“How much are we speaking of?”
“Just over a thousand pounds.”
“Considerable,” Miss Darnley acknowledged. “Houses are usually safer than bonds, which can be affected by a radical change in business, or the markets.” Her lips tightened. “But in wartime houses can be bombed, and of course insurance does not cover war—or acts of God.” She looked at Hannah very steadily. “Have you considered purchasing land, perhaps something that is presently agricultural, but on the outskirts of the city, where future development will take place? That is almost impossible to damage, except by flooding, and will increase in value as well as bringing you a small return now. There is also no upkeep required, as there is on rented houses.”
Hannah was astonished. Her mind raced through the advice for flaws, and found none. Could it truly be so simple? Why had Mr. Atherton not thought of it? “Really?” she said aloud.
“Give it a little consideration,” Miss Darnley suggested. “You could ask your brother. I believe he is at home. How is he progressing?”
“Well, thank you.” That was a lie. Joseph was still in a great deal of pain. She saw it in the strain in his face, the hollows around his eyes, and the slow way he moved, afraid of jolting fragile flesh, and the raw ends of bone as yet unknitted. Why did she exchange polite nothingness with this woman? Everybody admired those who did not complain, but the denials of truth cut them off from each other, making help impossible, to receive or to give. “No, actually he’s not,” she said suddenly. “He was very badly hurt, and it’s going to take ages, if he recovers completely at all.”
“I’m sorry,” Miss Darnley said with a sudden bleakness in her eyes.
Hannah wondered with a flash of perception if perhaps the man Miss Darnley had been going to marry had been killed, but it would be intrusive to ask. “Thank you for your advice,” she said instead. “It sounds excellent sense to me. I shall think about it, and make some inquiries as to what is available. I hope you will like it here at the bank.”
A quick enthusiastic smile lit Miss Darnley’s face. “Oh, yes! It’s a marvelous opportunity. It’s almost the only advantageous thing about the war—that women are getting the chance to do all kinds of jobs we were prevented from before. It’s my belief that one day we really will get the vote. And then the next thing will be to become part of the government.”
Hannah had meant her remark only as a pleasantry. “Yes, I suppose so,” she said confusedly. She thanked Miss Darnley again and took her leave. But outside in the street the sense of fear persisted. A horse and cart clattered past her, and an automobile went the other way. She had not realized until now quite what dignity and grace there had been in the certainties of life. It was not just the outer peace that everyone could see, but an inner quality as well, a gentleness that was utterly gone.
She almost bumped into the young man in flannel trousers and blazer coming the other way. She started to apologize, then realized it was Ben Morven, one of the scientists who worked for Shanley Corcoran in the Scientific Establishment. She had met him several times here in Cambridge or in the village. She liked his warmth, the way he laughed at some of the absurdities of life and yet treasured the old and simple things, just as she did.
“How are you?” he asked with a flicker of concern.
“I’m well,” she assured him. “Just a little off-balance to find my bank manager has been replaced by a young woman.” She smiled back at him ruefully.
“It’s only temporary,” he replied with a little twist of his mouth. “When the war’s over and the men come home, she’ll go back to whatever it was she did before. She’ll have two or three years at most.”
“Do you think so?” Then as she laughed she was ashamed at her eagerness, and found herself blushing.
They were walking side by side in the sun up King’s Parade. The traffic seemed to have eased. It was nice not to have to explain her feelings to him, even if it was a little embarrassing to be understood so well. She knew something about him already. He came from a small town on the coast of Lancashire, a scholarship boy from a very ordinary family. His mother had died when he was about Jenny’s age and there was a yearning in him for the light and the sweetness of the past. When she had mentioned the death of her own mother, she had seen the swift gentleness in his eyes. No words were necessary to tell him of the grief that still descended on her without warning, almost taking her breath away.
That evening Shanley Corcoran came to see Joseph. Hannah was delighted for her own sake as well. Since her father’s death the children had had no grandparents. Archie’s family lived in the far north and poor health prevented them from traveling. Corcoran told them marvelous stories and made the world seem like an exciting place, full of color and mystery. For Hannah, he was inextricably tied to the memories of family life, childhood, times when pain was brief and permanent loss unimaginable.
Corcoran arrived with a wave of enthusiasm, leaving the door wide open onto the clear evening outside. He was of average height and build, and remarkable for the vitality and intelligence in his face. His hair was white but still thick and his eyes were unusually dark and seemed to burn with energy.
He spoke to them all, asking after each, but he was too eager to see Joseph to wait for more than the briefest of answers. Hannah took him upstairs after a few moments.
Joseph felt his spirits lifting simply because Corcoran was there. Suddenly the idea of rest seemed a waste of opportunity. He wished to be well again and do something. When Corcoran asked him how he was, he replied drily, “It holds me up a bit.”
Corcoran laughed; it was a bright, infectious sound. He sat down on the chair beside the bed. “Doesn’t stop you talking, anyway,” he observed. “It’ll be good for Hannah to have you here, at least for a while. As soon as you’re on your feet you’ll have to come for dinner. Orla would love to see you. She’ll drive over and fetch you. I’m so busy these days I practically have to be delirious with fever before they’ll let me off.”
“I thought you were the head of the Establishment?” Joseph raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, I am! They are my own inner demons that drive me,” Corcoran admitted, then for an instant he was deeply serious. “We’ve got marvelous work going on, Joseph. I can’t tell you details, of course, but what we are creating could change everything. Win the war for us. And soon. So help me God, it’ll have to be soon, the way it’s going at sea. Our losses are appalling.” He spread his hands. “But enough of that now. I imagine you know all you want to already. I’ve seen Matthew once or twice since you were last home. And Judith—” His eyes were bright and tender. “Your father would be so proud of her, driving an ambulance on the Western Front! How times have changed, and people.”
Joseph smiled back. John Reavley would have been passionately proud of his younger daughter, and he would probably even have said so. He would also have feared for her, as Joseph did, while assuring Alys that she was in no danger. Desperately as he missed his mother, he was glad she did not have to endure this.
Corcoran was staring at him, his face puckered. “Are you all right, Joseph? Are you feeling worse? Am I keeping you up? Please be honest. . . .”
“No, of course not,” Joseph said quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking of some of the things Judith has seen—and experienced. She’s a very different woman from the girl who used to tear around the lanes here in her Model T, scaring the sheep half silly.”
Corcoran laughed. “Do you remember her at our Whitsun picnics?” he said with light in his face. “I don’t think she was more than five or six years old when we had our first. I’ve never seen a little girl run as she did.”
Corcoran and his wife, Orla, had had no children. Joseph had caught the sadness in his face, but only for moments, and it never clouded Corcoran’s joy in his friend’s family, nor stinted his generosity of praise and willingness to share the successes and the failures of their lives.
“And the time she decided to show us the cancan, and did a cartwheel that ended in the river!” Corcoran was laughing as he said it. “Matthew had to pull her out, and what a sight she was! Soaked to the skin, poor girl, and looking like a piece of water-weed herself.”
“That was only seven years ago,” Joseph reminded him. “It seems like another world now. I remember that day vividly. We had fresh salmon with lettuce and cucumber, and egg and cress sandwiches, and apple charlotte for pudding. It was too early for berries.” There was regret when he said that. He loved raspberries. He could never pass the bushes in the garden when they were in fruit without taking a few.
The mood changed suddenly. Both were returned to the present. They were lucky: safe and whole, and with people they loved. But even though Joseph considered how warm he was, it was as if the cold of the trenches were only beyond the door to the landing.
“We’ll win,” Corcoran said, leaning forward with sudden fierceness. “We have the science, Joseph, I swear to
