sadly, ‘He doesn’t seem that pleased to see me.’

‘We can’t imagine what they’ve been through, and we’ve all been told to expect they’ll be distressed and confused. It’ll be the same when Harry arrives home, I’m sure.’ Olivia’s stomach had churned at the thought.

‘It was just that his mum and dad and me, we all saved up our ration coupons to get him a nice leg of lamb for his dinner. It was always his favourite. He hardly touched it, miss, and when we went to bed,’ Elsie had blushed, ‘he rolled over and went straight to sleep. No cuddle nor nothing!’

Even though Olivia had prepared herself as best she could to greet a man who would be much changed, and physically and mentally diminished by his experiences, she was absolutely dreading the moment she saw him.

Forty-five minutes later the ship docked, with a loud blast of its horn.

Harry was home.

Olivia waited in an agony of suspense behind the barrier that kept families clear of the gangplank. Eventually, a straggle of men started to disembark. Olivia scoured the haggard faces, but could not see Harry. She watched as other men were surrounded by their families and tears of joy were shed. Some were in wheelchairs, others on crutches, missing limbs, eyes … it was a traumatic sight. From what Sebastian Ainsley had said, Harry was at least all in one piece, although the dengue fever, which had nearly killed him and had delayed his return, would have taken its toll.

Just as Olivia was beginning to fear Harry was not on the ship, a familiar face emerged at the top of the gangplank. To her surprise, from a distance, he didn’t look much different. In fact, if anything, the tan he had acquired had only enhanced his looks. He was cleanly shaven, his dark hair combed neatly. In a navy blazer and cream trousers, he appeared more devastatingly handsome than she remembered him.

She left the barrier and walked towards him. She pinched her lips furtively to bring blood into them and put her hand to her blonde hair to check it was neat.

As he walked off the gangplank, she called his name. ‘Harry! I’m here.’

He turned towards her, his eyes blank, searching for the voice. Then he saw her and their eyes locked.

Her eyes betrayed her happiness as she walked towards him.

His eyes betrayed nothing as he walked towards her.

When they met, it was she who threw her arms round his shoulders. Harry’s hung by his sides.

‘Harry, thank God you’re home!’

He shook himself from her grip. ‘Yes, I’m home,’ he nodded perfunctorily. ‘Where’s the car?’

Olivia felt a lump constricting her throat but, remembering Elsie, she said, ‘Not far. It’s parked about five minutes away.’

‘Shall we go?’

‘Of course. You must be tired.’ They set off together, Olivia leading the way.

‘No, I’m not at all tired. I’ve just suffered a month’s inertia on the ship.’

Once Harry’s suitcase was stowed in the boot and he was settled in the passenger seat, Olivia started the engine. They set off for Wharton Park in silence.

Harry gazed out of the window, his head turned away from Olivia.

‘Everything seems so colourless here after the Far East.’

‘Well,’ said Olivia, swallowing hard, ‘at least it’s the end of May, which you always said was the best time to be in England.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But now I’ve experienced the tropics, it’s not a patch on there, really.’

Olivia could not help but be hurt and shocked by Harry’s reaction. She knew and understood it would be difficult for him to adjust, but the last thing she had expected was for him to be wistful about the location of his living hell.

‘Well, Wharton Park
is
looking beautiful,’ she replied staunchly.

‘I’m sure,’ Harry replied coldly.

They drove on in silence and Olivia surmised that, although Harry looked normal, his mental state was clearly not as healthy. Perhaps Wharton Park, the home he loved so much, could provoke an emotional response. She steeled herself to accept his oddness, understanding now exactly what Elsie had meant about Bill being ‘somewhere else’
–
it was obvious Harry was too.

Two hours later, they entered the gates of Wharton Park. Olivia glanced at Harry to gauge his reaction, but could not see his face.

‘Well, here we are then,’ she said brightly, ‘home.’

Harry roused himself and then said, almost as an afterthought, ‘How are Ma and Pa, by the way?’

Olivia was amazed it had taken him so long to ask. ‘Your mother is in excellent health. Your father – well, he has not been so lucky, unfortunately. He had a heart attack a year ago. He is a little better now,’ she replied carefully, ‘but he is unable to work. The doctors said it put too much strain on his heart. Your mother insists that having him in the house the whole the time puts far too much strain on hers!’ Olivia tried to make a joke.

‘How miserable for him.’ Harry looked at Olivia, anxiety in his eyes. It was the first show of emotion she had seen. ‘He’s not in any imminent danger though, is he?’

‘Well, one can never be sure with a dicky heart. Right,’ she said, changing the subject swiftly as they approached the house, ‘I warn you, everyone is gathering to welcome you home.’

She stopped the car and tooted three times. At the sound of the horn, the front doors swung open and Adrienne ran down the steps to greet him.

‘Harry,
mon chéri
! You are home!’

Harry stepped out of the car and walked towards her, into arms that opened wide, pulled him to her and held him tightly. ‘Oh, my Harry! You are safe, you are safe home,’ she whispered into his shoulder. ‘Let me look at you.’ She stood back and studied him from head to toe. ‘
Mon dieu!
I think you look more handsome and healthier than when you left! Do you not think so, Olivia?’

Olivia, who was standing listlessly by Harry, nodded. ‘That’s what I thought when I saw him,’ she agreed.

‘I’m well, Mother, really. I wasn’t,’ Harry added quickly, ‘but I am now.’

Adrienne put her arm round her son and led him up the steps, with Olivia trailing behind. She swung back the front door and there, in two long lines, stood the entire staff of Wharton Park, forming a guard of honour.

As he stepped into the hall, Harry heard Bill shout, ‘Three cheers for Master Harry! Hip hip –’

‘Hoorah!!’

‘Hip hip –’

‘Hoorah!’

‘Hip hip –’

‘Hoorah!’

A huge burst of applause and cheering broke out. Harry walked along the line, receiving hearty handshakes and slaps on the back from the men, and bobs from the girls.

‘So glad you are home, Master Harry.’

‘Congratulations, Bill told us how brave you were.’

‘Glad to see you safe home, sir.’

‘The house wasn’t the same without you, Master Harry,’ said Mrs Jenks fondly, standing at the end of the line. ‘I’ll be making the biggest fry-up you’ve ever eaten for breakfast tomorrow morning.’

Despite his determination to keep his heart hard, Harry found his eyes filling with tears at the genuine welcome from all these familiar faces.

‘Speech!’ shouted someone.

‘Yes, speech!!’ added the rest.

‘Give us a few words, Master Harry, will you?’

Harry turned back to them and cleared his throat. ‘Well, what can I say? Other than thank you for the warmth of your welcome. It’s much appreciated and it’s jolly good to see you all. And thank you for looking after Wharton Park in what I imagine must have been very difficult times.’

Another round of applause broke out. Then Harry glimpsed a cowed figure shuffling across to him. He realised, with a jolt, that the shrunken old man was his father. Rather than let him struggle any further, Harry went over to him and held out his hand. ‘Hello, Father, it’s good to see you.’

His father smiled at him. ‘And you, old chap.’ Christopher used all his strength to pull his son towards him and give him a weak slap on the back. ‘Well done, my boy! I saw your name mentioned in dispatches. I am proud of you.’

Those words were the closest Harry’s father had ever come to praising him. They brought further tears to his eyes.