The Victory Garden(97)

He looked up in surprise when he saw her approaching him.

“Viscount Charlton. I’m so glad. I’ve been trying to find you,” she said.

He winced. “Oh God. No Viscount Charlton, please. Titles are meaningless. I’m plain Mister, or Justin if you like. So you came to hear our poems?”

“Yes, but it’s really a miracle that you were here today. Your grandmother is in the Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital here. She’s dying. They told me to contact family members. I really think you should go to see her.”

He looked at her uncertainly. “She’s dying, you say? You want me to make my peace with her? After what she said to me?”

“Justin, she bitterly regretted the way she spoke to you. We’ve been trying to locate you through your regiment, but they had you listed as killed in action. I would have gone up to London to look for you, but I’ve just a baby, and I was in no condition to travel. Won’t you please come to see her? I beg of you. I tried to visit her, but they wouldn’t let me in because I’m not family.”

She could see the indecision on his face. “I suppose I could do so,” he said. “I should do so. After all the dying that I have seen, I would not want her to die alone.”

“Thank you.” Instinctively, she reached out towards him. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

He looked at her long and hard. “You really care about the old woman, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, I do. My family has rejected me, and she took me in. She has been kindness itself, and she means a lot to me.”

He was still studying her with interest. “Your family rejected you?”

“They did.” She wanted to tell him the truth, but couldn’t, not in this public space. And, she also realized, she didn’t want him to think badly of her. “They did not approve of my choice of husband.”

“Then we are two of a kind, aren’t we?” he said. “Both of us are outcasts. Come on then. We’d better go straight to my grandmother.”

“I have her motor car waiting,” Emily said.

“Jolly good. I’ll just tell the fellows.”

“And I have to find my baby and the nursemaid.” She hurried off.

“Here we are then,” Justin said as the motor car pulled up outside the large red-brick hospital building.

Emily shook her head. “They won’t let me see her. Only family, they said.”

“Don’t be silly. Come on. You’re Cousin Emily. Nobody will dispute that.” He grabbed her hand. “You want to see her, don’t you? To say goodbye?”

“I’d really appreciate that.”

“Then let’s go.” He yanked her from the motor car.

The old lady was lying in a narrow white bed, her face as white and still as a statue’s. But her eyes fluttered open when the nurse said, “You’ve got visitors, my lady.”

“Justin?” she asked.

“Hello, Grandmother,” he said softly. “How are you?”

“Not dead yet,” she said. Her eyes opened wider. “And Emily. How lovely to see you. You found Justin for me. You really are a miracle worker.”

“It was pure chance,” Emily said. “He was one of a group of war poets reading their work at the cathedral.”

“War poets—what in heaven’s name are those?” Already the critical note had come into her voice.

“We need to talk about our experiences,” Justin said, “and the only way some of us can do it and let people experience what we went through is with poetry.”

“Do you have a book of these poems?”

“We’re not published yet,” he said. “We are touring the country, giving readings.”

She gave a snort. “I don’t know what your father would say.” Then her expression softened. “Still, I suppose to each his own. I can’t force you into being someone you are not.”

“Thank you,” he said. He reached out and covered her bony hand with his own.

They left her soon afterwards when she drifted back to sleep. Neither said anything as they walked down the hospital corridor. As they came down the stairs, Justin said, “Let’s get a cup of tea, shall we? I expect it will be foul, but at least it’s warm and wet, and my throat is parched after reading out loud.”

“Yes. Good idea.” They followed the signs to the cafeteria. Justin bought them two cups of tea and teacakes and sat beside her.

“I think she might pull through, don’t you?” Emily said tentatively.

“Probably, just to make sure I don’t have to claim my inheritance too soon,” he said.

She slapped his hand. “What a horrid thing to say. Justin, you have to give her a chance. You have too many unhappy memories. You must let them go. Think of the future. Be happy you are still alive when so many are not.”

He managed a little smile. “How come you are so bloody wise? How old are you?”

“Almost twenty-two.”

“I’m twenty-four. And we’ve both lost what should have been the best years of our lives.”

“You never know. They may still be ahead,” she said, wondering as she said it how she could possibly look forward to anything again.