Flora Garvie stood on the cliff top gazing down at the Mediterranean, glimmering like frayed silk. The daylight was fading now as the sun set over the horizon.
‘For heaven’s sake, Flo, don’t stand so close to the edge,’ warned Maudie Wallace, hovering behind her. Her friend meant well by visiting so soon, but Flora needed space to be alone with her grief.
‘I’m fine, don’t fuss,’ Flora snapped. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? So blue, so calm, and the sun is like a golden ball.’ The lightness and colours soothed her dry eyes but she felt thirsty. The stash of sedatives she had hoarded gave her dreamless sleep, helping to calm her spirit, but they also dried her mouth.
Maudie strode ahead along the path to the beautiful villa with its pink sugar-almond stucco walls and pretty terrace draped with foliage, now a convalescent home for sick nurses and other medical staff.
I must be getting better, Flora thought as they walked back to the villa. Colours were brightening, no longer dull and grey. Even at this time of year, the villa was full of sunlight, with its open windows, lush oriental carpets and the kind of antique furniture seen only in the best houses in Glasgow. Her bedroom was palatial, with an en-suite bathroom with a roll-top bath. The December warmth was comforting to the invalids. It was as if the war had touched nothing here; only the odd sightings of crippled men with sticks staggering out on their constitutional and a posse of basket chairs catching the last rays of daylight served as a reminder. As she sat amongst the last of the bougainvillea, her former life seemed like a far-off dream. It filled her with guilt to think that other nurses must be taking her place while she was surrounded by such luxury. She must return north so some other worn-out VAD could experience this, too. The worst cases stayed here for weeks or months and sometimes their next posting would be a suitable asylum or discreet home for broken nurses whose hold on reality slipped away into a nightmare of hallucination or self-harm.
That could have been me, she sighed, but for the eagle eyes of Sister and the MO. Exhaustion from night and day duty on the ambulance trains takes many forms. In her case the inability of her septic finger to heal had weakened her very core. Now from her balcony she stared out over the bay, empty of all feeling. Where was the girl who had been so full of hope and energy? She slouched against the cushions of her lounger. I feel like a sick war horse. The memory of those deserted beasts, left to rot or shot by the sides of the railway tracks, haunted her. Why am I feeling so useless?
Flora lay back in the chair, the walk back along the cliff path had exhausted her. She must fight this sloth and find the fighting spirit lost somewhere in the hospital tents of Flanders.
An hour later she was woken by a knock. ‘Only me!’ Maudie shouted. ‘Time for afternoon tea.’
It was good of Maudie to give up some of her precious leave to come here to chivvy her up. She’d found a smart pension close by and was in no hurry to head home. ‘Had a letter from my chum, Olive. She’s coming down to join us. Won’t that be fun?’
Flora nodded more out of duty than enthusiasm. Trust Olive Buckle to barge in on their reunion but it would be mean to deny Maudie’s chum some Riviera sunshine.
‘And talking of fun, there’s a notice downstairs inviting you to a musical soirée at the officers’ hotel up the road tonight. We are their guests, sounds rather jolly. All the nurses were deciding what to wear, until Matron announced it was strict uniform code. Come along, they’ve got some super pastries in the Conservatory.’
‘I need a bath,’ Flora replied, knowing she was not ready to join the others yet.
Sinking into the warm tub, sprinkled with perfumed bath salts, was one of the most luxurious ways to relax. After years of hospital stink, washing in freezing tents, never feeling clean, this was a time to shut out the world and soak away the glums. She loved the privacy, the scents of vanilla, rose and lavender. She dunked her hair, rinsing it with a cold tea and rosemary concoction, drying it as best she could. Now it was cut shorter it dried quicker but still must be hidden under her cap.
Maudie had made herself at home. Being a senior nurse now, she knew just how hard their lives had been. Flora dressed quickly and went to join Maudie, finding her scoffing some nibbles laid out on the drawing room table. Flora had found eating difficult when she first arrived, used as she was to skipping meals and snacking on the run. Now she was tasting flavours again, feeling the sensations at the back of her throat without gagging. She was looking forward to a large glass of Bordeaux with their evening dinner. Her appetite was returning at last; the sea air, the view, the rest calming her troubled spirit.