It wasn’t true; her father was well able to look after himself. Jessie obviously wasn’t, not just now.
‘Leave the farm? Oh, I don’t know, Hari, what about the cattle?’
‘I’m sure the man on the next farm would take them in, there’s so few of them now, anyway.’ She touched Jessie’s arm. ‘It would only be for a short while, in any case, and I do need your help, really I do.’
‘When?’ Jessie asked.
‘Father’s coming home Monday, what if I come for you next Sunday, would that suit you?’
‘
‘I know.’ Hari smiled with relief. ‘I’ll expect a nice cooked meal for Father and me when I come home from the factory, though.’
‘So long as we put our rations together it will be all right. Could I bring a few chucks with me for eggs?’
‘We could manage chickens in the garden, I suppose,’ Hari said. ‘Just so long as you don’t bring a pig for bacon as well.’
Hari had the satisfaction of knowing the house looked tidier when she left and Jessie was busy washing clothes to bring to Swansea with her. A spell with company might just be what Jessie needed; she was all alone in that deserted farmhouse, alone and afraid.
As she drove along the farm road towards the main thoroughfare for Swansea, a figure suddenly stepped out in front of her car. She pulled up and saw George Dixon wave his arms at her frantically.
‘Help me, miss—it’s my mother, she’s taken really bad. I don’t know what to do; I don’t know how long she’s been sick. I’ve just come home on leave, see?’
George was in army uniform, he was a junior officer, commissioned no less. Mrs Dixon must be well connected. ‘Get in.’
Hari drove to the Dixon Farm and hurried across the yard into the house. Mrs Dixon was in bed; it was clear she had a fever. Her face was flushed, almost cyanosed, her eyes were puffy and she had strange red marks on her skin.
‘I’ve called the doctor,’ George said. ‘I ran to the post office in the village and used their phone but so far there’s no sign of anyone coming.’
‘She is very ill.’ Hari looked at her watch. ‘If the doctor doesn’t come soon we’ll take her to the hospital.’
As she finished speaking the doctor came plodding up the stairs. He was very old with a white moustache and a shock of white hair under his hat.
‘Doctor Merriman.’ He nodded briefly to Hari and went straight to the bed. After a moment he shook his head. ‘I’m too late,’ he said. ‘Mrs Dixon is dying, she’s had scarlet fever for at least a week. I’m sorry.’
‘How long?’ George’s voice was hoarse.
‘You’ll be lucky, son, if she lasts the night. I’ll give her something to ease her and then all you can do is sit with her, talk to her gently, help her slip away peacefully. I’m sorry.’ He repeated helplessly, ‘It’s just too late to help her.’
‘If only I’d been here,’ George said angrily. ‘This bastard war.’ He put his head in his hands and wept.
Forty-Nine
I became accustomed to the routine of going to work on the radio section in the big, sprawling building that stood out like a landmark on the flat countryside near Hamburg. I became so used to speaking German that sometimes, even in my thoughts, I used German words.
The girls around me became my firm friends, especially the flirtatious Eva, a fluffy blonde girl with a beautiful face and a clinical, clever brain. Even Frau Hoffman had warmed enough to smile occasionally. As one of the girls remarked, ‘She must be in love.’
And yet sometimes, feeling absurdly like a traitor to Germany, I would take my box of ‘sanitary products’ with me into the fields as far away from my home and my workplace as my bike would take me and send any potentially useful pieces of information back, I hoped, to Hari in Bridgend.
The winter of 1944 was long, spring seemed determined not to come. I spent my evenings mostly alone in the farmhouse, practising codes on pieces of paper.
One night, I was almost sleeping in my chair with the fire dying in the hearth when I heard the sound of a car outside. I sat up; it must be Herr Euler, who sometimes made a call home at odd times. I wondered if it was to check up on me but so far he’d caught me doing no more than reading or writing endless letters to Michael that he probably seldom received.
The door was opened by a lady driver. She stared at me and I stared back, wondering what the heck was going on now; Herr Euler had no time for lady drivers.
And then my mouth split from ear to ear as Michael came hopping into the room on crutches. He looked well in spite of the bandaged foot and his smile matched mine when he saw me.
‘
‘Give the lady a cup of tea,’ Michael said, making an eye gesture at me, showing he’d read my feelings well. ‘She’s to meet her fiance later but she surely has time for some refreshment.’
Fuming, I made the tea and then I sat as close to Michael as I could get in view of the fact his crutches were poking into my legs. ‘What’s happened my love?’ I touched his hair with wifely concern. He grinned, well aware of my jealousy.
‘I crash-landed; luckily I made it back to the airport but the Focke’s undercarriage came off and a bit of twisted metal caught my ankle. It’s nothing; a couple of stitches fixed it up and the plane’s not too badly damaged.’
‘A nasty gash though,’ the driver said knowingly. I gave her a piercing glance. ‘Well, thank you for driving my husband home I expect you’ll want to be on your way.’
She hastily finished her tea and smiled at Michael. ‘Take care sir, and good luck.’ She glanced at me defiantly as she rested her hand on Michael’s shoulder. I resisted the urge to kick her out of the house.
‘Goodbye.’ I shut the door before she got to her car. ‘Lights,’ I said to Michael, and he laughed.
‘Green ones in your eyes?’
‘Are you saying I’m jealous?’
‘I am.’
‘Well, what do you expect arriving home with a fluffy blonde? She was very familiar with you considering she has a fiance.’
‘War has a strange effect on people.’
‘Not strange enough for you to flirt with her.’
He caught me in his arms and placed me on his knee. ‘Mind my ankle,’ he said and kissed me.
It was wonderful to wake in the morning and see Michael asleep beside me. He was so dear, so handsome, so mine—at least for now.
He opened his blue eyes fringed by long lashes and smiled his sweet smile. I turned into his warm body and he put his arms around me. ‘I do love you,’ I said softly. He said nothing though he planted a kiss on my forehead. ‘At least I’ve got you for a little while,’ I said, hoping he would say something like ‘forever’ but he did not speak at all and I wondered if I would ever know the truth of his feeling for me. Did he still love Hari or did he love me more now? I was too afraid to ask.
At first he did not make love to me and I was afraid it was over, that his conscience had stricken him when he thought of betraying my sister. But being together in a bed every night breaks down barriers and one night, I clung to him and deliberately pressed my full breasts against him.
I felt him respond; he groaned and then he was kissing my shoulders, my breasts, taking my hard nipple into his hot mouth. Was it just the lust of a man too long without a woman, facing death every time he took to the skies? I didn’t care, he was here and for now we were together, really together and nothing else mattered.
