‘This damned government,’ Sol muttered, throwing down his letter in disgust. ‘The way things are going, we shall soon need a licence to go to the bathroom.’
‘Sol dearest,’ Margaret reproved gently. ‘Please don’t upset yourself. Surely it can’t be that terrible?’
I wondered what had upset him. The clothes rationing we had expected had arrived in June 1941. It was now the beginning of December. At first we had needed margarine coupons to purchase our clothes, but the new coupons had been in circulation for a while and people were getting used to the idea. The rationing had made little difference to families on low incomes, but for women who could afford to dress smartly it meant cutting down considerably.
Sol frowned as he handed me his letter to read. It was an official notice to employers, about the call-up of unmarried women between the ages of twenty and thirty.
‘That means we shall lose Janice from the showroom,’ Sol said, clearly annoyed. ‘I’ve had difficulty in holding on to her as it is. She wanted to volunteer before this, but I persuaded her to stay. Now she will be off like a shot.’
‘We’ll lose some of our best girls from the factory, too.’
I understood how Sol felt. It was already difficult to find the labour we needed, and this was going to make things harder.
‘They are going to register women up to forty, Emma, married and single – but I’ll make sure you’re exempted. I can’t afford to lose you.’
‘Mrs Reece …’ Mrs Rowan hesitated in the doorway. ‘There’s a telephone call for you.’
I excused myself and went out to the hall.
‘Emma … it’s Gwen. I hope you didn’t mind my ringing? I just wanted to make sure you were coming today. Mother was asking and she hasn’t been too well …’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Gwen. Yes, I’m coming. Sol has managed to wangle me some extra petrol this month. I’m driving down later this morning, bringing James, and we’ll stay for two days – if that’s all right with you?’
‘You know it is. Mother looks forward to your visits so much. She knows you’ve been giving us money now. I had to tell her, but not that I came to you. She doesn’t know I asked, Emma. She would hate that …’
‘I shan’t tell her. Besides, it’s so little, Gwen. I’ve asked Sol for extra money this Christmas, and I’ve managed to get a few bits and pieces to bring down. James is excited. He knows he is coming to see Grandma today.’
‘I shan’t hold you up then. We’ll see you later.’
I went back to the breakfast parlour. Sol had already left. Margaret was lingering over her tea. She seemed tired, her skin a little grey, her eyes heavy.
‘Are you feeling unwell today?’
She sighed and shook her head. ‘Don’t worry, Emma dearest. I’m no worse than usual. It’s just the war and what it is doing to us all. Sol seems so agitated these days. He isn’t like himself. I’m worried about him. He never tells me anything.’
I went to sit on the chair next to her. ‘Please don’t fret over Sol, Margaret. If he has been a bit short-tempered of late it’s not his fault. He’s just frustrated. It has been difficult for him recently. We’ve got the government breathing over our shoulders the whole time, and I think it can only get worse. Sol knows that profits are down, but it’s more than that. The factory has had problems. Our best machinists keep leaving to join up or work elsewhere. Sol can’t afford to offer them inducements to stay. And we had another fire. There was so much fuss and bother over spoiled material, it would drive anyone crazy.’
‘Thank you for taking the time to explain.’ She smiled. ‘Sol refuses to answer my questions. He won’t talk to me about his work, but I’ve sensed something was wrong.’
‘He only refuses to tell you because he thinks you would worry and make yourself ill.’
‘I worry when I don’t know what’s going on, Emma. Sol always has taken risks, but things were different before the war. Life was easier, more gentle somehow. I don’t like what’s happening to us now. Everything seems ugly, harsh …’ She sighed, looking unhappy.
‘It’s a struggle to keep things going. At the start, the factory made a lot of money very quickly. I think Sol invested some of that abroad. These days, we’re only just managing to keep our heads above water. We might have to think about closing the factory. It depends on how things go this next year.’
‘You invested your money in the factory, Emma.’ She looked at me in concern.
‘So did Sol. Don’t worry. I’m sure Sol will turn things round – but he has a lot on his mind just now.’ I kissed her cheek. ‘I’m going to fetch James down. I want to get started. You know what my son is like in the car. He never sits still for five minutes together, and he wants the toilet every few miles.’
Margaret laughed, the shadows banished from her eyes. ‘I think you are brave to take him with you, Emma. But you are always so good with him, and you have so much energy.’
It made me sad to think of Margaret always being so tired. She had missed so much in life through her illness. Her heart was not strong. The doctors never seemed to explain exactly what was wrong with her; they spoke of her heartbeat being irregular, of a weakness in the valve, but did not offer any solutions. She was just delicate and must take care not to overtire herself.
I was thoughtful as I carried all my baskets and parcels out to the car. In my grandmother’s case, it was easy to see what ailed her. She was a tiny, frail lady of seventy-odd years and crippled with a painful arthritis. It was difficult for her to walk even with assistance, and her fingers were so twisted that she could not dress herself. She was often in pain, but remained good-tempered despite it, her smile so sweet and gentle that it was impossible to do anything but love her.
The first time I’d seen her, a few months ago now, I had been pleasantly surprised. Her eyes were bright, still youthful despite her wrinkled skin and thin white hair, but she had obviously been pretty once and was not at all like her daughter or my father.
‘So you’re Harold’s girl,’ she’d said, nodding at me. ‘You must be like your mother. You are far too pretty for a Robinson.’ She smiled at me. ‘So, child – come and kiss me and tell me all about yourself. We’ve been strangers for too long.’
We had taken to each other at once. She was very different to my beloved Gran. Grandmother Robinson was very much a lady. She might have been reduced to poverty by her husband’s careless spending, but she refused to let her standards drop. She had kept her dignity and Gwen was never allowed to set the table with anything other than the best linen, what silver she had left, and the finest bone china I had ever seen.
I was looking forward to my visit with Gwen and Grandmother Robinson. Their village was rather old, its name Saxon in origin, and attractive. About the triangular green, duck pond and beautiful old elm tree, were grouped timber-framed, brick and tiled cottages, many of them dating from the sixteenth century. Also a whipping post and stocks, reminders of a harsher age. Beyond were the rising beechwoods, a Doric column crowning their summit.
In the summer the village had seemed to slumber in the sun, a tranquil haven away from the noise and hustle of the city. I had thought then how much Jon would have liked it. We would go there together one day, when the war was over.
There had been no news of Jon. It was more than a year now. I had hoped to hear something from Jack long before this, but his last letter had not been hopeful. My husband’s name was not on any of the lists compiled by the Red Cross or other international agencies who were able to make contact with prisoners of war.
It seemed likely that Jon had died in the crash, but I was not willing to accept his death as fact. Sometimes I almost gave in to my despair, but then I would feel him close to me again. I would feel that inner certainty again, and something inside me refused to let go.
I still wanted to believe that Jon would come home.
My visit to Gwen and Grandmother Robinson was pleasant, but I was a little concerned about my grandmother’s health.
‘She hasn’t been at all well,’ Gwen told me when we were preparing supper together. I had brought some tinned food with me – courtesy of Jack’s last visit in the summer – and we were making corned beef hash. ‘I’ve been a bit worried, Emma. I’m not sure she will get through this winter.’
‘I’m so sorry, Gwen. I must admit I have noticed a difference in her this time.’
‘Well, she is seventy-seven,’ Gwen said, sighing. ‘I suppose it’s a good age, but …’ Her face crumpled as she gulped back her emotion. ‘I shall miss her. To be honest, I’m not sure what I shall do. I’ve never been alone.’
‘Well, you won’t need to be,’ I said. ‘We’re so short of help, Gwen. I know Sol could find you work.’
Gwen laughed and shook her head. ‘I’m not clever with my hands, Emma. I can’t set a stitch straight. I wouldn’t be much use to you.’
‘I’m sure we can find you something,’ I said. ‘Promise me you will come to me if …’
‘It’s a case of when not if,’ Gwen said sadly. ‘I know it can’t be long, Emma.’
I shook my head, but in my heart I knew she was right. It made me feel sad. I wished I had known Grandmother Robinson sooner, and I regretted all the years we had lost.
‘Go and sit with her now,’ Gwen said, as if she could read my thoughts. ‘She has talked of nothing but your visit for weeks.’
I went through to the tiny parlour. There were a few nice pieces of furniture which Grandmother Robinson had managed to cling on to despite having seen most of her precious possessions sold to pay her husband’s debts. However, the room still had an air of shabbiness despite some bright new curtains I had sent Gwen.
Grandmother smiled as I entered the room, lifting her crooked fingers to beckon me closer.
‘You are such a lovely girl, Emma. I can hardly believe you’re my Harold’s child, but I know you are. He told me about you in his letter when you were first born. I remember particularly how excited he was, how proud of his daughter …’
‘Was he? Are you sure?’
My father had always accused my mother of cheating him, but if he had told his mother about me he must have thought of me as his own child.
‘Oh yes. I think I might still have the letter somewhere. I’ll ask Gwen to look one day.’ She smiled at me. ‘And now, my dear, I have a little present for you.’ She pointed at a small, faded box on the table next to her. ‘That was my mother’s, Emma. It has always been special to me, and I want you to have it.’
I opened the box. Inside was a gold brooch that must have been new when Queen Victoria was a young bride. It was set with tiny turquoises and pearls.
‘It is beautiful,’ I said. ‘But are you sure you want to give this to me? Should it not go to Gwen?’
‘Gwen has other trinkets. It is not very valuable, Emma, but I have enjoyed wearing it. I would like you to keep it … to remember me by. We have not known each other long, but I have become fond of you.’
‘And I of you,’ I assured her. My eyes stung but I blinked away my tears. ‘I shall never forget you. I don’t need the brooch to remind me of you, Grandmother – but I shall always treasure it.’
She nodded. ‘Give me a kiss then, child – and now it’s time for our supper. I am ready for my bed.’
My visit was over all too soon. I was thoughtful as I drove home. It was likely that I would not see Grandmother Robinson again. I would have to consider what best to do for Gwen. She was determined to find work. She had told me that she would not accept the ten pounds a month after her mother was dead.
‘You have been more than generous to us, Emma. I shall manage when I don’t have Mother to worry about. I’ll find work of some kind.’
But what kind of work could Gwen do? She was not trained for anything other than looking after an elderly relative.
I knew she wanted to be independent. She would not accept an offer to come and live with us and help out at the showroom, but I believed she would find it difficult to support herself without help.
Something must be done to enable her to earn her living – but what? It was quite a puzzle, but one I was determined to solve. I liked Gwen and I believed her life had been hard. I would find a way of helping her somehow, a way that did not rob her of her pride.
It was 7 December 1941 and the news had shocked us. Sol handed me his paper and I stared at it in stunned silence. We had heard the announcement on the radio but could hardly believe it, now here it was in print. The Japanese had bombed the American Navy in Pearl Harbour, destroying nineteen ships and over two hundred planes.
‘What does this mean?’ I asked at last. ‘What is going to happen now, Sol?’
‘It means that the bloody Japs are idiots and Britain has just got lucky,’ Sol said, a huge grin replacing the shock on his face. ‘The American isolationists have been pulling most of the strings up until now, Emma, keeping Roosevelt from doing as much as he wanted to help us – but they won’t be able to stop him now. America will be in the war and that is good for us. It’s what we’ve been praying for.’
‘Yes …’ I looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Does this mean that Jack Harvey will be called up?’
‘I doubt it very much, Emma.’ Sol’s eyebrows gathered as he looked at me. ‘Worried about him? You needn’t be. He’s too important. His government won’t want him getting his head shot off … money and power, Emma, that’s Jack’s middle name.’
‘I see …’ I smiled at him. ‘I suppose I always knew that. He has never said very much …’
Jack had been here again in the summer, just after that terrible night in May when London had been devastated by one of the worst bombing raids ever. It had been a night that almost took the heart out of the city, shocking even the most hardened Londoners.
Like many others, I had wept to see the wanton destruction of our beautiful city. Westminster and the Chamber of Commons was hit, as was St. Paul’s, but they were only a few of the many areas destroyed by the five-hundred-odd German planes that had rained fire and vengeance on us – vengeance for the raids our bombers had made on their towns.
‘Don’t cry, Emma,’ Jack had said to me then. ‘The bastards will pay for this, I promise you. One of these days they will get such a kick up their rears they won’t know what’s hit them.’
Jack and I had become real friends on his last visit. I had tried to give him back his pearls, but he wouldn’t let me.
‘They were a gift,’ he said. ‘No strings attached, Emma. If you’re really my friend, you won’t insult me by trying to give them back.’
How could I refuse after that? Jack was a good friend. He had shown me a sheaf of reports relating to the search for Jon, and I knew it had cost him a lot of time and money to set all this in motion.
If he wanted me to keep the pearls, then it was the least I could do. Now, despite Sol’s reassurances, I was worried that Jack would be drawn into this terrible war, a war that was robbing so many women of their loved ones.
I had not heard from him for some weeks, and I wondered where he was and what he was doing …
I was in the showroom two days later, going through the rails to check on our stock levels when the front door opened. I did not immediately turn my head, because Janice was dressing the window and would call me if I was needed.
‘Busy, Emma?’
My heart jerked and I spun round in surprise as I heard Jack’s voice.
‘Jack!’ I cried, feeling pleased to see him. ‘When did you get back? We weren’t expecting you for months. We weren’t even sure you would come back … I’m so sorry about what happened, Jack.’
He nodded, his mouth tight and grim. ‘We were caught with our pants down, Emma. It’s a lesson learned the hard way.’
‘Yes … I’m sorry.’ He shook his head. I sensed he did not want to talk about it. ‘So what brings you here then?’
‘I decided to spend Christmas in England. Do you think Margaret will invite me for dinner on the big day?’
‘I’m sure she will,’ I said. ‘Oh, this is nice, Jack. It’s so good to see you!’ I leaned towards him impulsively, kissing his cheek.
‘That alone was worth crossing the Atlantic,’ Jack said, grinning at me. ‘I’ve no need to ask how you are, Emma. You look beautiful, as always.’
‘And you talk nonsense!’ I retorted. ‘I’m not beautiful, Jack. You must need to get your eyes tested.’
‘Same old sweet tongue,’ he murmured, a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘So, with spectacles I’d see that you’re just a plain, ugly old woman – but I like my eyesight the way it is, thanks all the same.’
‘Are you ever serious, Jack?’
‘Not unless I’m forced.’
I shook my head at him, but I had to admit I was pleased to see him. Far more pleased than I would have expected.
‘How long are you here for this time?’
‘A few weeks … it depends.’
‘Things to do, people to see? Lots of big deals on the cards?’
Jack nodded, amused. ‘Something like that. There was a time when some Americans didn’t really want to know about this war, Emma. Roosevelt has always been on your side, of course, but certain business people simply didn’t want to risk being involved. I’m glad to say the tide was turning even before Pearl Harbour, now of course we are in for the duration.’
‘But even before that it was people like you who were keeping hope alive for us … helping us in all sorts of ways we didn’t even guess … selling us weapons that were supposed to be surplus to American requirements – and perhaps a few that weren’t?’
‘Who told you that?’ Jack’s gaze narrowed. ‘Has Sol been telling tales out of school?’
‘He didn’t have to, Jack. You gave yourself away with those parcels you sent. You have to be someone important to send silk stockings by way of diplomatic channels!’
Jack threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘That appealed to you, did it? I knew I would get to you one day, Emma.’
‘You have the devil’s own cheek, Jack. I dare not think what else you get up to.’
‘You don’t want to know, Emma.’
‘No, I certainly don’t!’
I had no doubt that Jack was making a profit out of this war. He was not a man to fail. When he set out to achieve something, he did not do it by half measures. So he was certainly making a great deal of money somewhere along the line, but he was also helping our poor, beleaguered country. Some people would have condemned him for the profiteering, but I was enough Harold Robinson’s daughter to know that people expected to be rewarded for their work. Business was one thing, generosity on a personal level was quite another.
Jack had been generous to me. I hadn’t asked him if he had news of Jon. I’d known the answer from the moment I looked at him. He would have been full of himself if he’d had something good to tell me.
‘Would you come out with me this evening, Emma? I’ve got tickets for a play … Blithe Spirit. You may have seen it?’
‘No, I haven’t been to the theatre for ages. We usually stay home and listen to the radio these days, Jack. I suppose with the bombs … but yes, I would like to go. It would be really nice to go out again …’
I wore a new dress to go out with Jack that evening. I had bought it just before rationing came in and put it away at the back of my wardrobe, saving it for a special occasion. It was a deep midnight blue, made of a soft wool and very flattering to the figure.
‘I like you in blue,’ Jack said as we walked home from the theatre. ‘I shall never forget the dress you were wearing the night we met … you looked so lovely, standing there on your own. Like a medieval lady …’
‘A damsel in distress?’ I asked, teasing him. ‘So you rode in to the rescue – my knight in shining armour.’
Jack smiled. ‘Something like that. Unfortunately for me, someone else had got there first …’
‘Don’t Jack … please. You know I love Jon. You’ve always known.’
‘Jon is dead, Emma. You’re going to have to face that one of these days. I’m sorry, my darling, but it’s true.’
‘You don’t know that. I accept that it seems that way, but we can’t be sure.’
‘No, we can’t be certain,’ he said, and stopped walking. He took my arm, turning me to face him. ‘How long are you going to wait, Emma? You know I care for you … want you …’
‘Please don’t,’ I whispered, my throat tight with emotion. When he looked at me like that it made me feel weak inside and I needed to be strong. ‘Don’t ask me to choose, Jack. If you do, I shall have to choose Jon. I can’t give up. I can’t just abandon him, forget him. Not yet. I have to go on believing, waiting …’
‘Yes, I see that. I thought perhaps … but you’re not ready to forget him. He’s a lucky guy, Emma. A lot of women stray five minutes after their husbands leave home.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘You want to bet on it?’
I shook my head. I supposed there were women who were so lonely they went with other men while their husbands were away fighting, but that seemed so cruel to me.
‘I love him, Jack. Don’t you believe in loyalty?’
‘Yes, I do.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I think that may be one of the reasons I fell for you, Emma. I respect you. I know you love Jon – but I think you feel something for me, too. Or am I kidding myself?’
His eyes seemed to bore into mine, seeking the secret places of my mind.
‘No …’ I couldn’t look at him. It was true that a part of me found Jack very attractive. He made me laugh, and I was beginning to look forward to his letters and visits. I was aware of an attraction between us, had been aware of it from the first. ‘No, you’re not mistaken, Jack. I am becoming fond of you …’
‘Fond, Emma?’
Before I knew what he intended, Jack reached for me, gathering me into his arms and kissing me in a way that left me breathless and shaken. I stood still within the circle of his arms, refusing to let myself cling to him, but when he let me go at last, I put my fingers to my mouth, staring at him in bewilderment. How could I feel this racing excitement inside me? How could I experience such wild, pulsating desire? I loved my husband. I loved Jon so much … and yet I had never once felt like this when he kissed me. This was something new … something I feared while it thrilled me.
‘Fond, Emma?’ Jack said again. His eyes were leaping with a mixture of excitement and triumph. He had felt my response, try as I might to conceal it. ‘I would say your feelings were a little stronger. I think you want me … almost as much as I want you.’
It was true. A wave of horror swept over me as I realized everything he claimed was true. I did want him. His kiss had aroused a huge, aching need in me, a need I had suppressed without knowing it through months of lonely nights.
‘No! I can’t … I won’t!’
I broke away from Jack and began to run along the pavement. I was angry, with myself and with Jack for making me face the truth. Yes, I wanted to make love with him. I wanted, needed the physical comfort I knew he could give me, but I did not want this to happen. It would be a betrayal of my husband. It would be like abandoning Jon, as if I had thrown dirt into his open grave.
Jack came after me. He caught my arm, swinging me round to face him.
‘No, Emma. I won’t let you run away from this … I refuse to let you go on hiding behind your grief.’
My desperate reply was lost as the sirens wailed.
‘Damn!’ Jack looked about him. ‘What do we do now?’
‘We head for the nearest underground,’ I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him with me. ‘It may be just a false alarm, but I’m not going to risk it.’
We joined hands and followed the general rush towards the nearest entrance to an underground station.
‘We’re going to have to talk about this, Emma. I’m not prepared to give you up.’
‘Yes, I know we have to talk,’ I said. ‘But not tonight, Jack. Please? Give me time. Let me think about this … please?’
There was a terrific roar somewhere close by, then a flash as fire shot into the night sky. Jack pulled me against the wall, sheltering me with his body as the ground shook and a building across the road came tumbling down. We had been standing in that very spot only a few minutes earlier, and the knowledge that we could have been killed was sobering. I buried my face against Jack’s shoulder as the shudders ran through me.
‘Jack …’
‘It’s all right, darling.’
‘But we …’
‘I love you, Emma,’ he whispered against my hair. ‘I’m not going to lose you. I’ll wait for as long as it takes – but one day you’ll come to me. You won’t be able to help yourself. You will come to me, because we were meant to be together …’
‘Come on, Jack,’ I urged as I heard the whistling sound that struck terror into the hearts of Londoners. ‘Let’s get inside before another one falls …’
‘You were so late in last night,’ Margaret said to me the next morning at breakfast. ‘I had begun to think something must have happened to you.’
On the radio they were playing one of the popular songs of the year – Blues in the Night. I turned the sound down slightly.
‘I’m sorry if you were worried, Margaret. The sirens went as we were walking home after the play. We had to take shelter until the all clear went. I hope I didn’t wake you when we came in? I asked Jack in and gave him a brandy. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not. This is your home, Emma. You can always bring your friends here.’
‘Thank you.’ I poured myself a cup of tea. ‘Jack has business elsewhere for a few days, but when he comes back … I thought we might ask him to dinner one evening?’
‘Yes, of course. Surely you know you don’t have to ask?’ Margaret looked directly at me. I felt myself blushing, because I sensed what was in her mind. ‘You know that Jack is very much in love with you?’ I nodded. She paused, then, ‘Did you know that when he returns to America he is planning to join the army?’
‘No, of course he won’t. Why should he? Sol said his government wouldn’t want Jack to fight – that he was too important …’ The thought of Jack risking his life was somehow too terrible to contemplate.
‘Jack is his own man,’ Margaret said gently. ‘He will do whatever he thinks is right. While his own country stayed out of the war he was content to make money and help us in whatever way he could – now he feels he should be prepared to do more.’
‘That’s silly,’ I said as the fear began to crawl down my spine. ‘He can’t … why should he? Anyone can shoot guns and get themselves killed. Jack can do so much others can’t. He is needed in other ways … I don’t see why he has to fight.’
‘I suppose he needs to fight,’ Margaret said, her brow wrinkling. ‘Some men do. Forgive me if I’m wrong, Emma – but I thought you should know. I understand that you still love Jon, and you haven’t given up hope of his return – but don’t lose this chance to be happy. We none of us know how long we have. So far we have all been lucky. It sounds wicked of me to say this, my dear, but people were killed last night. It could have been you. Does it make sense to be faithful to a memory when you could be killed on the streets any day? Is it sensible to deny your own heart?’
‘Margaret – please don’t!’
‘Think about it, Emma. For your own sake, that’s all I ask – and for Jack’s. We all have just a few chances for happiness in our lives. They go by so quickly. If we miss them, they may not come again. Take what you can, my dear. You are too young, too alive, to waste your life in regret. I’m sure Jon would not blame you.’
‘No, he wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘He would want me to be happy. You are right, Margaret. I know that. It’s just that it feels like a betrayal … that I’m abandoning him …’
‘I know,’ she said and smiled at me in understanding. ‘But Jon loved you, really loved you. He would hate to think of you alone. He wouldn’t want you to go on grieving for ever. You must know that, Emma. Face the truth, my dearest – or you may regret it for the rest of your life.’
Tears welled up inside me. I turned away, my shoulders shaking. I had filled the past months with working, suppressing my grief, suppressing my loneliness, never letting myself think about my situation – about what I would do if Jon never came back to me.
My love for Jon had not diminished. I would never stop loving him, never forget him, but I was young. I was alive. I needed to live and to love – and I did love Jack. I loved him in a way I had loved no other man.
I thought of nothing else for the next three days. My conscience told me that I must not betray my husband. I had promised to love him, forsaking all others for the rest of our lives, and I had fully intended to keep those vows. Until the moment when Jack kissed me, I had not even thought of seeking comfort in another man’s arms. I had accepted my loneliness as a part of the price we all had to pay for this dreadful war, and I had consoled myself with the hope that at the end of it all Jon might somehow come back to me.
A part of me still clung to that hope. Sometimes, I dreamed that he came to me, that he opened his arms and held me close, and I could almost taste the salt of his tears … but when I woke it was my own tears that I felt on my cheeks.
Yet it was an accepted fact that Jon was dead. I had received notification from the War Office that my husband was officially dead and I was classified as a war widow. I had torn up the letter angrily, furious that they had just given Jon up, and I had gone on hoping, praying for someone to find news of him, but it had not happened. Despite myself, I was beginning to think now that it never would.
How long was I prepared to live alone? I was a woman who enjoyed the physical side of marriage, and I knew I could not bear to live alone all my life. Besides, Jon had told me he wanted me to find a new life for myself if something like this happened.
‘Don’t waste your life, Emma,’ he’d told me. ‘Live for me … I want you to be happy, my darling.’
He had wanted to think that I would go on, that I would find happiness again.
Yet supposing I went to Jack and then Jon did come home … what would he think then? Would he understand, or would he feel I had betrayed him?
The thoughts went round and round endlessly in my mind during three sleepless nights, and I was no nearer to making my decision.