Chapter Nineteen

September 1941

It was a different sort of get together. A different sort of party. It was subdued. It was awful. Thank God it wasn’t going to be a weekend thing. Stella didn’t think she could cope with it beyond a day.

‘Do you miss him dreadfully?’ Veronica gazed drunkenly at Stella, a cigarette dangling from her fingertips, an empty glass on the ground next to her. A good number of champagne bottles remained in the Earl’s wine cellar, but Stella had still smuggled the stuff out today, just in case he raged at her. She couldn’t deal with that at the moment either, she really couldn’t.

They were sitting in the Spa area, but it was no longer summer. It was autumn, and the leaves were turning and the wind was becoming chilly. None of them wanted to so much as dip a toe into the dirty water of the pool. Stanley, the lad who looked after the pool and kept it clean and filtered and free of leaves, had joined up along with most of the young men on the estate. Stella didn’t want to think about how few of them might come back. The war memorial in the village stood like an omen; it seemed as if it was just waiting to have its faces filled with another lost generation of Hartsford men. The female staff were disappearing too – to farms or to the forces themselves, or to do nursing. Some had even moved to the towns to work in the factories.

It had made Stella realise how privileged she had really been, and how much everybody had done for her. She spent more time in the kitchens now, helping the cook to prepare meals and learning how to spin out a ration book to feed the family. She’d had to take on other domestic chores as well, and she’d done it without question. A place the size of Hartsford Hall didn’t keep itself clean and tidy and the firewood didn’t bring itself in from the log store.

Stella was conscious of exactly how much her life had already changed and how it would change again – and not, she was certain, for the better. Thoughts kept her awake at night, staring into the darkness, seeing Rob’s face every time she closed her eyes. She was also horribly aware that she would need to become even more independent and that she would have to do it very, very soon. It made her curl into a little protective ball under the bedcovers as she soaked her pillows with silent, hopeless tears.

The people left behind were making the best of it, but everywhere in the horribly quiet village were sad, haunted faces when the masks dropped and you really looked around you. Clusters of Land Girls could be spotted out and about as well, their distinctive khaki dungarees marking them out, their accents – Cockney, Northern, Black Country, anywhere you could think of – chiming in the tiny streets of Hartsford as they dashed out on errands or bought themselves a rare treat at the little bakery. They came in from the neighbouring villages and the Hartsford Home Farm itself. As the weeks wore on, Stella also fell into the habit of popping down to the Home Farm to help them out. She was tired of feeling so useless, and felt she had lost all control of her future. The hard physical work at least made her think less about Rob and ensured she finally fell into an exhausted sleep, so deep that there was no room for his beautiful eyes to invade her dreams.

‘Miss whom?’ Stella asked bitterly. ‘Which one of our friends do you mean?’ She stared at the big gates of the estate, as if Rob would come swaggering through them, smiling and clutching his latest sketch book or notebook. He’d toss his head back, and his hair would flop across his forehead and he’d raise his arm in greeting. Or he’d appear like he had done that last time, in his slate blue uniform and grab her wrists through the gate and they’d never let each other go.

But never again.

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’ Helen smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The tragic telegram they had all dreaded had come about Anthony – ‘killed in action … deepest condolences … commend him for his bravery etc etc’ – and the pain was still raw when the news had filtered through about Rob.

‘He had to go one better than us.’ Oscar sat in his wheelchair, his fingers tapping restlessly on the arm rests. ‘I lost my bloody legs. He – got lost.’ He laughed shortly and reached down for his own drink. ‘The bugger’ll reappear, you know. He will.’

Stella shook her head slowly. She still found it hard to acknowledge Oscar’s disability. If she looked him straight in the eye, it wasn’t so bad. But she simply could not watch him manoeuvre himself around slowly and awkwardly, his face set in pain and concentration. Oscar – the best dancer out of the lot of them. War was simply horrid.

Stephen sat next to Veronica, their shoulders almost touching. He leaned towards her and lit his cigarette from hers. Stella saw the slight shake of his hands. He never talked about his experiences. It was enough for them to gather that he, Anthony and Oscar had all been together when it happened. He had been medically discharged too, but nobody was quite sure why.

He reached into his pocket and, his hands shaking even more, pulled out a pillbox. He knocked two of the pills out into his palm, and one bounced off and rolled away. Without a word, Veronica leaned down and retrieved it. She gave it back to him and he popped them into his mouth and washed them down with the dregs of his champagne.

It wasn’t the same. It certainly wasn’t the same.

‘I don’t know if he will come back.’ Stella was numb, unfeeling. He was only supposed to be Missing in Action, but she couldn’t feel that he was alive at all. She couldn’t feel anything. Numb. Just numb.

‘Dear Stella.’ Oscar’s face twisted into a grimace of a smile. ‘I hope he does come back for you. Hate for you to be left on the shelf, old thing. Could quite fancy being the better half of a Lady, myself, come to think of it.’ He was trying to make a joke and she loved him for it.

Stella smiled. ‘Oh, my darling Oscar. You think I could fight Rosie for you? She’d win every time.’

Rosie was currently staggering over to the changing rooms to find more wine, her blonde, fiercely pin-curled hair now dishevelled. She was stepping very, very carefully into the building in case the doorway suddenly shifted. She hadn’t left Oscar’s side all evening. And her eyes had never left him either.

Oscar dipped his head and his round face coloured, but Stella could see his smile widen. She leaned across and patted his hand. It was thin and cold.

‘I swear,’ she told him. ‘Just ask her, for God’s sake. Just ask her.’

She moved away from him and huddled up, pulling her legs up towards her and hugging them.

Oh, Rob.

We’re like the stars – we’re forever, until we die. Maybe we’ll last even longer.

She looked over the pool and away across towards the gates. She narrowed her eyes and could almost swear she saw two figures there, holding each other, leaning towards each other and kissing. She blinked and they were gone.

She took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any. ‘Oh – I’ve got some other news.’

‘What’s that then?’ Lois leaned over to Mary and lit her cigarette from her sister’s, then blew a smoke ring in Stella’s direction.

Stella pulled a face and waved it away. ‘I’m bloody well knocked up. Hurrah!’ She began counting off questions on her fingers ‘Yes. It’s Rob’s. Yes. I’m sure. Yes. It was last time he was home. No. He doesn’t – didn’t – know. No. I have no clue what I’m going to do about it. Anything I haven’t covered?’ She looked around at the group of friends with raised brows. ‘Anything? Anything at all? No? Good. So we’ll have no silly questions then. That makes it all so much easier.’

The silence hung heavily and desperately over the little group of friends as they stared, open-mouthed at her. The ash dropped off the end of Lois’ cigarette and a spark burned a tiny hole, unnoticed, in her precious new dress. There was very little money or material to waste on new dresses, and Stella even felt guilty about the fact she’d need a whole new wardrobe somehow to last her over the next few months.

She thought there could be nothing worse than having to announce that news to a group of stunned friends, in 1941, when she was twenty-five years old and one of her friends was dead and the father of her baby had disappeared somewhere in the midst of a bombing raid.

Present Day

As Cassie stood wondering how she should respond to the scarf comment, a lorry came through the gates with a car following it. Aidan smiled as a slim blonde in a hi-vis jacket, jeans and safety boots got out of the car. ‘Here’s my site manager now.’

The woman was very attractive and Cassie saw an emerald engagement ring glinting on her finger as she paused, pointed towards the tennis courts and said something to a man twice her size. The man nodded and climbed into the lorry. He started the engine and Cassie covered her ears as it thundered past her.

The blonde turned and noticed Cassie, a smile breaking over her face. ‘Ah, you must be Lady Cassandra Aldrich? I’m Ms Novak. I’m sure Aidan has explained my role in the project?’ Her accent was lovely and Cassie couldn’t help but smile at her.

She held her hand out. ‘Please, just call me Cassie. Yes, Aidan’s explained it all.’

‘Very well. Cassie. Then you can call me Petra. It’s nicer, don’t you think?’

Cassie suddenly felt faint. The emerald ring glinted again and she couldn’t think of a sensible thing to say.

‘Petra. Lovely to meet you.’ It wasn’t. Not really. ‘Do you need Aidan to stay while the deliveries come? That’s a beautiful ring, by the way.’ She could have bitten her own tongue off. Good grief.

Petra laughed. ‘Thank you. Iain tells me I shouldn’t wear it for site work, but you know, he bought it for me and I like it, so why not? I tell him it’s insured and I’m not likely to be going close enough to a cement mixer for it to fall in. It’s fine.’ She grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

‘Iain?’

‘Yes.’ Petra nodded towards Aidan and smiled again. ‘But when one is engaged to the boss’s brother, one has to try and behave oneself at work. So we say nothing, yes? Anyway. Aidan is more of a nuisance at this stage. Please. Take him away. Today is about getting the deliveries in. Tomorrow we start the real work. If that’s okay with you?’

Cassie felt an incredible surge of joy. Petra was engaged to a guy called Iain. And she was Aidan’s mysterious site manager. The world seemed a lot, lot brighter suddenly. She cast a glance at the Spa and it flickered into life as it had been, so many years ago, then faded back to how it really was. She blinked and smiled. She’d had a glimpse of it in its heyday, and she had no doubt that it would look like that again very soon. ‘Wonderful! Thank you.’

She looked up at Aidan, who was already fastening his helmet on. ‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘Let’s not waste the day. I told you she wouldn’t mind. Where do you want to go?’

Cassie could feel the most enormous smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Petra was his brother’s fiancée – there was no need to hold back at all.

‘Aldeburgh!’ she said without hesitation. ‘Wait here until I get changed!’

Aidan laughed, his eyes dancing with mischief. ‘Don’t be too long.’ Then he leaned closer to her and whispered: ‘I might miss you if you take too long.’

Cassie thought her heart would burst with pleasure, and she ran as fast as she could back to her cottage. She didn’t want to waste one moment more.

Once they had reached Aldeburgh, Cassie felt her spirits lift immeasurably. The Living History weekend couldn’t be in better hands, she decided, and she was in one of her most favourite places ever. Back at the Hall, when she had returned to Aidan and her bike, clutching her helmet, the blue and white scarf had been tied intricately around the handlebars and she had laughed. ‘Have I got my own bunting, then?’

‘I think it adds a rather nice touch, don’t you?’

It had put her in an even better mood, and she had marvelled that was even possible.

And now, at Aldeburgh, Cassie stared out at the shingled beach as it sloped down to a hazy blue sea and smiled. ‘I’d like to live nearer the coast,’ she informed Aidan as she took her helmet off and tucked it into the box on the back of the bike. ‘But I’m afraid if I did that, I’d gorge myself so much on fish and chips in the first week I’d hate them for evermore.’

‘Impossible. I don’t think that would ever happen to me. I could live on them. In fact, do you want to get some now? We could take them to the Scallop.’ The Scallop was a sculpture on the beach – two massive, interlocking shells, that people could sit on, scramble on or simply view the sea from.

‘That sounds great,’ agreed Cassie. ‘Come on. I know just the place to get them.’

They took the fish and chips to the huge sculpture, as Aidan had suggested. Cassie was licking her fingers clean of salt and vinegar, sitting on the bottom scallop shell and watching the tide ebb and flow.

‘I like this sculpture,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I know some people don’t, but it’s a bit like the Louvre pyramid isn’t it? You either love it or you hate it.’

‘I like it too.’ Aidan looked up at the punched-out letters in the top shell and read the phrase out. ‘“I hear those voices that will not be drowned”. It’s from a Benjamin Britten opera, isn’t it?’

Cassie nodded and twisted so she too could see them. ‘Peter Grimes. It’s the one about the fisherman’s apprentice – a bit of a tragedy, as these things usually are. It was first staged just after VE Day. Britten lived here. I’ve never really liked opera, but I had to study a little of it for my degree. Sorry – for the degree I started. I ended up changing to a Business one instead to help Alex out.’ She pulled a face. ‘I quite like that phrase though. It sort of makes you think that certain people and certain voices live on somehow, no matter what happened to them. A bit like Robert Edwards and his poetry. Or Rob. I think I like him being called Rob better.’

‘He suits Rob, doesn’t he? It’s almost like he’s more real to me as “Rob”. It’s weird.’

Cassie smiled. ‘Perhaps he’s the one that makes you feel like that – he won’t be silenced. Some voices just speak to us mysteriously through the years.’

Aidan shivered a little. She might well be correct. ‘Oh! That reminds me.’ He pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. ‘It might be a good time to give you this. Your Apostrophe guy – I’ve been doing some research. I should have been doing the B&B plans, so we have to stay away from that hotel up there …’ He grinned as he pointed with the paper to a pale blue building on the harbour. ‘… but your man’s not so random as you might think.’

‘My Apostrophe Guy? I’d almost forgotten about him, with all the excitement of you coming to the Hall. I mean—’ She dipped her head and turned pink. ‘All the excitement of the renovation.’

Aidan smiled. ‘Yes, it’s been an exciting time. But even so, your Astrophel is not a man who should be forgotten – and not, may I add, someone who has been forgotten. I found this.’ He handed her the paper and Cassie unfolded it.

Cassie studied the lines Aidan had written down: Astrophel and Stella. A sequence of 108 sonnets and 11 songs relating to love and desire, probably composed in the 1580s by Philip Sidney. The names derive from the Greek words ‘aster’ (star) and ‘phil’ (lover), and the Latin word ‘stella’ meaning star. Astrophil or Astrophel is the star lover, and Stella is his star.

She looked up at Aidan. ‘This relates to Stella? Really?’

‘Looks like it. And just as importantly, it seems to relate to a particular poet who seemed to love her.’

‘Robert,’ she whispered. ‘Your Robert. Rob.’

‘I’d like to think so. In fact, it’s more than a possibility. Can you remember that I mentioned the quote on the picture? Reach for the star? That seems rather more relevant, does it not?’

‘But what was he doing with the picture? Why didn’t she have it?’

‘Maybe she did. Maybe she sent it back to him for some reason.’

‘The token of affection she returned to him!’ The pieces suddenly started to fit. ’I bet he joined the RAF after they’d had a falling out. He must be the “R” initial – he’s one of the boys she’s so lost without. And I bet he’s the one she’s most lost without.’

‘You’re betting an awful lot.’ Aidan smiled. ‘Is that the book you told me about, with her friends in?’

‘Yes. During the war, the numbers halved and the boys disappeared. When we get back, you can see it for yourself—’ She stopped. It was one thing getting excited about Stella’s book and wanting Aidan to come and see it. It was another assuming he would even want to do that. He’d be busy, he’d have work to attend to. He maybe wouldn’t want to spend any more time on the mysterious relationship. Perhaps he didn’t feel as strongly about it as Cassie was beginning to?

But it seemed she was wrong. ‘I’d love that.’ Then he coloured, just slightly. ‘I was wondering what excuse I could come up with to spend a little more time with you today.’

Cassie stared at him. ‘Well,’ she tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Really, you only had to ask me.’

‘And would the answer have been “yes”?’ he teased.

‘Of course the answer would have been “yes”. Now I know that Petra isn’t actually your girlfriend!’

‘You really thought that?’ He looked astonished, then laughed. ‘No. She’s my site manager and my brother’s fiancée. I’ve worked with her for years and known her even longer. Trust me. There’s never been any of that between us.’ He grinned, but then, suddenly, became serious. ‘And on that basis, I honestly thought Tom was your boyfriend. I stayed away because I didn’t want to cause any problems. I didn’t want to see you and know that you were taken. I couldn’t handle that.’

‘Truthfully? Aidan, I would have made up fifteen other projects if I thought I could drag you over to the Hall to work on them. It was the thought of Petra that was stopping me.’

Aidan laughed and shook his head. ‘What are we like? And what if,’ he continued, his voice suddenly softer and warmer – soft enough and warm enough to make her feel as if she was melting and dispersing into tiny pieces, into the shifting sand beneath her feet – ‘now we know better, I asked you for a kiss?’

Cassie caught her breath on a little ‘Oh’, and then her heart beating wildly, she smiled. ‘Why that would be a “yes” as well. You only have to ask.’

‘Then please may I kiss you?’

‘You may.’

He gave her one of his heart-breakingly gorgeous lop-sided smiles, and, without taking his eyes off hers, he leaned in to her and pulled her towards him and she didn’t resist – couldn’t resist. She put her arms around his neck, and pulled him down, surprising herself by the urgency she felt.

Their lips met, and she caught her breath as the electricity fizzed up and down her spine. His lips were warm and his kiss warmer, and she reached a hand up, tangling her fingers into the too-long hair that lay against his neck. She felt his arms slacken and then his hands were running up her arms, until he took hold of her face, one palm either side of it, and kissed her even more, and she thought she would absolutely die of pleasure, right there on Aldeburgh beach in full view of anyone who cared to watch.