Page 47 of Last Letter Home
‘I don’t know where we’d be without the hens and the rabbits. Derek, our evacuee, has a young boy’s healthy appetite, though he doesn’t like goat’s milk. But tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. Nothing too dangerous, I hope?’
‘It’s been pretty dull actually. But I believe we’ll see some action soon.’ He explained how since coming home from France he’d been mostly training new recruits. He was full of funny stories about incompetent officers and nervous rookies, but behind the laughter Sarah sensed worry and frustration. Apprehension, too. He avoided saying where his company might be going next, if indeed he knew. Instead they moved on quickly to speak of concerns nearer home.
‘Has there been any news of Bob?’ The Bulldock boy’s company had become separated from the rest of the battalion in France and taken to Germany as prisoners. The family had been reassured to hear from Bob via the Red Cross in July. ‘But it’s a terrible strain on the family,’ Sarah sighed. She stood and fetched the decanter to refresh Ivor’s glass.
‘Absolutely. Whoa, thank you. I heard about Hartmann, too,’ he said in a nonchalant way and her hand froze on the decanter as she set it on the tray. ‘A poor show sticking everyone behind bars like that, but you have to see it from Churchill’s point of view. It’s not worth the risk. I know you’re sympathetic to him, Sarah, but England is on its own in all this. The risk of treachery is very real.’
‘It’s downright cruel,’ Sarah insisted. ‘Paul Hartmann hates Hitler and everything he stands for.’
‘He’s still a German, though. A man’s natural instinct is to support his homeland, though I accept that Hartmann must feel pulled two ways.’
‘Rubbish. There was no need to lock him up. You heard about his poor mother, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, my ma wrote me,’ he said. ‘A crying shame.’
‘She was only fifty-one. I was surprised, as she seemed much older. I was the one who found her, did your mother say?’
‘Yes, that must have been a shock.’
‘It was. And it was awful writing to Paul to tell him. I feel so dreadfully for him about it.’
‘You poor old thing. Still, you mustn’t get yourself in a state.’
‘I’m not in a state, Ivor, I’m just concerned. What must it be like for Paul? He’s on his own now, and nobody seems able to say what will happen to him.’
‘Hartmann will be all right. We’re a civilized nation. We don’t treat these people badly.’
‘No? What about that ship that sank, the Arandora Star? It was taking enemy aliens to Canada. Canada! How cruel to separate families like that. And to risk the U-boats.’
She’d started to shake and when she sat down again he took her hands in his. ‘Nobody wanted any of them to die, Sarah. Oh, you poor girl, I don’t like to see you anxious about these things. I’ll tell you what, why don’t we go out somewhere tomorrow night. It would take your mind off everything.’
‘Not tomorrow, Ivor. I’m too damned tired at present.’
‘At the weekend, then. Oh, Sarah, I have missed you. I still feel the same, you know. Have your feelings for me changed one little bit?’
He was close to her now, she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek and her distress was melting away. How could it be that one was attracted to a man and yet not know if one loved them? And then his lips were on hers, hot, fierce, forcing open her mouth, his tongue exploring, and she slid her arms up round his neck.
‘Sarah!’ he murmured, his mouth moving to her neck, causing her to shiver with ecstasy, then back to her lips again. He pressed himself against her and his body was hard, urgent, unyielding and then his hand brushed her breast and travelled downwards, pulling at her dress, forcing its way between her thighs.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No.’ She fought against him till he let go and they sprang apart panting and gasping.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, the shame clear on his face. ‘I’m a brute. But you do it to me, Sarah. I can’t get you out of my mind.’
‘I shouldn’t have let you . . . oh, what’s the point. You’d better go, Ivor. The others will be back soon.’
‘I’m sorry, darling.’ He leaned in and she let him kiss her more chastely on the cheek. Then he snatched up his jacket and backed out of the room, giving her one last lingering look. She heard the front door slam and his footsteps smacking on the path.
She wiped his kiss from her cheek and sank down on the sofa. Her body shaking all over, she fought against threatening sobs. What had she done? She didn’t love him, she knew that really. Didn’t even like him, hated the casual way he’d spoken about Paul. She knocked back the rest of her whisky and sat staring at the shadows moving on the wall until she was calm. At the creak of the garden gate, she stood up, checked her face in the mirror and went to open the front door to her mother.
Sarah did not see or hear from Ivor at all the following day, and she supposed he must be angry with her. She told herself that she didn’t care, but she hated falling out with anyone close to her and it was with a heavy heart that she went about her tasks on the estate.
On the morning of the second day, a silent, bullet-headed man arrived on cue to take away the two pigs they’d been fattening in a wooden sty behind the kitchen garden and although she told herself not to be sentimental Sarah couldn’t help having a little weep after they’d been loaded onto his wagon and driven away squealing, more in dismay at being separated from their trough – or so she wanted to believe – than in anticipation of their brutal end. Still, there must be ham and bacon and that was that. She marched determinedly past the desolate pig house, which she couldn’t face mucking out while the straw was still warm, and engaged herself with Sam in some industrial-scale cabbage planting to take her mind off her troubles. These, she remonstrated with herself, were not really troubles at all compared with some people’s.
At four o’clock as the light was beginning to fade, they both downed tools, and Sam went off home smartly on some pretext that Sarah thought was to do with a girl. She, however, pottered about a while longer in the Kellings’ garden behind the hall. There had been signs that builders would be at work on the interior soon doing whatever was required to turn the hall into a rest home for wounded soldiers. She imagined that the invalids would want a pleasant garden to sit in, so she had been trying to keep the weeds down in the flower beds while Sam periodically scythed the lawn.
It was almost an hour later, as she was scraping clean her tools, that she glanced down the hill, then shaded her eyes against the lowering sun to watch a lonely figure hefting a bulky bag trudge up the drive. There was something furtive in his movements – he kept glancing behind him and once or twice broke into a weary trot before falling back again into the plodding walk. Realization crept up on her. It couldn’t be. Then their eyes locked and when he raised his hat and waved it at her, Sarah was sure. She dropped the trowel, left the guttering tap and took a step towards him, then another, and soon she was running.
‘Paul!’ she cried. ‘Oh, Paul.’ And then, somehow, they were in each other’s arms, hugging and laughing with joy. How thin he was, she noticed with concern. She could feel his ribs beneath his threadbare jacket. When they disengaged themselves, she was shocked to see the hollows under his eyes. He might have been ten years older. What had they done to him?
