Philippa Carr: We'll meet again

“I was always urging Buster to get away. It would be easier for him if he did not have an invalid to look after. He would not go, of course. I think he was enjoying his stay at the farmhouse. It was clear that he liked Marianne and her daughter. He had mended and painted the wheelbarrow and it was placed on the farm. It was almost like a shrine.

“‘Our savior,’ he called it. ‘Do you know, sir, we couldn’t have got by without that? Makes you think.’ He would go and look at it every day and, as he left, blow it a kiss. There was an unsuspected sentimental streak in Buster’s nature.

“I think he was on rather special terms with Marianne. He told me once that Marianne was ‘a bit of all right.’ This was always accompanied by a wink. He was equally devoted to Lisette.

“There was something cozy about the atmosphere of the farmhouse, in spite of the danger which was lurking all through the days and nights.

“They used to get me to talk in the evenings when we sat in the dark. Buster was always alert for noises which might suggest the arrival of unwelcome visitors. I told them about the Priory, the old monks who used to live here. I described the wild Cornish coast. Lisette was enchanted. Her slight command of English made it possible for her to ask questions, and she would convey the answers to her mother. Buster would sit there listening, smiling on us all. He always regarded himself as the man of the house. I didn’t qualify because of my wound. He was the one who would look after us all. It was a strange set-up, but we all knew that it was transient and could disappear at any moment.

“Inevitably it came to an end. Marianne came in one day with the news that the British soldiers were only a few miles away. She took out a tattered tricoleur from one of the drawers, muttered fiercely over it, and hung it from one of the windows.

“Lisette told us: ‘Her great-grandfather hung it there when the Germans came in 1870.’ The cloth was fluttering from the window when we left. I said to Marianne: ‘I do not know how to thank you.’ She began to speak rapidly and Lisette translated: ‘She is happy to have you here. It is her duty to France … and she like you.’

“‘We owe her our lives,’ I said. ‘We shall not forget.’

“‘When war is over, maybe you come back,’ she said.

“Violetta, you will come back with me? I want to show it to you.”

“We shall go together,” I said. “And what about Buster?”

“He will want to see it again, I daresay.

“The rest is predictable,” he continued. “We joined the army which was getting closer every day. Buster thought they’d want him to stay but they sent us both home. We had been all that time in a prison camp and they thought we should both be checked. They set in motion the necessary arrangements and we left. Before we did so, the army doctor looked at my arm and did not much like what he saw. He said it needed attention long ago. When we arrived in England, Buster went his way and I went mine. I am to report to Poldown Hospital without delay. So, here I am.”

“I still can’t believe it.”

“Nor I. We’ll go ahead with our plans, shan’t we?”

“Oh yes, Jowan.”

“And the war can’t last much longer. We must be near the end. It will be as we planned it. We’ll forget the years between.”

“We will.”

“You haven’t thought of changing your mind?”

I laughed. “No. I always believed you would come back. I could not have borne it otherwise. Others thought you never would, but your grandmother and I went on believing.”

“And I believed you would be waiting for me. That belief helped me through. I used to recall details of those meetings we had. Do you remember the first time at Smithy’s … all those years ago? And I thought of you, wondering … and there was no means of getting a word to you.”

“It is all over now. This wretched war has brought misery to millions. One man’s mad dream and a deluded nation following him! Well, disaster is overtaking them now and we can only rejoice. But enough of that. Let’s talk about ourselves.”

So we talked. He was not sure what his future would be; it might well be that he would rejoin his regiment.

“I wonder what happened to Buster,” he said. “He must have been undernourished after those years in a prison camp, although his energy had not flagged in the least.”

“You must ask him to our wedding,” I said.

“He would love that!” He looked blank, and went on: “Do you know, I haven’t got his address. I could get in touch with him through the regiment, I suppose.”

“I should like to meet him.”

“He’s a fine character. You’ll be impressed.”

“He saved your life. That will be my main reason for liking him.”

And so we talked and planned.

Life was wonderful. When I went into the town, people rushed up to congratulate me. Gordon was very kind. I thought what a good man he was and remembered that, in the beginning, I had been suspicious of him. But in those days everything at Tregarland’s had seemed uncanny.

Dorabella rang often. She said how happy she was for me. She knew what it was to be happy and she wanted the same for her twin sister. My parents were constantly in touch. They urged me to bring Jowan to Caddington, but they understood that that was not possible immediately. As soon as it was, we would come.

When Jowan reported to hospital, they were a little grave about his arm. It needed special treatment and there might have to be an operation when he was considered fit to take it. In the meantime, there must be daily visits to the hospital and there would be no question of his rejoining his regiment just yet. I rejoiced in that.

Richard telephoned.

He had heard of Jowan’s return.

He said: “You were right. I never thought he would return. Are you happy now, Violetta?”

“Yes, Richard, I am.”

“Well, I must congratulate you.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish you great happiness and the best of luck. I hope everything goes well with you. If …” He paused for a few seconds. “If, any time, you need me … if I can help … just let me know.”

“Thank you, Richard, I will,” I said.

That night I dreamed I was in the teashop near the Ministry and Richard’s wife was sitting opposite me. She was smiling her cold smile, saying, “I want a divorce and I am citing you. You are very pleased with life, but what will this wonderful lover of yours have to say when he knows you are being cited in a divorce case?”

I awoke and sat up in bed. I felt a terrible foreboding. Jowan would have to know. I had assured him I had waited for him and that never had I swerved in my fidelity to him. I had said that vehemently and he had assured me that it had been the same with him. And now it was very likely that Richard’s wife would be granted a divorce because of her husband’s alleged misconduct with Miss Violetta Denver.

I had recovered a little from the first shock of this revelation when Richard had told me what was happening. I had convinced myself that there would be no publicity which would affect me. Perhaps there would be a reference to it in some little-read gossipy publication—no more. I had been lulled into thinking this would be a trivial matter.

But it did not seem so now. All through the night I lay awake. What should I do? In the morning I had made my decision. There was only one way. I must tell Jowan.

He knew something was wrong. I could not stop thinking of that woman with her cold, calculating eyes.

I had driven Jowan into the hospital where they had examined and dressed his wound, and when I was taking him home, I went instead to that field where we had first met. I pulled up the car and we sat there.