‘“Made love” is the phrase you’re looking for.’ Hari felt compassion but also anger that her private joy had been dragged out of her in an atmosphere of resentment. She thought Meryl might cry but she didn’t.
‘I had him first—’ Meryl’s voice held a defensive note—‘Michael was supposed to be mine.’
‘You’ve never “had” him,’ Hari said softly. ‘Not in any way.’
‘That’s all you know!’ Meryl’s tone was harsh. ‘Did he tell you that we spent one whole night together in a barn?’
‘He did, as it happens,’ Hari said, ‘he was kind, he held you, comforted you, and to suggest anything else isn’t worthy of you or him.’
Meryl was quiet for a long time. ‘You’re right,’ she said at last. ‘He thought I was a child. He still thinks of me as a child. I’m sorry, Hari, I shouldn’t have implied there was anything else.’
Hari got up from her chair and faced her sister. Meryl was as tall now as she was; she was lovely with her silky chestnut hair tied away from her face and her eyes bright with unshed tears. She closed her arms around Meryl.
‘I love you, sis,’ she said, kissing Meryl’s cheek, ‘and I’m so sorry I’ve been the one to hurt you but I love Michael so much I just can’t help myself.’
Meryl kissed her cheek and disengaged herself. ‘You needn’t talk to me about being hurt, I know all about it.’ She said the words softly. ‘So does Jessie, she worries herself sick every time Michael comes into Swansea.’
She sat in Hari’s chair and abruptly changed the subject. ‘Right, show me how to work this machine. Let’s take our minds off Michael, shall we?’
Hari hesitated, her work was secret, the codes carefully guarded and yet, when she married Michael and had a family, perhaps Meryl could take over her job here. It would be a challenge for her and would keep her away from the war for as long as it lasted, which could be for some years yet, so Colonel Edwards predicted.
For several hours Hari tutored her sister on the working of her machine. Meryl was quick to learn, so quick deciphering the new daily codes that Hari felt slow and dull by comparison.
‘How do you learn things so quickly?’
‘I don’t know,’ Meryl said, ‘I’m just good at languages and things. I speak German almost as well as Michael does and, although my French doesn’t come so easily, I’m not bad at that either.’
‘And I know your Welsh is excellent, you should aim high Meryl, be a teacher, a linguist, aim for the top.’ She paused.
‘Maybe it will all come in useful one day.’ Meryl suddenly lost interest and, taking the hint, Hari picked up her bag and gloves.
‘Come on, let’s go home. Daddy will be arriving for the weekend later today and we’ll have to get his bed ready.’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve asked Michael to come to tea, I hope you won’t be upset.’
Meryl’s face brightened for an instant. ‘It might he dangerous but I suppose you both know what you re doing.’ She abruptly changed the subject. ‘It will be fabulous to see Daddy again but I’ll be going back to the farm on Monday, remember.’
‘I know—’ Hari held up her hand—‘I’ve got a few days off, don’t you worry, you can return to your precious farm, no one is going to stop you.’ She heard the tone of sarcasm in her voice and took a deep breath.
‘Don’t worry,’ Meryl shot back, ‘your Michael is all yours, there’s nothing I can do to take him away from you.’ She paused. ‘I just feel at home in Carmarthen now, I like being with Jessie and, I admit it, I like being around Michael although he will never be mine.’
Silently, the girls walked out of the office along the board path that led to the sheds, past the ruined shell store that stood—a blackened ruin—alongside the other sheds, and finally out on to the road where the buses waited. Soon they would get the train home, they would make preparations for father’s weekend visit and perhaps, just perhaps, Hari’s burden of guilt would be lifted for a while.
When they arrived home their father was already there and Hari saw at once that Meryl had become her father’s favourite daughter. The way his face lit up when he saw her, the warm hug, the way he smoothed her hair and the shine in his eyes told a graphic story. She understood it: Meryl was the image of their mother; Hari’s colouring, her pale complexion, her red-gold hair, had all come from Father’s side.
Meryl had bright, impish looks and her hair, almost brown, her cheeks warmed by the country air, her smile of delight, gave her a vivaciousness Hari knew she would never have.
They were about to have tea, consisting of bread, salt butter, strawberry jam and cake all laid out on a pristine cloth. Hari had planned this for days, pulling strings, receiving favours, just to give her father a good homecoming. And of course, warm within her was the knowledge that Michael would be here any minute now.
The knock on the door brought a smile to her face and Meryl turned her head sharply, her eyes wide and accusing. ‘Michael, I presume?’
Hari forced herself to open the door slowly. There on the step were two tall military policemen. Then without her permission they were inside and had closed the door.
‘Michael Euler?’
‘Who?’ Hari said, bewildered. Suddenly, Meryl was at her side. ‘There’s no one here of that name, sir,’ she said. ‘Come in, we’re just about to have tea, you can see for yourself there’s only family here.’
The men followed into the warm kitchen and stood near the door as if on guard. ‘We understand the German is on his way here,’ the older policeman said in a harsh voice. ‘It’s a criminal offence to harbour the enemy.’
The room was silent, then a coal shifted in the grate and the kettle on the stove began to boil. Absently, Hari made the tea. She looked desperately at her father; his eyes were narrowed, his brow furrowed. He had no idea what was going on.
Meryl smiled at the police. ‘Why don’t you come back later?’ she asked innocently. Hari watched her. Her sister was cunning, bright, but even she couldn’t find a way out of this trap.
The men ignored her. Meryl sank into a chair, defeated. Hari took in a ragged breath. ‘What information do you have that there is a German coming here to my house?’
The two men remained tight-lipped. Hari saw Meryl’s eyes snap with temper; she opened her mouth and then closed it again. If she said the name of Michael’s betrayer she would confirm what the military already knew. Thank God she kept her mouth shut.
And then Hari heard them, footsteps coming towards the door, her darling Michael was walking into a trap and she could do nothing to save him.
Twenty-Eight
I could not let it happen. ‘I have to go to the lavatory,’ I said briskly, and before the men could move I was out the back making my way around the side of the house. I couldn’t let Michael be hunted like a wild animal. I stood against the door like a fly stuck to paper as the two men came round the side of the house. I saw Michael in the distance and began to shout and hit at the two men and act as if I was generally gone mad. Michael caught on and disappeared into a side street.
‘You wicked child, what have you done?’ One of the men pushed me roughly aside and ran after Michael. Slowly I went back inside.
‘I warned you not to make Michael come to Swansea!’ I was aware of the accusation in my voice and my sister just stood there, white-faced, silent, in stunned disbelief. And then Hari crumpled, she sank into a chair and began to cry.
I picked up my coat.
‘Where are you going?’ Hari pulled herself together and I took a deep breath.
‘I’m going back to the farm, see if I can do anything to help.’
‘I’ll drive you,’ Hari said desperately.
‘No, we might be followed. I’ll get there on my own. I’ll take the bike.’
‘It will take you all night to get there.’
‘So?’
I had no patience with Hari at that moment. I tied a scarf around my head and kissed my bewildered father. In the street, there was no car, no lurking men. I took the bicycle from the side path. The tyres were good—no
