“You’re trying to put me off. Don’t think I don’t know why.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were always jealous of me…and Marcus.”
“Jealous of you? Why?”
“Because he was more attracted to me than to you. I know you thought he liked you at one time. He’s like that with every girl. It’s just his way. It doesn’t mean a thing.”
“What’s that got to do with your coming here?”
She smiled slyly. “He’ll be ever so pleased when he finds I’m here,” she said.
I still said nothing.
“I’ve been to see him in that hospital,” she went on. “My mother and I went. It was so interesting. Poor Marcus! He really did get it, didn’t he? That ghastly place, Gallipoli. And it was all a mistake. They should never have gone there. Well, he’s home now. They wouldn’t let him out of the hospital. And they won’t for another month, he thinks. He says he’s looking forward to his convalescence…here.”
“I now see the reason for your sudden desire to serve your country, which really means serving your own ends.”
“Don’t be so pompous! Of course, Marcus is an added attraction, but I have been thinking for a long time that I should like to come here. I shall be very good at helping to enliven the days of those poor soldiers. They’ve had such a miserable time in the trenches and everywhere. So I shall be coming to help in the good work. I shall go back to London to do some shopping and get myself ready. Then I shall descend on you.”
I was silent. I could imagine her with those men who were getting better and were ready to indulge in a little recreation, which, with Annabelinda, would mean flirtation. There was no doubt that they would enjoy her company.
It was two weeks later that she arrived. I have to admit that she was an immediate success with the men—less so with the staff.
My mother talked about her to me when we were alone.
“She reminds me so much of her mother. At times I imagine I am eighteen again and she is Belinda. They are so animated…vital…both of them. That is their great attraction, though they both have a rather unusual kind of beauty. I think it is the French in them. I can see a good deal of Jean Pascal Bourdon there. I wonder how he is getting on? I suppose he could have got away, but he is the typical French aristocrat; he would not desert his country. And I should imagine he will be wily enough to get by. About Annabelinda. I think, on the whole, she’s an asset. I saw her wheeling out Captain Gregory. He is so depressed about his disability. I don’t think he will ever be any better. She was doing her usual line of innocent flirtation, and for the first time I saw him actually smile.”
“She’s certainly good in that respect,” I said.
“One can’t help liking her. It was the same with her mother. They are born so naively selfish.”
There was still no news of Marcus. He must have been four months in that hospital.
We had had some startling news. On the fifth of June, Lord Kitchener was on his way to a meeting with the Russians, when the Hampshire, the ship on which he was sailing, was struck by a German mine, and he was drowned.
England was plunged into mourning. And still the war went on.
To cheer us came news of Marcus’s imminent arrival. He was brought in an army vehicle and was able to walk with a cane, though with some difficulty.
We were all waiting to greet him.
He looked a little thin, slightly paler, but he was as full of life as ever.
He took my hand and gazed at me with such delight that I felt my spirits rising.
Then he saw Annabelinda. “And Miss Annabelinda, too!” he exclaimed. “A double blessing! How fortunate! Mrs. Greenham…and Miss Carruthers! And the capable Mademoiselle Latour. And where is Master Edward?”
“He’s sleeping at the moment,” said Andrée.
“Our band of adventurers! Mrs. Greenham, I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to come.”
“We have all been very impatient for your arrival and quite put out because it took so long,” said my mother.
So there he was, installed at Marchlands. Immediately the place seemed different—and I was not the only one who felt this.
He was put into a small ward with three other officers. One of the assets of Marchlands was that we had several of these small wards. It meant that instead of the long rooms with rows of beds, such as are found in most hospitals, we had these cozy apartments, which before had been large, airy bedrooms.
The three men with Marcus were a middle-aged major, a captain of about thirty and a young lieutenant. My mother had said they would be the sort who would get on well together.
It soon became clear that Marcus was a welcome newcomer. We often heard laughter coming from the ward, and the nurses vied with each other for the pleasure of looking after that particular quartet.
Annabelinda took charge of them. She referred to theirs as her ward, and she was constantly in and out. Of course, she was a favorite with the men.
I could not help but be a little put out. For so long I had looked forward to Marcus’s arrival, and now it was like an anticlimax.
Marcus could walk out into the garden and he used to like to sit there under the sycamore tree. I was very rarely there with him alone. If I did manage it, in a few minutes Annabelinda would be there.
I was not sure whether he resented this as I did. He gave no sign of doing so—but then he would not.
Annabelinda would chatter away, asking questions about the fighting in Gallipoli, and not listening to the answers. She said how wonderful it was to feel one was doing something toward the progress of victory, and how much she admired the brave men who were fighting for the cause. Then we would talk about that journey we had all made together; we would remember little incidents which had seemed far from funny at the time and now seemed quite hilarious.
Marcus frequently told us how delighted he was to be at Marchlands.
“I used to lie in my narrow hospital bed and wonder if I was ever going to get here,” he said. “The weeks went on and on and they would not let me go.”
“You have been very ill, Marcus,” I said.
“Oh, not really. It was just that stubborn doctor. The more eager I was to go, the more determined he seemed to be to keep me.”
“You are so brave,” said Annabelinda. “You make light of your wounds. And if you are glad to be here, we are twice as glad to have you in our clutches.”
“This is where I would rather be than anywhere else.”
“I am so pleased,” said Annabelinda, looking at him earnestly, “that they can’t take you away from us…not yet anyway. We shall insist on keeping you until this silly old war is over.”
“You are too good to me,” he told her.
“You will see how good I can be,” she said, her eyes full of promise.
Then one day I found him alone under the sycamore tree.
“This is wonderful,” he exclaimed. “I hardly ever see you alone.”
“You always seem quite happy.”
“I’m happier at this moment.”
“You always say the things people want to hear. Do you really mean them?”
He put his hand over mine. “Not always, but at this moment, yes.”
I laughed. “Flattery comes as easily to you as breathing.”
“Well, it pleases people…and what’s wrong with that?”
“But if you don’t mean it…”
“It serves a purpose. As I said, it pleases people. You would not want me to go around displeasing them, would you?”
“That’s very laudable, but in time, of course, people will realize you don’t mean what you say.”
“Only the wise ones…like you. Most lap it up. It’s what they want to hear, so why not give it to them? But I assure you, I will be absolutely truthful with you. You are so astute that it would be pointless to be otherwise. At this moment, I am happy to see you and to have you to myself, and to see that you are growing up into a very attractive young lady. You were so young when we first met.”