Free Motherland by William Nicholson

bicycle home down the empty road, side by side, with the wind on their backs.
    ‘So what’s going to happen to poor George?’ says Louisa.
    ‘He’ll be fine,’ says Kitty. ‘Some strong-minded female will gobble him up.’
    ‘You make him sound like a canapé.’
    ‘He’s rich and titled. Someone’ll have him.’
    ‘What about poor Stephen?’
    ‘I’ll write to him. Oh, God. Isn’t it all difficult?’
    ‘You know what,’ says Louisa, ‘now that you’re out of the running with George, I might have a go myself.’
    Kitty wobbles wildly on her bike and regains control.
    ‘Are you serious? You know he’s practically blind?’
    ‘I haven’t had a single proposal, Kitty. My people have no money to speak of. God has billeted me in the house of a young unmarried man with a title and a fortune. It would be ungrateful to the Almighty not to give it a shot.’
    Kitty pedals on without further comment.
    ‘I expect you despise me for seeing things this way,’ Louisa says.
    ‘No, not at all,’ says Kitty. ‘I just want you to be happy.’
    ‘Don’t you think I’d be happy with George?’
    ‘If you loved him you would.’
    ‘If he marries me,’ says Louisa simply, ‘I shall love him.’
    They bicycle down the back lane into the camp. A small crowd has gathered round the front of the NAAFI to share such news as there is. Everyone is asking if this is the start of the second front.
    Kitty sees Larry Cornford come out of the big house onto the west terrace. He gives her a wave, and they meet up in the lime avenue. They too talk about the big show.
    ‘I saw them go,’ says Kitty.
    ‘I don’t like this wind,’ says Larry. ‘They need calm seas for the crossing.’
    ‘Do you know where they’re going?’
    ‘I know,’ says Larry, ‘but I can’t say.’
    ‘Has to be somewhere in France.’
    ‘Nothing we can do now till they come back.’
    Kitty says, ‘I think Ed’s with them.’
    ‘It’s quite likely.’
    ‘Will you promise to come and tell me if you hear anything?’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    They walk on in silence to the lake. The lake house stands empty before them.
    ‘How are you getting along with
Middlemarch
?’ says Larry.
    ‘I can’t read,’ says Kitty. ‘I can’t do anything.’
    ‘He’ll come back,’ says Larry.
    ‘You don’t know that. He may not.’
    Larry says nothing to that.
    ‘At least you’ve not gone,’ she says. ‘You, and George.’
    Larry looks away over the wind-ruffled lake.
    ‘I expect my turn will come,’ he says.
    *
    That night the winds grow stronger, and rattle the casement in the nursery window. Kitty sleeps fitfully, tormented by half-dreams in which Ed is reaching for her from a distance she can’t cross.
    In the morning word spreads round the camp that the fleet is still standing offshore, and has not yet sailed. The forecast is that the weather will worsen. In the way of such things, half-understood terms are passed from mouth to mouth. ‘They’ll miss the tide.’ ‘The RAF won’t fly in this.’ ‘You need air cover for a big op.’
    The day passes slowly. In the late afternoon rain begins to fall again. Larry rides over to Divisional HQ and takes part in a meeting with the Acting CO. When he comes out he goes looking for Kitty and finds her cleaning the Humber in the garage.
    ‘You could eat your dinner off that,’ he says.
    ‘What’s the news?’
    ‘The show’s off. Don’t say I told you.’
    ‘It’s off?’
    ‘All troops to be disembarked.’
    ‘He’ll come back?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Kitty feels a surge of relief beyond her power to control. There in front of Larry’s kind concerned gaze she bursts into tears.
    ‘Honestly,’ she says, dabbing at her eyes, ‘what have I got to cry about now?’
    Larry smiles and offers her a handkerchief.
    ‘He’s a lucky sod,’ he says. ‘I hope he knows it.’
    ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’
    ‘Not if you don’t want.’
    ‘It’s too silly, crying like that.’
    ‘If I was