Chapter 25 Lilias #2
The waiter brought the menus, and after they had ordered, they made conversation about the war until their food arrived.
“I was thinking about your mother recently,” he said suddenly, causing Lilias to look up with surprise. “What a lovely woman she was. She always had such French elegance.”
Lilias tried to smile, but once again she missed her mother so very badly it was like a physical pain.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No,” she said, managing to smile almost normally. But when she spoke, she felt like a character in a play, speaking her lines. “It’s nice to have someone speak about Mother. She was elegant. Although I’m afraid it didn’t rub off on me. Ruth, of course, is as elegant as they come.”
Bill Cartwright smiled. “How is your sister?”
“She’s away at the moment in Devon, visiting our cousin. It sounds as if she’s having a good time.”
Bill nodded. “That’s nice. And, of course, your mother made sure you and Ruth were thoroughly bilingual.”
Lilias nodded, wondering why he was bringing that up now. “She did, yes. When Father wasn’t about, she spoke to us almost exclusively in French.”
“And you have relatives in France, I believe?”
“We do. Last time I heard from them, they were suffering terribly. It’s a great worry.
I fear they don’t always have enough to eat.
One feels so completely powerless.” By the end of her speech, Lilias was feeling quite emotional, and as Bill patted her hand in sympathy, the waiter brought their food.
They had both ordered the beefsteak—and Bill began to tuck in with gusto.
Lilias looked down at her plate. It was good food—better food than she’d seen in a long time—but when she picked up her knife and fork, beads of sweat began to break out on her forehead.
She had no idea how she would be able to eat anything.
“You mustn’t feel guilty about eating because your relations are going hungry, Lilias,” Bill told her. “It won’t do them any good.”
“No, indeed,” she agreed, laying her cutlery back on her plate to take a sip of her water.
“I suppose you do still speak French like a native?” Bill asked, continuing the previous conversation.
She nodded. “Yes. Sometimes I even dream in French. Though lately, I’ve been thinking it’s just as well my mother can’t see what’s happening to her poor country.”
“It is,” Bill said seriously, and next moment, he was putting down his own knife and fork to lean towards her across the table, his expression so intense Lilias instinctively moved back slightly on her seat.
“Lilias, I don’t imagine you’re aware of this, but ever since the beginning of the war, I’ve been working for the War Office. My role is very hush-hush, you understand.”
“I see. No, I didn’t know.”
She watched him look around, as if to check whether anyone was listening to their conversation, but their table was set a little apart from the others, and the babble of talk made it unlikely they would be overheard.
“We are always on the lookout for intelligent people who speak fluent French. I think you’re such a person.
That’s why I asked you to meet me today, in fact.
” He licked his lips, fidgeting with his napkin before he looked her straight in the eye.
“I’d very much like you to consider being interviewed with a view to joining us.
It would be a way of helping your mother’s family. ”
Lilias frowned, staring back at him, the reality of what he was asking her only clicking into place as a waiter walked past their table from the kitchen, his arms laden with plates of food. She waited until the man had gone past, holding her napkin up to her trembling lips.
All the time Bill was studying her, watching her reaction gravely. “I can see this has come as a shock to you, my dear. That’s hardly surprising, and there’s no need for you to answer straightaway. Do go away and think about it. I realise there’s a great deal to consider.”
There was a small nick on his chin where he had cut himself shaving.
Lilias wondered whether his wife—Julia, was it?
—had dabbed it with the corner of her handkerchief before he’d left for work.
He was saying something else now, and she knew she must somehow find the courage to speak out.
There was no point in leaving him labouring under any false hope that she might accept his offer.
“I . . . I can’t . . . tell you how honoured I am to have had . . . such an invitation. However . . .”
He reached across the table to lay his hand over hers. “Please, Lilias,” he said. “Do think it over. Take your time. It’s a huge decision for you, and I wouldn’t ask at all, out of respect for your parents, if we didn’t so badly need . . .”
“No,” she said, interrupting him, unable to bear hearing more. “It’s not that; not at all. It’s . . . you see, this morning . . . well, let’s just say I’ve had some news about . . . a personal matter that makes it impossible for me to accept.”
He looked at her for a long time, his expression encouraging her to continue, but she dropped her gaze, remaining silent.
“I see,” he said. “And there’s no chance that things will change at some future date?”
She stared at the congealing gravy on her plate and shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m terribly sorry.”
He sighed, picking up his knife and fork again. “That’s a shame, Lilias. Still, perhaps you’re well out of it anyway, my dear. Yes, indeed. It’s dangerous work. Your father would never have forgiven me if anything were to happen to you.”
Lilias picked up her own knife and fork and promptly put them down again.
“Bill,” she said, “would you think it awfully rude of me if I cut and run? Only I’ve rather a lot to do at home, and I’d rather not risk having to spend the night in a shelter.
I’d like to be able to catch an earlier train, if I can. ”
He looked up with surprise. “Of course not, my dear. Can I go with you to the station?”
“No, that’s quite all right. Do stay and finish your meal. Thank you so much for lunch, and your . . . offer. It’s such an honour, and I’m only sorry I’m not in a position to accept.”
He was on his feet as she thrust her arms into her coat sleeves. “Not at all, not at all. It was lovely to see you. Keep in touch.”
“Oh, yes, I will, I will.” She kissed him and began to walk away.
“Lilias,” he called after her, “should things happen to change, should you find yourself in a position to reconsider, you will get in touch, won’t you?”
Lilias hesitated for a moment but didn’t look back. “All right,” she promised, and then she pressed on towards the door until, finally, she was out on the street in the bustle of the traffic, and she could breathe properly again.
Two weeks later, Lilias was packed and ready to leave Marsh House. Standing in the hallway with her suitcases, she was saying goodbye to Mrs. Symonds.
“I do hope your friend feels a lot better in herself soon, Miss Lilias.”
Lilias’s smile trembled slightly. Along with her husband, Nora Symonds had looked after Lilias and her family for as long as she could remember, and it didn’t feel right to be deceiving her this way.
But the news she had received at her appointment in London meant there was no alternative but to just get on with it and show a brave face to the world; something she would have to do for some time. Possibly for the rest of her life.
“Thank you. I intend to persuade her that rest is the best policy for her. Now, you will write to me often, won’t you? I want to hear all the village news. And if you could forward any post quickly, I’d be most obliged.”
“I’ll pop in regular, Miss Lilias. Don’t you worry about that. Oh, and if that dog of yours turns up on the doorstep, I’ll let you know right away.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Symonds put on her hat and gloves, suddenly looking emotional, but doing her best to hide it. “I shall miss all of you and our life here, Miss Lilias,” she said. “But that’s war for you, isn’t it? A long list of departures and changes.”
Lilias summoned a smile. “Yes, indeed, it is. Take care of yourself, won’t you?”
“And you, Miss. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Alone in the house, Lilias listened to the housekeeper’s footsteps retreating down the garden path, the gate creaking open then clicking shut.
How very smoothly everything had clicked into place; just like the latch on the gate.
On the very day Lilias had received a positive reply to her enquiry about taking on the lease for a small cottage in the Yorkshire Dales, she had received a telegram from Ruth in Devon to inform her that she had enlisted for active service with the Wrens, and a tearful Mrs. Symonds had informed Lilias that her mother was ill and she would need to give up her job to care for her.
Even Ruth had accepted the news of Lilias’s plans without question in a dashed-off note.
I can’t say I remember Cherry Hawkins, but then no doubt you have a great many friends I don’t know.
Do pass on my best regards, and I wish you patience in your ministering-angel duties.
I shall write just as often as my training allows, but they keep us so busy here, you can’t imagine.
It is exactly what I needed. At night, I am usually asleep before my head touches the pillow.
Now, her suitcases were packed, and the chickens were gone; distributed around the village. Knowing their likely fate, Lilias had apologised to each one individually, holding their warm bodies and remembering David’s delight as he reached beneath them to pull out a warm, freshly laid egg.
If she didn’t leave now, she might miss her train. Lilias walked to the front door, but just before she opened it, she experienced a moment of panic and froze, with her hand on the latch.
What if Harry were to return here and find her gone?
How would he find her? As a fugitive, he wouldn’t be in a position to ask anybody where she was.
For a moment, she stood, trying to imagine Harry appearing from the darkness and knocking at the back door, looking up at the unlit windows and listening in vain for the sound of Compass’s bark.
Then she shook her head. Despite all the evidence, she still couldn’t believe Harry was a shirker, on the run from doing his duty.
Besides, whether he was alive or not, she had to get on with her life.
And at the moment, that meant leaving behind everything familiar to her—her home, her friends, and her whole way of life.
It was time to go.