Sons and Daughters (53 page)

‘Poor Charlotte,’ Philip murmured, and as he drifted into sleep once more, he heard Felix say, ‘Poor Charlotte indeed. The only thing she wants out of life is to make your father happy and to give him his heart’s desire. And even that is denied her.’

Felix promised to stay until the paintings were completed, working each day with Charlotte in her studio.

‘At last,’ he cried as he entered the room on the first morning. ‘I am to be allowed to work in the room I created. What joy!’

Smiling, Charlotte sat at her own easel to work on the portrait she’d already begun of Alfie.

Ben, with his usual gentle tact, had found out that Philip did want Alfie to visit. Going to the cottage, Charlotte had learned that, no, Alfie had still not yet been told the truth as to the identity of his biological father. Instead, both Eddie and Lily, who’d no wish to keep a dying man from seeing his son, generously agreed that Alfie should visit the manor on the pretext of sitting for Mrs Thornton.

‘I’m running out of subjects,’ she told the boy, crossing her fingers behind her back at the half-lie.

‘Thought you’d prefer to do our Lizzie. She’s much prettier.’

‘Well, maybe I will, when she’s older, but I want to start with you.’

The boy visited the manor each day for a week and whilst he posed for Charlotte, she, in turn, was being painted by Felix. Though Alfie was a little in awe of the artist from London at the start, Felix soon charmed the boy and the sessions in the studio were full of laughter and teasing.

On the fourth day, Felix played his part in the scheme. Late in the afternoon when the natural light was fading, he threw down his brush and cried, ‘Enough! Work is over for the day. Come, Charlotte, you must stop, too, and let this poor boy ease his aching muscles.’

Charlotte set aside her brushes and stood up, stretching her back.

‘But before you go, dear boy,’ Felix said, putting his arm about Alfie’s shoulder, ‘I want to show you just how good the portrait of you is going to be. She’s painted pictures of all the family. They’re hanging in Philip’s room.’

The boy stopped. ‘I can’t go in there, mister. Me mam said he’s very ill.’

‘He’ll be pleased to see you,’ Felix insisted. ‘He gets few visitors and a new face will brighten his day. You’re a big lad now,’ Felix added softly. ‘Living on a farm, you understand about life and death. And you understand about the war too, don’t you?’

‘Well, I know what’s happening, but I don’t understand
why
.’

‘Nor do a lot of us, dear boy, but we must all try to do our bit. And if your bit is to brave seeing an injured soldier and to bring him what comfort you can, then you’ll do it, now won’t you?’

Alfie was thoughtful for a moment, as if plucking up courage. When he nodded, Charlotte let out a sigh of relief and smiled at Felix, thanking him with her eyes.

‘Come along, then, dear boy, you really must see these magnificent portraits and afterwards, well, perhaps you could have a word with Philip.’

So it became a routine that each day when work on their pictures was over, Alfie would go to Philip’s room and spend half an hour with him.

‘Me mam’s sent her best wishes,’ Charlotte heard Alfie say as she closed the door quietly and left them alone. To her joy, the boy continued to visit Philip even after he was no longer required to sit for Charlotte.

‘Charlotte! Charlotte! Come quickly!’ Miles’s voice resounded from the hallway, reaching to every corner of the house. Even in the studio, they heard him.

Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat and then began to thud painfully. Her eyes wide, she exchanged a frightened glance with Felix. Oh no, not more bad news.

She ran downstairs, whilst Felix hovered anxiously on the landing. At the foot of the stairs, Miles was waving a piece of paper and smiling jubilantly. ‘He’s alive! Georgie’s alive!’

Charlotte cried out with joy and launched herself from the third step into his outstretched arms. He swung her round, laughing and shouting, ‘He’s alive. Georgie’s alive.’

The household staff, hearing the commotion came running. Mrs Beddows and Kitty from the kitchen and even Wilkins, always sedate and controlled, was flustered momentarily, beaming his relief and delight at the news. On the landing, Felix closed his eyes in thankfulness. How good it was to see his dear friends receive good news for once.

‘Champagne, Wilkins. For everyone. And bring a bottle to Philip’s room. We must tell him at once.’

They mounted the stairs, hand in hand. At the top, Felix tried awkwardly to embrace them both at once, his eyes shining with tears.

Philip was sleeping fitfully. His face was flushed and his eyes dark with pain.

‘Do you think we should tell him?’ Charlotte whispered as the three of them tiptoed into his room.

‘I—’

‘Tell me what?’ Philip asked, his eyes fluttering open.

Miles couldn’t contain his excitement, his relief, any longer. He moved to the side of the bed and put his hand gently on Philip’s shoulder. His voice husky with emotion, he said, ‘Georgie is alive.’

Philip closed his eyes on a long sigh and whispered a heartfelt, ‘Thank God.’

There was a gentle tap on the door and Wilkins entered the room carrying a tray and beaming. ‘The staff send their congratulations, sir. This is wonderful news.’

Philip opened his eyes and, wincing a little, pulled himself up in the bed. ‘Tell everyone to come to my room, Wilkins. Let’s have a real celebration.’

A while later, everyone gathered in Philip’s bedroom to drink champagne. Mrs Beddows and Kitty giggled at the unexpected treat and the bubbles tickling their noses. When things had calmed down a little and the staff had returned to their duties, leaving the four of them alone again, Charlotte asked, ‘Where is he? Is he coming home?’

Miles’s face sobered suddenly. He shook his head. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t be celebrating so soon, but I was so overjoyed to hear he’s alive when – when . . .’

Charlotte moved to his side and linked her arm through his. ‘Of course we should celebrate. It’s wonderful news. The very best. But – where is he?’

‘In a prisoner of war camp.’

Charlotte stared at him. ‘But – but is he all right? I mean, is he safe?’

Miles pulled a face. ‘I don’t expect conditions will be ideal, but he’s probably safer there than flying a fighter plane.’

Charlotte was thoughtful. ‘Can we write to him? Send food parcels?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll get in touch with the authorities. The Red Cross, perhaps.’

‘Is it a German POW camp?’ Philip asked.

‘I believe it’s a place called Colditz.’

Philip raised his head, stared at his father for a moment, and then began to laugh.

Mystified, Miles and Charlotte glanced at each other and then looked at Philip questioningly.

‘Dad, that’s the safest place in Germany at the moment. It’s a castle where they send unruly prisoners. All the escapees end up in Colditz Castle. Good old Georgie, he must have been giving the Germans a right run-around to end up there.’

‘You mean, he’s been trying to escape, Phil?’ Miles asked.

‘Several times, probably. It’s the place they send POWs who
keep
trying to escape. Good old Georgie.’ Philip raised his glass again. ‘Give ’em hell, little brother.’

‘I must go to London,’ Miles said suddenly the following morning at breakfast.

Felix and Charlotte exchanged a puzzled glance.

‘To see the authorities, you mean? About Georgie?’

‘Well, perhaps, but I want to tell Jenny myself. She adored Georgie. I want her to know that he’s alive.’

‘Of course.’ Charlotte smiled. ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

‘If you’d like to. But what about old Felix here? He’s our guest . . .’

‘Goodness, don’t worry about me, my dears. I still have a lot of work to do on my painting. I shall be quite happy. And I’ll keep Philip company too, when he’s feeling up to it. No, no, you two go. And take my key. You can stay at my flat overnight, if you have to. Travelling is abominable just now.’

‘We must take some food for Jenny’s family,’ Charlotte said, getting up from the table. ‘I’ll go and see Mrs Beddows.’

As Felix had predicted, their journey was fraught with delays and the carriages were packed with troops. But everyone was good-humoured and the soldiers readily gave up a seat for Charlotte.

At last they arrived in the city and it was already mid-afternoon by the time the taxi cab dropped them off at the end of the street where Miles knew Jenny lived.

‘Bombing’s not so bad now, mate,’ the friendly taxi driver told them as he handed Miles his change. ‘But you’ll see for yourself how bad we had it in the Blitz. Let’s hope it don’t all start up again. It’s like this all over the city.’

He nodded down the street where Jenny lived. ‘You can see for yourself. That happened earlier this month. They reckon there was a hundred thousand bombs dropped on poor ol’ London in one night. Poor devils down this street got it bad. Direct hit on those houses in the middle of the street.’

‘What?’ Miles’s face paled and he turned around to look. ‘Oh no – no!’

The taxi driver was pulling away from the kerb, leaving them standing on the uneven pavement.

Sensing Miles’s anxiety, Charlotte linked her arm through his. ‘Let’s go and see before we start to panic.’

‘But – but their house is in the centre of the row. Oh Charlotte . . .’ His voice was hoarse with unshed tears.

They walked down the rubble-strewn street, appalled to see huge piles of debris where once a house – someone’s home – had been.

Suddenly Miles stopped in front of a mound of bricks and shattered glass. A door lay drunkenly on its side and amongst the rubbish they could see torn curtains, a table, a broken chair, and even shattered pots and dented pans.

‘Is it – is it
their
house?’ Charlotte whispered.

‘I – I don’t know. I can’t quite get my bearings. I only came that one time and Jenny led me here, so . . . There were children playing in the street.’

But today there were no children anywhere.

‘It’s number fifteen,’ Charlotte ventured. ‘That’s where we’ve been writing.’

‘Ah, yes, of course, then . . . ?’ He glanced around and saw a woman climbing over the rubble further down the street. ‘Let’s ask her. She might know.’

They picked their way carefully towards the stranger, who was bending over, picking up bricks and discarding them, obviously trying to uncover some of her precious possessions – anything that she could salvage.

‘Excuse me . . .’

The woman looked up at the sound of Miles’s voice. She didn’t smile and Charlotte was shocked by the look of defeat and hopelessness in her eyes.

‘I’m sorry to intrude,’ Miles said gently, ‘but we’re looking for number fifteen.’

The woman’s face was grim as she pointed to the ground beneath her feet. ‘This is it. I lived at number seventeen – right next door.’ She scrambled over the rubble towards them. Miles held out his hand to help her step down on to the pavement.

‘Ta, mister.’ On firm ground, she glanced from one to the other. ‘You want to know what happened?’

Charlotte nodded.

‘Took a direct hit, our houses did. Mine and Dot’s. Well, what was Dot’s. Rest of the street – ’ she glanced behind her and waved her arm – ‘damaged, o’ course, but most of ’em’s still standing. Still, we was lucky in a way. No one was killed in this street.’

Charlotte’s heart lifted. ‘So – where are they? Where’s Jenny and her mother?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Gawd knows. Done a moonlight weeks back. Just after Jenny came back from the country.’ She glanced at them, searching their faces keenly. ‘Are you the folks the little lass stayed wiv?’

When Charlotte nodded, the woman actually smiled, though it was a sad, wistful smile. ‘Eh, fancy that. She never stopped talking about you. About the fields and the beach and how you let her paint pretty pictures. She loved it up there wiv you, she did.’ Her face clouded. ‘But Dot got a bee in her bonnet that we were thinking she was a bad mother ’cos all the other kids’d come home and hers hadn’t. Silly cow,’ she added with feeling. ‘If my lads’d had a nice place with you, I’d’ve left ’em there till all this bloody lot’s over. Hadn’t got the sense she was born with, Dot ’adn’t. And then she buggers off without a word of goodbye, an’ we’ve lived next door to one another for ten years or more.’ She shook her head. ‘I blame that feller she took up with. A right spiv, if you ask me. I reckon the law was on his tail and that’s why they ’opped it.’

‘I should have fought harder to keep Jenny,’ Miles murmured heavily. ‘But Dot was the girl’s mother and—’

‘I know,’ the woman said with feeling. ‘More’s the pity. Oh dear – there I go again. Dot was all right in her way, but she was a selfish cow. Everything always had to be what
she
wanted. Even that Arfer had to dance to ’er tune. She should’ve left the little lass with you. Jen was happy wiv you.’

Miles smiled feebly and said huskily, ‘Thank you for that.’