The Christmas party was in full swing in the large drawing room of Rose Villa. All the nurses were laughing at each other’s makeshift costumes; girls dressed as tommies, footballers, Christmas fairies with tinsel wings, wise men and shepherds. Even Matron had made an effort to disguise herself. The proposed afternoon tea had grown into a full-scale party so there had been a flurry of sewing and borrowing. ‘Olive will come as a pirate,’ Maudie had announced. ‘I’m going as an Egyptian mummy wrapped in bandages.’
‘All I’ve got is a silk dressing gown,’ said Flora.
‘If you pile up your hair, put a knitting needle through it and whiten your face with powder, wrap a scarf like a sash with a bow, you can go as a Japanese geisha,’ Maudie suggested.
Earlier in the day the nurses had been busy making presents for each other: Dorothy bags full of soaps and chocolates, embroidered handkerchiefs sent from England, little bits of home to give cheer and hope. In town, Flora found a beautifully shaped bottle of perfume for Maudie, who adored the scent of roses, and lace-edged hankies for the others in the group. She even bought a fine cigar to give to Kit Carlyle. It was going to be a memorable evening and she wanted to thank him for taking the trouble to escort them around the coast.
It was strange how she kept coming back to the sight of Kit walking into the waves, knowing she just had to chase after him. He was so much more interesting than she recalled back home. She had snuck into the service where he was preaching and found his sermon thought provoking, by no means dull. She was hoping he would come to their gathering tonight. Would he ever wear the kilt again? She hoped so.
I shouldn’t be thinking about Kit in this way, she reflected. It was making her cheeks blush. Now it was time to return to her tasks.
The sickest nurses were still confined to barracks, busy making paper chains. Flora felt a fraud as her poisonous finger was healing well, her weight had increased and her appetite was almost back to normal. The camaraderie made her sad at the thought of leaving to return to Scotland. Would there ever be such a time in her life again?
Christmas in this lovely villa felt like a special gift – to be waited on hand and foot was such a luxury that most of the nurses would never forget it. There wouldn’t be snow or ice skating on the lake, or a winter in the hills, but they would create their own special time.
The villa was decorated with greenery and berries and a Christmas tree bedecked with little gifts. Cook made mincemeat for the pies which sent a wonderful smell of spices up the stairs. This will be the first Christmas of peace, Flora thought, sewing up the sashes of lavender into little pouches to pin on the tree. She was going to stay until after Christmas. She had seen nothing more of Kit since that episode on the beach. She hoped he would enter into the spirit of the Christmas celebrations – it was an important part of a padre’s duty – but he wasn’t your usual run-of-the-mill chaplain and his uncertainties worried her. He was no longer the young man full of firm convictions she recalled in Glasgow but then neither was she so sure of her beliefs.
The officer contingent arrived in good spirits with bottles of wine and Christmas cheer. Flora searched for Kit but he wasn’t among them. Maudie and Olive, dressed to the nines, mingled happily but Flora felt flat. Why hadn’t he come? Was he avoiding her?
‘Come on, Flo, it’s time to sing carols,’ Maudie shouted. ‘You look like you lost a bob and found a tanner… Cheer up, might never happen!’
Then, to her relief, she saw him in the doorway and her heart leapt with excitement. He was staggering under an enormous box wrapped in festive paper.
‘The padre’s here at last… Bring it over,’ said a young captain leaning on a stick.
Kit put the box on to the table. ‘This is from us to you, with compliments of the season. Matron Burke, will you do the honours?’
Matron tore off the wrapping to reveal a basket of fruit and nuts, chocolates, a fancy card and bottles of champagne. Everybody clapped and cheered and Miss Burke blushed. ‘We thank you most heartily,’ she said. ‘But we must share it with you.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Kit. ‘Many of us would not be here but for all your good work.’
‘So now let the party commence,’ added the young captain.
‘Can we have a reel?’ the officers begged Matron.
Miss Burke hesitated. ‘Oh, just this once. It’s not usual but it is Christmas,’ she replied.
As if anticipated, someone produced a wax record to put on the gramophone, the carpet rug was lifted, furniture shifted and the music began. It was Strip the Willow, girls on one side, men on the other as they skipped arm in arm then under the arches of arms.
Flora found herself smiling with Kit as they danced. His eyes never left her face and her heart thumped in her chest. As their hands clasped together something strange was happening in her body. She did not want the dancing to end, but end it must. The buffet was ready in the dining room and then the piano lid was raised so singing could begin.
It was later, when the men were ushered out into the starlit night, that Kit hung back whispering, ‘I’ll be walking back on the beach. Can you meet me there?’
Flora shook her head. ‘You know I can’t. It’s not allowed.’
‘Please find an excuse. I’d like to talk more.’
‘What about?’
‘Can’t you guess?’ He touched her hand briefly as if by accident. ‘I’ll be waiting for you down by the steps.’
‘But I can’t,’ Flora said, without conviction. She saw again that war-weary look in his eyes and knew she must find a way. It was Olive and Maudie who gave her an excuse as they strolled hand-in-hand into the darkness.
‘Wait, wait… I think my friend’s left her bag… I’ll just catch them up so don’t lock the door,’ she said to a nurse standing by the door. Flora made to follow them down the path, and then turned down the steps that led to the beach, knowing Kit would be waiting.
‘You came!’
‘I can’t stay long. What is it you want?’
‘Flora, why were we never friends in Glasgow?’
‘That was ages ago, before… we were just young kids.’ She paused. ‘Before the train accident and Fergus and before we grew weary of war.’ She looked into his face. How could she have ever thought Kit to be standoffish? His eyes were so sad, his once auburn hair sprinkled with white, his face etched with lines and marked by the scar where shrapnel had hit him. Suddenly a surge of love and pity for this brave man, aged before his time, flooded over her. Her hand went to his cheek and she touched the scar tissue. In that brief gesture, something burst within her, warmth flooded her heart as his hand covered hers.
‘Dear, dear Flora,’ he said, holding her so tight she could feel the beat of his heart, the scent of his carbolic soap, the tobacco on his uniform and the whisky on his breath.
‘What happened to you being teetotal?’ she whispered.
‘A man must warm his throat and numb his mind, to steady his nerves,’ he replied. ‘The laddies looked to me for courage and confidence even though I was often quaking in my boots, knowing any moment could be our last.’
‘But you came through.’
‘If you can call it that. What would my parish make of me now?’
‘Muriel will understand.’
‘Do you think so? I don’t. She’s a stranger to me now. I’m not who I was.’
‘None of us are. We live with ghosts. None of it was our choosing,’ Flora said.
Suddenly words were no longer enough as they walked arm in arm in the darkness, hearing the sea lapping on the shore. Flora was so very late now but nothing mattered as they clung to each other for comfort.
‘We had some good times, friendships made and lost. Remember the tennis party in Kildowie when you didn’t want to be my partner?’ Kit said, his arm around her waist.
‘We were young and sure of ourselves,’ Flora sighed.
‘What are we now?’ Kit said, turning back towards the promenade.
‘I don’t know, just us, stripped of all pretensions, tired, lonely at times. You know, I really must go. If Matron Burke catches me…’
Kit held her tight. ‘Would you mind if I kissed you?’
She smiled, putting a finger on his lips before leaning towards him in an embrace. They clung together, drawing strength from each other. Flora was shocked by the power of this sensation.
‘Let me see you back safely.’
‘No, we mustn’t be seen together.’
‘We must meet again… I have to see you again.’
‘There’s Muriel to consider. I can’t do this.’
‘Muriel’s not here. Please, Flora.’
‘There’s another choir rehearsal, we can meet there,’ she whispered before she fled back towards Rose Villa, her heart pounding with fear and excitement, his kiss still warm on her lips.
*
Kit strode back to the hotel in confusion. How had he ever thought Fergus’s sister a spoilt brat? The woman before him was like an image of himself, wounded, exhausted, no longer sure of the world around her. Hers was a strange sort of beauty, her body was thin, yet strong from all her nursing. He had known nurses in the dressing stations and seen the strength and comfort they gave to men. Their courage and calm in the face of appalling mutilations was something he would never forget. In Flora’s eyes he saw the sadness of losses she could not control, but when she reached out and touched him, it was as if she lit a fire within him.
Flora was a reminder of home, her accent reminding him of happier days, singing with Muriel round the piano, strolling in Kelvingrove, playing tennis on Kildowie House lawn; those never to be forgotten days of youthful innocence.
Flora had been tempered by the refining fire of suffering. She reminded him of something he had forgotten existed: a yearning for physical touch and for pleasure. He must see her again, to draw strength from her. She was bringing him back to life. Then he thought of Muriel waiting in the minister’s parlour, full of plans for their future together. Oh, Muriel…
His euphoria burst like a punctured tyre. How the hell could he return to her now? She was no longer real to him. Her image had faded long ago. This place was real enough: the sea, the hills, the beauty, and here was Flora Garvie. She was all that mattered to him now.