Harvest of War (12 page)

‘But that just means a stalemate, and I'm no nearer being able to go and find her.'

‘I know it's hard,' Victoria said gently, ‘but you must just try to be patient. The war can't go on much longer and as soon as it's over you will be able to go and collect her.'

‘And meanwhile she's learning to call a Serbian peasant woman “mother”!' Leo responded passionately.

‘Leo, she's not six months old yet. She won't be calling anyone mother for a long time yet.'

‘But she will think of that other woman as her mother. When I finally get to her she won't know me.' Leo sank down on to the sofa and put her head in her hands.

She was surprised by the sudden harshness in Victoria's voice. ‘For goodness sake, Leo! Pull yourself together! You're not the only woman in the world to have lost a child, you know. And at least yours is still alive, as far as you know.'

Leo looked up but Victoria's back was turned. She swallowed and wiped her eyes. ‘Yes, you're right. I must stop feeling sorry for myself.'

Victoria swung round and sat beside her and Leo saw that her eyes were damp, too. ‘No, that was unkind of me. I'm sorry. I can just about imagine what you're going through. But small children forget very quickly, don't they? Once Alexandra's back here she'll soon forget she was ever with that other family.'

Leo jumped up again and paced back to the window. Then she turned to face her friend. ‘I'm going back to Salonika.'

‘Leo, you can't!' Victoria came to her. ‘My dear, you must be sensible! You are not strong enough to withstand the journey. And what would you do if you got there? Sit around, waiting for something to happen? Or start nursing again?'

‘Nurse, I suppose.'

‘But remember what you told me about conditions out there. Malaria, typhus – and now this new Spanish flu they keep talking about. If you caught something like that you would probably die – and then what would happen to your poor little girl?'

‘I suppose she'd grow up as a Serbian peasant and never know the difference,' Leo said despondently.

‘I wonder. It's quite possible that the woman who is looking after her will try to be honest with her, and tell her that she isn't her daughter. She might grow up expecting a lady to come and take her back to a wonderful life in England. And if you go and get yourself killed it will never happen.'

Leo gazed at her in horror. ‘Vita, that's a terrible thought!'

‘So it's important for you to be sensible and stay here until it's safe for you to go back,' Victoria concluded.

Leo returned to the sofa and sank down. ‘You're right, of course. But it's hard, Vita. I'm not used to sitting around waiting.'

‘I know.' Victoria patted her arm. ‘I do understand. But try to be patient. Who knows? By the end of the summer it could all be over.'

Leo looked at her and felt a surge of gratitude. ‘I'm so glad you're here, Vita. I know it's an awful thing to say, considering what you had to go through, but your accident has been a blessing in disguise for me.'

Victoria grinned ruefully. ‘Well, I didn't see it quite that way at the time. But as things have turned out it was all for the best. I should hate to think of you all on your own here while I was in France.'

‘That's what I mean. I don't know how I'd have got through these last months without you to turn to.' Leo put her arm round Victoria's neck. ‘You've been such a good friend to me, for all these years.'

‘Well, it's mutual.' Victoria blushed and detached herself, and Leo let her go. She knew from long experience that her friend was not given to emotional demonstrations.

The thought released her temporarily from the constant, unremitting cycle of anxiety and frustration which occupied most of her waking moments, and reminded her of something else.

‘I had a letter from Luke this morning.'

‘Oh, yes?' Victoria's tone was one of studied neutrality. ‘I rather thought you had lost touch with him.'

‘So did I, until today. One or two of his letters caught up with me in Corfu, telling me about the terrible conditions on Gallipoli and then that he'd been wounded and evacuated to Egypt. But when I moved on to Salonika I suppose we lost contact again, and of course there was no way of getting letters in or out of Bitola, so I thought he'd given up and stopped writing. But then this arrived today, to say he's in France.'

‘In France? His wound can't have been too severe, then.'

‘Well, I think it was pretty bad at the time. He nearly lost his leg. But now it's all healed and he's been redeployed to the Western Front.'

‘Poor man!'

‘Yes.' Leo paused, uncertain whether to reveal the next piece of information. Five years had passed since Victoria had ended her affair with Luke but Leo was not sure how she would react. ‘That's not the only bit of news.'

‘Oh?'

‘He's married.'

‘Married?' Victoria's face expressed nothing beyond polite interest. ‘To a local girl, I suppose.'

‘No. You'll never guess who.'

‘It can't be anyone we know, surely.'

‘Do you remember Sophie?'

‘Sophie? The little Serbian nurse at Adrianople? But I thought she was in love with that Greek doctor.'

‘Iannis. Yes, she was, and apparently they did marry. According to Luke's letter, he bumped into Sophie when he was on Gallipoli. He doesn't make it clear what he was doing but I get the impression it was some kind of clandestine operation. Anyway, he found out that Iannis had been shot by the Turks, who accused him of being a traitor, and Sophie was left with a small child, a boy . . .' Leo referred to the letter, ‘. . . Anton, that's it. She was obviously in a dangerous situation so Luke managed to get her back to our lines and she volunteered to help on one of the hospital ships. Then, when he was wounded, she nursed him. He reckons he owes her his life. Anyway, she couldn't go back to Macedonia so Luke decided she ought to come to New Zealand with him, but the only way he could get permission to take her back was if they were married.'

‘A marriage of convenience, then,' Victoria said, a little too quickly.

‘Well, at first. But this is what he writes . . . Yes, here . . .
Of course it was only a marriage of convenience but on the long voyage back home I suppose we learned to love each other, so when we got back we decided to make a proper go of it. With the result that I now have a baby daughter, Nadia, as well as a stepson. She was born after I left for Cairo so I haven't seen her, but I'm told she has inherited the family red hair. I hope she'll forgive me for that when she grows up! I just pray that I'll survive to see that day.
' Leo folded the letter and looked at her friend.

‘Are you OK?'

‘Why shouldn't I be?'

‘Well, you and he were . . . close, once upon a time.'

‘That was years ago.' Victoria sat for a moment with her head turned away. Then she said, ‘I hope he'll be very happy. And I hope he gets to see his little girl. I . . . I behaved very badly back then. I've regretted it bitterly since. But I suppose I was very young and naïve. You tried to warn me, but I just thought it was all terribly exciting and . . . and modern. I didn't understand how much I could hurt someone. I'm glad he's found someone . . . someone more worthy of him.'

Leo leaned over and put her hand on her friend's. ‘Perhaps you should write to him and tell him that.'

Victoria shook her head. ‘I don't suppose he wants to hear from me. You can give him my regards when you write, if you like. Tell him I wish him all the best.'

‘I'll do that.'

Victoria got up impatiently. ‘What we both need is a breath of fresh air. Come on, get your hat. Now that my leg's strong enough to use the clutch and I've got Sparky back from France I can't wait to get out on the open road. Let's have a run down to Brighton.' Sparky was her pet name for her little yellow Sunbeam car.

‘And listen to the guns from across the Channel?' Leo queried grimly.

‘All right, then, we'll go the other way. How about a day by the river?'

‘I don't really feel like joyriding,' Leo said.

‘I don't care what you feel like! It'll do you good to get out of the house. Anyway, I need a change of scene. You're not going to make me go alone, are you?'

Reluctantly, Leo fetched her hat and followed Victoria out to the car. But in the event, the afternoon turned out better than she expected. They drove down to Henley and had tea at a restaurant with lawns that sloped down to the river. The air was cooler than in London, and as they watched young men on leave, poling wives and girlfriends in punts, and schoolboys skimming the water in skiffs, it was almost possible to believe that peace had come at last.

In the early hours of the following morning Leo woke with a start. The whole house seemed to shudder and a glass ornament on her dressing table tinkled. A split second later she heard a distant rumble. Her first thought was thunder, but that would not have made the house shake. The next possibility that came to mind was an earthquake. She had experienced tremors in Turkey as a child. But in London? Surely not. Was it possible that she had heard the guns firing in France? She knew that it was a constant background sound on the south coast but she had never heard it in London before. She wondered if this meant that some devastating new weapon had been fired. She got out of bed and went to the window. The air was still and heavy but she could not see or hear anything unusual and after a few moments she went back to bed and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Standing to in the first faint light of dawn under the ridge leading up to the village of Messines, Luke was blown against the back of the trench by the explosion – or rather by a rapid series of explosions. Climbing on to the fire-step he saw fountains of earth rising like giant mushrooms all along the ridge. He did not have time to count them, but he reckoned there were a dozen or more.

‘What the . . .?' he ejaculated.

‘Mines,' said the lieutenant. ‘That'll give Fritz a bit of a shake up.'

Then the whistles started blowing and the time for conversation was over. All along the trench men scrambled to the surface and began to charge up the hill towards the village, Luke among the leaders. He had expected to be met with a lethal barrage of machine-gun fire, but instead there were only a few random bursts. As he neared the top men began to emerge from the German trenches and blockhouses, but they made no attempt to fire at the approaching New Zealanders. Instead, stunned and disoriented by the explosions, they raised their hands in surrender and allowed themselves to be rounded up. By seven in the morning, the combined Anzac force was in complete control of Messines.

Luke stood on the crest of the ridge and looked around him. ‘Hey, fellers! Look over there.'

His nearest companions crowded round. ‘What at? What can you see?'

‘Green fields!' Luke said. ‘That's the first bit of grass I've seen since we got to this godforsaken place.'

They understood then, and for a few moments they all stood silent, gazing first behind them and then at the view ahead. Behind was a landscape of blackened earth, pockmarked with shell-craters and the broken stumps of trees, the only sign of life the endless columns of men and machinery that crawled across it. Ahead, beyond the German lines, were the undisturbed fields and woods of a gentle rural countryside, mantled with green. It was like looking into Paradise.

It was too easy to last. Soon after midday the Germans counter-attacked. Hunkered down behind the broken wall that was all that remained of one of the village houses, Luke aimed and fired until the barrel of his rifle was red hot. Shells were bursting all around him and the howling sound of the German
minewerfer
mortars, the ‘moaning minnies', filled the air. At dusk the enemy gave up the battle and retired, leaving the Anzacs in possession, but looking around him Luke realized that the cost had been very high in terms of casualties. A line of stretcher-bearers was plodding down the hill towards the dressing stations and all around him were the bodies of those who were beyond the help of medicine.

The scream of engines above him made him look up. High above the ridge four planes swooped and twisted. Two bore the black crosses of Germany, the other two the red, white and blue roundels of the Royal Flying Corps. As he watched, one of the German planes spouted black smoke and dived to hit the ground somewhere behind the lines. The other turned tail and disappeared. A cheer went up from the weary men on the ground. They had watched a number of similar encounters over the last weeks and it was apparent to all of them that the RFC had established an unquestionable superiority in the air battle.

Rations were brought up and passed out; camp fires were lit and sentries posted. Luke wrapped himself in his greatcoat and settled down in the lea of a sheltering wall. The guns had stopped and the first stars were showing in the summer night. Somewhere down on the plain a nightingale began to sing.

Tom, bivouacking with his company in a ruined farmhouse on the outskirts of Ypres, was jolted awake by the explosion. He found Ralph standing by what remained of a window embrasure. ‘What the hell was that?'

‘Mines,' Ralph said. ‘Our boys have been tunnelling for months to get right under the Boche positions. Those explosions should have shattered their strong-points all along the ridge. Bloody good show!' He turned to address the sleepy men who were crowding forward. ‘OK, lads. Nothing to get excited about. Get some shut-eye while you still have the chance.'

Tom felt no inclination to go back to sleep so he stayed where he was, watching the sky slowly lighten, glad of a few minutes to himself to think. He had rejoined the Second Battalion when they were still encamped along the Somme, but soon they had received orders to march east, back to the Ypres salient where they had fought all those months before. His duties had given him little time to brood on the events of his last leave, for which he was grateful.