LONDON, SEPTEMBER 1940
A LOVE FOUND – A LOVE LOST
‘Mother, don’t fuss. I will get ready later.’
‘But I am so excited! A party! We are throwing a party!’
Watching her mother skipping around the room like a little girl tightened the muscles in Alice’s stomach and set up an alarm inside her that she didn’t want to feel. Maybe Mother was too joyous? Was this a different kind of warning sign? Was she on the point of having one of her attacks? Often a deep low in her mood began with an over-the-top high.
‘Mother, please calm down. There’s hours to go until the party, and look at you: you are already dressed in your finery. You look very beautiful and it is going to be wonderful, but I want you to be well for it. This is an important occasion for me.’
Her mother stopped dancing and for a moment looked delicate and sweet. Her dark hair was swept back off her face and rolled at the front, shining in the shaft of sunlight coming through the window. Her gown clung to her wonderful figure and billowed out at the bottom, giving her the shape of a mermaid. It was a vivid red, with a large mock-collar sweeping down from the neck to the waist, leaving a peep of cleavage where it bordered her breasts. The colour showed off her creamy skin. The whole effect made her appear much younger than her forty-eight years. Smoke curled from the end of her long cigarette holder. Alice smiled at the picture she made, but that smile turned to anguish as her mother’s face creased in an ugly rage and a familiar screeching tone entered her voice. ‘I am calm. Stop being so selfish! You know I have not held a party here for years and years, not since before . . . Oh, that’s it. It’s HIM talking. Your bastard of a father! God help Brendon, that’s all I can say, because taking YOU – you bitch! – to be his wife, he’s going to need it!’
‘Don’t, Mother. Stop it. Stop it, now! I won’t stand for it. Calm yourself. You know you can. You can use the techniques Mr Chou-Wong has been teaching you. Sit down and start your breathing exercises. Do it, Mother!’
The moment held tension as they stared at each other. The flash of loathing in her mother’s eyes sliced pain through Alice. Would she ever get used to these outbursts? Adulthood had brought understanding, but it didn’t stop the agony of being on the receiving end of her mother’s hate-filled illness.
An easing of the strain came with her mother’s slow acceptance. Her body folded. Her demeanour changed as she gave in and sat down. Trying to help the process of bringing her to a calmer place, Alice spoke gently, ‘Breath slowly, that’s right. Now, think good thoughts. How lovely it is going to be to have guests in our home. How we have enjoyed planning the occasion, and in the future, when the war is over, we’ll plan the wedding together.’
Though all of this had the desired effect on her mother and she relaxed her body back onto the couch, for Alice there was no calm. She battled the turmoil of emotions set up inside her. At times she felt happy about her forthcoming wedding to Bren; at other times, forced by their situation into making the commitment.
The papers instructing Bren to join HMS Arklantis on 8th September had brought things to a head. Taking her to dinner, he’d told her of his deployment. He’d explained that the Arklantis, a hospital ship used to ferry home and treat the wounded from the battlefields abroad, was an excellent posting for him, but he could be away for very long periods of time. He begged her not to let him leave without knowing there was some hope for them both in the future.
Alice had seen him becoming more and more frustrated with her over the last couple of weeks. With his posting delayed after Dunkirk for extra training, they had seen each other reasonably often and everything had been amicable between them, even though Bren had been unable to accept her loving him, but not wanting anything further.
Suddenly, as he neared the end of his course, it was as if they had their own battleground. Bren had insisted he could make everything right for her, if she would only let him, but she’d feared letting go and allowing yet another person to have control over her. And, for her, his saying that he loved her didn’t allay her reservations. Her own mother couldn’t love her – not enough not to stop hurting her. Her father hadn’t been able to love her enough to want to protect her, his unborn child, from the horrors of the Kaiser, or from the consequences of his actions. And the love that her nanny had eventually shown her had only damaged her.
Pinning her hopes on time making things right for them, she had plumped for peace and agreed to the engagement. In doing so she had found some happiness in Bren’s delight and in his unselfish approach to her. He hadn’t minded when she’d stopped things from going too far, at times when his kisses held more than she wanted them to. It had been hard on him, she knew that, and she wished things could be different. She wished she could unravel the part of her that held her feelings in what seemed like an unbreakable iron grip.
Everything had moved at a fast pace after that, and now here they were, a few days later, making it all official.
She hadn’t minded the party being arranged. It had given Mother and Lady Elizabeth something to concentrate on, and at times it had been quite fun, as Lady Elizabeth had insisted that Alice should be involved, when Mother would have excluded her.
Contrary to her usual nature, she had enjoyed shopping for an outfit for the occasion, and had chosen a satin gown in a soft gold colour. The skirt flowed in a simple line to the floor, moulding itself to her figure rather than clinging to it. But its beauty lay in the tiny pleats of the bodice, which hung in a graceful swirl from the peekaboo neckline and the batwing sleeves. With her arms stretched out, it formed a perfect half-round shape. She adored it and felt elegant and beautiful in it.
Her mother sitting up and squealing, ‘You are not to wear that gold gown – I forbid it!’ startled her. For a moment it was as if she had been lost in her thoughts.
‘Why, Mother? We bought it together, and you loved it on me. What possible reason can you have for me not wearing it?’
‘You will make me look gaudy, and I am not having that. I am the hostess, and I should outshine everyone!’
‘Oh, Mother, don’t be ridiculous. This is my engagement party. Besides, I could never outshine you. I want to wear the gown. I have no other – nothing else I have is suitable.’
‘You can wear one of mine. I have wardrobes of them, some of them never worn. Oh, I was meant to be feted by society, and to attend all the best society do’s. But no, that was curtailed by your father’s disgraceful and despicable betrayal, for how could I hold my position after what he did?’
‘Mother, please. Why don’t I get your maid to take you up to rest? You shouldn’t have your gown on yet anyway. There are hours to go till the guests arrive . . .’
‘No . . . No . . . !’
Fear from her childhood clutched Alice in a spasm that she couldn’t move from, as her mother leapt at her, clawing at her face. The pain of the deep gouges brought tears to her eyes. Pushing her away, she stared aghast at the demented woman that her mother had become. Framed against the window, her hair loosened and hanging in strands around her face, she sprayed spittle into the air with every gasp of breath she took. Her head swivelled from side to side as if in search of something. Terrified of what she would do next, Alice could only wonder at what her mother was looking for, until she saw her eyes, wide and manic, resting on a heavy silver candlestick.
‘No, Mother! No!’
Resembling a wild animal, her mother lunged forward, the candlestick raised like a bayonet fixed for charging . . .
There was nowhere to go. The wall behind her didn’t have a window or a door. Alice’s instinct told her to hit out, but she couldn’t – not at her own mother. Instead she put her hands out to ward off the stinging blow. The agony of it had her pulling her hands away, then reeling back as the candlestick smashed onto her head.
The impact trembled through her, her body crumpled into a heap on the floor. Unable to focus properly, and with vomit choking her, she allowed the blackness to take her.
‘Alice, come on, darling. Fight. Don’t give up. I love you. Oh, Alice . . .’
The distorted voice came to her from a long way off, and sounded the way her records did when the gramophone needed winding up. She knew it was Bren’s voice, but couldn’t reach it. It came again, pleading, telling her of his love. Part of her wanted to laugh, as he sounded so funny in slow motion, but a desperate part of her wanted to catch his voice and stop it from going away from her.
As she tried to reach out to him, she felt a net of close-knit fibre holding her back. Entangled in it, she saw her mother’s head, thrashing from side to side. When her face turned towards Alice, her eyes were pleading. She needs me . . . ‘Mother. Mother?’
‘What are you trying to say, darling?’
Another voice answered, ‘I think she said “Mother”.’
‘Your mother’s all right. She is in—’
‘No!’ This was an urgent whisper from the person she didn’t recognize.
But Bren didn’t take any heed, and with his voice clearer now she heard him say, ‘I have to tell her. She would expect it of me. She needs to know her mother is safe. Alice, darling, don’t worry about your mother. She is in a sanatorium, where they are looking after her. My mother is visiting and is seeing to her needs. Your mother doesn’t know what she has done, but keeps asking for you. She keeps saying she needs you. And, darling, she has said more than once that she loves you . . . Truly, she has said that.’
She loves me? My mother loves me? Never have I felt that love, although I have wanted to. Oh God, I have wanted to . . .
The net that had prevented her from reaching Bren, and that had entangled her mother in her anguish, thinned and then left her. Now she could see Bren clearly, and in his eyes she saw his love for her. A moment of clarity gave her the knowledge that this was a love that was real – what she had been searching for, but had been blind to. It soothed her. She wanted to return it, wanted to tell Bren that she did love him.
‘Don’t try to talk, darling. You’ve had a tube in your throat to help you breathe, and it will have made your voice hoarse and your throat sore. I can read your message in your eyes. I know you love me. I know you always have, but couldn’t let yourself show it. It makes me happy that you can now.’
Her attempt at a nod caused her pain, but the physical pain was nothing to her heartache at Bren’s next words.
‘I have to start my journey to join my ship tomorrow, darling. My—’
‘No!’ The word came out as a hoarse whisper, and tears washed it away from her.
‘Oh, Alice, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to take on, old thing. Don’t cry, my darling . . . don’t.’
His tears matched hers. Taking her hand, he laid it in his, not holding it, but allowing it to rest there. She had so many questions she wanted to ask. Tomorrow? Was he sure? She had thought he had a week before he had to leave. Then realization hit her: God, have I been here that long?
‘Be strong, darling. I will stay with you tonight, but I have no choice other than to leave then, as my ship sails tomorrow evening and I have to get down to Portsmouth. I’m thankful, though, that you came round before I had to go. And . . . and – well, that I know you love me.’
There was so much she wanted to say. She tried to speak again, but nothing would come.
The voice she’d heard earlier and now knew belonged to a nurse interjected, ‘She’s getting too distressed. I will have to fetch the doctor. He will give her something to put her under again.’
No . . . No . . . Let me stay awake as long as my Bren is here.
A man in a white coat appeared. Finding her voice, she pleaded, ‘Bren . . . No . . .’ This time he heard her, and thank God he stood firm for her. ‘Doctor, she’ll be all right. She is calmer now. It was the news I gave her. Please let her stay awake a little longer. We have to part tomorrow. We need these few hours together. I . . . we need time to say things to each other.’
An agonizing moment passed while checks were made of her pulse and temperature. She tried to keep calm during it, praying that the doctor would listen to Bren.
‘Very well. I will leave the sedative for a while, as she is stable, but let me know if that changes.’
‘I promise I will call someone. I am a doctor myself – well, in my fourth year in Civvy Street, but have further qualified with the Navy. I’ll be staying all night with her.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, then I can’t see that there is a problem. I will ask for as much privacy for you as we can manage, given the checks we need to do to monitor Miss D’Olivier.’
Thank God, thank God! As best as she could she smiled at Bren. It surprised her how her heart hurt at the thought of him leaving tomorrow.
‘You won’t smile when I tell you what my further qualifications are: I have had to learn the skill of amputating limbs!’
She knew they shouldn’t laugh at this, as the implications of it were horrible, but at this moment it did seem funny. Though it hurt to do so, she giggled with him, and the laughing healed her just a little more.
Within a few minutes it stopped abruptly for them both, and an uncomfortable silence fell. A kind of ‘what next?’ feeling descended. Bren broke it first. ‘Darling, I know you’ve suffered at your mother’s hands in the past, and that your father’s betrayal has made you close yourself to any kind of love, but we can find happiness together. It doesn’t all have to rely on the past. Some things cannot heal, so we have to find a way of living with them without punishing ourselves.’
‘I – I know. I will try. And, Bren, if . . . If I were well at this moment, I would be able to give love to you in the way you . . . you want me to, as I – I love you. I know that now.’
He didn’t reply. She knew he couldn’t. He just laid his other hand on top of hers and she could see all he wanted to say written in the depths of his eyes.
At some point they must have both fallen asleep without realizing it. Waking suddenly, Alice found Bren leaning back with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. Watching him held pleasure for her, but a slow wailing in the distance broke the moment. A chill shivered through her and pebbled her arms with goosebumps – oh God, an air-raid!
‘Bren . . . Bren!’ Her cry merged with the wailing noise. Bren woke, but with the siren now blocking out all other sound, his shocked expression didn’t give way to words. Instead he catapulted into action. His strong arms gathered her up out of the bed. Someone opened the door and motioned for them to follow.
Ear-splitting explosions rocked the building. Dust sprinkled onto them and clouded in front of them. A disembodied voice urged them to keep moving. Other figures brushed by, running and screaming, in a surge that had Bren losing his balance and letting her go. She landed heavily against a wall, just as another crushing blast took the light into darkness.
Debris clogged her mouth and throat, making it impossible to call out. Something fell across her, trapping her. Feeling around, she tried desperately to find Bren. At last she managed enough spittle to clear her mouth, but more falling rubble drowned out her cry of Bren’s name.
An eerie silence descended, into which came a whistling sound. Then terror gripped her in a vice, as cold air swept around her body and another explosion lit up the space around her. And that was all it was: space! Everything to one side of her had gone.
Fires turned the night sky into a kaleidoscope of reds and golds, and wails of agony competed with the drone of retreating aircraft. Only the beam that lay across her, wedged between two jagged walls that jutted out into the nothingness, had prevented her from falling into the vast hole beneath her. A hole of Hell. Inside it, vicious flames licked at everything before devouring it, and from its bowels came the screams and hollers of death. But none of it penetrated her as her body numbed with the shock of realization: Bren, her Bren, had fallen into that hole . . .