Selina had snagged her summer dress on a gooseberry bush in the farmhouse garden, which was mostly laid to veg rather than flowers, where Joe and Ernest were busy setting off fireworks. The display was a lovely thought for Alice’s wedding, given the expense and difficulty of getting hold of fireworks. They’d been banned altogether during the war, she recalled, as the light could have guided enemy bombers to their targets too easily, not to mention alarming civilians into thinking an invasion was taking place. But these days there were no restrictions except cost.
There wasn’t much room to admire the display though, a few dozen wedding guests having crowded into the warm darkness of the garden, and now she’d stumbled against the thorny embrace of a gooseberry bush.
Carefully, Selina untangled her skirt from the thorns, taking care not to prick her fingers. At least a pulled thread shouldn’t be too much of a disaster, she considered. She’d run up the dress on Mrs Hawley’s sewing machine, cannibalising one of her sister’s old frocks rather than wasting precious ration coupons on something new. So any loose threads would be an easy fix.
As the first rocket whizzed into the sky, she stared expectantly upwards, sighing at the glorious explosion of light brightening the dark … ‘Ah.’
Cameron, beside her, murmured, ‘Damn noisy things.’
‘Pretty, though.’
She flashed him a quick smile. Had she done the right thing, asking Cameron to drive her all the way down to Alice’s wedding in Porthcurno? It had been a cheeky request, even given that she’d provided most of the fuel for such a long journey. But had she given him the wrong idea?
Though perhaps she’d asked deliberately, intrigued by glowing reports she’d read of the young man in her sister’s earliest journal. Life at Thornton Hall had been so busy lately, she’d barely had time to read more than a few entries so far. But she’d caught Cameron’s name among references to Sebastian and his friends and neighbours, as her sister had made a home for herself as a new bride on Bodmin Moor.
She was a little light-headed, Selina realised, and also unsteady on her feet. Tilly had been plying her with Mrs Newton’s home-made gin for the past hour or so, which now came in several different flavours, all of them equally violent. To her relief, Joan had agreed to bunk up with Caro, Tilly and Selina tonight, leaving her own room free for Cameron. He’d claimed he could sleep in the car, but Selina was sure that would be awfully uncomfortable. Some of the other guests who were staying in the village overnight were being housed above Mrs Newton’s shop, while some rooms in the farmhouse were having to accommodate two or even three times their usual quota. But for most guests their stay was only for one night, so everyone seemed perfectly happy to squeeze up.
She probably shouldn’t have drunk so much. But then she would never have agreed to dance, and that had been one of the highlights of her evening so far. The kitchen table had been removed to leave space for dancing, with a scattering of chairs around the room for any older guests or those who’d had too much to drink. During a lull in the dancing, Mrs Newton had set her foot on a stool and played the spoons on her knee, something her late husband Arnie had always done at parties, and then talked politics loudly with Joe, Ernest and a silver-haired man nobody seemed to know, but whom Selina had heard Mrs Newton introduce as ‘an old school friend of mine, Mr Bailey’.
It felt strange to be back at the farm after weeks at Thornton Hall. She had grown used to the spacious, comfortable surroundings, and to having time to call her own, wandering in the gardens or reading when not spending time with her sister’s children.
Being back in Porthcurno reminded her of how hard she’d worked here. Long years of back-breaking labour, often out in the dark before dawn and in all weathers, achieving tasks she’d never have considered possible before the war had driven her to join the Land Army. But oh, the fun she’d had too … The friends she’d made and the high jinx, tricks played on each other, like the time she and Penny had balanced a bucket of water on the barn door, and Caroline had walked through instead of Hazel’s schoolboy son, who’d cheeked Selina and deserved a dunking …
She’d spoken to Penny and Alice for ages in the kitchen earlier. Penny had been full of gossip about old friends, for during the war she and Alice had roomed together in the Cornish seaside resort of Bude. Eventually, Penny had married a local fisherman there. The former Land Girl had come from Bude with her husband, John, and had told Alice everything that had been happening in her absence.
‘Florence and Miles have moved to the States,’ she’d told them excitedly, before adding for Selina’s benefit, who’d been looking puzzled, ‘Florence was our landlady in Bude, you understand, and Miles was one of the US Rangers billeted at her boarding house. They fell in love and married just before he had to leave for the D-Day landings. It was so romantic,’ she’d gushed. ‘Miles was wounded at Pointe du Hoc, so was discharged early, but he’s fine now. They’ve moved to Texas with little Billy and their baby, Hope. Though Hope must be getting on for two now, hardly a baby anymore.’
‘Texas?’ Alice had looked impressed. ‘Blimey, yes, that’s where Miles came from, wasn’t it? I wish them both well, of course. And it’ll be an adventure for young Billy. But I can’t quite imagine Florence in Texas. She was so … British.’
And she and Penny had laughed, reminiscing about the old days in Bude, where Alice had secretly been learning spycraft, unbeknownst to everyone at their boarding house, while Penny had been working in a dairy shop.
It was still amazing to Selina how much had gone on behind the scenes during the war. It was as though there’d been another country hidden under the Britain they’d seen every day, but of course people had understood the need for that secrecy. Now they could discuss such things more openly. And yet few people did, perhaps still fearful it might not yet be safe, especially with so many British soldiers still in uniform and in foreign climes, serving their country. As though somehow the British and their allies might wake up to find the hard-won peace had been a dream …
‘I say,’ Cameron said in her ear, ‘I think one of your friends is trying to get your attention.’
Confused, Selina turned from watching the brilliant bangs and lights of the fireworks. ‘Sorry?’
It was Joan, who’d come dashing up, and was tugging on her sleeve. ‘Selly, come quick … I don’t know what to do,’ she gasped, barely audible over the applause and chatter. ‘It’s my friend, Arthur. He’s back there and he … he’s not well. He needs help.’
Cameron was already heading to the rear of the shadowy garden. He peered over the low wall into the farmyard, then ran through the gate. By the time Selina and Joan caught up with him, he was already kneeling beside a young man on the ground, who was groaning and shaking violently.
‘Good God,’ Selina exclaimed, ‘what’s wrong with him?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Joan said miserably. ‘He just started yelling and then fell down like that. But he told me he sometimes has waking nightmares. And Violet warned me not to spend time with him. She said he … he hadn’t been right since the war. But Arthur’s such a good friend, so I … I thought she must be exaggerating.’ Joan hugged herself, her eyes wide and frightened. ‘This is all my fault. He was fine until I made him come down to the farm.’
‘You’re all right, dear chap,’ Cameron was saying, having helped a visibly distressed Arthur to sit up. He put a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder. ‘That’s it, that’s the ticket … You’ll be right as rain in a minute.’
Arthur didn’t look ‘all right’, Selina thought. Indeed, the young man began to sob as yet more fireworks rocketed off into the sky with loud bangs. But she trusted Cameron’s judgement. He had been an officer during the war and was clearly used to dealing with a variety of difficult situations.
‘Perhaps we should move him indoors,’ Joan suggested, ‘before anyone sees him.’
But it was too late. Already they could hear voices behind them, and sure enough, Joe came limping through from the garden at that moment, leaning heavily on his cane, a worried-looking Violet at his back, swinging a torch.
‘What’s going on? What’s wrong?’ Violet shone the torch beam across Arthur’s face and gave a shocked cry. ‘What the blazes? Who’s that on the ground?’
‘It’s the Green lad,’ Joe muttered.
‘Oh, bloomin’ ’eck.’ Violet dazzled Selina and Joan with her torch instead. ‘Had too much to drink, has he?’
‘I think it’s the fireworks,’ Cameron told them grimly. ‘He doesn’t like them. The bangs and explosions. Brings it all back, see?’
Violet stared at him. ‘Brings what back?’
‘The war,’ Cameron said grimly.
Joan winced.
‘But what’s he doing ’ere?’ Violet rounded swiftly on Joan. ‘We told you not to keep seeing Arthur Green, didn’t we? Warned you how it would be. But you wouldn’t listen, oh no. Thought you knew better than me and Joe.’ She hurried forward for a better look, clucking her tongue. But at least she seemed more anxious than furious, Selina thought, and gave Joan’s hand a quick squeeze, seeing her friend trembling and on the verge of tears. ‘Now look at the state of the poor lad.’
Arthur cried louder at her approach, covering his eyes.
‘The torch,’ Cameron told her urgently. ‘Turn it off.’
Violet gave him another dubious look but obeyed, clicking off the torch, and at once Arthur lapsed into quiet sobbing again.
Joe had disappeared but soon returned with Ernest, who took one look at the young man cradled in Cameron’s arms, and nodded.
‘Here we go,’ he said in jovial tones, helping Cameron get the boy onto his feet again. ‘Now, let’s get you inside the house. Away from all this sound and fury, eh? That’s it, one foot in front of the other. Excellent.’ Arthur stumbled but the two men supported him. ‘No, you’re doing well … We’ll soon have you feeling better, my boy.’ He glanced back at Joe. ‘Can you manage the fireworks without me? There’s only a few left to set off.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Joe assured him, and headed back into the dark garden.
Slowly, Selina followed the men into the farmhouse, Joan trailing behind her. It was dark but she could hear sniffing. ‘Hey,’ she said, stopping on the threshold to put an arm about the other girl’s shoulder. ‘He’s going to be all right, I’m sure. You heard Mr Bourne, it was probably the fireworks that set him off. I expect they must have sounded like bombs … And who can blame him? I still get nightmares about the war, and I’ve nothing like his excuse.’
Joan nodded, drying her face with the backs of her hands. ‘I can’t help blaming myself though. We were sitting up in the fields, and he was perfectly fine. Then I insisted we came down to see the fireworks properly …’ She shuddered, whispering, ‘Oh, Selina, it was horrible. I’ve never seen him like that. He’s always behaved like such a gentleman towards me. And suddenly he was like a wild animal, yelling and snarling.’
Selina hugged her. ‘You poor thing.’
The two men had taken Arthur through into the snug, away from the curious glances of Mrs Newton and her friend, Mr Bailey, who were sitting in the kitchen, catching up on old times, by the sound of it.
Robert, Demelza’s husband, appeared. ‘Joe says someone’s in need of help?’ and Selina nodded him towards the snug.
‘’Ere, what’s up with that lad?’ Mrs Newton demanded, jumping up as though to follow him. But Ernest came out and closed the door into the snug.
‘Sorry, Sheila … Best leave the boy to calm down. He’s had a nasty shock, that’s all, but he’ll be fine in a jiffy.’
‘What can I do to help?’ Joan asked in a low voice.
Alice’s dad paused, studying her. ‘Leave him to us. We’ll make sure Arthur gets home safely.’
‘Isn’t there anything I can do?’ Joan pleaded.
He smiled, shaking his head. ‘Good of you to offer but Robert’s been a battlefield ambulance man. He’s got experience with this sort of thing. And that young fellow Mr Bourne seems to know his stuff too.’
Joan’s shoulders slumped and Selina felt sorry for her, knowing how badly she’d be suffering if that had been Johnny while they were still courting. Her friend was no doubt still blaming herself too, even though it wasn’t her fault.
‘Come upstairs,’ she said, taking Joan’s arm. ‘We can talk about it in Caro’s room. I expect the bedding will need to be sorted out anyway. We can chat while we fix up enough blankets and pillows for the four of us girls.’
With one last unhappy glance at the closed door of the snug, Joan agreed and followed her upstairs.
* * *
Selina could hardly believe how tiny the attic rooms seemed after a few weeks in her sister’s home, their sloping ceilings and dirty skylights almost claustrophobic, while the furniture was ancient and tatty. Had she really slept on this lumpy old mattress, she thought, and made do with a stand-up wash most mornings in this cracked sink with its leaky tap? And yet she’d been happy here, for the most part. It was only after Johnny’s long silence, followed by his break-up letter, that she’d begun to wish she could be anywhere else in the world. But that had only been because everyone at the farm had known how badly she’d been treated, and she could no longer handle the humiliation of their pitying looks or hurriedly cut-off whispers whenever she entered a room. They had meant well, no doubt, but it had been with genuine relief that she’d packed her bags and finally cut loose from Porthcurno …
She and Joan found a few spare blankets in the airing cupboard, though the best ones had all been snaffled for the other guests. No extra pillows or bolsters were left, so they decided two of them would have to roll up a towel and use that instead. Joan seemed to settle under the distraction of the task, and was dry-eyed by the time they’d made up two more beds on the floor.
‘Mr Bourne’s right,’ Joan agreed, sighing as she drew up her knees and linked her hands about them, sitting on Tilly’s bed, ‘it was when the fireworks started that he changed. Those loud bangs and pops … So deafening. It must have thrown him back to the war, somehow.’
‘I’ve heard of that happening to some men,’ Selina told her, aware of a guilty relief that Cameron had not been damaged by his war experience in a similar way. She wasn’t sure she could have coped with that. Though she and Cameron were only friends. It must be so much worse when it was a boyfriend.
‘I don’t know how I shall ever face him again,’ Joan admitted. ‘I should have realised. He was trying to tell me. I see that now. And I ignored him. I didn’t understand.’ She gave a little gasp. ‘He must hate me.’
‘Why on earth would he hate you?’
‘For bringing this on him … We could have stayed where we were, up on the hill behind the house. Then at least if he’d … changed, nobody but me would have seen him. Now everyone knows.’
‘Hardly everyone,’ Selina pointed out practically. ‘Me, Mr Fisher, Joe, Violet, and Demelza’s husband … Oh, and Mr Bourne, who’ll probably never come back here again.’ She paused, shaking her head at Joan’s tormented expression. ‘Look, it’s a good thing you weren’t alone when he changed, as you put it. Goodness knows what might have happened if you hadn’t been able to call for help.’
Joan stuck out her chin, shaking her head. ‘He would never have hurt me.’
‘You can’t be sure of that.’
‘Arthur’s not like that. He’s … gentle.’
‘Do be sensible, Joan. You told me earlier that he was shouting at you … Like a wild animal, you said.’
‘Only because he was confused. I genuinely don’t think he knew where he was or even who I was. Not at the time.’ Joan was staring down at her knees, her face abstracted. ‘Oh, whatever am I going to do? This is all my fault. And Arthur will never want to see me again after tonight.’
‘Maybe that’s a good thing.’
‘Well, I don’t agree,’ Joan said stubbornly. ‘Though I imagine Violet will have plenty to say on that topic too. She and Joe are probably talking about it right now.’ She gave another unhappy sigh. ‘And we’d had such a lovely evening too. We took a picnic up the hill and listened to the music and … and we talked for ages.’ She blushed, biting her lip, and Selina had the impression there was something she wasn’t telling her. ‘Then the fireworks went off and everything was ruined.’
Feeling bad for her friend, Selina went over and hugged her. ‘Enough of that self-pitying talk. It could have been worse.’
‘How?’ Joan looked up, frowning. Then her eyes widened. ‘Oh, you mean … That he could have hurt himself? Golly, yes, and that might happen yet. His parents are bound to hear about this, and I know they’re very protective of him. Maybe they’ll forbid him to see me again, just like Violet and Joe did with me. Then we’ll have it from both sides.’
‘You two sound like a regular Romeo and Juliet,’ a voice drawled from the doorway, and Selina looked quickly round to see Cameron there.
She felt immediately happier, which was ridiculous.
‘Oh, have you left him? But how is he?’ Joan asked, jumping off the bed at once. ‘Poor Arthur … May I see him now?’
Cameron shook his head. ‘Sorry, Ernest and Robert have taken him home.’ He strolled about the small attic room, frowning at the blankets on the floor. ‘I say, Alice’s dad is a sensible chap. Though he must have nerves of steel. I’m told he was out in Germany for most of the war. Behind enemy lines.’
‘Yes, he was, not that anyone here talks about it much. But Alice told Penny ages back, and Penny told Caro, and Caro told me. So, we all found out in the end.’ Selina grinned at his shocked expression. ‘You know how funny some people are about what they did during the war.’
‘Quite right too,’ Cameron agreed, thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘Some of it doesn’t bear repeating, frankly. I’m surprised you all seemed to have discussed it so freely.’ His frown deepened as he noticed Joan’s fresh tears. ‘I say, no need to cry. That boy will be fine after a good night’s sleep. Nothing wrong with him that time and patience won’t heal.’
‘You didn’t see him at the start,’ Joan told him, almost savagely. ‘Arthur was … Oh, I don’t know what he was. But it scared me.’
Cameron said nothing to this but looked instead at Selina, changing the subject. ‘Fancy a nightcap? Most of the guests seem to have headed home, those who aren’t staying the night that is. I’m told I’ll be sleeping along the landing here.’
‘Yes, next door.’
‘I say, have I stolen someone’s bed?’ He looked horrified. ‘No, no, that’s not right. I’ll sleep on the floor.’
‘You’ll sleep where you’re told.’
He grinned at her firm tone. ‘Well, I could do with a last drink before bed. By the way, the family seem to be gathered in the kitchen to say a last goodbye to Alice and Patrick. The happy couple are spending the night down at Eastern House, I’m told, before returning to London tomorrow. They’re just waiting for Alice’s dad to come back from dropping Arthur home.’ He shot Selina an enigmatic smile, though included Joan in the invitation. ‘How about joining us all downstairs?’
‘Yes,’ Selina said firmly, and dragged a protesting Joan from the room. ‘Come on, you need a drink. Nobody will blame you for what happened, don’t be silly.’
As soon as Joan had been given a drink and seated between Caroline and Tilly in the kitchen, Selina found an excuse to go outside for some ‘fresh air’, and made sure to give Cameron a meaningful look. Thankfully, he took the hint and followed her after a discreet interval.
It wasn’t quite pitch-black outside, for although there was no moon that night, a soft light was shining across the farmyard from the kitchen windows.
‘I’m sorry about that thing with Arthur,’ she began as Cameron trod towards her across the dirty cobbles, but he shook his head, holding up a hand.
‘No need to apologise; it wasn’t anyone’s fault. These things happen.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Poor lad. He obviously had a hard time of it out there. I’ve seen it before, all too often.’
‘Will he get over it?’
‘Hard to tell. Most do, but an unlucky few don’t. I knew one who couldn’t stand it anymore and blew his brains out.’
‘Oh my God!’
Cameron blenched. ‘I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. Forgive me, Selina. I’m sure Arthur won’t do anything so desperate.’ He paused. ‘Besides, he’s got your friend Joan to look out for him. She’s obviously got a soft spot for the boy.’
‘Does that make a difference?’
‘It can do,’ he said sombrely.
She shivered and he came closer, and abruptly took her in his arms. ‘Selina,’ he said huskily, and kissed her.
She clung onto his broad shoulders, closing her eyes and her mind too, blocking out any sensible thoughts.
He was a good kisser.
But memories of Johnny soon came back to haunt her and she stiffened in his arms, suddenly unsure, aware that she didn’t want to risk being hurt like that ever again.
Cameron pulled back, puzzlement in his voice. ‘I hope you didn’t mind me kissing you? Should I apologise?’
‘No,’ she admitted shyly. ‘Though it was a surprise.’
His eyes twinkled at that. ‘Good surprise or bad surprise?’
‘Good, I think.’
Now he laughed outright. But she sensed he was still thrown by such a lukewarm response. ‘But you’re still not sure? Heavens above, I must be doing it wrong.’
Selina was saved from having to elaborate by the arrival of Caroline, who’d come bouncing out of the farmhouse, torch in hand, presumably in search of them.
She felt strangely embarrassed now though, her cheeks heating.
Had Caro witnessed their kiss?
If her friend had seen anything, she didn’t comment, much to Selina’s relief. ‘Ah, there you are, you two,’ she exclaimed, running the dazzling torch beam over their faces, and then hiccupped loudly as though she’d had too much to drink. Though no more than Selina, most likely. ‘Better come back. We’re drinking a last toast to Alice and Patrick.’
‘Thanks, Caro. We’ll be right there.’
Silently, Cameron squeezed Selina’s hand before releasing it, and then turned to her friend with a charming smile. ‘I say,’ he drawled, ‘I believe you’ll be travelling back to Bodmin with us tomorrow.’
‘Only if you don’t mind,’ Caroline said awkwardly, shining her light on the way ahead as the three of them strolled back towards the farmhouse.
‘Good Lord, no. Why should I mind?’ He sounded amused, as though he’d already put Selina’s odd reaction to his kiss out of his mind. ‘The more the merrier.’