Читать книгу Wait for Me - Caroline Leech, Caroline Leech - Страница 9

BIG NEWS! Need to talk later.

Lorna waited while the ink dried on the scrap torn from the back of her exercise book, then slid it across the desk and under the page her best friend, Iris Robertson, was doodling her latest dress design on. The calculus paper hadn’t been anywhere near as hard as Lorna had expected, and she and Iris had both finished it with plenty of time to spare. Now she was bored.

Iris glanced at the note and moved to slip it into her cardigan sleeve. Before it was hidden, however, long fingers reached out and took it from her hand, making Lorna and Iris both jump. Mrs. Murray stood over them, fanning herself with the note, then gave her head a quick shake of disapproval and returned to the front of the classroom.

Lorna had another twenty minutes of staring out at the heavy cloud that seemed to smother the high classroom windows before Mrs. Murray called an end to the examination. The teacher squeezed between the tightly packed desks to collect the exam papers into two piles—calculus from the older students like Lorna, and algebra from the younger ones. It had been close to chaos when the two classes had merged after Mrs. Duffy had run off to join the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force the year before, but Mrs. Murray’s rod of iron had soon brought an almost military discipline to the room.

As Mrs. Murray passed by Lorna’s desk, picking up the papers, she paused.

“Would you join me in the hallway please, Lorna?” she said. “I need a quiet word with you.”

Damn! It was only a note. It wasn’t like she’d been cheating.

Lorna exchanged glances with Iris before reluctantly pushing back her chair and walking slowly to the front of the classroom. Esther Bell snorted loudly as Lorna passed her, but Lorna paid no attention. Esther got told off more than Lorna ever did, anyway, and it was because of people like Esther that Lorna was counting down the days until she graduated from school. Only then would she be spared the trial of seeing Esther each day.

“Class! Get out your English notebooks and start on the assignment on the blackboard,” Mrs. Murray ordered as she opened her desk drawer and took out some papers. “We’ll break for lunch at noon, as usual. In the meantime, I do not, I repeat, do not want to hear one peep from in here.”

She walked into the hallway, holding the door open for Lorna to follow.

Lorna glanced back at Iris, but she was gazing at William Urquhart with that ridiculous look on her face.

Lorna pulled the door closed behind her and faced her teacher. “Look, Mrs. Murray, I’m sorry about the note, but it’s not like I was—”

“Oh, shush,” said Mrs. Murray, waving away Lorna’s defense with her hand. “This isn’t about the note, this is about you. Now, I’ve been thinking again about you applying to the university for next year.”

Lorna wanted to groan. It would have been better for Mrs. Murray to scold her for the note passing than this torture. “Mrs. Murray, you know that my father—”

“Yes, I know you’ve told me before that he’s not keen on you continuing your education after you get your school certificate in June, so perhaps I need to go and talk to him—”

“No! Really, you don’t have to do that.” Lorna tried to calm her voice. “He needs me at Craigielaw, that’s all.”

Mrs. Murray studied her for a moment.

“Well, I’m not so sure,” replied Mrs. Murray. “You have too bright a mind to rot on a farm your whole life, and I’m sure he knows that. Remind me of your birthday, dear. April, isn’t it? That’s when you’ll legally become an adult. So you’ll have to find a way to make him understand that you’ll be responsible for your own choices after that. And who knows, perhaps your dad might just surprise you.

“Now, as I’ve said before, I’d love to see you at the university, but if you won’t, I mean, if your father won’t agree to that, what about Mr. Dugdale’s Secretarial College?”

She held out the papers in her hand to Lorna.

“They offer all sorts of classes, like shorthand and typewriting, and I hear that Dugdale graduates are very highly regarded. You’d be able to go up to Edinburgh on the train each day, and the college is just a short walk from Waverley station.”

The top sheet, with a fancy crest, was a letter thanking Mrs. Murray for her recent inquiry, and a printed brochure lay underneath.

“It’s amazing what girls these days can do with good secretarial skills,” Mrs. Murray continued. “And secretaries have all sorts of travel opportunities, you know. Glasgow, Aberdeen, or even Birmingham.”

Lorna tried not to sigh. Mrs. Murray made it sound like Birmingham was the most exotic place on earth, but Lorna knew it wasn’t even as far away as London, where Sandy, her other brother, worked in the War Office. And it certainly wasn’t anything like Paris or New York, or Cairo or Bombay, or any of the other places Lorna and Sandy had talked about traveling to. But right now, Lorna couldn’t think of going anywhere.

She knew she was virtually an adult now, and she would have to make some decisions soon about what to do with her life, but she couldn’t even think about leaving her father alone at Craigielaw, at least not until the war was over and the boys came back. Then she might think about secretarial college. Maybe. But who could guess when the end might come? When the war was declared in September 1939, everyone had said it would all be over by Christmas. It was now 1945; six Christmases had come and gone since then. How many more …?

And was secretarial college enough for Lorna? What about her dreams to travel?

“Lorna?”

Lorna realized that Mrs. Murray was still waiting for an answer.

“Lorna, have you got something on your mind this morning?” Mrs. Murray suddenly appeared concerned. “Is everything all right at home, dear? Are your brothers …?”

Mrs. Murray’s lashes were glistening wet.

“I mean,” the teacher tried again, “have you perhaps had some news from the regiment?”

Then Lorna understood what she was really asking. Mrs. Murray’s only son, Gregor, was one of John Jo’s best friends—and Lorna’s favorite by far—and was serving with him in the same regiment of the Royal Scots. Her husband had died when Gregor was quite young, so once Gregor joined up, she’d been left on her own.

“Oh no, Mrs. Murray, nothing like that. We had a letter from John just yesterday, and he’s doing fine. He moaned about the cold and the food and all the usual stuff but seemed to be fine otherwise. I’m afraid he didn’t mention Gregor in his letter, though.”

Mrs. Murray’s anxious expression shifted to relief, then to disappointment.

“But I’m sure Gregor will get in touch soon. I’ll write back to John Jo this evening and I’ll have him tell Gregor you were asking after him, if you like.”

Mrs. Murray’s mouth smiled, though her eyes did not.

“That would be kind, dear, thank you. Gregor never was one for writing, was he?”

Mrs. Murray gave a not very convincing laugh and dabbed at her cheeks with a white lace hankie she had drawn out of her skirt pocket.

“Come on then, Lorna, back to work, and please think about what I’ve said.”

Lorna tried to hand back the college papers, but Mrs. Murray didn’t take them.

“Keep them, dear.” Mrs. Murray patted Lorna’s hand. “You never know what might be around the corner. And if you would be kind enough to pass that message on to your brother, I’d be very grateful.”

Mrs. Murray pulled open the door of the classroom and, squaring her shoulders, walked inside.

“George Brown! Sit down! Can I not leave this classroom for one minute?”

As Lorna returned to her desk, Iris tore her eyes away from William Urquhart to look at Lorna questioningly, but Lorna just shrugged back. The secretarial college papers crinkled inside her cardigan as she sat down. Her secret for now.

As Mrs. Murray wrote again on the blackboard, Iris nudged Lorna’s elbow.

“What news?” she whispered.

Lorna shook her head and mouthed, “Later.” As soon as they were alone after school, she would tell Iris all the details of that morning. After all, Lorna and Iris had shared everything since they were tiny.

It was strange, though; as the day wore on, Lorna became aware of an unfathomable desire to keep the arrival of that awful damaged stranger to herself.

Three o’clock finally came. William Urquhart stood up from his desk with an officious clatter. William was the son of the parish minister and was also Aberlady School’s head boy. As such, he was responsible for ringing the big handbell by the front door to signal the beginning and the end of the school day.

As he passed by, William winked at Iris.

Iris giggled and blushed.

Lorna groaned.

What was Iris thinking? Of all the boys she could set her sights on, why did it have to be pompous William Urquhart?

As the first heavy peal of the handbell sounded from the front door, Lorna was on her feet, signaling to Iris to be quick. Iris clearly had other ideas. As everyone else surged from the room, she very carefully flipped down the lid of the inkwell set into her desk, wiped her pen nib on a cloth rag, and placed her workbook into her desk, lining it up carefully on top of the pile already inside. Then she took a hairbrush from her schoolbag and began tugging at the knots in her messy brown curls, pulling the hair straight down her shoulder with the brush, only to have them bounce back up again, looking no tidier than when she started.

“Come on, Iris, hurry!” urged Lorna.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” said Iris, stuffing the brush back into her bag. Suddenly, her eyes lit up as she looked behind Lorna.

William Urquhart was standing right there, uncomfortably close. He bowed at the waist—not a brief nod like the German’s, but a full bow—and Lorna had to step back to avoid him touching her.

“Have a good afternoon, ladies,” he drawled.

So full of himself!

He straightened up and brushed past Lorna. When he reached Iris, he lifted her left hand to his thick red lips and kissed the back of it.

Iris giggled again.

Lorna shuddered. Who did he think he was, Errol Flynn?

“Good afternoon to you, William,” Iris purred. “I’ll see you in the morning. I’m looking forward to it already.”

William oiled his way out of the classroom. As they followed him out, Lorna glared at Iris but said nothing until they were on the street. There she bent double and pretended to retch into the gutter.

“What are you doing?” asked Iris.

Lorna stood up.

“Oh, William, I’m looking forward to it already,” she cooed sarcastically, wiggling her hips in an impression of Iris. “Iris, you can’t be serious.”

“But he’s so dashing.”

Lorna scoffed.

“We’ve always said he looks like a young Tyrone Power, though.”

“No, Iris, you’ve just started saying that.” She glanced around in case William had reappeared. “I’ve always said that he looks like a snooty, stuck-up slug.”

Iris pursed her lips in that infuriating motherly way, and Lorna knew what was coming—another lecture about how Lorna didn’t appreciate William’s better traits.

“No, you’re wrong, he’s not stuck-up. He’s very intelligent and really, very mature.”

“Did he tell you that?” Lorna didn’t want to sound nasty, but sometimes she despaired of Iris, she really did. William had only asked Iris out for the first time the other day, but she was acting like they’d been an item for years.

“Actually, it was his mother who told me,” Iris said without irony, ignoring Lorna’s snort of derision. “And he’s already been offered a place at Edinburgh University for September to study law. And then he’ll do his postgraduate doctorate in theology so he can become a minister like his father. Of course, William has ambitions beyond a tiny parish like Aberlady. He’ll have one of the big churches in Edinburgh, even St. Giles Cathedral, perhaps. He’s very driven, you know, and I very much admire that in an honorable man.”

Lorna had heard enough.

“An honorable man? Iris! Listen to yourself. Don’t you remember how upset you were just last year when he was so mean and patronizing about your Jane Austen project? And about your singing, and my drawing? Are you telling me he’s really changed that much?”

“He has, Lorna. You’re just not giving him a chance,” Iris muttered through pursed lips. “He’s changed since then. And you are being quite mean and patronizing yourself right now.”

“I am not. I’m just trying to get you to see sense,” Lorna retorted. “Anyway, what about John Jo? My brother will be heartbroken when he finds out you’re not pining for him anymore.”

“That was just a girlish infatuation,” Iris said haughtily. “This is true love. William and I will be together forever.”

“Forever?” Lorna scoffed. “But won’t Saint William be called up when he turns eighteen in June? Chances are that by September he’ll be off to the army, not to university.”

Iris looked uncomfortable.

“Yes, possibly,” she conceded, “but his mother seems sure that with his poor eyesight and foot problems, he won’t have to go. A deep mind like William’s would be much more suited—”

Lorna snorted.

“Poor eyesight? He doesn’t even wear glasses. And I don’t think having stinky feet can keep you out of the army. It certainly didn’t work for my brothers.”

“Stop it, Lorna! His eyes are very sensitive, Mrs. Urquhart says. And apparently, the Urquharts know a colonel up at Edinburgh Castle, and she’ll have a word with him when William’s call-up papers arrive. And for your information, William does not have stinky feet.”

“Did Mrs. Urquhart tell you that too?” Lorna tried not to snap. “Come on, Iris, can you not see that his mother would do anything to keep her little baby at home instead of letting him out to play with the rough boys?”

Lorna couldn’t stop the bitterness creeping into her voice. She didn’t mean to pour scorn on a mother’s fears. Lorna knew what it was to lie awake at night imagining every bomb or shell or bullet that might hurt John Jo or Sandy, and she wouldn’t wish that on anyone else. But if her brothers were risking their lives, then why should William-bloody-Urquhart stay safely at home?

“Lorna, that’s not it at all.”

Iris sounded hurt. Lorna didn’t care. She was on a roll.

“No? And what does Sweet William have to say about all this? Is he happy to have his mother weasel him out of doing his duty?”

“No, actually.” Iris’s voice was suddenly barely a whisper. “William seems to be quite excited about joining up, even though that means he’ll have to leave his mother and father behind … and me.”

All Iris’s tight-lipped motherly condescension had vanished, and tears sparkled in her eyes.

“Oh, Iris, don’t.”

Iris wiped at her face with her sleeve.

“You just don’t understand,” she sniffed, “what it’s like to be in love.”

Lorna was stumped. She would have told Iris off, but her friend looked so sorrowful, Lorna just sighed and wrapped Iris into a hug.

“Oh, come on, silly, don’t cry. The war could be over by then, and we’ll get all our boys back, the sweet ones and the rough ones. Maybe William won’t have to go at all.” Lorna pulled out her handkerchief and handed it to Iris. “Anyway, I have something important to tell you, so please come for tea.”

Iris managed a wan smile and sniffed.

As they walked toward Craigielaw, Lorna told Iris about the new arrival that morning, and gradually, Iris seemed to recover her humor. Within minutes, she was firmly agreeing with Lorna and was suitably appalled by the news. Hadn’t they both always detested Germans? How could it be patriotic to let the enemy run amok on British soil, even if they were prisoners?

“I know that Dad and Nellie could do with more help”—Lorna picked up the rant where Iris left off—“especially since Old Lachie had to retire from the sheep before Christmas. But is there really no other option than dumping bloody Germans on us?”

“Apparently”—Iris sounded like she was spilling a secret, her voice dropping low—“the prisoner who was delivered to Esther’s farm this morning was really old and fat, and Esther’s dad was not happy. He said the chap would be worthless for any heavy work on the farm, which is what he was needed for. And Esther says their Land Army girl is useless and the size of a sparrow, not like your Nellie at all.”

“Nellie’s hardly enormous,” said Lorna.

“No, but she’s strong and she knows about engines and stuff.”

“Yes, but she’s still a woman. And apparently my dad would rather have a German on the farm than another woman, even a German who looks like that.”

“Looks like what? Is your prisoner old and fat too?”

“Not exactly …”

“Young and fat?”

“No …”

“Well, is he young and handsome then?”

“Not exactly …”

“He is, isn’t he? You think he’s handsome!”

“Oh stop!”

“You do, don’t you? You fancy a German!” Iris cried.

“Iris, shhhh! I mean it, stop! He is young but … oh, it’s awful. He’s been … burned … his face … it must have been awful.”

Lorna could picture him again: the tight angry, brilliant pink skin contrasting with eyes the color of snow-laden clouds, and the sneer that tweaked the corner of the disfiguring mask. Lorna wondered for the first time how bad his pain had been.

“Oh my goodness, no!” said Iris, looking more thrilled than horrified. “That’s dreadful! Well, I suppose it’s dreadful, isn’t it? I mean, he is a German, so maybe he deserved it … not deserved it exactly, but … oh, you know what I mean.”

“Iris! Just because someone’s a German doesn’t mean he deserves to be hurt so badly.”

“But you hate Germans.” Iris looked genuinely puzzled. “Aren’t you pleased that this one’s been hurt?”

“Well, yes … no … maybe … I mean, yes, but when you’ve got a real one standing right in front of you and the damage to his face is so terrible, well, it’s … different. Somehow.”

Lorna realized only then that her initial revulsion was passing on, allowing pity to creep in behind. She looked at Iris, expecting to see a reflection of her own discomfort, but Iris was smiling.

Iris leaned in close, her face eager.

“But you still haven’t told me,” she said in a loud whisper, “would your German have been handsome if he wasn’t so … you know?”

“Iris!”