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Friday, 18 August 1939
By lunchtime, while the farm workers of Alvesdon paused for their al-fresco dinner in the August sun, Tess Castell was walking along the River Thames in the direction of Westminster, thinking about the farm she knew so well. She could picture the scene that would be playing out that day and thought happily that tomorrow she would be waking up at home in Farrowcombe, although this time with Alex Woodman in a room just down the corridor. She smiled to herself, thoughts of home replaced by the memory of the past few heavenly days.
It had been Alex’s suggestion to go to Aldeburgh. A friend of his in the battalion had the place, no one was using it, and it was a shame to let it go to waste, especially since the weather was so particularly lovely. At first, Tess had balked at the idea, horrified by the illicit nature of what he was proposing. It would mean lying to her parents, and she had never done that. And she was apprehensive, too. It was one thing kissing Alex, cuddling him, but staying with him, on their own, in a house by the sea meant they would inevitably make love and that worried her. She had never been naked with a man, let alone had sex. When he’d first mentioned going away, she’d felt herself reddening and her immediate thought had been of her inexperience and inadequacy, even shame for the sexual innocence that would be laid bare.
‘I’ve got two weeks’ leave,’ Alex had told her. ‘I’ve got to go and see my people, but I thought I’d tell them I’ve only been given a week off. With everything that’s going on, they’ll believe me all right. It means you and I can have a whole week together.’
They had been at dinner in a restaurant in Shepherd Market, just around the corner from his club, and he’d been leaning forward, his hands holding hers. At that moment she’d thought how wonderfully long his fingers were – really quite delicate – not at all what one might expect of an officer in the King’s Own Royal Guards. In that moment, her desire to be with him was stronger than her fears.
She had bitten her lip, looked down, and felt her eyes start to glisten, which annoyed her, but she knew she would be crossing her very own Rubicon if she accepted, and that a part of her would be left behind for ever more.
‘Tess? Darling?’
She had looked up then. Alex was very handsome, she thought, a lean face, fair wavy hair, pale eyes that seemed to twinkle at her. Still rather boyish in many ways, even though he was two years older than her.
‘It would mean lying to my parents,’ she said.
‘Not lying, exactly. More fibbing.’
She had smiled at this.
‘I’ll look after you, you know,’ he said. ‘Think of it, swimming in the sea, walks along the beach, fish and chips, and absolutely no one to tell us what to do. I’ll have no company or battalion commander bossing me about, you’ll have no general to answer to—’
‘But I like my general. He’s a darling, really.’
‘I know,’ said Alex, and Tess detected just the faintest touch of impatience, ‘but that’s not the point. We won’t be lackeys to anyone. And, you know, we’ll have ourselves to ourselves.’
Yes, and she wanted that, but it was terrifying too. But, no, perhaps it wasn’t. It would be lovely. Everyone must feel the same the first time.
‘It does sound heavenly.’ She looked up then, unable to stop herself smiling and aware that her heart was beating considerably faster.
He stroked her hands. ‘God knows what’s going to happen in the next few weeks, and I don’t at all want to make you do something you might regret, but I’ve fallen for you in a very big way, Tess.’
‘Have you?’ Her heart hammered even harder.
‘Yes, and I would hate to go off to war knowing we’d been offered this wonderful holiday together and I’d not dared to tell you about it for fear of offending you. I honestly cannot think of anything I would rather do than spend a week alone with you.’
She had paused a moment. Then, with resolve and new excitement coursing through her, she said, ‘All right. Let’s.’ And they had laughed happily. When he’d kissed her goodnight outside the Pimlico flat she shared with his sister Diana, she had felt dizzily in love.
Her parents had swallowed the ‘fib’. General Ismay was in Scotland, she had told her mother, but had wired saying that because of the escalating situation, he really did need her and Louise, the other secretary, to remain in Whitehall.
‘Well, I’m very sad, darling, of course,’ said her mother, ‘but it’s harvest and everyone’s busy so I’m not sure how much you’d have seen of them. You will be able to get down for Grandpa’s birthday, though, won’t you?’
Tess had promised she would.
And they had been six most glorious days – more wonderful than she had dared hope. Alex had been as good as his word: he had looked after her, and although she had felt acutely embarrassed as they’d headed to bed the first night, he had discreetly turned off the lights so that only a faint milky glow from the moon had shone through, which had somehow had made it better. The moment they had finally been naked together, she had felt such an overwhelming sense of relief that she forgot her inhibitions and allowed herself to give herself to him completely. It had hurt quite a bit and that first night she couldn’t help feeling disappointed. But in the nights that followed the pain had dissipated and been replaced with the most unexpected and unimaginably pleasurable sensation she had ever experienced.
As she walked past the Tate Gallery and on towards the Houses of Parliament, she felt quite a different person, as though a skin had been shed. Life seemed to have accelerated this past year. Childhood had continued for what at the time had seemed for ever, so much so that she’d taken it all for granted. Then suddenly she was eighteen and heading to a new life in London with her best friend Diana Woodman. Her older brother, Edward, who had been at Cambridge at the time, had urged her to try for university too, but she’d felt impatient to go to London. Not least because Diana was going to secretarial college there, had a spare room in her parents’ London flat and because the lure of independence and living with her oldest friend had sounded an intoxicating prospect. Her time at the college had flown by, and before she knew it, she had a job working for Major General Hastings Ismay, newly appointed Secretary to the Committee of Imperial Defence who had been looking for a new secretary.
The Houses of Parliament loomed up ahead, in all their Gothic splendour. She found herself thinking about Cambridge. Had Edward been right? Should she have gone? Possibly, but she didn’t regret her decision. Certainly, there had been plenty of opportunity to use her wits working for General Ismay and it had been thrilling, too, to be so close to great events taking place, to see and hear the country’s leaders at first hand. As she entered Parliament Square, she glanced down Whitehall. She had liked Ismay from the moment she’d walked into his office, a room of panelled wood, leather and cigar smoke; he had a kindly face and warm smile and she had felt herself relax almost at once, despite the imposing nature of the room and the vast desk that stood between them. Mostly he’d asked her about herself, explaining that it was important to him to have people working for him he could trust and like. He also needed to know she would be good under pressure. The hours would be long, his demands many, but accurate work would be of vital importance. He would, he told her, need her to use her initiative from time to time and to keep abreast of events.
‘And what do you think we should do about Hitler?’ he’d asked her.
‘Make firm alliances with every country that is worried about him,’ she had told him. ‘All the democracies of Europe should unite in a joint alliance. Hitler might not threaten Czechoslovakia if he knew that by doing so he would be risking war with half a dozen countries, including Britain and France.’
‘And what about those who say it was such alliances that caused the last war?’
‘From what I’ve read, sir, it was rather different. Hitler has an alliance with Austria but that hardly compares with the Central Powers of 1914.’
Hastings had smiled. ‘All right, Miss Castell, thank you.’ And then he had stood up, the interview over. She remembered how she had cringed as she’d left, convinced she’d blown her chances – been too outspoken, too full of herself. But a few days later a letter had arrived offering her a job. A miracle at the time, and no sooner had she started working for the general than the Munich crisis had happened and she’d had privileged access to what was going on. But no grand alliance had materialized, and when in March the Germans had rolled up the rest of Czechoslovakia, Ismay had stopped by her desk one evening and said, ‘You may have been right, you know, what you said in your interview. He’s picking off countries one by one.’
Having crossed Westminster Bridge and walked up onto the concourse of Waterloo Station, she was relieved to see Alex waiting for her under the large four-faced clock that hung from the ceiling, just as they’d planned.
‘Darling,’ he said, as he leaned down to kiss her lips. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘But I only saw you two hours ago.’ She laughed, then said, ‘Thank you again for the most wonderful week, Alex.’
‘It’s been marvellous, hasn’t it?’ He grinned and picked up her case. ‘You look beautiful, Tess.’
She threaded her arm into his. ‘You look jolly handsome yourself,’ but still felt herself pinking with pleasure. ‘We need to find our platform.’
‘It’s number eleven,’ said Alex. ‘What about your uncle and cousin? Shouldn’t we be meeting them?’
Tess looked around. As ever, the station was teeming with people. A guard’s whistle at the nearest platform, gushes of steam belching from the train’s boiler, then a slight jolt as it began inching away. A hawker was selling nuts, another newspapers. People dashing past. A porter with a trolley loaded with cases and an elegant young lady with a wide-brimmed hat walking tall ahead of him. Servicemen – Tess noticed more men in uniform than was usual for August.
‘Mama rang earlier to say we should look out for them and that they’d be on the same train, but wasn’t more specific than that.’ She looked around. ‘Can’t see them.’
They bought their tickets, then boarded the waiting train, finding an empty compartment in second class and sitting opposite one another. Alex leaned forward and took her hands in his. ‘Do I need to be feeling a little nervous?’ he asked.
‘No, of course not. You know Edward and Wilf already and my parents are perfect poppets. So, too, Uncle John and Aunt Carin. I’m sure you’ll love the cousins. Grandpa can be a bit gruff sometimes but Gran’s a darling. And you’ll meet the Varneys too. They’re practically family and you’ll love them, I know. Dick was at school with Dad and Uncle John and is Dad’s best friend. They farmed in Devon but lost everything in the crash. Fortunately, it was the year Dad took over the farm from Grandpa, the tenants of the farmhouse moved away and the Varneys took it on instead.’
‘That was jolly good of him.’
‘I suppose it was. It just all worked out. So, serendipity too. My cousin Elsa is in love with Oliver, Dick and Eleanor’s son. They’ve loved each other since they were quite young.’
‘Rather romantic.’
‘Isn’t it? I honestly think they’ll get married when they’re a bit older. Everyone does.’
Alex smiled. ‘I suppose if you know, you know.’ He looked at her and held her hands a little more tightly. Tess glanced down, then out at the people still moving past on the platform, a wave of wistfulness sweeping over her. Everything seemed so uncertain. She had been so happy all week, but as she thought of Ollie and Elsa she was reminded that at any moment they might be at war, and both of an age when they would inevitably be drawn into it. Ollie was nineteen and she knew Elsa was worried he would soon be called up.
And then there was Alex – an officer in the King’s Own Royal Guards. Her general still hoped war might be avoided, but she knew he thought it unlikely. That she had just found such happiness with Alex but would soon lose him made her want to cry.
‘Let’s not think about it,’ he said. ‘That there might be a war.’ He smiled weakly. ‘You suddenly seemed rather wistful.’
‘I feel it.’ She looked up at him and smiled in turn, hoping she would not cry.
‘We don’t know what will happen,’ added Alex, ‘but we do know we’ve had a wonderful week and have the weekend to come. I want to cherish every moment, not waste the next couple of days feeling sad about what follows.’ He looked at her intensely. ‘Gosh, you’re beautiful.’
Tess’s heart quickened. His hands, surprisingly soft, held hers firmly.
‘I’ve not said this before, Tess, but I—’
The compartment door opened before he could finish. Standing there were a tall man and an elegant young woman, a sultry expression on her face, painted lips, blonde bobbed hair.
‘Well, look who we’ve found, Coco!’
‘Uncle Denholm!’ exclaimed Tess, getting to her feet, Alex following suit. She embraced her cousin, Coco, then her uncle, and introduced Alex.
Denholm grinned, pulled out a cigarette, lit it and collapsed into the seat next to Alex. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘Final furlong.’
‘This journey’s been endless,’ muttered Coco.
Tess hadn’t seen her in nearly two years. She’d always been rather in awe of Coco’s sophistication, but now she felt even more conspicuously lacking in elegance. ‘Oh, poor you,’ she said.
‘It’s been ghastly.’
‘Oh, rubbish! Stop making such a bloody fuss,’ said Denholm, then breathed a large exhalation of smoke towards the still open compartment door. Tess was a bit shocked to hear her uncle swear so openly.
‘We went via Paris, had a very acceptable dinner with chums, and have basically sat on our arses the rest of the time, reading, staring at the scenery and quivering with anticipation at the thought of our return to the homestead. I’d hardly call that ghastly. Rather civilized, more like.’ He grinned and coughed wheezily.
‘C’est un long chemin à parcourir pour une fête,’ muttered Coco.
‘Oh, honestly, Coco!’ said Denholm. ‘Don’t listen to her, you two. She’s just being spoiled. Everything’s a bore for Coco at the moment. Too bloody spoiled by half.’ He laughed, as Coco scowled at him. ‘And she’s had to leave her dashing French beau behind.’ He leaned forward, patted his daughter’s knee. ‘And that makes two of us because I’m without Lucie.’
‘I thought she was coming?’ said Tess.
‘Hmm,’ said Denholm, drawing on his cigarette, ‘I thought so too. But she’s worried if she comes over, the bloody war will start and she’ll get stuck. You can take the girl out of France but you can’t take France out of the girl. Or so it seems.’
He winked at Alex. ‘Words were said, but, er, I chose to make a tactical retreat on that one. Lose the odd battle to win the war, if you get my drift. In any case, it’s not like Ma and Pa know Lucie much anyway, and I’m afraid she’s a girl who likes the bright lights. Not a country lass, really.’ He leaned back and grinned at Coco. ‘Not flesh and blood, like you, eh, darling?’
Tess glanced at her uncle. There was a clear resemblance to her father, but Denholm was taller, bigger, fleshier and, unlike her clean-shaven father, he had a thin, trim moustache. Handsome enough and those pale eyes she, too, had inherited, and the distinct Castell shape of the eyebrows. Crow’s feet stretched from the corners of his eyes – her uncle had always been quick to laugh. She knew there was bad blood between Denholm, her father and Uncle John so they saw little of him – or Coco. She could remember the wedding, though. Denholm’s first wife, Grace, had died giving birth to Coco. No one ever talked about her much, but Tess knew that she had had money, that Denholm had been living in his wife’s inherited villa in the hills above Cannes ever since and that he’d spent all of the money. There had been other women since then, but out of the blue, he’d announced he was getting married – to a Frenchwoman twenty years his junior.
‘He’s only doing it for the moolah,’ she’d heard her father say. But they had all headed over to France, travelling en masse by train, boat and train again. For Tess, her brothers and cousins, the Côte d’Azur had seemed impossibly glamorous; none had been abroad before. Everything about France had felt so far removed from home, the valley and the farm. Lucie had been lovely – warm, open, beautiful and petite, speaking English with an exaggerated French accent. At the time, Tess had fallen madly in love with Lucie’s brother, Étienne, three years his sister’s elder; he had been her first crush. That had been three years ago. A lifetime, she thought now.
‘So,’ said Denholm, flicking a bit of ash from the sleeve of his ivory flannel suit, ‘how is all the family? How’s farming? Your father still modernizing?’
‘Everyone’s well,’ Tess told him, ‘although I’ve not been down much recently.’
‘Ah, yes, you’ve got your frightfully hush-hush job, haven’t you? Enjoying London life?’
‘Very much.’
‘Even more so now you’ve got this dashing young fellow to keep you warm at night, I’ll bet.’
‘Oh, Papa, honestly,’ said Coco.
Tess blushed and glanced up at Alex, who was clearly every bit as mortified.
‘I’m only teasing,’ Denholm said. ‘Take no note of it.’ He turned to Alex. ‘Has Tess told you that I’m something of the black sheep?’
‘Er, no, sir,’ said Alex.
‘Tess’s father and I, well, he doesn’t exactly approve of me.’
‘Really, Uncle Denholm, I’m sure that’s not true,’ said Tess.
‘I’m embarrassing you and I apologize,’ Denholm continued. ‘Making mischief unnecessarily.’
‘You’re embarrassing me,’ said Coco.
‘Isn’t that what fathers are supposed to do?’
Coco glared at him.
‘Well,’ he continued, ‘I’m looking forward to seeing everyone, even your father, Tess. And the old place. Who knows what’s round the corner, eh? Need to make the most of it. That’s what I told Coco, isn’t it, darling? Enjoy the place while we’ve got the chance. Enjoy the journey while we’ve the chance. It might all come crashing down.’ He lit another cigarette. ‘That bloody little German twerp has a lot to answer for, don’t you think? Bloody popinjay.’
<line space>
Edward was waiting for them at Salisbury, standing on the platform, dressed in scruffy slacks and a blue checked shirt. Tess hurried towards him and, having kissed his cheek, hugged him tightly.
‘And I’ve missed you too,’ he laughed, then added, ‘but can I say hello to everyone else?’
The two looked startlingly alike: the same pale blue eyes, dark, almost black hair, same eyebrows and full lips. Edward’s hair was dishevelled, as it always seemed to be, and Tess wondered how he ever managed to smarten up for his Yeomanry.
‘It’ll be a bit of a squeeze, I’m afraid,’ he said, heading to the boot and loading Coco and Denholm’s cases. ‘Uncle Denholm, you sit up front with me, and Tess, you’ll have to have your case on your lap, I’m afraid.’
‘The lovebirds won’t mind snuggling up together,’ said Denholm, lighting up another cigarette, ‘and Coco’s a slip of a thing.’ He inhaled deeply and glanced around him. ‘Jolly good to be back. Such a reassuring presence, the old cathedral, don’t you think? Christ, just look at that bloody spire. How the hell they ever did it will never cease to be a cause for wonder.’
Tess saw Edward grin at her and raise an eyebrow.
‘Ignore him,’ said Coco, catching the look. ‘He does it for effect,’ as Denholm eased himself into the front with a sigh. ‘Just showing off.’ Tess couldn’t help imagining what would happen to her if she spoke to her own father in such a way.
‘My darling princess,’ said Denholm, turning to Coco, ‘there’s really no need to be so po-faced. It’s nothing more than good-humoured and affectionate chit-chat.’ He turned to Tess and smiled. ‘But she’s right – take no notice and I apologize, dearest Tess, if I spoke out of turn.’
‘No, no, you didn’t,’ said Tess. But she felt flustered and sensed Alex’s discomfort too.
‘Well,’ said Edward, as he pulled away from the station, ‘it’s splendid to see you. How are things in France?’
‘Life in general or the current state of the country?’
‘Both, I suppose.’
‘Country’s a bloody shambles. Daladier’s not a prime minister but a damned dictator, the military have their heads stuck up their arses with ghastly complacency, and the population as a whole is demoralized and lacerated by social strife. Everyone’s scared. On the other hand, I’m out at sea most days, the food is excellent as ever and the wine not bad. So, can’t complain.’ He laughed.
‘That last bit’s heartening to hear,’ said Edward. ‘So, do most French people think it’ll be war?’
‘Yes, and they’re having nightmares about it.’
‘We’re not going to talk about war, Edward,’ said Tess. ‘I’m forbidding it for the whole weekend.’
‘Quite right, sis,’ Edward agreed. ‘No more war talk.’
‘Verboten,’ said Denholm.
‘I want this weekend to be perfect – not just for Grandpa but for all of us,’ said Tess. ‘The sun’s going to be shining and we’re all going to have fun.’
‘And that’s an order,’ said Denholm, then turning to Edward, added, ‘Tess tells me you’ve been on camp with your Yeomanry.’
‘Yes, got back on Sunday. Did a lot of horse-riding and drank a lot in the camp mess, but wouldn’t say we’re quite the finished article for taking on the Nazi hordes.’
‘Edward!’ said Tess.
‘All right, all right. I did manage to do a bit of painting and sketching and this week I’ve finished the mural at the manor.’
‘Really?’ said Tess. ‘I can’t wait. Is everyone pleased with it?’
‘Well, I’m not sure. I hope so.’
‘A bit late if not, isn’t it?’ said Denholm.
‘It is rather, yes.’
‘Is it much further?’ said Coco, her eyes closed and her hand rubbing her forehead.
‘Are you all right, Coco?’ asked Tess.
‘I feel sick.’
‘You always say that,’ said Denholm, ‘but you never are.’
Coco opened her eyes and scowled at her father.
‘It’s not too much further,’ said Tess.
‘Beastly, feeling car sick,’ muttered Alex.
‘Quarter of an hour, tops,’ added Edward.
‘Look, there’s the valley!’ exclaimed Tess, a moment later, as they crested the brow past the Salisbury racecourse. She saw the friendly tower of the church of Stoke Combe, nestling among the ash, elm and willows that lined the River Chalke that gave the valley its name. She looked west and there was Lower Chalke, comforting rooflines amid the verdant valley floor. Ah, home.
Edward pulled a cigarette packet from his pocket, then passed it to Denholm. ‘Would you?’
‘Here,’ said Denholm, tapping one out, gingerly placing it between Edward’s lips, then taking out his American lighter. As Edward briefly looked at the flame, he swerved, then straightened. Coco groaned.
‘Edward!’ exclaimed Tess. ‘Concentrate!’
‘Sorry about that,’ he said.
Tess now saw that her uncle was rather more pensive, his hand gently stroking his chin. She wondered why he’d left. He was the eldest so the farm should have been his. He still had a stake – all three brothers did, as well as her grandparents – but she knew he had never really come back from the war. Her father had been a pilot, Uncle John had survived the trenches, and Uncle Denholm had been in the Navy, although she wasn’t sure in what capacity; but while her father and John had returned to the valley, Denholm had made a life in France. She realized she’d never talked to her uncle about it or really her parents.
‘Uncle Denholm?’ she said now.
‘Hmm?’
‘Do you mind me asking why you never took on the farm? As the oldest?’
He laughed. ‘Can you imagine me as a farmer? Ha, ha, ha! Christ, my cheek against the flank of some bloody cow!’
‘Did it never cross your mind?’ asked Edward.
‘Gracious, no.’ He chuckled again, then scratched his temple. ‘No, well, to be perfectly honest, I’ve always had itchy feet even as a kid. You know, we were all packed off to boarding-school, so one got used to being away from pretty early on. Then, in the war, I travelled around a fair bit.’
‘In the Navy?’ asked Edward.
‘Hmm? Yes, yes, exactly. Anyway … Ah, Middle Chalke, almost there. Maybe we should call on John and his tribe first?’
‘No, please, can we just get to Gran and Grandpa’s?’ groaned Coco.
‘Yes, we’d better,’ said Tess, then turning back to Denholm, persevered, ‘So did that give you wanderlust, Uncle Denholm?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. In a way. Married Grace by then. Her people had this place in France and very decently gave us the villa for our wedding present. Quite something, really. When she, er . . . Well, I liked it there, you see? Anyway,’ he added, brightening, ‘much better all round, eh? Old Stork got the farm and he’s been absolutely the right man for that, and John has done wonders with the brewery, so it’s all worked out for the best. But, you never know, I might come back one day. Claim my right of primogeniture.’ He laughed again, but then was silent, as they trundled along the valley road. Presently, they reached the water meadows, where the dairy herd stood half in the water, under the shade of some willows, aimlessly munching grass still rich and green even in mid-August.
Up ahead was the church, on its perched rise, and then, beyond the meadows, the cricket ground and Alvesdon Manor.
‘Well, well,’ said Denholm. ‘There she is.’
‘This is Alvesdon,’ said Tess, taking Alex’s hand, feeling excitement and apprehension all at once, hoping the weekend would be a success, that her parents, especially, would like Alex and that all would go smoothly.
‘Hold on,’ said Edward, as he slowed to drive over the Chalke. On, cross the ford, past the forge and the Three Horseshoes on the corner, past the small triangle of the village green, and the turning to Farrowcombe on the left. It never ceased to amaze – and relieve – Tess how unchanging Alvesdon was. Great events happened – kings abdicated, dictators crossed borders, factories made tanks and guns and aircraft – yet here, in this tiny corner of south-west Wiltshire, time seemed to stand still. She saw Mrs Carter cycle past, Edward overtook Eleanor Varney on her horse, and then they were turning right, into the drive.
And there it was: the manor, a house of silvery Chilmark stone, cut from the same quarry that had made the cathedral, but now mottled with age and lichen, old russet tiles on the roof, high brick chimneys and, a little to one side, the round stone and flint dovecote. A large white marquee stood on the lawn that ran down to the stream, ready for the party tomorrow evening. Beyond, behind the main house, were the barns, the dairy and outbuildings, while away to the right, the grounds extended towards the stream and the walled kitchen garden.
‘Here we are,’ said Edward, cheerfully.
‘Thank God,’ muttered Coco.
As the wheels crunched on the gravel, the door opened to reveal her grandfather, bow-legged, silvery-haired, moustache covering his top lip, waving happily, while her grandmother was just behind him, dark streaks still in her hair, which was, as always, clasped in a neat bun. She was, thought Tess, fondly, still a very elegant lady, even at seventy-two.
‘Hello, Pa!’ grinned Denholm, as he got out of the car.
‘Aha! There you are, my boy!’ beamed Alwyn Castell, taking his son’s hand and clasping his shoulder. ‘It’s good to see you – and looking damned well too! Ah, and there’s Coco, as pretty as ever! How are you, my dear?’
Welcomes, smiles, embraces – a happy occasion, thought Tess, as her grandmother kissed her and she felt the silk-soft skin against her cheek. Then she realized Alex was standing behind her, looking, just for a brief moment, a little awkward.
‘This is Captain Alex Woodman, Maimes,’ said Tess.
She held out a hand, which Alex graciously kissed.
‘A great pleasure to meet you,’ he said, then straightened quickly.
‘You are most welcome,’ she said. ‘Welcome to Alvesdon.’
A moment later, Edward said quietly beside her, ‘Come on, let’s leave them to it and get to Farrowcombe.’
Back in the car, Edward said, ‘Gosh, Coco’s a bit of a madam, isn’t she? Very pretty, but I hope she makes a bit of an effort.’
‘She doesn’t say much, that’s for sure,’ agreed Alex.
‘Unlike Uncle Denholm. Chalk and cheese those two.’
‘Do they really not get on?’ asked Alex. ‘Your father and Denholm? I couldn’t tell whether he was acting up or not.’
‘No, they really don’t,’ said Tess. ‘They’re very different. I just hope he behaves himself this weekend.’
‘Who?’
‘Uncle Denholm.’
‘And Stork,’ said Edward. ‘Mum’s told him he’s to try to keep away from Uncle Denholm and Grandpa as much as possible.’
‘Well, that’s a forlorn hope,’ said Tess. ‘How is it possible? Dinner tonight, cricket tomorrow, then the party.’
Edward grinned. ‘There’re fireworks tomorrow night, you know. Let’s hope those are the only ones. Wouldn’t bet on it, though.’
<line space>
Although Tess was very fond of Alvesdon Manor, it did not compare with the deep and profound love she felt for Farrowcombe. Growing up, she had, of course, completely taken it for granted, but since leaving home and moving up to London she realized how very fortunate she had been to be brought up in such an Eden.
Now, as Edward drove up the track that wound its way around the base of Windmill Hill, she felt overcome by a sense of yearning, wistfulness and even regret. Such freedom they had had as children! The house was more than a mile from the rest of the village, nestled at the foot of Farrowcombe, which rose steeply at the nape of its curve. She glanced up at the corduroy lines of soil creep and animal tracks, sharpened by the evening shadows and pimpled by soft, mossy mounds of anthills. As children, they had climbed and rolled down the ancient chalk, and had endlessly played in the woods that stood at the bottom on the western flank of Windmill Hill. There had been dens, rope swings, tree climbing. She’d been such a tomboy, she thought, smiling to herself, but it was to be expected with an older and a younger brother.
Farrowcombe had been derelict when her parents had moved there after the war – part of the Alvesdon estate but largely abandoned except for one wing, which had been lived in by the gamekeeper, while the stables and other outbuildings had become a dumping ground for all the detritus of a farm that had once had three separate dairies and an array of mixed livestock. During the last war it had been forced to turn over almost entirely to arable.
Tess had always enjoyed hearing her parents’ tales of renovating Farrowcombe. Her mother was an artist – a portrait painter of some renown – and had brought her natural artistic flair to the project. The outbuildings had been cleared out, along with Tom Hayward, then the keeper, who’d been moved to one of the cottages in the village. Repairs had been made, mains water and electricity installed, and Farrowcombe had magically transformed, a Sleeping Beauty awoken from a long slumber. Stork and Debbo had even taken a motoring tour of Europe to buy furniture and art for their new paradise, which had been shipped back and arrived, some time after their return, in a procession of lorries. The way her mother told the story, this had caused no small amount of chatter among the farm workers and villagers.
Tess remembered almost none of this. There was a vague memory of men moving in the large tallboy that still stood in her bedroom, but in her mind, Farrowcombe was timeless: as immutable and beautiful as the downs behind, with its double-pitched tiled roof, myriad chimneys, its rose brick and flint walls, and the paintings, the chairs, the tables, the flagstones, the chests and wardrobes all as they had always been.
Despite its situation at the foot of Farrowcombe, the house faced south-west and was light and airy in summer, warm and secluded in winter. The stables had been long ago returned to their former use, there was a workshop for Smudger, while the larger tower that cornered the stables and outbuildings had been, for as long as Tess could remember, a studio for her mother.
‘Gosh, what a place!’ said Alex, as it revealed itself around the curve of Windmill Hill.
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Tess was happy that his first glimpse had prompted such a naturally enthusiastic response. Then another stab of wistfulness caught her. This might well be it – the last weekend here in peacetime. She had seen and knew too much – that the diplomatic mission to Moscow was little more than a token and bound to fail, that neither the Prime Minister nor the Committee of the Imperial General Staff really believed Hitler could be tamed. She knew that General Ismay still held out a small hope for peace but that short of Hitler being assassinated, war was unlikely to be averted. It was too awful, too upsetting to contemplate, and no matter how hard she tried to banish such thoughts, they were there, in the background, seeping into her consciousness.
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Tess had taken Alex to the top of the downs, shown him the DH.4 and then they climbed back down in time to see Wilf arrive on his motorcycle. Her younger brother had ridden from Tangmere, in Sussex, where his squadron was based. Wilf was still only nineteen and had passed out of the RAF college at Cranwell that May. He was now flying the new Spitfire. Tess and Edward had not seen him since he’d finished his operational training course and been posted.
‘I can’t believe you’re being let loose in a Spitfire,’ said Edward. They had dressed early for dinner down at the manor but it was still warm so were sitting at the table by the walnut tree in the garden. ‘Look at you – you look about sixteen, Wilf. Have you even started shaving yet?’
‘It's not about age or growing a moustache,’ retorted Wilf. ‘It’s about whether a fellow can fly or not.’
Edward put up his hands in surrender. ‘Well, you’ve got me there, little brother.’
Wilf grinned. ‘Actually, it’s quite easy once you get the hang of it. Good fun, too. Imagine being up in Dorothy, then times that by fifty.’
Tess gazed at Wilf, standing beneath the walnut. He did look young, she thought. He took more after their mother, with lighter brown hair and hazel eyes, smooth-skinned and light-framed but suddenly more muscular. A pilot, training to shoot down enemy aircraft. It made her sad to think of it. Wilf was a quiet doer, without the easy charm of her older brother. Edward made friends wherever he went, was clever, funny and effortlessly charming, but Wilf was sweet, kind and thoughtful, independently minded, and she was not at all surprised he’d done so well at Cranwell. ‘He’s an instinctive pilot,’ Stork had said. ‘He’s got a feel for an aircraft that comes quite naturally.’
He was, she thought, mature beyond his years, despite that boyish face of his; he was methodical, deliberate. Imperturbable. She hoped that would stand him in good stead. Her father had said it was a fine attribute for a pilot.
‘So, how was the ride over?’ asked Stork.
‘Had a bit of trouble with the carburettor but it was easy enough to fix,’ Wilf told him. ‘After that she was very well behaved.’
‘You’ll have to show her to Smudger.’
Wilf nodded. ‘I will. Actually,’ he added, ‘I was hoping I might be able to take up Dorothy in the morning. That is, if you don’t mind and there’s time?’
‘Of course you can. Why don’t you take Alex with you? Show him the place from the air.’
Alex brightened. ‘Really? That would be marvellous. I’ve never been in an aeroplane.’
‘That’s settled, then,’ said Wilf.
‘Thank you. I say, what a thrill!’
Debbo looped an arm through Wilf’s, then turned to Edward and Tess. ‘And how were Denholm and Coco?’
‘Coco looked as though she’d rather be anywhere but here,’ said Edward, ‘but Uncle Denholm was rather amusing, actually. Says the French are in a bit of a lather about the prospect of war.’
‘I’ve told you, Edward,’ said Tess, ‘we’re not going to talk about war this weekend.’ She looked around at the others. ‘Please, let’s not. It’s too much. Let’s just try to enjoy the next couple of days.’
‘Quite right,’ said Edward. ‘No point getting blue.’
Stork looked at his watch. ‘We should get going shortly. I’ve just got something to sort out. Excuse me.’ Then he turned and went back towards the house.
‘Is Daddy all right?’ Tess asked her mother.
Debbo smiled. ‘He’s worried, as we all are. But he’s been asked to join the War Ag and doesn’t know what to do about it.’
‘Utterly thankless task,’ said Edward. ‘If I was him, I wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole.’
‘But he’ll be brilliant,’ said Wilf. ‘He’s one of the most successful farmers around and he’s still young. Better him than some of the other old sticks.’
‘The trouble is,’ Debbo continued, ‘Grandpa thinks he’s been asked to join the War Ag, not your father.’
‘Crikey,’ said Edward. ‘And he hasn’t?’
‘He can’t have,’ said Debbo. ‘Stork’s had a letter formally inviting him. Somehow Alwyn must have got the wrong end of the stick.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Tess.
‘I know. He’s terribly worried about it. The last thing any of us needs is another row. I’ve told Stork to put it to one side until next week but, of course, T.K. Jeans and Richard Stratton will be coming tomorrow evening. The worry is that Alwyn says something to them.’
‘Lawks,’ said Edward. ‘At his birthday party.’
‘Stork’s tied himself up in knots as to whether he should say something first, tonight. They’ve actually been getting on a bit better recently too, which is what makes it even more awful.’ She turned to Alex. ‘Do your family cause you such anxieties, Alex?’
‘Most definitely,’ Alex replied. ‘All the time.’
Soon after, once Stork had reappeared, they set off, this time in the trap, which Ambrose Milburn, the gardener-groom and former ploughman on the farm, brought around from the yard. Tess looked at her father and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, then glanced at her brothers and at Alex. Stop it, she thought. Don’t think about it. The light of the setting sun cast a deep golden glow across the valley so that clouds of gnats and other evening insects could be seen caught in the last rays of the day’s sun as the horses trotted rhythmically down the track towards the village. The air smelt fresh and sweet: the scent of harvest time. How lovely, how peaceful, Tess thought. She prayed it might last but could not shake off the pervasive shroud of dread that hung around her.