Liam was in the library the next morning, not reading, but gazing absent-mindedly from the window and thinking about Georgina, when a messenger came looking for him.
‘For God’s sake smarten yourself up,’ he hissed, ‘you’ve got a visitor – a full bloody colonel from the War Office. What the hell have you been up to?’
He felt the blood rush hot into his face and then drain slowly, leaving a clammy chill in its wake. For several seconds, while his mind worked overtime, calculating and discarding facts and suppositions, he could not move. His companion from the ward nudged him, none too gently, and thrust a comb into his hand.
‘Here – rake that thatch of yours. And do up a few bloody buttons!’ He twitched at Liam’s jacket, glancing over his shoulder. ‘I’m sure he was following me down the stairs...’
An icy calm settled over Liam. The Colonel was supposed to be in Ireland, and whatever had brought him back and prompted this visit, it was hardly likely to be good news. And he had seen Georgina yesterday – thank God, not at the flat, but still...
Feeling like a man awaiting execution, he smoothed his hair, straightened his tie and slowly fastened his jacket. Vaguely aware of other men in the room, browsing along shelves, quietly reading, Liam took comfort in the thought that he could hardly be hauled over the coals in here; if the Colonel wanted to reduce him to the level of a naughty child, he would have to choose a different venue.
The thought was barely formed when the door opened, and for the first time he looked on Robert Duncannon knowing that he was his father.
It was a strange feeling. There was apprehension and a certain amount of dread, an involuntary knotting in the pit of his stomach, residue of the hate with which he had lived for so long; but there was, too, a sense of recognition. The last few days had opened Liam to so much, and he was aware now of things in himself that had their origins with this man and no other. It was fleeting, but it quelled the antagonism, leaving part of his mind free to register other things.
The past three years had left their mark. Robert Duncannon looked very different from the man Liam recalled. Hair that had been iron grey was now turned to silver, and he was noticeably thinner. But if the uniform and that loss of weight made him seem taller, it also struck Liam that he had lost his air of invincibility. Despite the marks of rank, he was a man like any other, not an ogre, not an enemy, but a human being as fallible as himself.
From his position against the window, Liam watched him stand for a moment, scanning every face; then he turned and their eyes met. Almost against himself, Liam came to attention, as did the man at his side; but then a slight smile softened those stern features, and the Colonel approached to extend a hand in friendly greeting.
‘Liam – how are you? It’s been a long time.’
As they shook hands, from a corner of his eye Liam was aware of a startled glance before his companion ducked away. Robert Duncannon seemed not to notice, but continued to clasp his son’s hand for a long moment. Had his life depended on it, Liam could not have spoken, and, like any good soldier, left it to his senior officer to suggest that they sit down and talk.
Even in those first seconds, although there was tension between them, it was apparent that there was no antagonism on his father’s side, and with Georgina at the forefront of his mind, Liam released a slow breath of relief. For a while, too, it seemed the visit was no more than a social one, an impulse long delayed by circumstance and pressure of work. It was almost credible. They talked of this and that, the weather, the war, Liam’s state of health, nurses in general and Georgina’s working hours in particular. As the coiled spring in Liam unwound, and he began to respond more naturally, his father gradually brought the conversation round to family and the real reason for his visit.
The news of Robin’s injury was put with tact and restraint; nevertheless, it was a shock. The lack of detailed information left him imagining too much.
‘Come on,’ Robert said briskly, ‘let’s take a walk outside. We can smoke, and that will do us both good, I think.’
It was a relief, anyway, to be moving. Hunched against a cold, easterly wind, the two men paced the gravel paths and smoked Robert’s cigars. The situation struck Liam as so unlikely that he wanted to laugh. There were very few men about, but when they came upon a couple of his ward-mates, having a quiet smoke in the shelter of the chapel wall, Liam could contain his amusement no longer.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he laughed, ‘but if anyone had told me I would be taking a walk in these grounds with a British army colonel, and smoking his cigars, I’d have thought they were mad.’
To his surprise, Robert laughed, too; and for a moment there was such closeness between them, they were almost like friends.
‘Considering our collective reputations,’ Robert remarked, ‘the situation does have its elements of farce. But I would hazard a guess,’ he added dryly, ‘that when you return to your friends, you may have to suffer for this meeting...’
‘Perhaps so. I shan’t mind it.’
‘No?’
Shrewd eyes looked him over, and Liam laughed again, ruefully this time. ‘I’ve suffered worse.’
‘Yes,’ his father softly remarked, ‘I’m sure you have.’
They walked for a while in silence, until Robert broke it with a suggestion that Liam might like to visit his brother once he was settled into a British hospital. ‘I know you’ve applied for home leave and been refused – but give it another week and apply again. By that time we should know what’s happening with Robin, and you may well be fit to travel, of course.’
‘I feel fit enough now.’
‘And to me you look it,’ Robert agreed. ‘But you know what these medical chaps are – like to hold the whip hand. If they still want to be awkward, I shall have to see what I can do – and if it comes to it,’ he added with smile, ‘I dare say we can always wangle some leave for Georgie, and get her to travel with you...’
Liam’s heart leapt, and he could not meet his father’s eyes. He was almost abrupt in his dismissal of the idea, and yet the thought of travelling with her, of spending two or three days in her company, filled him with guilty delight.
‘Well, we’ll see what transpires. I may even take some time off, too. I haven’t had any leave to speak of for the last couple of years...’
There was awkwardness, but it was mysteriously ironed out. Liam was granted 48 hours’ home leave, and released into the care of a trained nursing sister – Georgina – and her father, Colonel Duncannon.
Ready and waiting for them just before midday, Liam was subject to the kind of ribbing he had endured at the time of Robert’s first visit; and more than a few sneers. ‘It’s all right for some’, seemed to be the general tone of it, issued in varying degrees of envy. Although it set him apart from the others, he could tolerate that; what he could not ignore were the slanders heaped upon Robert Duncannon because of his rank. Liam was astonished at the level of anger they provoked in him; even more so to hear himself defending his father in much the same way as Robin had done some four months previously. Yet it was not that he saw him as being suddenly perfect – he was still aware of the other man’s shortcomings and an arbitrary manner that took little account of other people – but Robert Duncannon was his father, and Liam had accepted that, and it made all the difference in the world. He might still criticize the man himself, but he would not have others do so.
Of course, he could not admit to the relationship. As far as anyone else was concerned, they were uncle and nephew, and Georgina was still his cousin; but with her connections revealed, he was no longer teased about her devotion to him.
The journey north was a trial, however. They were alone in a First Class compartment, and with Georgina facing him, Liam was afraid of betraying the intimacy between them. He forced himself to focus on the Colonel. While he was happy to answer questions about Australia, talking about the war was a different matter. As a professional soldier, Robert Duncannon was keen to hear Liam’s first-hand accounts, especially of the Somme; only as Georgina pressed his arm did he notice that Liam was becoming distressed and change the subject.
After that, Liam spent much of the journey staring out of the window or pretending to be asleep. He was anxious about Robin and worried about the forthcoming meeting with his mother; but he kept thinking too about his last few hours at home, about reactions which had sent him fleeing to the far side of the world. Now the pain had gone, it all seemed so extreme.
He was surprised not to have been interrogated about that. In a subsequent meeting with his father at Queen’s Gate, the past had been referred to, but although Liam had steeled himself, the questions never came. Indeed, it was with uncharacteristic difficulty that Robert Duncannon broached the subject at all. And it seemed he had done so only in order to apologize.
‘We must all of us,’ Liam remembered him saying, ‘seem so inadequate – your mother, Edward and myself. And yet we only did what we thought was best at the time. Other than being totally frank with you all from the beginning – and given the circumstances, Liam, that was very difficult – I can’t see what else we might have done. None of it was intentional – and I know your mother well enough to say that she was only trying to protect you. She didn’t want you – any of you – to suffer the slur of illegitimacy. And whether it was right or not, Edward and I went along with that.
‘But still, I haven’t forgiven myself for calling on your mother that afternoon. I’ll be honest — I wanted to see her, and for no other reason than the pleasure of her company. But she was not pleased to see me, and ultimately, we argued. And that was the argument you overheard. I’m sorry. Believe me, I am truly sorry for that...’
And with a swift glance at his face, Liam had believed him. It was impossible not to. But in that moment he had dreaded any reference to the subject of that quarrel, and in order to deflect it, broke in with acceptance of that apology, and his own assurances that he understood.
For a moment he had endured a very searching glance, but the only questions that were asked were with regard to his mother. How did he feel about seeing her again, and had he forgiven her?
He had, of course. Having now added the sin of deceit to all his other crimes, Liam was no longer standing in judgment on even the smallest omission. The thing that still hurt was his blood tie with Georgina: without it, he could have loved her without deceit, taken her as his wife and looked forward to some kind of future. With her beside him, nothing else would have mattered. But – and his practical mind always came back to this – had his mother never met Robert Duncannon, he, Liam, might never have been born. And even if he had, his world and Georgina’s were so far removed, it was unlikely that they would ever have met. And try as he might, Liam could not regret the joy of her, would not willingly have lived without knowing that.
For much of the journey, his mind was a vortex of conflicting emotions, and the only thing that he was truly glad about was the absence of his other sister. Tisha had gone up to York the week before, but would be staying with Aunt Emily in Leeds while Liam was visiting. That, at least, was a blessing. He did not think he could have withstood her sharp eyes and tactless observations. Robert and Georgina planned to stay in town.
It was dark well before they approached their destination, and after what had seemed an interminable time, Liam was surprised to hear the guard shouting: ‘York — this is York — change here for Scarborough, Whitby, Harrogate...’
As those old, familiar names caught him, Liam rubbed at the window. The train slowed to a squeaking halt. Through the grime he could just make out dim lights and bobbing heads along the platform; then Robert lowered the window and hailed a porter, and Liam saw the bold sign on a vacant seat – York.
Home. It affected him more deeply than he would ever have believed. He took in the cast iron railings of the barrier, the wooden station-master’s office and the clock by the steps. It was after six, and that slow journey via sidings and wayside halts had taken five and a half hours. Cold, sooty air assailed his nostrils as he stepped down onto the platform; behind her father’s back, Georgina pressed his hand and he smiled at her, briefly.
They took a taxi to Harker’s Hotel, and, ignoring all protests, Robert paid the driver to take Liam on to Clementhorpe. ‘Nonsense,’ he declared, ‘we’re supposed to be looking after you – and if I thought you wanted our company, I’d have insisted on seeing you to the door.’
Liam was grateful. ‘I’ll see you both tomorrow, then?’
‘Yes, half-past ten – that should leave us time enough to get to Leeds and have something to eat before we go on to the hospital.’
They shook hands. For a second, Liam was nonplussed, wondering how to part from Georgina, but she squeezed the hand he held out to her and reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘Best of luck,’ she murmured, and waved as the taxi left the kerb.
In the gas-lit darkness, York seemed no different from the city he had left, but it disturbed him, nevertheless. Needing to find his emotional bearings, he dismissed the taxi by Skeldergate Bridge, and walked the last few hundred yards along the riverside. The scent of the river was the same, dank and cold, racing along with winter rains, carrying with it the mustiness of flour mills and sawn timber from warehouses on his right. Naked trees reached up into the night, and a chill wind increased the tension within him. Too soon, it seemed, those ancient elms gave way to a line of spear-like railings, railings that he had painted in that summer before the war...
It was too much. Shivering, he stopped to light a cigarette, absorbing the dark mass of the cottage against the night sky, two downstairs windows lit, and the half-perceived forms of shrubs beside the path. It seemed he had lived a lifetime since that summer dawn, changed beyond recognition from the boy he was then. What changes would he find within?
The kitchen curtains were not quite drawn. Caught by a movement, his eyes studied the gap. He moved close, paused by the railings, and, on an impulse, climbed over them, not trusting the gate. Edging carefully between the shrubs, he reached the side of the house and the path that ran round to the kitchen door. As he expected, the rear curtains were not drawn at all, and he could see his mother in profile, bent to the range. She looked anxious for a moment, closed the oven door, set down her cloth and pushed back a strand of hair. It was a gesture he remembered well. Flushed by the firelight glow, her face seemed just the same, the cheekbones a little more noticeable, perhaps, but she had not really changed at all.
A great wave of relief swept through him, releasing the tension, leaving him weak as a child. He leaned for a moment against the wall, eyes closed in silent gratitude; only as he moved did he realize that his lashes were wet. He brushed at them roughly and took a deep breath; like going over the top, this would have to be done quickly, or not at all. Passing close to the window, he tapped lightly on the door and then walked in.
Although he was expected, a look of incredulity swept over her. For a second she clung to the edge of the table, swaying a little; then, as he took a step towards her, she moved. He thought she was going to embrace him, but she stopped short about a yard away, stiffly, just looking at him, every conceivable emotion chasing across her features. Then she burst into tears, hiding her face as those great, heaving sobs racked her body.
‘Mother...’
Equally distraught, for a moment he was afraid to touch her, and when he did, she was so stiff in his arms he thought she would never unbend, never forgive him.
‘Please – don’t – I’m sorry...’ He kept repeating the words, over and over, while the harsh sobs shook him. She felt so small to him and fragile; he could feel the bones of back and shoulders hunched beneath his hands and it frightened him. He had never known her weep like this. To him she had always been so calm, so strong.
But just as he thought the sobs would never stop, they did. She hugged and kissed him, and hugged him again; her tears wet his face, but she was smiling, her sobs more like little laughs as she struggled for control. Liam hugged her to him then, burying his face against her shoulder, and for a full minute he wept like a child. She soothed and petted him, and he was vaguely aware of a door opening, then quietly closing again.
His mother sat him down in her chair, close to the range, and as he searched his pockets, handed him a handkerchief. ‘Here – take this – you always did lose every handkerchief I ever gave you...’
He laughed, weakly. ‘No, I have got one, somewhere...’ But he took the one she gave him, wiped his eyes and blew his nose, and everything was suddenly right, the kettle was on the hob, tea was being made, and his mother was smiling, telling him that she had made his favourite, a shin beef stew with lots of vegetables; the savoury dumplings were ready to go in...
‘Go in and see your Dad,’ she said, arranging things on a tray. ‘He came in a minute ago, but didn’t want to intrude. I’ll bring the tea.’
In Edward he did see changes, saw them instantly in pallor and slowness of movement as the older man rose to greet him. He was a year or two over sixty, and for the first time looked that and more. As they embraced, Liam was aware that time, for his adoptive father, was running out, and the awareness stabbed at him.
‘It’s so good to see you...’ There were a couple of betraying tears, brushed hastily away.
‘And you, Dad...’ For a while they just clasped hands and looked at each other. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, not quite as tough as I used to be – but all the better for seeing you!’
Liam glanced round. As he came in he had noticed the single bed, standing at the back of the room where Edward’s desk had always been.
‘Yes, it’s a damned nuisance, but we had to bring Tisha’s old bed down here for me to use. I don’t seem able to manage the stairs these days...’
That weakness evidently annoyed him, but in the next moment he was praising Louisa’s care, saying she should have been a nurse; and that despite the chronic wartime shortages, she worked wonders with fuel and food. ‘And she works so hard – out in the garden all weathers, digging and planting, hoeing out weeds. The way she goes at them, you’d think each one was a German with a gun!’ He laughed. ‘But she seems to thrive on it, I don’t know why.’
‘She always did love her garden,’ Liam said, smiling.
‘And you,’ Edward said. ‘She always loved you... I’m so glad you’ve come home...’
What threatened to be another emotional moment was saved by his mother’s arrival. The tea was sweet and strong, its freshness an exquisite pleasure after the stewed and adulterated brews he was used to; and although there were more vegetables than meat in the meal they shared later, it was the best food he had tasted in months.
Afterwards, they sat by the fire, talking, until Edward’s eyes began to droop; then Louisa boiled the kettle again and put hot-water bottles in all their beds, while Liam volunteered to do the dishes.
Once Edward was settled, the two of them sat on in the kitchen until well after midnight, discussing his illness and Robin’s wounds, and the girl to whom Robin had become quite seriously attached.
Liam remembered Sarah Pemberton well, a pretty girl of about his own age, with striking auburn hair. Before the war, Robin had been a particular friend of her brother, Freddie, but, like so many more, he was dead now, killed on the first day of the Somme. Robin had been writing to Sarah since he joined up – or rather, his mother pointed out dryly, she had been writing to him — but since his leave at Christmas, it had become more than just a casual friendship.
‘She’s been visiting him, which I’m glad about, because I haven’t been able to get to Leeds more than once a week. With your Dad not so well, it’s been difficult, but they say they’ll be moving Robin over here, to the military hospital, once he’s a bit better.’
‘And how is he? What do the doctors say about that knee of his?’
‘Well, he’s made good progress, apparently – he’s had a couple of operations already, as you know, but it’s healing well. He won’t lose the leg,’ she added tersely, ‘although he may never walk properly again.’
‘If you ask me,’ Liam remarked, ‘that can only be a good thing. If he can’t march, Mother, the army won’t want him back.’
‘But -’
‘But nothing – he’s done his bit, he’s been in it since the very beginning, and after what his lot went through, he’s lucky to be alive. But if he could march with the best of them, Mother, they’d drag him back tomorrow.’ With anger inside him, Liam shook his head. ‘Just be thankful.’
‘I am. I am thankful – most particularly to have you here, and in one piece.’ She pressed his hand. ‘I was so afraid – so afraid...’ Unable to finish the sentence, she looked away and dabbed hurriedly at her eyes.
‘I’m all right,’ he said gently, ‘I’m the lucky one.’ With a confidence he did not feel, he added: ‘If I could come through Gallipoli without a scratch, then I can survive anything. The proverbial bad penny...’
His grin provoked a smile. ‘You can be as bad as you like – just stay alive!’
But that made him think of Georgina, and his eyes slid away. His mother knew of her occasional visits, and had expressed her gratitude as well as concern. She could imagine just how wearing were the journeys, particularly on top of hard work and other responsibilities. It was a pity, she said, that Tisha could not have stirred herself more often. But then came another surprise: it seemed his sister was expecting a baby, which in his mother’s eyes excused much. The news was clearly a pleasure, so the topic of Tisha and her husband and the forthcoming child occupied them for some time.
But just as he was yawning and saying that he really must go to bed, his mother turned to the subject he had been trying to avoid all evening. After a brief enquiry as to the arrangements for next day, she said: ‘By the way, I do hope you managed to get over that – well, that fancy you had for her once. You did, didn’t you?’
She almost caught him off-guard. Only because he had been expecting something like that, did he manage a light laugh. ‘Oh, Mother – that was years ago. I’ve known a lot of girls since then.’
There was relief and approval in her smile. ‘Well, I thought you must have, but I had to ask.’ With a teasing twinkle in her eye, she asked: ‘Nobody serious, then?’
Liam stood up, taking their cups to the sink. ‘If it’s marriage you’re talking about – no. Time enough for that when the war’s over.’
Edward had been to the hospital to visit Robin the week before; the tiresome journey and the fact that several were going made him glad to bow out this time. Or so he said. Had he been able, Liam knew he would have gone to see Robin any day of the week. But it was neither practical nor sensible. Aware that he had so little time in York, Liam promised to spend the evening at home, and found himself focusing upon the leave he would have once he was declared fit.
‘It may be no more than a week, I don’t know, but I should get something – I haven’t had leave as such since I joined up in 1914. Anyway,’ he promised, ‘whatever I get, I’ll spend here, with you.’
Edward tried to be dismissive, but he was grateful, Liam could see that. It reminded him most painfully of years that he had to make up to them both.
At last, his mother was ready. She was wearing a hat and coat that Liam did not recognize, not fashionable by Tisha’s standards, but elegant. As she pulled on her gloves and checked the furl of her umbrella, he thought how attractive she looked; his comment produced a little flush of pleasure from her and a smile from Edward.
Before they set off, Edward cupped her face between his hands and kissed her tenderly. ‘Give Robin my love. Tell him I’ll try to see him soon...’
She hugged him, kissed his cheek. ‘I will, dear. Have a rest this afternoon – we were all up too late, last night.’
Touched by their affection for one another, for the first time Liam viewed them from an adult perspective, and never doubted that as a child he had been lucky to have them both as parents. The pain he had nursed for four long years burned in his chest and he had to turn away. It seemed so selfish now.
On the way to the hotel, it struck him that it would be the first time he had seen his mother and Robert Duncannon together since that afternoon before the war. He was the one person she had not talked about last night, and Liam wondered what she felt for him now. It occurred to him that perhaps she was suffering a certain embarrassment, trying to compose herself before meeting her ex-lover under the eyes of her son. Just as he was trying to compose himself before meeting Georgina. The irony of it brought forth a smile as well as a sigh.
If there was any constraint on his mother’s part — and Liam was far from sure that there was — then Robert Duncannon was singularly unafraid of showing his affection. He kissed her warmly on the cheek, held her for a moment, and smiled at her as though she were the only woman in the world. When he told her that she was looking wonderful, her response was not a blush but a wry smile; and a refusal to take his arm. Far from being put out, Robert simply laughed.
They seemed to know each other very well, which, given the years between, rather surprised Liam. Robert could not resist trying to tease and charm her, while she, with the benefit of past experience, constantly strove to put him in his place. Something about this exercise amused them both, so that together they seemed so much younger, and more alive.
Liam thought it extraordinary, until he recalled that other occasion, when he had been angry and jealous, rubbed ail the wrong way because of a vibrancy between them that he simply did not understand. Now, he saw that it was an involuntary thing, and was no longer embarrassed. He was even a little amused by it himself.
Walking behind, he glanced enquiringly at Georgina, and saw that her thoughts echoed his. ‘Have they always been like this?’
She suppressed a smile. ‘Not always, no. But when Father is happy, he can charm the birds from the trees...’
‘Yes,’ Liam murmured dryly, ‘I’m beginning to understand that.’
‘And when he isn’t...’ For a moment she left the sentence unfinished, then glanced up at Liam. ‘You haven’t seen the other side of him. When the mood’s on him, he can be impatient, overbearing — quite insufferable.’ She shook her head. ‘So different from Edward.’
Liam nodded. ‘I was just thinking that.’ Pondering the strangeness of life, he shook his head. His mother had been happy with Edward, and even though she had shouldered several burdens of late, there was a tenderness between them that spoke of limitless understanding. Looking back he could see the richness of contentment, and knew it was not just a hazy, childhood memory, but truth indeed.
And yet, watching her now, she almost sparkled. It caught at him, and, without wishing to be disloyal, he could not help feeling that something had been lost. ‘It’s a shame, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, that they never married.’
But Georgina could not agree. ‘Oh, Liam, don’t be misled. Father’s a bachelor – always has been and always will be. He likes his freedom, and being on the move. He was never happy in one place for long. But Louisa – well, you know her, she loves her home and her garden and being settled.’ She shook her head, sadly. ‘He never really wanted that...’
As they came to Lendal Bridge, the open vista of the river caught his attention and he paused, musing for a moment. ‘Was that it then? What made them part?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘So you don’t think...?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t. Not really.’
They moved on, but with a safe distance between themselves and the older couple, Georgina said: ‘If Louisa were free – which she isn’t – I could see them coming to some sort of arrangement...’
‘But not marriage.’
‘No, I can’t see them marrying. They know themselves and each other too well.’ A little later, she said: ‘Does that bother you?’
Liam smiled and pressed the hand on his arm. ‘No. Nothing like that bothers me anymore.’
Relaxed in the knowledge that his parents were too taken up with each other to spare keen eyes for their offspring, Liam enjoyed the journey and his lunch. Georgina was smiling too, chatting to Louisa as though it were no more than a convivial day out. That changed, however, as they drew near the hospital. His mother became rather taut and brisk, explaining that Robin was still confined to bed, still in a lot of pain, and that they would probably have to go into the ward in twos.
‘Perhaps if Liam and I go in first...?’
Robert was in full agreement. ‘Of course. We don’t want to overwhelm him...’
Wooden, temporary structures had been built adjacent to the main hospital, and Robin was in one of those, a good five or six beds down from Sister’s office, which was a good sign.
Or should have been. Lying back against the pillows, with his ruffled hair no more than a charcoal smudge on the surrounding whiteness, he seemed barely there. The little mountain of a protecting frame beneath the blankets dwarfed him. Remembering his last sight of Robin, in the square at Albert, Liam was shocked. His brother’s smile, such a pale imitation of that other smile, was almost more than he could bear. Blinking rapidly, for a little while Liam had to let his mother do the talking.
Robin pressed his hand. ‘You look disgustingly fit for a sick man,’ he said with an echo of his old spirit. ‘How are you?’
Still wearing hospital blues, Liam felt like a malingerer in this surgical ward full of injured men. Forcing a smile, he said shortly: ‘As you say — disgustingly well. I just wish I could persuade the MO of that fact. I might get some proper leave, then.’
‘Don’t rush it,’ his brother said, echoing Georgina’s sentiments. ‘It’ll come soon enough.’
Liam knew what he meant, but their mother’s presence precluded talk of the war. He wanted to know about Robin’s injury, the action that had led to it, but did not like to ask. But he would, later, when he had more than just this one day.
They stayed for about half an hour, then left to allow the others in. With an eloquent glance at Georgina as he strode past her in the lobby, Liam went straight outside. His mother came to stand with him for a while, but it was cold, and he was too upset to speak. She went inside, and a little while later, Georgina came to join him.
‘It didn’t seem fair to take up so much visiting time – I thought I’d let Louisa go in again.’
Liam lit another cigarette. ‘What did you think?’
‘I had a word with Sister before we went in – he’s doing all right.’
‘But you – what did you think?’
She pressed his hand and looked away. ‘It was a shock – seeing him like that. Yes, it was a shock. Dear Robin...’
He wanted to hold her, needed her physical comfort. The impossibility of it made him swear, eloquently, under his breath. Abruptly, he turned away, pacing afresh the few yards between hut and railings. Georgina stood quite still, watching him.
‘Father’s taken some leave,’ she said as he returned to her side. ‘He wants to stay on in York for a few days.’
His heart leapt at that. ‘But I thought we were all going back to London together?’
‘Apparently not. We shall have to make do with each other’s company...’
‘Then for heaven’s sake,’ he murmured huskily, ‘let’s take an early train.’
The general uncertainty of travelling times made an early start advisable. Next morning they were at the station by seven, but so were many others. Without that private compartment arranged by Robert Duncannon on the way from London, Liam knew his First Class ticket would be questioned.
‘We’re going to have trouble with me in this uniform,’ Liam muttered, spotting several staff officers in the forward section of the train.
‘We won’t get a seat anywhere else, though,’ Georgina pointed out. ‘Standing room only, by the look of things.’
In the end, they found a compartment with two elderly clerics and an iron-faced lady whose sweeping glance would have withered a sergeant-major. Georgina’s youth and nursing sister’s uniform attracted benevolent nods from the gentlemen, but they were clearly not quite sure what to think about Liam. The distinctive hat with its rising sun emblem had, thanks to the British press, become synonymous with bravery; and had he worn officer’s insignia, they would have been delighted to welcome him. The corporal’s stripes on his sheepskin jacket threw them a little; apparently he was in the wrong section of the train, but they were too polite to say so.
Not so the lady with her feathered toque and fur stole. With her umbrella, she tapped him, none too gently, on the knee. ‘Young man – this is First Class.’
Her attitude annoyed him. For her, and people like her, his friends were dying, his brother injured. He considered the polite reply, and then discarded it in favour of colonial innocence. While Georgina smothered a smile, he glanced around at plush seats and linen headrest covers, and nodded approvingly. ‘Yes, ma’am, I’d say it is and no mistake. Fair dinkum, as we say back home.’
With that he took a seat facing Georgina, maintaining a poker-face.
‘You’ll know about it, young man, when the guard comes round!’
Liam nodded politely, and stared out of the window. It was still dark, but as the train jerked and shuddered its way out of the station, he saw the first fingers of a grey dawn above the city walls. A savage amusement killed any regret; besides, he knew he would soon be back for a longer stay.
A few minutes later the guard arrived. For the benefit of the female dragon next to him, Liam went through a mime of alarm while the others had their tickets checked and clipped. He even kept the guard waiting in weary impatience before producing that precious piece of card.
‘Jeez, thought I’d lost it. Here we are, mate – clip that!’
With stony indifference, the guard did so, tipping his cap perfunctorily as he moved on to the next compartment.
Abandoning that strong Australian accent, as soon the door closed, he leaned confidentially towards Georgina, and in a passable imitation of a British officer, said: ‘You know, for a minute there, darling, I really thought I’d lost that ticket.’
He had the satisfaction of seeing one clergyman’s shoulders shake, and the other hide his smile behind a copy of The Times. He did not turn his head to look at the woman next to him, but he could feel her indignation.
Eyes dancing, Georgina said, under her breath: ‘You’re very wicked.’
It was impossible to conduct an intimate conversation, so they said little, but after the strain of guarding even their eyes, it was a relief to be able to look at one another without concern for other people. Liam wanted her so much he ached with it, and by her eyes she wanted him too. During the whole of the journey they were alone for no more than a few minutes, but it was enough to say what was in both their minds.
When they arrived at King’s Cross they headed straight for the nearest hotel. Georgina made the booking, and, with the excuse of a train to catch later that night, paid in advance; Liam went into the bar, sidling up the stairs when the clerk’s back was turned. On the third floor she was waiting for him, anxiety and impatience written into every line.
He reached for her even before the door was closed, crushing her into his arms, raining hungry, demanding kisses onto face, hair, mouth, while she struggled to unfasten her cape and his jacket, and close the door behind them. In privacy at last, she gave up, opening her mouth to him, responding to that fierce hunger with a need of her own. He loved kissing her, loved the feel of her teeth and the honeyed sweetness of her tongue; but the soft interior of her mouth made him want her in other ways, and that need was becoming very difficult to control.
As he began to tug at the stiff collar of her dress, she forced herself away from him.
‘Liam – we have to arrive looking as though we’ve just stepped off a train…’ She paused, gasping a little, holding a firm hand against his chest. ‘Let me take off my own clothes – let me fold them, please.’
He laughed, a little shakily, pecked at her lips and began to undress. Folding his own uniform, he watched her do the same, knowing she was teasing him a little now, and loving it. She came to him and he kissed her breasts, running his hands down over hipbones and haunches, to cup the soft flesh beneath. His words, as he pressed himself against her, were explicit, as were hers in reply, but it was becoming part of a ritual, a sort of vicarious satisfaction, and he did not want that. Almost roughly, he pushed her onto the bed, kneeling over her before she could rise. ‘I mean it,’ he said.
But it seemed his intensity killed something. Her desire seemed to evaporate before his eyes. ‘All right then, go ahead...’
Her acquiescence was feigned, he knew that, and he could no more have forced her than slapped her face. With a defeated sigh he collapsed on the bed, cradling her in his arms. ‘Darling, I’m sorry...’
She was more upset, kissing him, fondling him, despairing at the lack of time and the need they both shared.
That despair tinged the rest of their lovemaking, bringing them closer in anguish than in joy. Afterwards, holding her, Liam found himself thinking that it would always be like this: stolen moments in anonymous places, longings that turned to ashes, and a love that was set to break both their hearts.