Where the Heart Is (36 page)

Emily was overwhelmed with relief, and flooded with love and joy, so much so that she had to reach into the pocket of her pinny–her Christmas one that she had had since she had first been married, the white linen embroidered with red berries and green leaves–to find her handkerchief, so that she could give her nose a good blow to stop herself from crying.

‘Oh, Wilhelm you are so good,’ she thanked him, her voice muffled by her feelings.

‘It is you who are good, Emily. You bring out the goodness in me. You are a very special person.’

‘Con certainly doesn’t think so, but then he never did. All he came here for was money. Once I’d given him that he was more than happy to leave. Wilhelm,’ Emily hesitated, and then plunged on, ‘there’s something more. Something I have to tell you about Tommy.’ She had to make a clean breast of everything. It was the right thing to do. She didn’t want there to be any more secrets between them.

‘He … he isn’t mine even though he calls me Mum. And Con’s right, he isn’t my late cousin’s son either. The truth is that I don’t know where he came from or who his family were. I found him outside the stage door to the theatre where Con works, you see. Starving and in rags, he was, and wouldn’t speak. Not a word. I thought that maybe he couldn’t at first, but I knew right from the start
that he was a bright little lad; there was no mistaking that.’

She could see that Wilhelm was frowning. ‘What is it? Do you think I’ve done wrong keeping him? I did ask him if he had a family, if he wanted to be with someone else …’

‘No, you haven’t done wrong. Anyone can see how devoted you are to him, and he to you. No, it is just that he looks so like your husband that I am surprised that he is not your own.’

‘So like Con? Tommy?’ Emily shook her head. ‘Well I’ve never noticed any likeness between them, I must say, and poor Tommy would be mortified if you were to suggest that to him. Against him right from the start, Con was. Threatening to walk out if I didn’t send Tommy away. Poor little lad, as if I’d ever have done that. Oh, there’s Tommy coming back downstairs. Just so long as you don’t think badly of me, Wilhelm.’

‘I think you are an angel of goodness,’ Wilhelm told her.

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure, Emily bent to open the Aga door again, announcing practically, ‘I’d better get those roasties in.’

‘Well, I don’t see why me and Bobby shouldn’t get married. You were only eighteen when you married Dad.’

‘I was nineteen, Sasha, and anyway, it was different with me and your dad.’

‘How could it be different? I love Bobby and he loves me.’

‘And me and your dad have said that if both
of you are of the same mind come your next birthday, then we can talk about the two of you getting engaged.’

‘Engaged won’t do. Can’t you understand? Bobby says he doesn’t think it’s fair to ask for a transfer out of Bomb Disposal unless he’s married.’

‘So that’s what all this is about? You’re worried about Bobby, and that’s only natural, love, but you know you really are too young to be thinking of marriage. Marriage is a big commitment, especially now when we’re at war.’

‘You didn’t say any of that when Grace wanted to get married.’

‘When Grace and Seb got engaged, it was on the understanding that they would not get married until Grace had finished her nurse’s training, because if they had married before she had done so, then the hospital wouldn’t have kept her on.’

‘Well, I’m not training to be a nurse, and me and Bobby know what we want to do.’

Sasha’s voice was rising with her emotions, and it was very hard for Jean to keep her own feelings under control. Of course she sympathised with her daughter, and of course she understood how she felt. She had been young and in love herself, after all, but Sam had put his foot down and said that Sasha was too young to rush into marriage just because there was a war on.

‘I know why you won’t let me get married to Bobby. It’s because of Luke, isn’t it? Because he broke off his engagement to Katie. Well, that’s not fair. Just because Luke changed his mind that doesn’t mean that I’m going to do the same. If anything happens
to Bobby now because you won’t let us get married, then it will be Dad’s fault.’ Sasha accused her mother bitterly, before rushing out of the kitchen in tears.

Jean closed her eyes briefly. She hadn’t been expecting it to be a good Christmas, what with Luke injured and on his way to South Africa, Lou not having leave, and no Katie now that she and Luke were no longer engaged, but she had not anticipated the dreadful row that had erupted when Sasha had announced to her father that she wished to marry Bobby as soon as possible, when they were on their way home after the midnight carol service, which had always been such a special beginning to Christmas for Jean.

For once Jean’s first thought when they had all got back home hadn’t been the struggle she could face getting her turkey into the oven. Instead she had been more concerned with calming the angry atmosphere that had developed between Sasha and Sam.

Now, as she heard Sasha’s angry and upset footsteps running up the stairs, Jean acknowledged that if someone had told her this time last year what she would be facing this Christmas she would never have believed them. Then she would have said that Sasha had never really given them a minute’s trouble, and it was Lou who was the one more likely to do that; that Sasha simply got dragged into things by her more demanding twin. And now look what had happened. Lou had taken to the discipline of the WAAF like a duck to water, and Sam, who had been so against young
women joining the Forces and going into uniform, was as proud as punch of her. Now it was Sasha who had got on the wrong side of her dad and got his back up.

Sam was a good father, a loving father, who had always been softer with his daughters than he had with Luke, and softer with Sasha than with either Grace or Lou, but Sam didn’t like having his decisions questioned. What man did? He certainly hadn’t liked the way Sasha had ripped up at him when he told her that she was far too young to rush into marriage.

Mind, Sasha herself was partly to blame for that, Jean admitted fair-mindedly. Jean had seen the tight pale look that had set Sam’s face when Sasha had announced that she and Bobby ‘had to get married'. Of course Sam had thought the worst, and that she and Bobby had been doing what they shouldn’t, and that Sasha had gone and got herself into the kind of trouble no decent girl should bring on her family, despite the way she and Sam had brought them up. Jean had thought the same thing herself. It showed too just how young Sasha actually was that she hadn’t realised how they were likely to interpret her words, Jean reflected tiredly.

Of course, by the time she had told them that the reason she was in such a rush to marry Bobby was because she was afraid for him, being in Bomb Disposal, and that she wanted to marry him so that he could transfer out, the damage had been done. Sam, not given to speaking his feelings, had let the shock and anger he had felt at the thought of her doing wrong and bringing disgrace on the
family spill out by way of a furious warning to Sasha that she was not to even think about marriage as she was far too young.

The arguments and the angry unhappy atmosphere they had caused had rumbled on all Christmas Day, despite Grace and Seb’s attempts to cheer everyone up. Sasha had even rowed with Grace, saying that it was all right for her to say, ‘Let’s not spoil Christmas’ because she’d got what she wanted and she was married to her Seb.

Jean was just thankful that Bobby had gone home to Newcastle to see his own family over Christmas because she didn’t know what Sam might have said to him if he’d been with them. And that was such a shame, because Sam had really taken to Bobby, and if Sasha had just been sensible and bided her time, Jean suspected that Sam would have agreed to them getting engaged on Sasha’s birthday and then Sasha could have coaxed her dad into letting them get married sooner rather than later afterwards.

No, she had never known a Christmas like it, Jean admitted, blinking away the threat of her own tears. It wouldn’t do for her to let Sam see she was upset; he’d only go blaming Sasha for upsetting her and that was the last thing she wanted. Jean felt for her daughter, she really did, but at the same time she believed that Sam was right and that Sasha wasn’t mature enough yet for marriage, no matter how much she might think that she was.

Francine had everything clear-cut in her mind, her decision made and her determination not to be persuaded to change it immovable, or so she had thought until she had Jean’s letter telling her about Luke. Jean was lucky. Luke had survived. Francine knew how grateful Jean would be feeling that Luke had been spared, and that he hadn’t lost his life in the desert fighting for his country–as Marcus might easily have done, if he hadn’t still been on leave when the battle of El Alamein had taken place.

She moved tensely through the apartment, picking things up and then putting them down again. The apartment was furnished and decorated by the hotel, with very little in it that was personal except for the few things on what had been Brandon’s desk, which Francine had kept exactly as he had liked it, in his memory. There was a silver-framed photograph of them on their wedding day, put at the angle on which he had always insisted, so that he could see it whilst he wrote his letters and made his telephone calls, and the dark
green leather-covered desk set she had bought him from a small second-hand shop in the Strand.

Francine picked up the blotter and then put it down again, rearranging the silver cigarette box she had also managed to find in an antique shop, and on which she’d had his initials engraved. Brandon had loved it. Francine stroked the cold surface.

Brandon. She knew what he would want her to do. He had wanted her to be with Marcus.

The apartment felt so empty with just her in it, like her life would be without Marcus.

She shivered, despite the warmth of the gas fire. In the mirror above the fireplace she could see her own reflection. She was wearing an oyster-coloured cashmere twinset just a shade or so darker than the pearl earrings and necklace that Brandon had insisted on giving her, the colour of her twinset picked out by the soft cream and brown tweed skirt she was wearing–part of a suit, a copy of a Chanel design she had had made in Cairo. Francine closed her eyes and then opened them again.

Marcus might have been spared the fighting at El Alamein but his leave finished the day after New Year’s Eve, and then he would be returning to his unit. She had thought that she would be relieved to see him go. He had meant it when he had said that he intended to do everything in his power to show her how much he loved her and how much he wanted to make up for what had happened in Egypt. It had been hard for her to hold him at arm’s length. She still loved him, after
all–that had never been in any doubt–but she was determined not to put herself in a position when she could be hurt again. She had a duty to carry out Brandon’s wishes as a trustee of the foundation; doing so would be an act of faith and an act of love. She couldn’t allow herself to take the risk of getting emotionally involved with Marcus again. Or at least that was what she had told herself until she had read Jean’s letter and realised what she would feel if she sent Marcus away and he were to lose his life in battle. No fear of him stopping loving her was powerful enough to hurt more than losing him without them having shared the love he was offering her. She knew that now. If she were ever to learn that Marcus had lost his life on a faraway battlefield she didn’t want to regret and weep for what they had not had as well as for Marcus himself. What was holding her back wasn’t common sense, as she had told herself, it was cowardice, and fear.

She looked at the telephone. All she had to do was pick up the receiver and asked to be put through to Marcus’s room. He was staying in the hotel, and had suggested to her that they spend Christmas together.

She, though, had refused. And she had deliberately offered to stand in for the lead singer in a popular West End show so that she could spend Christmas with her family. That way, Francine wouldn’t be tempted to change her mind, but now the singer was back and there was nothing to stop Francine from being with Marcus except her own fear.

She reached for the receiver, then released it back into its cradle when the bell to the apartment buzzed.

She wasn’t expecting anyone. She had agreed to attend a reception at the American Embassy tomorrow but tonight she was spending the evening alone.

Frowning slightly, she got up and went to the door, her heart hammering against her ribs when she opened to find Marcus standing outside.

‘I had to come,’ he told her simply. ‘I know we agreed that I wouldn’t. I hadn’t planned to, and in fact I’d decided to join a party of fellow officers on leave for dinner, but I had the most extraordinary feeling all of a sudden that I had to come here. You can send me away if you wish.’

Francine looked at him. It was impossible, of course, for her heart to have called out to him. Logically, that sort of thing belonged in a novel–a romantic fantasy, not real life. But then perhaps sometimes things happened in real life that overturned the rules of logic; sometimes perhaps two hearts could know best. Sometimes, through the loving generous actions of a special person, another person got a second chance to have what they most longed for.

This, after all, was what Brandon had wanted for her.

‘I’ve got to know if there’s any chance that you can find it your heart to forgive me, Francine,’ Marcus continued.

‘And if I say that I can’t?’

‘Then I’ll say that I can’t stop loving you, but
that I can and will respect your wishes, and that you can send me away if you wish.’

Send him away? The feeling of anguish that swept through her only confirmed what she already knew. These last weeks of seeing him, being with him, had shown her how much he meant to her and how bleak and empty her future would be without his love. It was time to put pride and past to one side.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she told him, abandoning the defensive pretence she had been clinging to, as she held the door wide so that he could come in. ‘I was just about to telephone you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘The hotel is holding a dinner dance on New Year’s Eve and I was wondering if we might go, together.’