I stood on the deck and gazed out over the grey sea at the white cliffs of England coming steadily towards me. My gloved hands gripped the rail and for a moment I looked down at the inverted Vs on my forearm – those two blue chevrons that marked my years of active service. In France I had simply been Nurse Girvan, with a job to do and a role to play. But today, when I took off my uniform for the last time – who would I be then? Lady Helena had been a girl, an ignorant carefree girl, who had obediently gone with her mother to Court and theatre and ballroom, to Ascot, Henley and Ranelagh, and asked for nothing as long as she could laugh with her brothers and daydream of her tall handsome lover.
But my lover was dead now, and through his death he had taken with him my dreams for the future, even as the loss of my brother had overshadowed my memories of the past. Over these years of war I had learned to live only in the present – but the dead were lost for all time. And gone also was my innocence and my faith, because I had learned what should never have been learned, and seen what should never have been seen – and now I would carry that knowledge with me always, as a scar upon my soul.
But when I climbed on to the train to London I forced these gloomy thoughts away from me; I was going home. And Robbie was waiting for me when I arrived, and as his face lit up at the sight of me, my heart sang.
But that evening I listened to the catch in his voice as his damaged lungs laboured to give him breath, and saw how his body was bent, and watched him walk heavily from the dining-room table, like an old man. Then I reminded myself how gravely wounded he had been, how long he had fought for his life – of course he would not recover from such an illness all at once – and after his being an invalid for so many months I could surely rejoice that now he was able to lead a normal life in London. I had so much to be thankful for.
I soon discovered that I need not have worried about my role now – Mother had no such doubts – Lady Helena Girvan must be returned to Society as soon as possible. My uniform was consigned to the dustbin, an off-the-peg outfit was quickly purchased from Selfridges, and then for a week I scarcely saw Robbie while I was subjected to a ceaseless round of dressmakers, milliners and bootmakers. Even my pre-war gloves and shoes had to be discarded for, to my mother’s annoyance, my feet and hands were broader now. ‘How could you have been so careless, Helena? Mary Eames served as a VAD at Hatton, but she took the trouble to rest on her bed every afternoon, with her feet up on half a dozen pillows.’ I thought of the expression on Matron’s face if I had suggested lying down each afternoon during the March Retreat – then replied weakly, ‘But we only had one pillow, Mother.’
She was somewhat appeased when, at Bertholle’s, Madame exclaimed enthusiastically about my figure – apparently I had at last come into fashion – straight narrow shapes were decreed by Paris now, ‘And miladi has such a shapely calf and ankle – so important, now that hems have risen.’ I noticed my mother unobtrusively tuck her own thick ankles and heavy calves under the spindly gilt chair, and felt a spurt of mean gratification.
Frocks for day and evening wear were modelled in front of us: Mother and Madame Berthe held earnest discussions on the merits of shining satin charmeuse over clinging silk stockinet, on the benefits of the coat dress versus the suit, on the stability of the new fashion in waistcoats, and the charms of the curious pegtop outline of the latest coats.
We moved on to the Maison Lewis and the parade of hats began: wide-brimmed picture hats; close-fitting toques; the newest fashionable cloche shapes – hats trimmed with ribbon, hats adorned with ostrich feathers, and hats alive with dainty, dancing tassels.
I sat in warm salons breathing in the scented air and remembered how only last week I had walked between beds of coughing, spluttering men, carrying bed pans whose noisome odour my nostrils had long ceased to register. I found myself smiling at the oddness of my transition and Mother, seeing me, said sharply, ‘Helena – it really is time you learnt to take life seriously! Which do you think will look better with that midnight-blue embroidered coat dress – the ivory satin toque or the ruched cream cloche?’
But only when it came to my feet did I feel any interest. I was still luxuriating in the feel of sheer silk stockings clinging to my legs, now so daringly exposed to mid-calf, when the sensation of the glove-like fit of my newly made shoes, so soft and supple and elegantly high-heeled, became a further joy to me.
Parcels and boxes began to arrive at Cadogan Place, and the frown on Mother’s face slowly faded as she sat in my bedroom and instructed Norah, my new maid, to array me in outfit after outfit. I walked and turned and stood before the long mirrors and my sense of unreality deepened, as a fashionable stranger stared back at me, dark-eyed and pale-faced in all her finery. Mother pursed her lips. ‘Luckily painting is quite acceptable in Society these days – besides you’re no longer a young girl. By the way, some mamas are attempting to reinstate chaperonage of their elder daughters – quite ridiculous. Why, Molly Eames has taken Mary back under her wing as if she were just out of the schoolroom – and she smoked like a trooper while she was at Hatton! I have no intention of wasting my time chaperoning you, Helena – I’ve got quite enough to do organizing Letty’s debut – thank God that’ll be the last one. Besides, no doubt you’ll be running about with your brothers, just as you did before the war.’
In my head the words formed an answer – ‘Except that I had another brother then, Mother’ – but I did not speak it; my mother lived in the present, that was her great strength.
And I was glad of my restraint later, when she sent for Fisher and took out of her hands a jewel case and brought it to me. ‘I’ve had these cleaned for you, Helena – you will be able to wear them now.’ And there, sparkling up at me in all its brilliant purity, was the diamond tiara Gerald had given me for my twenty-first birthday. I stood very still, looking at it, until my mother spoke again, her silvery voice almost gruff. ‘He was a brave man, Helena – wear it and be proud of him.’
Reverently I lifted it from its velvet nest and carried it to the mirror. I set it gently on my head and saw the diamonds shine against the darkness of my hair. And my eyes shone below with unshed tears. Mother slipped quietly from the room and I sent Norah away and sat down before my dressing table still wearing Gerald’s tiara, and took his photograph in my hand – and remembered.
I remembered him still, later in that month, as I stood on the balcony of Devonshire House. Robbie was propped against the balustrade at my side, as we watched the Victory Parade of the Household Cavalry and the Guards’ Division. The bands played and crowds cheered as the men who had helped to save us marched tall and proud down the length of Piccadilly. Beside me, Pansy’s cheeks were wet with tears as Guy marched past with the Grenadiers. Nanny held little Lance up higher. ‘Wave to your Papa, dear – your brave Papa.’ The chubby hand waved, and the childish voice called, ‘Papa, Papa!’ For a moment Guy turned, and his eyes looked up to his wife and his son. Pansy clasped my hand as she whispered, ‘I’ve been so lucky, Helena, so terribly, terribly, lucky.’ The tall straight men marching past blurred into one khaki mass, and I gripped the edge of the balcony until my fingers hurt. I felt Robbie’s arm round my shoulders and heard his wheezing breath in my ear. ‘Good old Guy – out at the very beginning, back at the very end.’ Yes, so few of that first army had ever returned, but at least my brother had been among those who had.
Pansy and Guy dined with us that evening at Cadogan Place before driving back to Richmond. They had taken a house there for the summer, since Pansy thought it was more healthy for the children. They left early, and as he kissed me goodbye Guy said cheerily, ‘You must come down and stay with us, Helena, now you’re back.’ As he spoke his eyes turned possessively to Pansy, and his hand touched her shoulder in a small, loving gesture.
Pansy smiled back at him, her eyes adoring, ‘Yes, do, Helena – we’d love to have you.’ But I sensed that they would not. After four children they were at last having their honeymoon. I would go down for tea occasionally, but that would be all; I would not intrude. Besides, it hurt me to see Pansy’s baby on Nanny’s lap – where Gerald’s son should have been.
Alice and her Fred stayed much longer – he was fidgeting to be off, but my sister deliberately ignored all his hints. There was a brittle edge to her voice now, and when she addressed her husband her lovely eyes were hard. I remembered Hugh’s kindly face, and almost hated her – how could she have forgotten him so quickly?
By April the Season was in full swing: the first postwar Season. The whole of Society seemed determined to get back to normal – or more than normal. There was a demented gaiety in the air: everyone danced more frantically, drank more deeply and shrieked more loudly with mirthless, high-pitched laughter. I learned to smoke and began to drink wine again, but as I stood watching the frenzied multitude, I felt like a haggard, gaunt, outsider – a leftover from an earlier era. The men I had danced with were buried in France and Flanders; the girls who had come out with me had children in their nurseries now – I had spent more than four years away at the war, and the world had moved on without me.
I thought longingly of the friends I had made over these last years – surely they would be feeling the same? I wrote to Innes and she invited me down to Oxford for the day. I set off hopefully in the morning, but it was no use. The real world we had shared was the war – and Innes only wanted to forget it. She was kind and polite and introduced me to her college friends over tea: their eyes flickered over my outfit as soon as they saw me, resting for a moment on my too-high hemline before returning to gaze with obvious astonishment at the large ostrich feather on my fashionable picture hat. Decked in my fine plumage I stood out like a bird of paradise among a flock of domestic hens – and we had about as much to say to each other. I sat holding my cup and saucer and listened to them discussing poets and novelists of whose writings I had barely heard, and planning their work for tutorials and lectures I knew nothing of. Innes had her old life now, and I had no place in it.
A couple of weeks later, when I went to see Aylmer, I dressed in one of my prewar skirts, and wore my plainest coat and a toque trimmed only with ribbon. My heart sank when the cab drew up outside a narrow grimy terrace of yellow brick, one of thousands in the outer suburbs of London; I would be even more out of place here.
And yet, in a way, it was easier. Aylmer’s mother was firm in addressing me as ‘My lady’, and as she ushered me into the small front parlour she said quite openly, ‘I’ll be the envy of the neighbourhood, entertaining an earl’s daughter to tea. Jean, fetch those scones out of the oven before they burn.’
Aylmer was placidly welcoming, and though we called each other ‘Jean’ and ‘Helena’ rather awkwardly at first, as soon as I asked after her Tom her whole face glowed and she began eagerly to tell me of the wedding plans – it was only a few weeks off now. ‘If it’s not presuming, my lady, we wondered… Mrs Aylmer beamed with pleasure as I told her I would be delighted to come.
I was glad I had made my visit, and as I sat on the train on my way back, I thought of how fortunate Aylmer was, with her Tom, her family, soon, no doubt, her babies – and her faith. I would choose a delicate, costly present, and go to her wedding dressed in the finery appropriate to an earl’s daughter and be talked of later in Laburnum Road – but I could no more become part of Aylmer’s postwar life than I could of Innes’. My class, my upbringing, my very manner, set me clearly and surely apart from them. I felt very lost and alone.
I tried to talk of this to Robbie, but even Robbie had changed. He went out every night as usual, but he had to carry a stick, and a cab was always called to the door. One evening he seemed at a loose end, so I suggested he come with me and Letty to a dance at the Eames’s. He turned on me, his face twisted, and wheezed angrily, ‘What the hell would I do at a dance? It’s as much as I can do to walk to the other side of the Place!’ He pulled himself to his feet and thrust open the door even as I was stammering my apologies. I cursed my careless tongue – but he was so often irritable now, he lost his temper easily, and had no patience.
He always stayed out very late, and some nights he did not come home at all. I was on my way down to breakfast one morning when I saw Cooper helping him out of a cab. He was panting for breath, his face was grey and he could hardly walk. As soon as he was in the hall he slumped down into a chair – and I noticed the dusting of cheap face powder on his shoulder. I stood at the foot of the stairs and said nothing – but when he reached into his pocket with shaking hands and took out his cigarette case I could not keep quiet any longer. ‘Robbie, no – it’ll make you worse.’
He turned his bloodshot eyes on me and gasped, ‘Mind your own bloody business, Helena,’ and began to flick his lighter. I stood there, helpless, as he drew in the first lungful of smoke and burst out into a paroxysm of coughing. And I stayed where I was, not daring to go to him – to my own brother in his suffering. When at last he recovered himself he stared down at the floor and wheezed, ‘Nothing’ll make it any worse.’ I knew it was a kind of apology.
It was Conan, when he came back from Ireland, who told me that Robbie’s girl was an actress of sorts, in the chorus of a musical comedy. Then he said, ‘Leave the poor sod alone, Hellie – he’s had four years of hell – let him catch up now.’ Conan was certainly catching up now. Letty said he had been unbelievably thin when he had first come back from Germany and he was still lean, but now he had the lithe strength of a coiled spring. His recklessness seemed to pervade the very air around him. He was sharing rooms with a fellow officer he had met in the prison camp; they had both resigned their commissions now, but my cousin was flying again. He had gone straight back to it and I knew he took risks, but it was the only thing that seemed to satisfy him. The rest of the time he danced and drank and smoked.
I saw him twirling a slim ash-blonde around the floor at a dance I had gone to with Letty. Mother had given her consent to Letty going up to Cambridge if she spent one Season as a debutante first. My sister, who did nothing by halves, flung herself into it with gusto. She was not pretty – her jaw was too heavy for that – and she made no effort to flirt or entertain, yet she was always in demand. I stood watching her bounce around the room while I sipped at my glass of champagne.
‘Drink up, Hellie – drink up!’ Conan was beside me, summoning the waiter to fill my glass. I protested, but his blue eyes flashed at me, so I shrugged and drank again. As I drained my glass, the band struck up the opening bars of a tango; he seized the glass from me, thrust it into the hands of a startled dowager, caught me round the waist and propelled me on to the floor. The strong rhythm caught hold of me as we swung into the routine of the steps: the scissors, the heel-clicking, the sudden turns – he threw me round and under his arm and I twisted and turned at his bidding – giddy with champagne and excitement.
He danced me down the length of the crowded room, dodging and feinting between the fast-moving couples, and then we were through one of the long windows and out on to the terrace. He danced me on, twisting and turning, until we reached the top of the steep flight of steps down to the lawn. He swung me down them, step by step, in time to the fading music from the ballroom. When we reached the bottom I collapsed against him, laughing – but he would not let me rest; seizing my hand, he tugged me half-running into the shadows of the garden. We stopped, panting, close by the dark wall – and his eyes glittered as he pulled me nearer. As I felt his hands hard on my bare arms I swayed towards him, and lay unresisting against his heaving chest as he began to tug urgently at the fastenings of my dress. ‘I want you, Hellie, I want you!’
There was a soft laugh close by, and we both froze and watched another couple stroll past, arms decorously linked – and realized we were in an open garden, within sight of the blazing ballroom. Conan set me away from him and fumbled for his cigarette case. I watched his face, sharply etched for a second in the flare of the match – and knew that I wanted him too – I wanted his strong male body on mine, hard and determined.
With an effort I kept my voice casual. ‘We could find a hotel.’
He drew in a deep lungful of smoke, and exhaled it slowly before he replied. ‘We could, Helena – but I’d be paying for it with your mother’s money, and I’m not quite such a bastard as that.’ He pulled on his cigarette again and said, ‘My dear father said he wouldn’t allow me a penny unless I stayed in Ireland, but I can’t face that great barn of a house. So I blew my gratuity, and Aunt Ria guessed I was skint – she’s opened an account for me, letting me draw what I like and do what I like with it. She’s been bloody generous, Hellie – sometimes I think she’s the only person who understands. So now I’ve sobered up, the answer’s no, thanks all the same.’ He ground out his cigarette and ran back up the steps to the crowded ballroom. I called a cab and went home.
Next day he dropped in at Cadogan Place at teatime. He sat chatting and smoking with Mother. I asked for a cigarette and he said casually, ‘It won’t do your voice any good, Helena.’ I held out my hand and he shrugged and gave me one. Mother went upstairs and we sat smoking beside the tea tray without speaking for a while, then he said, ‘Sorry about last night, Hellie, but you do see…’
I could not think of any reply, so I smoked on in silence. Eventually he got up and reached for his hat and gloves, then he turned towards me, and his sardonic grin flashed out for a moment as he said, ‘Christ, Hellie, over the years you’ve cost me a fortune in whores!’ and he swung out of the room.
I thought, not your fortune, my cousin – it’s my mother who pays now. There seemed a certain poetic justice in the idea.
As I came out on to the landing I heard the front doorbell ring, and Cooper ushered in Mother’s latest admirer – a square-shouldered, grizzled general with a barking voice. ‘I’ll go straight up, Lady Pickering is expecting me.’
I drew back into the drawing room as his heavy footsteps pounded past on his way to her sitting room. A silly picture began to form in my head: this evening, while Mother was dressing for dinner, I would go up to her room and nestle cosily at her feet and ask her advice. ‘Dear Mother, how can I get a man? Any man, I’m not fussy – just for the one night.’ And she would bend over me with a motherly smile on her still-beautiful face and tell me exactly how to do it.
I pulled myself up suddenly and thought, quite rationally: Helena, you’re going mad. I lit another cigarette and went up to my room.
Ralph Dutton invited me out to lunch the next day, and as I sat toying with my smoked salmon I realized that I was not listening to a word he was saying – instead I was steadily appraising the set of his shoulders, the strength of his hands – looking him over as if he were a stallion ready for stud. Suppose – but no, Ralph would not do. He was too respectable, he would be shocked – or if I persuaded him he would feel guilty afterwards, perhaps even want to marry me. I gave a small shiver. ‘Are you in a draught, Lady Helena? I’ll call the waiter.’
‘Thank you, Mr Dutton, that would be so kind.’
I walked in the Park after I had left him, and wondered again if I were going mad. At least it would make a change.
There was the jingle of harness and the rattle of spurs behind me – I glanced round automatically – it was a troop of Life Guards. The officer in charge was a young boy with a fair moustache. I swayed and ran to a seat and sat with my face in my hands while waves of shame and humiliation washed over me. Gerald – Gerald who had died when the war was young and heroic, Gerald who had stood in the moonlit garden at Hatton and told me, ‘There is not, and never has been, any woman but you. And there never will be.’ Gerald had loved me, and yet here was I now, behaving like a bitch on heat – besmirching his memory and soiling the girl he had honoured.
I sat there for a long time, my mind in turmoil. Then I walked to the Stanhope Gate and took a cab to Signor Bianchi’s studio. He did not seem surprised to see me. ‘Ah, Lady Helena – you’re back. Good. Let’s hear some scales.’
I sang very badly; my voice was rough and cracked on the high notes. He held out his hand, ‘Your cigarettes, please.’ I handed them over and he threw the whole lot, silver case and all, into the empty grate. Then he said, ‘You have a lot of work to do. Come back at this time tomorrow.’
As soon as I got in at Cadogan Place I went to the morning room and sat down in front of the piano.