Free Easterleigh Hall at War by Margaret Graham Page A

scheme was concocted by those at the rear to bring about a breakthrough. In their dreams, perhaps.
    She felt him pull his hand free but then his arms were round her, and they kissed, at last they kissed and it was as though nothing else existed. ‘I love you and it’s grand that you still smell of lavender, even here, in amongst all of this. And it’s grand that I can smell it now.’ Jack sighed.
    She murmured, ‘That’s what deep reserve and fresh air does for you, dearest Jack.’ She was crying and had promised herself she wouldn’t, and she could barely make out the sense of her own words as he pulled away, and she held him back, just for a few seconds more, whispering, ‘Be safe, be lucky. Live. I know not for me. But live, and know that you are loved.’
    He held her again, forcing her head up, holding her chin, kissing her savagely. His breath was beer-tinged, ‘If I live, it will be for you, Grace bloody Manton. I always have, and I always will love you, and damn you for letting me go, back then. Damn me for allowing it.’
    His next kiss felt as though it bruised her mouth, and she was glad of it, and he said, his lips still on hers, ‘I’ll find you when this bastard mess is over. Somehow I’ll work it out. It isn’t enough. It will never be enough but I have my lad, my Tim. Oh God in heaven . . .’
    It was he who cried now and Grace knew that she must draw on something resembling courage, but she wasn’t sure that she had enough. She eased away from him, wiping his face with her hands, making him look at her. ‘Jack, you have a child and his mother is your wife, and the war could create a great change in Millie. We know what we feel and that is more than I ever thought possible. It is enough for a lifetime. It truly is, Jack Forbes. You go on with your war, concentrate on that, and get back to your family. Know that I’ll love you every day for the rest of time, just a call away if you need me. But never will I come between you and what’s right.’
    He didn’t speak. He just wrenched her hands down, turned and strode away, then started running, almost into the path of a cart. The carter yelled, ‘
Attention!
’ Jack stopped, turned, waved, barking a sort of laugh. ‘That’d make a good memorial. Killed by a cart. You be safe and lucky and remember what Mam says, all will be well, all the bloody time. I’ll let you know I’m safe, after each push. I’ll make sure you hear.’
    Then he ran on.
    She watched him until he was out of sight behind carts, stalls, lorries, an artillery limber, then another, and another. Dusk was falling fast. She headed back to the camp hospital past shuttered houses with steep tiled roofs, and dogs that hurled themselves round corners chasing cats. She was on duty at twenty hundred hours. She dug her hands deep into her coat pockets, torn between longing and a strange calm. She was loved. She loved. What more could she ask from a life which was adrift in something which should have been over three months ago, if the newspapers could have been believed.
    She caught up with Angela Feathers who was walking ahead of her, her collar pulled up, mud splatters on her coat. She was a VAD from Hull. Grace slipped her arm through hers. ‘Will it ever end, Angie?’
    â€˜Better had, but what then, eh? Back to tending the hearth, bearing brats, adoring our menfolk?’
    â€˜No, never any of that, for me.’ Grace felt her voice shake and pressed her lips together, hard. Shut up, shut up.
    Angie squeezed her arm. ‘You saw him then? About damn time, but don’t let’s even think about what comes after. Let’s just try and get through. You heard Sister Merryweather was killed shipping back some wounded from some little spat?’
    â€˜Poor bloody woman.’ Grace brought out the box of crumbs. ‘Christmas crumbs, from Easterleigh Hall, made by a