Page 53

London

Hyde Park looks so different. The railings are gone and vegetables are growing.

It is still an oasis of beauty, but I’m so exhausted it no longer refreshes me.

By night I drive ambulances and by day I try to keep painting.

My life in Hampstead is good, though. I’ve met so many artists, writers and interesting people who keep my mind off other things.

Martha and Jason married before he joined the navy.

She is a ball of nerves and she’s thinking of moving back to Manchester to be with her family.

With all the bombs falling in London, I hope Katherine is no longer here.

One of those nightly raids killed my grandfather, and today I’m allowed to pick through the rubble with my first cousin, Moira, to take whatever is salvageable.

This war has taken a terrible toll, but hope still lives.

Dad has asked if I want to come home to Cornwall, and I do, especially now.

Without my grandfather here, and with Martha going back home, I’ve no reason to stay.

Now that I’ve inherited a substantial amount from him, I will be able to buy my own home, and with frugal living I will be fine.

My grandfather would be pleased. Lamorna calls to me.

It will become my home in Cornwall, away from prying eyes so I can be me.

The thought of fresh air and green fields pleases me. I hunger for it in a way I can’t explain. Even my latest work has been created from memory rather than what exists in front of me, and I confess this is not good. My painting is always better when I work from the immediate.

Outside the remains of my grandfather’s house, I’m greeted by my cousin. We embrace, then enter the half of the house that is still standing. It is like a surrealist painting. Reality versus nightmare.

‘How do we do this?’ Moira asks.

I shrug. The task is beyond my understanding, yet it is repeated by others every single day in this city.

‘Is there anything you want or need?’ I note the almost untouched drawing room. His books still on the shelves and flowers scattered on the floor with shards of the broken vase.

‘Not really,’ she says, picking up a photograph with the glass smashed. ‘I have a full house.’ She puts it down and picks up his pipe. ‘What about you?’

‘Possibly the furniture, and I love his books. I’m going to see if any of my things have survived.’

‘Go carefully.’ She sinks onto the sofa and stares at the painting by Turner still hanging on the wall.

I climb the stairs, holding the railing in case the steps give way.

Parts of the wall are missing and patches of blue appear through the gaps.

The carpet on the landing is thick with ash and plaster dust, dulling its jewel-bright colours.

The door to my old room is wide open, and the first thing I see is the portrait.

It is not on the wall but lying on the floor.

However, it is intact. Nothing else matters.

With care I pick it up and make my way downstairs to meet the man we’ve hired to help us.

This is such a sad task, but at least my grandfather lived a long life.

That is what I need to keep at the front of my thoughts.

* * *

I take one last look at the house as I stand on the pavement. It has taken two days, but everything worth saving has been removed and divided between Moira and myself. The postman greets me.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’ He hands me a letter. ‘I hoped I’d see you today, as this is addressed to you.’

The writing is familiar and my hand shakes as I flip the package over, looking for a return address, but there is none. It was posted days ago.

‘I’ll keep an eye out for post and forward it on to your grandfather’s solicitors.’

‘Thank you.’ I smile. ‘That’s kind.’

He nods and continues his rounds. Leaning against the trunk of a plane tree, I open the envelope, unable to breathe.

I have waited so long to hear from Katherine that this seems almost cruel now that I have made a life without her.

There is a sheaf of papers that I realise is a manuscript held together by string, with a letter on top.

But there is also another folded note. I read that first.

My dearest Sheba,

I think of you every day as I walk in the park hoping to see you. I still dream of the escape we had planned. Have you returned to Cornwall? I am writing to you at your grandfather’s address, the one you gave me in Venice. I pray this reaches you, although with this awful war . . .

I had hoped that having a child would perhaps mellow Simon, even if it could not change him. This has not been the case. I’ll keep this brief, for there is too much to say. But I need to act. Can you meet me in Kensington Gardens? I walk there with my daughter every day from three until four.

K xxx

I fold the letter and race to the gardens. It is a quarter to four.

I am breathless and I don’t know where to search for her. I spin around fighting tears. She needs me.

‘Sheba?’

My heart stops. Two feet in front of me is Katherine, holding a child’s hand.

‘It’s you!’ She’s real and not simply conjured from my thoughts.

Her face is pale, dark shadows hollow under her eyes.

The little girl holding her hand doesn’t appear much better.

I rush to embrace Katherine, and when I pull back, I see the outline of a bruise below the collar of her dress.

When I look directly in her eyes, she doesn’t look away.

‘You must leave him.’

‘I know.’ She glances down at her daughter.

‘Not her too?’ I say.

‘I have managed to stop him so far.’ She draws a breath. ‘You see, I haven’t been able to write, or more correctly, I have been writing but I haven’t given it to him. He stole your poem. I’m so sorry.’ Her eyes fill.

‘It doesn’t matter. You and Isabella do.’

She reaches for my hand and spots her work clutched under my arm. I meet her gaze.

‘Mumma,’ the child says. Katherine strokes her daughter’s head while the little girl studies me. I crouch down to her level and say, ‘Hello, Isabella, I’m your mother’s friend, Sheba.’

She leans into Katherine’s side and hides before giving me a cheeky smile.

I stand. ‘Leave him.’

‘How can I do that?’

‘Because of the bombing. Tell him you are going to Cornwall, or to family somewhere.’

She closes her eyes for a moment. ‘You are right, of course. I could tell him I’m taking Isabella to friends, and that I will return so that I can write without her distracting me.’

‘And you?’ My heart is racing.

‘On the pretext of checking on her, I will leave and never return.’ The corners of her mouth lift and her eyes shine with the thought.

‘This will work.’ I pause, quickly pulling ideas together. ‘I’m leaving London tomorrow and I plan to buy a house.’

‘How can you afford that?’ she asks.

‘Sadly, my grandfather . . .’

She takes my hand in hers. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Thank you.’

I pull out a piece of paper and a pencil from my pocket and write down my father’s details. ‘I will be here. Do not delay.’

‘I’ll be as swift as I can. Thank you.’ She leans forward and kisses my cheek. She still wears the same perfume. Rose, jasmine and vanilla.

2 June 1941

Newlyn

It has taken more time than I imagined to find a house that will be suitable to have a child living in it too.

This fact ruled out Lamorna for its remoteness, so I have bought a place on the edge of Newlyn.

It is a fine house with a good garden and two outbuildings.

But it is full of damp, so Dad is working with me to clean every inch with vinegar and, where necessary, bleach.

Thankfully the weather is fine and every window is open.

‘Remind me again why you need a house this large?’ he asks, scrubbing the salt off the sitting room window.

It feels like forever since I saw Katherine in the park. I’ve received one note, which said only:

It is taking time, but it will happen.

K xx

‘I told you that a friend and her daughter would be joining me.’

He pauses and looks at me. ‘Are you certain?’

I laugh bitterly. ‘There is no certainty in anything now.’

‘Only death.’ We both pause, then continue with the windows without saying another word. My thoughts circle around my anticipation for Katherine’s arrival and fear that they won’t come.

When we stop to eat, my father hands me an envelope. My heart sinks as I recognise Katherine’s handwriting. Is she not coming? I open it in haste and quickly read.

We had a near miss. The house three down from us was destroyed. He has given his blessing.

K xx

‘Whatever you have read has made you smile,’ my father says. I nod and relax in the sunshine. She will make it here. Things take time and I must be patient. Below us, the harbour is busy with both fishing boats and smaller military boats. Even here in Cornwall the war is ever present.

‘Which of the outbuildings will you make your studio?’ he asks.

‘The one closer to the water, I think.’ It is a wonderful space to work in. New windows and skylights will need to be added in due course. Although I want everything done now, there is time ahead to make things perfect.

‘Good choice. More tea?’

I nod, and while I listen to him in the kitchen, I hold the note close to my heart, closing my eyes for a moment.

‘Sheba.’ Katherine stands above me, blocking the sun. I blink, then jump to my feet.

‘You made it!’ I fling my arms around her and breathe her in. Part of me comes back to life.

‘We did,’ she says, grinning.

Over her shoulder I see my brother, Tommy, deep in discussion with Isabella.

I take Katherine’s hands in mine.

‘Your father is lovely.’ She watches him chat to the children.

‘He is,’ I say, wanting not to talk but to hold her.

We can’t now, but maybe later, when the others have left us.

Days ago, I washed all the linen and made the beds.

Fate has been kind with Harbour House. The dear woman who lived here died in her sleep, and her son didn’t want the house or anything in it. The purchase was quick.

‘I have so many questions.’ I study her. Tiredness pours off her.

‘I have answers, but the one you will want to know first is that I have a week before I must return for a bit.’

I swallow.

‘He would only let me take her away with the promise of poetry.’ She sighs.

‘But he doesn’t know where you are, so you don’t have to go back.’

‘No, he didn’t even ask where I was taking her.’ She shakes her head. ‘For a man who claimed he wanted children . . .’

‘He only wanted your talent.’

‘I see that now.’ She draws a breath. ‘In fact, so much is clear. He didn’t discourage my excess when I was pregnant before. He enabled it. He didn’t want that child, and he only wanted this one so that I would be tied to him.’

‘Oh Katherine.’

She shrugs. ‘But I do have to return briefly, for there are things I couldn’t take without drawing attention to them. I will only go back for them, and then never again.’

I squeeze her hand. My dream is here and now.