Having my mother with me in London for the next few days helped me a lot. I think her being there reminded me of a time when I had been miserable once before. Somehow I had managed to get through that period of my life, and I was managing now. It hurt. It hurt desperately whenever I allowed myself to think about Jon, to wonder where he was and how he felt about what was happening to him.
My husband was a sensitive man who felt things keenly. I tried to think about his situation calmly. Would he find it humiliating to be taken prisoner – or would he be able to retreat inside that world in his head?
There was nothing I could do to change things, but the fact that Jon was missing made me more aware of how precious the people in my life really were. I began to spend more time at home with James, and as Christmas drew nearer, I took him to the big department stores to see the toys and decorations. There were no festive street lights, of course, but the shops had brought out the glitter and baubles in an effort to help their customers forget the shortages on their shelves.
Margaret came shopping with us sometimes. She seemed a little better again, or she was pretending to be for Sol’s sake. For James’s present she bought a very grand wooden rocking horse with a red leather saddle and bridle studded with brass.
‘It’s bigger than he is,’ I said, laughing as I saw the flush of excitement in her eyes and knew how much pleasure buying the horse had given her. ‘You spoil him, Margaret – we all spoil him.’
‘What harm can a little spoiling do? I’m just glad we were able to get the rocking horse. We were lucky to get such a nice one. I thought it might be impossible to buy anything of quality, but this must have been in stock for a while.’ She smiled at me. ‘Now – what can I give you, Emma? What would you like for yourself?’
‘I don’t mind – anything,’ I said. ‘Make it a surprise.’
‘Yes, that would be more exciting.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Shall we have a traditional Christmas, Emma? I wondered if you might prefer just a quiet day on our own?’
‘That wouldn’t be fair to James. This is the first time for him. Last year he didn’t understand. This time he will know what presents are.’
‘Then we’ll just carry on as if …’ She saw the flash of pain I could not quite conceal in my eyes. ‘I’m sure it is what Jon would want, Emma.’
I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. ‘It is exactly what he would want. He told me once that I wasn’t to waste my life if … anything happened.’
Margaret nodded but said nothing more. She believed Jon was dead, but she never tried to impose her beliefs on me. Instead, she was gentle, supportive, there if I needed her. I understood now why Sol loved her so much, because I did too.
When we returned to the house that afternoon, Mrs Rowan told me that a woman had called to see me earlier.
‘She said her name was Miss Robinson. She is staying in London for one night, and will call again in the morning.’
‘What a pity we were out,’ Margaret said. ‘Had your aunt let us know, we could have been here to greet her. Did she say where she was staying, Mrs Rowan?’
‘No, madam,’ the housekeeper said. She looked at me. ‘There is a parcel in your room, Mrs Reece. It was delivered by special messenger while you were out.’
‘Thank you.’
I took James up to the nursery, kissed him, and delivered him into Nanny’s hands. She was a woman of perhaps fifty, a little reserved, but devoted to her charge.
‘I think we’ll have some juice now, Master James.’
I smiled as she led him by the hand into the nursery. James was a very pampered and much-loved little boy. He had four women to fuss over him, and Sol was almost as bad. I hoped we were not guilty of spoiling him, but I was very much afraid we might be doing just that.
After leaving my son, I went down the short flight of stairs to my own room, noticing that the carpet was beginning to fray in one place. I would mention it to Sol. It might be possible to have it repaired, because I was sure a carpet like this could not be replaced at the moment.
The parcel sitting on my bed was quite large. It was a stout cardboard box wrapped in brown paper and tied with string and red wax; it had several kinds of official stamps all over it – one of them American.
My heart jerked oddly. I knew at once who had sent it to me, and I cut the strings with haste. Would there be a letter inside? Had Jack Harvey discovered something important?
Inside the parcel was a box containing two dozen pairs of silk stockings. Also some tins of red salmon … and a small velvet box. When I opened it, I saw there was a string of tiny pearls inside. The beads glistened so beautifully that I was sure they must be real, and the gold clasp was set with diamonds.
There was also a brief letter.
‘I’m hoping you will get this,’ Jon had written.
I’m sending it through diplomatic channels with a friend, so it should arrive in time for Christmas. I’m afraid I shan’t be able to make it for a while, Emma, though I shall be thinking about you. There’s no news of Jon yet, but I’ve told my people to keep trying. If he’s alive, we’ll find him. Take care of yourself. I’ll send something useful when I can. Love, Jack.
I was aware of an overwhelming disappointment. I had hoped so much that Jack’s letter would tell me my husband was alive, but at least he was trying. I was grateful for that, and the stockings, which I would share with my friends. Most of the tinned salmon would go to the social club, but I would have to return the pearls when I next saw Jack.
I could not possibly accept such an expensive gift from a man I hardly knew, even though they were beautiful and I knew he had meant to please me.
I closed the lid of the velvet box, then put it away carefully in a drawer.
I dreamed of Jon that night, waking from a nightmare, shaking, my body drenched with sweat. My husband had been calling for me, and he was in terrible pain. I had felt the pain in my dream and it was still with me as I lay shivering in the darkness.
Where was Jon? What was happening to him? I felt his presence near me as though he were hovering between life and death, and his soul had come seeking me for comfort.
‘Oh, Jon,’ I whispered, tears trickling down my cheeks. ‘If I could help you I would. Whatever it is, accept it, Jon, be strong for my sake. I love you, my darling. I want you to come home to me.’
For a while the feeling of dread continued to hold me, and then all at once it had gone and there was nothing left … nothing but the certainty that Jon was alive.
I got up and wandered over to the window, gazing out at the wet streets. London was just beginning to wake up. I could hear the rumbling of traffic somewhere and a sparrow was chirping just beneath my window.
Jon was alive, I felt it, sensed it, believed it. Something bad had happened to him that night, but I was sure he had come through it.
‘We’re trying to find you, my darling,’ I whispered. ‘You are not forgotten. I shall never give up. I promise, Jon. However long it takes, I shall never give up hoping …’
Margaret and I were sitting together in the front parlour when Mrs Rowan announced the visitor.
‘Miss Gwendoline Robinson to see you, Mrs Reece.’
‘Please show her in,’ I said, shaking my head as Margaret made to rise. ‘No, please don’t go. I would like you to stay.’
Margaret nodded. ‘I will stay for a while, but if you want to be alone with Miss Robinson, you have only to say, Emma.’
‘I don’t suppose I shall …’
I got to my feet as a woman came in. She was tall, thin, rather mannish in her dress, her hat shaped like a gentleman’s trilby and pulled down tight over straight hair rolled into a bun at the nape. I could see something of my father’s features in her face, which made her look a little harsh and unappealing.
‘Miss Robinson?’ I said, getting up and offering her my hand. ‘I am so sorry we were out yesterday. May I introduce Mrs Gould to you? This is her home and I live with Mr and Mrs Gould as their guest.’
‘Emma …’ she said, looking at me uncertainly. ‘May I call you that? I’m always called Gwen by my friends.’ She nodded in Margaret’s direction. ‘Forgive me for calling unannounced like this, but I had to come to London on business, and I thought it would be the ideal opportunity to visit my brother’s daughter.’
‘You are very welcome,’ Margaret said. ‘Shall I send for tea – or would you prefer a sherry? And do please sit down …’
‘Oh, don’t put yourself to the trouble,’ Gwen said and chose a seat opposite me on a rather hard sofa. Her back was very straight, and she looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘I don’t want to be a bother. It was just a few words with Emma …’
‘I can assure you it is no bother,’ Margaret said. ‘I thought we might persuade you to stay to lunch, Miss Robinson?’
‘That is very kind of you.’ Gwen looked even more awkward. ‘But I want to catch the next train home. If I might speak to Emma alone? Just for a moment or two …’
Margaret glanced at me, and I nodded. ‘I’ll take Gwen into the study,’ I said, and got up to lead the way. It would have been unkind to deny my aunt the privacy she so clearly wanted after her trouble.
‘What can I do for you?’ I asked as we sat down in the study. It was a room furnished in leather and oak, rather dark and much less comfortable than the parlour, but my aunt seemed to relax in these surroundings as she could not in Margaret’s pretty parlour. ‘I am sorry I couldn’t come to see you as you asked, but things … well, they have been difficult.’
‘Yes, I know you’re busy,’ she said. ‘I knew you worked for Mr Gould. You may wonder why I should be so interested in you, Emma, but it is for my mother’s sake that I’ve come here today. Harold was her favourite child. She had three of us. My youngest brother died when he was still a baby … and I was a disappointment to my mother. She wanted another boy, you see.’
I stared at her, not quite sure what to say. ‘I see …’
She laughed, and the sound was pleasant, her harsh features softened a little by her amusement. ‘No, I’m sure you don’t. I never minded that Harold was Mother’s favourite. I was always fond of him, which is why I understood what Mother did …’
‘What did your mother do? I’m sorry. I don’t understand. My father never spoke of his family. We didn’t even know you existed until your letter arrived.’
‘No, I gathered that much from your reply,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why Harold should have wanted to keep us a secret from you – unless he was ashamed. He wrote of his wife and daughter in his letters to Mother several times I believe …’
‘Ashamed of what? Did he do something wrong?’ I had sometimes wondered why Father had never talked about his past.
‘He quarrelled with our father,’ Gwen said, pulling a face. ‘That wasn’t hard. Father was a difficult man. Quite frankly, he made our lives a misery, and it was a relief to my mother when he died some years ago … or it would have been if he hadn’t managed to spend all my mother’s money without telling her. It was her money, you see. She came from a wealthy family. My father was no one until she married him, the son of a blacksmith. Mother was the daughter of gentry. She married beneath her and regretted it within a month of her wedding.’
‘The wrong marriage can lead to unhappiness. I know that.’
‘Yes, I believe you have been unfortunate in that area yourself.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I made inquiries, and I saw things in the newspaper. It is always possible to find out things if one is determined enough, Emma.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ I waited for her to go on, but she was silent until I prompted her. ‘You were saying my father quarrelled with his own father?’
‘Yes …’ She grimaced. ‘They had always argued, ever since Harold was quite small, of course. This time Harold hit him … knocked him down with his fists. Father told him they were finished, disowned him, cut off his allowance. We were still quite wealthy in those days, you see. Harold shouted a bit, then went to pack his things. Mother gave him what money she had, a hundred pounds I think – and some jewellery. My father was furious when he discovered what she had done, but I understood. Harold said he would sell the jewels, but pay her back one day.’
‘But he didn’t, and now you’ve come to ask me for what he owes your mother?’
Gwen shook her head. ‘No, that’s not quite how it is, Emma. Harold did repay her, in small amounts over the years. He sent a few pounds every month. I suppose he has repaid all she gave him, but …’ Gwen paused, looking awkward. ‘We had grown accustomed to receiving that money. Mother would never ask for anything, she is much too proud, but I am more practical. I know Harold had a business, Emma, and I’ve come to ask if there is any possibility that you might be able to help us … even a little.’
‘I’m not sure …’ I stared at her uncertainly. It was clear that my father had used his mother’s jewels to set up his business, so in a way we did owe her something, even though he had repaid the original loan. ‘I think perhaps your mother is entitled to something, Gwen – but it isn’t easy. All the money he left me is tied up in various businesses. I have my wages and some rent from Father’s shop but …’
‘I’m not asking for a huge amount,’ Gwen said quickly. ‘Mother would never accept it. She has no idea I’m here asking you. She would be angry with me if she found out I had approached you. But Harold sent us ten pounds a month and that made a lot of difference to our lives. After he died things became difficult. We’ve already moved out of the house we were living in. A cousin of Mother’s has rented us a cottage at three shillings a week, which is just about affordable on Mother’s income, but it’s still very hard to manage. I would work if I could, but Mother is an invalid. I have to look after her. Someone stayed with her while I came to London, but I can’t ask very often.’
‘I do understand,’ I said. ‘But you see, I give my mother most of the rent from the shop. Father was very tight with his money for years, always telling us that the shop wasn’t making much of a profit. I wondered what he did with his money, because I knew the shop was profitable, but now I see that if he was sending your mother money … well, it must have made a difference all those years. I don’t feel I can deprive my mother of the rent from the shop. She is entitled to something.’
‘Well …’ Gwen gathered her gloves and bag, clearly ready to leave. ‘I hope you didn’t mind my asking, Emma? I don’t want to make things difficult for you. It was just the chance that Harold might have left you well off …’
‘He did leave me some money besides the shop,’ I told her. ‘I invested it, but as yet I have not seen any profits. I’m not sure what I can do, Gwen. Give me time to discuss it with my mother and my business partner. I need to think about what I can afford to do.’
‘As I said, I don’t want to make things difficult,’ she said. ‘I didn’t come here to demand or to beg, just to ask if you could manage to help. I’m well aware that Mother would not approve, and I know Harold repaid her … but we are finding things hard.’
‘I’m sure I can do something,’ I said, making up my mind. ‘I’m just not sure what at the moment.’
‘Well, I shan’t bother you again,’ she said and smiled at me. ‘And I shan’t hold it against you if you decide not to help us. Mother would love to see you if you can spare the time one day.’
‘Thank you for coming to see me,’ I said. ‘You have cleared up a lot of things that had bothered me about Father’s past. It always seemed so strange that he wouldn’t speak of his family … and I understand now why he was so careful with his money.’
‘Well, I dare say he got that from Mother,’ Gwen said. ‘She was always trying to restrain my father. He drank too much and he gambled, you see. He didn’t see why he should work once he was married to a lady of property – but eventually he spent every penny she had. Except for a small trust fund that my grandfather had set up for her. That dies with her, of course – but I shall manage when she has gone. I wouldn’t ask for myself, Emma.’
I could see the pride in her face, and I suddenly knew how much this must have cost her. Impulsively, I went to kiss her cheek.
‘Don’t worry, Gwen,’ I said. ‘I’ll do something to help, I promise. I shan’t tell your mother you came to me – and perhaps one day I can come to visit you both.’
For a moment her eyes sheened with tears, but she blinked them away. ‘You’re a nice person, Emma. Thank you for being so understanding. Most people would have shown me the door.’
‘I’ve been short of money myself,’ I said. ‘I know what it’s like to want things you can’t have … and I’m very lucky. I live with kind friends who share their wonderful home with me, and I lack nothing. It would be very selfish of me not to respond to a request for help from my own family, wouldn’t it?’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you then – and don’t worry. If you change your mind, I shan’t come knocking at your door.’
‘I shan’t change my mind,’ I said. ‘You will hear something very soon. I’m just not sure what I can do …’
‘You’re a fool if you give them anything,’ my mother said when I telephoned and told her about Gwen’s visit. ‘When I think your father was giving them ten pounds a month all those years … it’s more than he ever gave either of us, Emma!’
‘Yes, I know,’ I agreed, ‘but don’t you see, Mum? He thought he owed it to his mother. It explains why he was careful with his money. He wasn’t really so very mean when you think about it. We never went short of anything, did we – not really? We may not have had much freedom, or money to spend as we chose, but there was always food in the house and coal for the fire. We had good clothes and …’
‘I made most of our clothes, Emma, yours and mine. I think Mrs Robinson had back what she lent Harold. What you’ve got now belongs to you. I’ve told you I don’t need the rent from the shop. Bert gives me money for myself – but I might as well keep it as give it away to them. Besides, you don’t know for sure that they are Harold’s family. She could be anyone …’
‘If you’d seen her, Mum, you wouldn’t say that. She looks like Father – and she’s obviously had a hard life, taking care of her mother. Mrs Robinson is an invalid. Gwen can’t leave her very often. That can’t be much of a life for her, can it?’
‘No …’ Mum hesitated. ‘I’m not saying I don’t feel sorry for her, Emma – but I don’t see why you should give her your money.’
‘Well, I want to do something. I’m going to ask Sol for advice.’
‘Just be careful,’ my mother said. ‘Once you start something like that she will expect you to keep it up.’
‘That’s why I didn’t promise anything straight away,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to give her hope if I can’t manage to do anything to help.’
‘Well, it’s up to you – but I should think long and hard before you commit yourself, Emma.’
‘I shall,’ I promised. ‘Anyway, have you and Bert decided – are you coming up to stay over Christmas? Margaret would love to have you both.’
‘It’s very kind of her to invite us,’ my mother said. ‘But I don’t think we shall. I might pop up on the train the week before to see you and James.’
‘That’s lovely,’ I said. ‘Bye then. Take care of yourselves. Give my love to Bert.’
After I had talked to my mother, I spoke to Sol about my aunt’s request. He listened, frowning and nodding as I explained the situation.
‘So what do you want, Emma?’ he asked. ‘A lump sum – or a regular payment?’
‘Which would be best?’ I said. ‘More importantly, would it be possible for me to withdraw some of my investment from the factory?’
‘It wouldn’t be easy at the moment,’ Sol said. ‘I don’t have much spare capital lying around, Emma. What with the war and various investments, I’ve left myself a bit tight – but you could certainly draw a few pounds each month from the business. You’ve never asked for a penny, so I’ve credited your share to your account – but if you need some money you can have it.’
‘Ten pounds a month …’ I said hesitantly. ‘Would that be too much to ask, Sol?’
‘Good grief, no,’ he said. ‘You can treble that if you like – have more money for yourself?’
‘No, I don’t need more,’ I replied. ‘Neither you or Margaret will take a penny for my keep. What I get from Mrs Henty and my wages are as much as I need, but I would like to draw that ten pounds a month if I may. It won’t make things difficult for you, will it?’
‘If it would, I should tell you, Emma.’ Sol’s brows narrowed. ‘You’ll be a wealthy young woman one day. I’ve invested for you as well as myself, that’s why there’s no capital to spare at the moment – but the ten pounds a month is no trouble, as long as it’s what you really want to do?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is,’ I said. ‘I think it’s what my father would have wanted. He obviously cared for his mother. He continued to send her money regularly all his life. If I had known about them at the time of his death, I would have given them something. I think Gwen must have been quite desperate to come to me the way she did. It can’t have been easy for her. My father was a proud man, very harsh at times, even cruel – and I think his sister would be proud, too.’
‘You’re a generous woman, Emma,’ Sol said. ‘You didn’t have to do this, but it shows character. I like it in you.’
‘I’ve been so lucky,’ I said. ‘You and Margaret … all my friends. But I know what it is like to be trapped by lack of money. I know what it’s like to feel that there is never going to be anything better, that your life will always be the same. If the money helps my aunt a little, I’m glad to give it.’
‘I’ll arrange to have it paid to her through my bank,’ Sol said. ‘It will be easier that way, and saves sending money or postal orders through the mailbox. She won’t want her mother to know about the ten pounds.’
‘I’ll write to Gwen and tell her,’ I said. ‘You will need details of her own bank I expect.’
‘You do that,’ Sol said. ‘But if she comes back for more – you leave her to me, Emma.’
‘She won’t do that,’ I said. ‘I’m sure of it, Sol. I quite liked Gwen. I think she is a very honest, straightforward person. I shall try to get down to visit her and my grandmother one day.’
‘I’ll take you when I get time, Emma.’
‘Thank you.’ I looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I’ve been thinking, Sol. Perhaps it would be a good thing if I learned to drive …’
‘Would you want to?’
‘Yes, I think I might.’
He grinned at me. ‘It would come in useful, Emma. I could send you off to your mother’s for a few days, and you could go to the factory and see how things were going. Save me a lot of time and trouble.’
‘How do I learn?’ I asked. ‘Should I book lessons – or what?’
‘Professional lessons are best,’ he said. ‘Leave it to me, Emma. I would have suggested it ages ago, but Margaret never wanted to drive.’
‘Well, I do,’ I said. ‘It will give me some independence, Sol – and I can use Jon’s car. He left it at his mother’s house. It will mean I can visit Mrs Reece more often, too.’
‘That’s if you can get the petrol,’ Sol said, grimacing. ‘But we’ll manage something. You just leave it all to me …’
Christmas arrived. I received so many cards and small gifts, many of them from the customers at the showroom. I still went in for several hours every day, and it was surprising how many of them came in when they knew I was there so that I would serve them myself.
‘We like it when you’re here, Emma,’ they told me. ‘You always know just what we want – and you always have a smile to cheer us up. It makes things look brighter no matter how hard the damned government tries to knock us down!’
‘I could retire now,’ Sol joked sometimes. ‘I believe you could run the business single-handed, Emma.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘You still deal with all our suppliers, Sol. I’m not sure I could get such a bargain on some of the materials as you do – and how you manage to get hold of things like elastic is beyond me …’
He tapped the side of his nose and grinned at me. ‘Ways and means, Emma. It’s not what you know these days, it’s who you know – and how well you know them. I twist a few arms when I need to.’
The workshop was still doing surprisingly well despite everything. The government had not yet dared to bring in clothes rationing, but like Sol I believed it was getting closer with each month that passed.
Christmas Eve brought a card from Gwen Robinson and her mother. Gwen had already written to thank me for my help, and she did so again now. I was pleased to have made life better for her and the woman who was after all my own grandmother.
So despite the war, the festive season was happy enough for me, my friends and my family. We were able to buy a turkey and confectionery, though the government had asked us to make what sacrifices we could, but in Sol’s house there was not much evidence of austerity. His cellars were still stocked with wines and spirits laid up before the war, and we had saved two of Jack Harvey’s tins of red salmon for Christmas tea.
As the carols were sung and the celebrations went on all around me, I thought of Jon, longed for him, prayed for him, but I tried not to let anyone else see that only half my heart was in the celebrations.
It was just after Christmas that I received the sad news that Sheila’s husband had died in the sanatorium.
‘I can hardly believe he has gone,’ Sheila had written.
I went to see him just before Christmas, and he seemed better. We were talking about him being home by the summer, but then he deteriorated almost overnight and they sent for me. He died soon after I arrived. I’m not sure what to do, Emma. I would like to try to keep the shop on, but I shall have to think about it over the next few months. I thought I should tell you …
I felt so sorry for my friend. I wasn’t sure that it had been a great love affair, but I knew she had been fond of Eric. And when they had first taken over the shop, she had been so full of plans for the future. I wrote back and told her to take her time about making her decision. She was welcome to stay there in the accommodation even if she couldn’t manage the shop.
You might be able to sell the stock, and then we could let the shop to someone else … but I’m in no hurry, Sheila. Think about it for a while, and then let me know …
Life went on as usual. I looked every day for a letter from Jack Harvey, but though the occasional parcel reached me from time to time, there was no news of my husband. So far no one had heard anything about a British airman taken prisoner in France who might be my husband, or if they had they were not prepared to disclose details.
It would have been very easy during the next months to have given up hope, but I refused to let go of my belief that Jon was alive … that he would come back to us one day despite his suffering.
For I knew that he had suffered in some way. I had shared his pain that night, and I believed that Jon had almost died then. My family and friends were all convinced that he must have been killed in the crash when his plane was shot down, but I did not believe that.
In my heart, I felt that Jon was alive. I could not know where he was, but I was sure he was somewhere … still living, perhaps a prisoner, perhaps in hiding. I was anxious for him, and I often felt close to tears. How could Jon bear what was happening to him? It was hard enough for me, how much worse must it be for my sensitive husband?
I believed now that this was what had been in his mind when he spoke of what might happen to him. It was not so much that he might die, but that he might not be able to contact me, that we might be apart for years. He would be so alone, without friends or hope … knowing that I would have been told he was dead.
Yet as long as I believed he still lived, there was hope. And I would cling to that hope for as long as I could …