Anita Frank - The Lost Ones

‘Was it the headache?’ Madeleine enquired as I fumbled with my buttons. ‘You poor thing.’

‘Well, we must be off. I have never been late for a service in thirty years, I have no intention of starting now,’ Lady Brightwell declared, leading us out to the car.

‘She has never been late because the vicar has never dared start without her,’ Madeleine muttered as we fell in behind.

As the Rolls rumbled over the cattle grid we passed Annie, running to catch the rest of the servants, who were taking a shortcut across the park to the village. I settled back in my seat and felt for my locket, hidden below my clothing. I fished it out, so it lay against the black weave of my coat.

Miss Scott leant forward. ‘Your locket is very pretty, Miss Marcham, it has caught my eye now on several occasions.’

‘Thank you.’ I smiled. ‘Gerald gave it to me.’ The detail was instinctive, but my smile wavered as I delivered it.

‘It must be very precious to you then.’

‘Yes, yes, it is. Most precious.’

I touched the gold oval, relishing its solidity, as my memory took me back to a perfect late summer’s day, August 1914. It had been a small gathering, just a few friends and neighbours, tables set out on the lawns. We women had declared there was to be no talk of war, but the subject proved irresistible to the men. They had huddled together, voices muted, their faces grave.

Gerald had broken off from them as the afternoon grew languid. I was sitting on a blanket, gossiping with Madeleine, when his shadow fell across my face.

‘Walk with me?’ He held out his hand in invitation.

I laughed as he hauled me to my feet. He drew my arm through his and we ambled towards the lake. My dress was white and light, floating about my ankles with every step. Gerald was dressed in cream trousers and a cream blazer trimmed with navy, his shirt collar open at the throat. It was, everyone had agreed, far too hot for neckties.

It was fresher by the lake, a slight breeze rippling the sparkling surface. Our steps sounded hollow as we walked the length of the wooden jetty. When we reached the end it felt as if we were standing in the middle of the lake itself – the shore, the others, far behind us. A moorhen glided out from the bank, periodically dipping his red beak into the water. I leant on Gerald, light-headed under the oppressive sun. My scalp itched with the heat, and I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my nape.

‘I’ve signed up.’

I knew the announcement was coming, of course. They all were – the eager young men, keen for adventure. There had been a desperate rush, all fearful they might miss it – their one opportunity for a jolly good fight, a rather marvellous war. I didn’t react. I just stared out over the lake. I didn’t even have any words in my head – I had to think what to say. In the end, all I came up with was a paltry ‘Oh’.

We stood in silence, watching the moorhen change direction.

‘I wanted to speak to you, before I went.’

I hardly dared to breathe.

‘Stella – I was wondering whether, when I get back, if – well – oh dash it! Marry me, Stella.’ There was a desperate urgency to his final words. My heart exploded, my smile so instantly broad I thought it would tear my cheeks apart.

‘Of course, I will!’ It was a whisper, a laugh, a joyous exclamation and the radiance that broke out on his face mirrored my own.

‘I’m sorry, I had intended to go down on one knee and everything!’

‘You would have ruined your cream trousers!’ I teased as he clutched my hands.

He adopted a look of mock seriousness. ‘I do have something for you.’ I couldn’t stop smiling, my giggles rising like bubbles in a champagne glass. ‘Close your eyes and hold out your hand.’

Biting my lip, I did as he ordered, proffering an open palm. I instantly realised that the velvet box placed on it was considerably larger than anticipated and my eyes flew open. My eyebrows twitched with confusion. Gerald watched me steadily as I lifted back the lid. Nestled against the satin lining was a beautifully scrolled gold locket. I felt the smile falter on my lips.

‘I think a ring is more traditional in these circumstances,’ I concluded lightly.

‘Yes, yes, it is, but …’

He turned away from me, taking a couple of steps closer to the edge of the jetty. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets. I fought to subdue the ominous feeling that was threatening to dampen my happiness. When eventually he turned back to me the youthful joy had dissipated from his handsome features to be replaced by grave contemplation. The afternoon grew chilly.

‘I’m going to war, Stella.’

‘I know …’ The weight of the announcement came to bear. I swallowed back a rising sense of panic. ‘But it won’t be for long. Everyone says it’ll be over by Christmas.’

‘Yes well, that’s the thing about war. It has a way of being rather … unpredictable.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter how long it lasts …’ I took a tentative step towards him, the jewellery box in my hand. ‘I will always love you, Gerald – you being away won’t change that.’

‘But it might change me.’ He saw my look of shock and corrected himself quickly. ‘Not my feelings for you, Stella, nothing will ever change the way I feel about you, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. I might be horribly injured, I might not even make it back at all—’

‘Don’t say that!’

He bridged the distance between us in one easy stride, gripping my arms to prevent me turning away.

‘Darling Stella …’ I refused to look at him. I couldn’t understand why he was being so cruel, ruining this wonderful moment with talk of devastation and death. ‘Stella.’ I relented and sullenly met his gaze. ‘I cannot tie you to me, not like this. Not knowing what I might be inflicting upon you at the end of this war. But there is nothing I want more in the world than to marry you, to have you as my wife and spend the rest of my days with you. I love you, Stella.’

I swallowed back the sob that threatened to undo me. I forced myself to be brave.

‘So, what is this, then?’ I asked, holding out the locket box.

He smiled, reassured by my attempted return to form. His finger tapped the end of my nose. ‘You’re being slightly petulant.’ He lifted out the locket and stepped behind me, dangling it before my chest. His fingers rested against the back of my neck as he struggled with the clasp. ‘This is a symbol of my intent, Stella Marcham.’ I gasped as his lips pressed against the sensitive skin just below my hairline. Firm hands on my shoulders turned me round. He pulled me close until our bodies touched, his face just inches from mine. ‘I intend to come back to you, I intend to marry you, I intend to spend the rest of my life with you.’ He came even closer. ‘I intend to make you a very happy woman.’

He kissed me then. I melted into his touch. My fingers threaded into the hair at the back of his head, drawing him ever closer to me. When we broke apart, I smiled with deliciously swollen lips.

‘I like your intent,’ I whispered. ‘I accept your intent – and I’ll match your intent, every step of the way.’

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