The Victory Garden(98)
“So how did you like my poems?” he asked, clearly trying to break the sombre tone of their conversation.
“Your poems were really good. They all were. So moving. Almost the whole audience was in tears.”
“Good. That is what we hope for—to make people realize the futility and horror and waste of war.”
There was another pause. Then he asked, “You say your family rejected you because they did not approve of the man you wanted to marry.”
She nodded.
“And you say he was killed. You keep telling me to make my peace and put the past behind me. Can you not let bygones be bygones and go back to them?”
“I didn’t tell you the whole story.” She toyed with the spoon in her saucer. “He died before we could marry. I have just had a child, and my parents made it very clear what they thought of girls who disgraced their family in that way.”
“I see.” He nodded. “You’ve been through a tough time.”
“But your grandmother made it easier for me. She took me in, even after I told her the whole truth. And the whole village has welcomed me—apart from the vicar’s wife.”
“Oh, she’s poison,” he said, and they both laughed.
“Will you be in the area for long?” she asked. “You said you are on a tour with your poet friends.”
“Yes. We’re in Plymouth tomorrow, then we’re staying with one of the chap’s families nearby for a couple of days before we go on to Bristol and then into Wales.”
“I see,” she said. “You couldn’t find a way to stay close to your grandmother in case she passes away, could you?”
He thought about this. “I suppose I should stick around, shouldn’t I? Yes. I’d like to stay with her. I’ll tell the chaps I’ll skip the Plymouth reading and meet them again when I can.”
“Will you let us know?” she asked. “Will you send a telegram to the house if . . . ?” She broke off, unable to utter the words.
“Of course.” He got up. “I’d better go and set things straight with the chaps, and maybe find a boarding house near the hospital.”
They walked together through the hospital and lingered on the steps at the entrance.
“I’ve enjoyed talking to you,” Justin said. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your first name.”
“Emily,” she said. “Emily Bryce. Not really Mrs Kerr. That was your grandmother’s suggestion.”
“There was a Freddie Bryce at school with me at Taunton,” he said.
“My brother.”
“Really? Good chap. A couple of years older than me. He was my prefect.”
“He died at the beginning of the war. Only lasted a couple of weeks in the trenches.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am, too. But I’m finally coming to terms with it.”
He stood for a moment, just looking at her. Emily detected a wail from the motor car parked across the road. “It sounds as if my baby has woken up. I’d better go, and so had you.”
“What did you have—a boy or a girl?”
“A little girl.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? She won’t be called upon to fight.”
“Oh, Justin. This is the war to end all wars. Let’s hope nobody will be called upon to fight again.”
“I pray that you’re right.” He continued looking at her. She realized that he had grey eyes and a sweet smile. “I think I’ll go back up to the old lady for a little while. Just to sit with her, you know.”
Emily nodded. He held out his hand. “Goodbye, Emily.”
His hand lingered holding hers. She was unprepared for the current that she felt, and she blushed.
“Goodbye, Justin,” she said, a little breathlessly.
She felt him watching her as she ran down the steps to the waiting motor car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
When Simpson deposited Emily outside the cottage, she was intrigued to see a big black car waiting nearby in the lane. When she had reached her front door, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned and saw two men coming towards her.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Are you the woman who lives here?” the older of the two men called. He was a hefty chap, middle-aged, with sagging jowls that gave him a bulldog look.
“I am.”
“The one who calls herself Mrs Kerr?”
Emily frowned. “Yes. What is this about?”
“We’re from the Devon County Constabulary,” the older one said. “Detective Inspector Payne and Sergeant Lipscombe.”
“Is it bad news?” she asked, holding baby Bobbie tightly to her.
“May we come in? We really don’t want to be discussing this where everyone can see.”
“All right.” Emily opened the cottage door and let them in.
Inspector Payne looked around. “Nice little place you’ve got here. Well-furnished.”
“Thank you,” Emily replied. “Now, if you’ll just tell me why you are here. Has there been a robbery?”
“Maybe.” He smirked then. Emily found it strangely unnerving.
He sat in her one armchair without being invited. Emily continued to stand, the baby in her arms. “I’ll just put the baby down in her cradle,” she said, and went through to the next room. When she came back, the two policemen were standing together and examining the objects on her mantelpiece.