Pips had been staying with Milly and Paul for over a week. A joint funeral had been arranged in a church as near to where they lived as possible that was still undamaged by the bombing. They were to be buried side by side.
‘George once told me that he didn’t need to be taken to where his first wife is buried. I know this is what he would have wanted.’ Her face was bleak. ‘Bless him, he didn’t expect to be buried at the same time as his daughter. It’s so sad, isn’t it?’
‘Pips, darling . . .’ Milly was on edge. ‘There’s something I have to ask you and I’m not finding it easy.’
‘Oh phooey,’ Pips said, finding some of her old spirit. ‘You can talk to me about anything, Milly. You should know that by now.’
‘All right – yes – but it’s about Mitch, you see.’
Levelly, Pips said. ‘What about him?’
‘He – um – would like to come to the funeral, but he’s not sure if you’d want him there.’
Pips stared at her. ‘Of course I would. He’s our friend.’
Milly relaxed visibly. ‘Oh, that’s all right, then. I’ll send word to him.’
Puzzled, Pips said, ‘Why would he think that?’
‘Well, because . . .’ Milly floundered again. ‘He’s always had this “thing” about you and . . .’
Pips actually laughed aloud. ‘Oh, that nonsense. I thought all that was over long ago.’ Her smile faded. ‘Although I have to admit, George was always a little – what shall I say – wary, when Mitch was around. But from what I’ve heard, Mitch has a string of girlfriends.’
‘Yes, he has, but, Pips, darling, he’s never married one of them, now has he?’
The Maitland family insisted that they would come down to London to attend the joint funeral, though Pips begged them not to attend. ‘The bombing is less now than it was – ironically since the night they were killed – but no one knows when it might start up again,’ she said. Now she was telephoning home each evening. ‘George wouldn’t have wanted you to put yourselves in danger.’
‘We’ll stay at a hotel somewhere on the outskirts and get a taxi in,’ Edwin said firmly. ‘Can you recommend anywhere?’
‘I’ll ask Milly and we’ll book you in. She and Paul know London so much better than even I do.’
‘And book two extra rooms for Daisy and Johnny, won’t you? Daisy rang here last night. They’re coming.’
‘What about Luke?’
‘Daisy’s been in touch with him, but he can’t get leave as George isn’t classed as a close relative.’
‘Understandable, I suppose,’ she murmured. ‘All right, I’ll do as you ask and let you know the details.’
The day of the funeral was foggy and damp but there was a large number of mourners.
‘There was a huge piece in the paper about him and I think there are quite a few old army colleagues here as well as people he now works with,’ Pips told her family as she met them outside the church. ‘He was always well liked. In fact, six serving soldiers from his old regiment are acting as pall bearers and I’ve chosen his favourite hymns and music and Matthew’s chosen the part of the service that will concentrate on Rebecca. Now, we’d better go in. We’re sitting on the right-hand side, Matthew’s friends on the left. Sadly, he has no family to support him. Father, Mother – will you sit either side of me?’
‘Of course, my darling,’ Edwin said, putting her hand through his arm, whilst Henrietta walked beside her.
It was a long service as both George and Rebecca were given a full service and glowing tributes were paid to both of them.
They emerged at last into the dank weather for the committal and then walked to a nearby pub where Pips had arranged for refreshments. Not everyone was able to stay; the army personnel excused themselves, citing pressure of duty, and only one or two of George’s colleagues from the War Office stayed. Rebecca’s nursing friends surrounded Matthew and one or two of his colleagues from the Foreign Office stayed too.
Fortified by the company of her family, Pips found she was able to speak to each and every one of those still present. She hugged Daisy and Johnny, acting as if he was already part of their family.
Watching, Robert raised his eyebrows and murmured to Alice, ‘It looks as if we were right. They were holding hands throughout the service.’
‘Not much escapes you, my darling, does it?’ Alice murmured.
‘Not where Daisy’s concerned, no.’
At last Pips found herself facing Mitch.
‘It was good of you to come,’ she said simply. ‘Thank you.’ She reached out to take his hands into hers, but then noticed that both his hands were bandaged.
‘Whatever happened to you?’
‘Oh – er – nothing much,’ he said awkwardly, trying to hide them behind his back.
‘It doesn’t look like “nothing much”,’ she began, but Mitch interrupted her.
‘I’m so sorry about George, Pips. He was a fine soldier and an even better man.’
Pips felt the lump in her throat that had been threatening all day grow larger, but she was determined not to cry.
‘He was,’ she said huskily.
Mitch lingered for a few moments, but the silence between them now was strained. ‘I must go,’ he said. ‘But if there’s anything you need, Pips, Milly knows where to find me.’
‘Oh Mitch, don’t . . .’ she began, but already he was hurrying away, weaving through the throng towards the door. As he reached it, however, an imperious voice stopped him. ‘Mitch Hammond? I hope you weren’t going without a word to me.’
He turned slowly. ‘Mrs Maitland,’ he murmured and, unable to lie to this woman whom he admired so much, he said, quite truthfully, ‘I’m afraid I must plead guilty to that. I – I’m not sure I should even be here.’
‘Of course you should. You are a good friend to Pips.’ Her piercing eyes seemed to read his thoughts as she added softly, ‘I understand exactly how you feel – and why – but believe me, that is not entering Pips’s head. Not today.’
‘Of course not. I – wouldn’t want it to.’
‘Give it time, Mitch. She’ll need all her friends over the next few weeks and months. Just be there for her.’
His voice cracked a little as he said, ‘Always, Mrs Maitland. Always.’
Then he turned and left abruptly. Pips’s mother was far too astute for his comfort.
Henrietta watched him go with narrowed eyes. ‘Now,’ she murmured to herself, ‘I wonder just how he injured his hands so badly? And who, I wonder, could tell me?’
As several of the mourners began to leave, Henrietta sought out Paul. ‘Is Philippa going home with you or coming up to Lincolnshire with us?’
He shook his head. ‘She wants to get back to her work. She says it’s the best thing for her.’
‘Actually, knowing her as I do, I agree.’ Henrietta glanced fondly across the room to where Milly and Pips were deep in conversation. ‘Your wife has been wonderful, Paul. Everyone should have a friend like Milly. Tell me, do you know how Mitch came to damage his hands?’
‘Um – yes, I do.’
‘And?’ she prompted.
He sighed. ‘He’ll kill me for telling you.’
‘I doubt that. Go on.’ Henrietta was not a woman to be denied an answer.
‘He was one of the first on the scene that night. You know that he is an air-raid warden in that area?’ She nodded and he went on. ‘I found him still there after several hours, still searching the debris, tearing at it with his bare hands – almost like a madman.’
‘Milly mentioned that he was still digging long after the other rescuers had left, but I hadn’t realized why. He was searching for her,’ Henrietta murmured softly. ‘For Philippa. He thought she was under the rubble.’
Paul nodded then begged, ‘Please don’t tell her. He’d be mortified.’
‘No, I understand. Today is not the time to be told something like that, but if she ever asks me about it, Paul, I will not lie to her.’
Solemnly, Paul said, ‘I wouldn’t expect you to, Mrs Maitland.’
The days and weeks following the funeral for George and his daughter were difficult for Pips, but work was her salvation. Being away from London helped and she was amongst people who, though they knew what had happened, had not known George and therefore were not a constant reminder.
She kept in touch with Matthew, but he too found that the demanding work at the Foreign Office was a blessing.
The weeks passed by and the shock and the acute pain of loss began to lessen, just a little. Pips, always an optimist, tried to think about all the wonderful times they’d shared and how blessed she’d been in the quiet peace of her marriage to George. She still wore the brooch he’d given her as a tribute to the gentle man who’d loved her so dearly. She buried herself in the work which, she now guessed, George, in his concern for her safety, had engineered for her. Once again, she had reason to be grateful for his love, for not only was she away from the dreadful bombing, but also she loved the work at Bletchley. It stretched her mind, was all-consuming and the world outside faded away. Now, more than ever, it was exactly what she needed.