Chapter Eleven

I tossed and turned that night, unable to dismiss the knowledge that Rochard disapproved of my feelings for Grey. I didn't doubt that he meant what he said. Grey had been called to London for a meeting the next day, but promised he would be back by the evening. Even though I'd resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt, I decided to tell him what Rochard had said.

I got up as soon as it was light and went to the communal bathroom at the end of the hallway to wash my hair. On my return I found a note from the landlady, slipped in its usual fashion under the door. 'Call from a Mrs. Snowdon, Bromsgrove 3620. Please call as soon as possible. Urgent.' As soon as I was dressed I hurried to the phone booth. Maggie answered on the third ring.

"Maggie? It's Christine."

"Thanks for calling." Her voice began to tremble. "I had a telegraph about Charlie."

I gripped the receiver. "Go on."

"He's been wounded in Tunisia. Shot in the leg by a sniper. He almost bled to death and then he caught dysentery at the hospital." She was sobbing by now. "They can't tell me anything else. I don't know what to do. Can you come today?"

"Oh, Maggie. Of course I can. I'll telephone and tell you the train times."

"I already checked. There's a train from Cliveden Station in an hour. You should be in Bromsgrove at noon."

"Alright. How's the little one?"

"Asleep. But not for long." I stayed on the phone until she stopped crying, then left a message for Grey at his office cancelling our plans. Thanks to the war fewer civilian trains were running, and the train station was busy. I chose a window seat and watched the landscape drift by, unable to concentrate on the novel I had brought with me.

Maggie met me at Bromsgrove Station, her eyes swimming as I pulled her into a hug.

"Any news?"

"No," she sniffed, wiping her eyes as she pulled away. "But I wasn't expecting any."

"Where's William?"

"I left him with the neighbours. I was up all night and I'm so tired. We'll have to walk back." I linked my arm in hers and we began walking. She lived twenty minutes away in a small semi-detached house with two bedrooms and an allotment at the front. As soon as the front door opened a Jack Russell terrier bounded out and began barking. "Get back in!" Shooed Maggie. "Don't be frightened," she said, realising I hadn't followed her inside. "He won't hurt you. Charlie thought I needed a guard dog. He's been a bloody nuisance, though. He bit the postman last week." I walked in and shut the front door behind me. It was a short walk to the living room. The Snowdons weren't wealthy, but Maggie was a proud housekeeper. There was a small Persian rug in the centre and a fireplace with a small wireless radio, flanked by a sofa and two armchairs. In the corner was our mother's piano. "Make yourself comfortable," called Maggie from the kitchen next door. "I'll let the dog out so he won't bother us."

I ran my hand over the piano keys. "I could take him for a walk if you want a nap."

"I already gave him one. I've tried sleeping but it's no use." She reappeared with a tea tray and set it down on a table next the sofa. I joined her, and she handed me a cup. "Tell me what happened," I said. She pulled the telegraph out of her dress pocket and handed it to me. "It's all in there, but there's not much else to tell. The Battalion Commander wrote it." I scanned it. "They can't risk shipping him home until his leg improves, but there's a high risk of infection at the military hospital. That's how he caught the dysentery. Bad drinking water."

I sighed, and handed her back the telegraph. "I wish there was something I could do."

"That's what makes it so hard. There's nothing to do but wait." Her eyes were dry now, but her hand trembled and the teacup clattered in the saucer. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course."

She drained her teacup. "I need something stronger. Let's go to the pub. The neighbour said they'd keep Will until teatime." There was a definite chill in the air as we walked up the lane towards the high street. Bromsgrove was a rural town, outwardly untouched by the war with the exception of the galvanised air raid shelters in every garden. At the pub I insisted on buying the drinks. "Tell me about you," said Maggie as soon as we had chosen a table. "Distract me. How's your Colonel Grey?"

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about Charlie?"

"If I start talking about him, I'll start picturing him in that hospital bed. So yes, please. Let's talk about something else. Tell me about Colonel Grey."

"He's fine. As busy as ever."

"You're blushing. Has he kissed you yet?"

I smiled in spite of myself. "Yes."

"Ah. And he's a good kisser, I can see that. Do you do want to do more than kiss him?"

At the idea of it something inside me clenched, pleasantly. "Yes. I think so. But it's not just that. We get on so well. I'd like you to meet him."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "If you want. Did you read my last letter?"

"Yes. I thought you were jumping the gun, rather."

"Maybe. But given his reputation, I can't be the only one that thinks that way."

My argument with Rochard came to my mind, and I shook my head. "No. Rochard thinks it's a bad idea. He thinks I'm naïve."

To my surprise, she smiled. "How many other women do you think Grey has seduced in your office? And how many of them do you think Rochard has warned?"

"I have no idea."

"Christine! I think you do. He doesn't sound like the kind of man who goes out of his way to give warnings to people he couldn't care less about."

"I used to think that too," I said. "Now I think he would warn them, even if he didn't like them. He's not really the sort to stand by and do nothing."

Maggie snorted. "I may not know him as well as you do, but I do know this: men like Rochard and Grey never do something for nothing."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Rochard's no saint. He's a man! Maybe he doesn't want you to get involved with Grey because he doesn't want to lose a decent secretary if it all goes wrong. Or maybe he wants you for himself."

"Maggie!" I spluttered, nearly losing my drink. "It isn't like that."

"Why not? You've been right under his nose all this time. You're practically his office wife! You're pretty, you're intelligent. And I bet he's curious about you anyway because of your dad."

The more Maggie talked, the more uncomfortable I felt. "Rochard doesn't play games," I rejoined.

"How do you know that?"

I had no answer. "I don't."

"I shouldn't have said anything," she said. I just don't want you to rush into anything. This war makes you feel like you have to live every day as if it's your last." Her change of mood was so abrupt that I barely had time to register it; her eyes welled up. "Sorry. Sorry. I can't stand this waiting." She waved my hand away when I offered her my handkerchief. "I'll be fine in a minute."

I moved to the seat next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. After a few minutes, one of the barmen came over with two fresh drinks. "On the house," he said. "I know her husband."

I nodded. "Thank you." I handed Maggie hers. We stayed for another hour, until the wireless was switched on for the news bulletin. The North African campaign was still the focus of the majority of the reports, and neither of us had the stomach to be reminded of Charlie. It seemed easy, at first, to push thoughts of Cliveden away when we got back to the house; I insisted that Maggie lie down, and went to fetch Will from the neighbours. We sat at the kitchen table and I watched as he drew spitfires on sugar paper, small at first, then messier as his eyes began to droop. As soon as he was fast asleep I carried him to the sofa and tried, unsuccessfully, to keep busy by preparing the dinner. My mind wandered, and seemed to fix on Rochard like a stuck record, trying to match things he had said and done to Maggie's theory. There was no way of knowing how he really felt; he played his cards close to his chest. And the simplest explanations were usually the best. It would be more plausible to believe that his concern over my involvement with Grey was professional. Nevertheless, certain things about him struck me afresh: the strange colour of his eyes, his deep voice. It was hard to imagine a life for him outside of the office, and I realised I hadn't attempted to do so until now. Most of all I wondered if there were other parts of his life that he was passionate about, as it seemed to me he never believed in doing anything in half-measures.

I had let my imagination run away with me but Rochard stayed in my thoughts all day, an ethereal companion. At six o'clock Maggie emerged from bedroom and we ate dinner at the kitchen table. When she insisted on doing the washing up I went to the telephone box down the road and telephoned Grey.

"I wondered if you might call," he said on picking up. "How is your sister?"

At the sound of his voice I suddenly felt like crying. "She's alright. She's – she's worried. She wants to know what's going on. So do I." I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and tried to ignore the tight feeling in my chest. "I'm glad I got to speak to you."

"You mustn't worry," he said. "I got through to the Director of Operations. Apparently Private Snowdon was injured at Sidi Rezegh when the British troops were withdrawing. He has dysentery but the leg wound isn't too bad. They'll probably send him back to Algiers to recuperate in a few days and ship him back to his battalion in a month or two. He'll be uncomfortable, but he will be alright."

"Oh, Charles. Thank you."

"No need for thanks. And tell Maggie that if she wants to send her husband a telegram, I can arrange it."

"I will. She'll be so glad." The lump in my throat was forming again. "Will I see you tomorrow? I'll be back on the 5 o'clock train."

"Of course you will. I'm going to pick you up from the station and we can have dinner somewhere, unless you need to get up early for work?"

"No," I began, shaking my head until I realised he couldn't see me. "For once work is the furthest thing from my mind." And it was; suddenly, the need to see Grey was the only thing that was important.

"Good. Try to get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, darling." I replaced the receiver and walked back to the house slowly, trying to recompose my thoughts. Maggie was ecstatic with the news, and insisted we celebrate. At one o'clock in the morning, tipsy and exhausted, I crawled into bed.