The Nurse's War - Merryn Allingham

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‘I should be an SRN by then. I think I’d like to specialise in surgical nursing. I actually made it into the theatre the other day. One of the third year nurses had to go home—her mother is extremely ill—and I took her place. Operations are done in the basement now. They’ve moved all the linen, but it’s still quite cramped. I found it so interesting, though, that I forgot how hot and crowded it was.’

      He nodded almost absently and she felt his eyes fix anew on her face. He was thinking and that was dangerous. He was trying to read her, she could see. He hadn’t forgotten the urgent mission she’d come on after all, and she couldn’t imagine why she’d thought he would. He was an intelligence officer, wasn’t he? It was his job to get to the bottom of things. She strained her ears; the all-clear was a long time coming, but it could still save her. If it sounded, she would say a swift goodbye and tell Gerald that she’d met Grayson as he’d asked, and had done her best to persuade, but without success. It was a lie, but then how many times had her husband lied to her?

      She crossed and uncrossed her legs, then glanced down at her watch. The second hand seemed hardly to have moved. Time was slowing down and she felt trapped. The people immediately around her had begun to settle themselves more securely. They must have decided the raid would be protracted or simply one among a series and resigned themselves to spending most of the night away from home. Limbs were spread more widely, shoes removed, coats bunched as pillows or tucked into the body as protection from the ferocious draughts that sailed in from either side of the tunnel.

      Grayson watched these preparations with an indifferent eye, but when he turned back to her, his gaze was sharp and the quiet voice had become unyielding. ‘It’s been good to catch up with each other’s lives, Daisy, but I don’t think you came all the way from the City on your one free day to talk about my work or yours. What’s going on?’

      There was to be no escape then. When she dared look at him, she felt her eyes drawn to his and saw determination there, but kindness too, and something a good deal deeper and warmer. What she had to say would anger him for sure. It might even hurt him and that was the last thing she wanted. But the confusion, the wretchedness she’d felt these past few days had reached a crescendo and, in a moment, it had toppled and burst through the flimsy defence she had built.

      ‘Gerald is alive,’ she blurted out.

       CHAPTER 5

      She felt Grayson’s body tense against her, saw his face become stone.

      ‘Gerald is alive,’ she repeated. She still hardly believed it herself.

      ‘Gerald? Gerald Mortimer?’ His bark of laughter was ugly, forced.

      ‘Yes. Gerald—my husband.’

      ‘But that’s crazy. Why on earth would you think that?’

      ‘I don’t think it, I know. He’s here in London. He came to see me.’ It was getting easier now. Her breath was still catching, but she was managing to put one word after another.

      Grayson wasn’t so adept. ‘But … But how can he be?’ he stuttered.

      ‘He didn’t drown. He was rescued by villagers downstream.’

      ‘That’s impossible. The river that day … you saw the river, Daisy. You stood on its brink. No one could have survived that torrent.’

      ‘He did,’ she said flatly. ‘Somehow he managed to hang on to wreckage from one of the festival floats. He was pushed into the bank some miles from Jasirapur, and the villagers found him and looked after him until his injuries were mended. Then he made his way back to England.’

      ‘Just like that.’ Grayson still seemed stunned, but there was a sour edge to his voice.

      ‘I don’t think it was quite that easy. He hasn’t told me much about the journey except that it took months. He begged his way out of India, and then through Turkey and across Europe. He found a job in France, but then war was declared. And here he is.’

      Grayson’s legs twitched. He looked as though he would give anything to jump to his feet and disappear down one of the tunnels. Instead, his hands harrowed through the brown sweep of his hair until it almost stood to attention. His mouth was tight and his forehead creased; beneath its rigid lines Daisy could see a whole encyclopedia of questions forming.

      ‘But why? Why come to England, why not return to Jasirapur?’

      ‘If he’d gone back, he would have been arrested. You would have arrested him.’

      Grayson glared furiously at her, as though her remark was so self-evident it wasn’t worth uttering.

      ‘And he still can be arrested,’ he was keen to remind her. ‘The Indian Army will want a court martial for certain. He’s brought dishonour on his regiment. But he’s also guilty of a criminal act. He should stand trial for theft, even treason.’

      Daisy nodded dumbly. He was not saying anything she’d not already told herself a thousand times.

      ‘And now, of course, he can add desertion to the charge sheet.’ Grayson was angry, very angry. ‘Not to mention his treatment of you.’

      ‘He did try to save my life,’ she said in a small voice. ‘You once reminded me of that.’

      ‘That was when I thought he was dead.’ His voice was savage. ‘What possessed him to desert? Couldn’t he for once have acted like a man, owned up to his crimes, taken his punishment? Evidently not.’

      She didn’t know whether he was consumed by fury at Gerald’s criminal follies, or whether it was simple jealousy of the man who’d returned to claim his wife. But, whatever the reason, he couldn’t be much angrier. Why not then take her chance?

      She made a soft clearing sound in her throat. ‘It’s why I’ve come to you.’

      ‘You want my advice on how to live with a deserter?’ His voice had lost none of its sting.

      ‘No, yes. I want your help, Grayson. You’re the only one who can help me. Gerald wants to go to a neutral country, to America where he’ll be safe.’

      ‘I bet he does. Tell him to apply through the usual channels.’

      ‘You know he can’t do that. He’d be arrested immediately.’

      ‘And I should care?’

      ‘I don’t expect you to care. But I do. He’s a soldier guilty of theft and desertion at a time when his country is struggling to survive. Think what my life will be like if my husband is tried for those crimes. And worse, if he’s tried for treason.’

      ‘It wouldn’t be comfortable,’ he conceded. ‘But who knows, Gerald might get himself out of England and there’d be no problem. He’s weasel enough. And no doubt you’ll accompany him to whatever Shangri-La he has in mind. England could fade to a distant nightmare for you.’ He turned his body away from her, his jaw a hard outline against the fluorescent glow of the station lighting.

      ‘I don’t want him anywhere near me.’

      The words formed themselves without effort. They were heartfelt and true. What she wanted most of all was a clean break, just as Connie had suggested. The realisation had been slow to come. Since Gerald reappeared, she’d been tormenting herself on what she should do, how she should feel, and it had been time wasted. Why had she clouded what was so beautifully clear? From the beginning, she had been unhappy in her marriage and it had gone from bad to worse—and now worse still. She had to cut herself free and if Gerald made it to America, she would be. She would never need to see him again.

      Grayson turned towards her as she spoke, his figure no longer frighteningly stiff. He reached across and took her hand in his, and for some time they sat silent and unmoving. Then he gave her hand a squeeze. ‘The sooner he goes, the better, Daisy. You’ve suffered enough from

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