Daughter of Riches Page 27

  She hesitated. ‘Whenever.’

  ‘Would tomorrow be all right?’ he asked.

  She nodded. She wanted to say that no time would really be all right for what she had to do, but that now her mind was made up she would really have preferred to get it over with sooner rather than later. But she knew she had no right to demand that he should come rushing straight over. If she wanted his help it would have to be at his convenience, not hers.

  ‘Tomorrow then,’ Bernard said. ‘About seven?’

  She nodded again and he mounted his bicycle and rode off leaving her feeling slightly foolish and very effectively put in her place.

  By the time Bernard arrived the following evening Sophia was dreadfully nervous. He had been so cool with her, he hadn’t seemed in the least pleased to see her and she could not help wondering if his feelings towards her had changed. It was, after all, a long while since he had asked her to marry him and she really could not expect him to wait for her forever. Perhaps he had met someone else or perhaps – her stomach turned over at the thought – perhaps he had heard she had been seeing Dieter. She had been as discreet as possible but it was not easy to keep a thing like that quiet. The thought that Bernard might think she was a collaborator made her feel sick, but that in itself was illogical since if he was going to help her she would have to confess the truth in any case.

  I can’t do it! Sophia thought in panic. But she also knew she couldn’t do any of the alternatives either and to do nothing at all would only make things worse in the long run. Oh God, please help me! Sophia prayed when she heard Bernard’s knock at the door. Please help me!

  To her surprise Bernard looked very smart. As it had been practically impossible to get new clothes since the occupation most islanders were now looking decidedly shabby and Sophia herself had wished she had something nicer to wear than the rather childish jersey and skirt that had been her ‘ best’ in 1940, especially since she was uncomfortably aware that the skirt was beginning to strain at the waistband. But Bernard’s sports jacket, although patched at the elbows, had stood up well to the test of time, as had his cavalry twill trousers and Oxford brogues. Perhaps it was because he was able to wear overalls and boots for work, Sophia thought.

  They sat down by the fire – it gave out so little heat that it was necessary to sit almost on top of it to keep warm – and made small talk for a while. If only she could reach him as she used to, Sophia thought, but the barrier of reserve was still there and she did not know how to get around it.

  ‘Well,’ Bernard said at last, ‘what did you want to talk about?’

  Sophia swallowed at the knot of nervousness in her throat.

  ‘You remember once upon a time you told me if ever I needed your help I could come to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In fact you asked me to marry you.’

  A tiny muscle moved in his cheek. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’m wondering if it’s too late for me to … accept.’

  For a moment there was nothing but total surprised silence. Even the coal-dust fire seemed to stop shifting and hissing and hold its breath.

  ‘Well,’ Bernard said at last. ‘ I must say this is a bit of a shock.’

  ‘You mean you don’t want to marry me any more.’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I said it was a shock. You turned me down, after all, and lately – well, we’ve hardly seen one another, have we?’

  ‘I know. And it’s no use my pretending I’ve had a sudden blinding change of heart. There is a reason, Bernard, and when you know what it is you may very well never want to see me again. But you did say any time and if ever I needed a friend I need one now.’

  Bernard glanced at her flushed and rosy in the firelight. His own throat was dry. For one beautiful moment he had thought all his dreams were about to come true. But of course they weren’t. Be cautious! he warned himself, but for once all his sensible steady-going will seemed to have deserted him.

  ‘Tell me, Sophia,’ he said.

  She told him. She told him about Dieter and about the German officer who had raped her. She told him she was pregnant and out of her mind with worry, afraid of being an unmarried mother, afraid of being ostracised as a ‘Jerry Bag’, afraid of what the future would hold for her unborn child. She told him everything, and the only thing she left out was that the reason she would not even consider an abortion was because she did not know for certain that her baby was not Dieter’s.

  ‘So – now you know,’ she said when she had finished.

  Bernard said nothing. His eyes were shadowed and narrowed and he seemed unwilling to look at her. His silence frightened her. She had expected fireworks of some kind or even, at her most optimistic, a renewed declaration of his love. But this total absence of reaction was disconcerting.

  ‘You mean you want me to pretend to be the father of your child,’ he said at last.

  She felt weak with shame suddenly. Put like that it sounded perfectly dreadful, cowardly and deceitful as well as presumptuous. And Catherine had been quite right – she had brought it on herself. She had no right at all to expect for a single moment that Bernard should do something like this for her. If she hadn’t been at her wits’ end it would never have occurred to her and she hated herself now for her weakness. But oh dear God, she had been through so much alone. And there was the baby to think of too. The stigma of illegitimacy was bad enough, but if it became known that his father had been a German, his life would not be worth living.

  ‘I’m not asking you to marry me for ever and ever,’ she said quickly. ‘I realise that would be too much to ask. I couldn’t expect you to want me after this and I certainly couldn’t expect you to make yourself responsible for the child of a German. But if you could just … oh, I don’t know …’

  ‘Pretend the child is mine,’ he said again in the same flat voice. ‘That’s what you want me to do, is it, Sophia?’

  Wordlessly she nodded, her head bowed in abject shame.

  ‘This has all been a bit of a shock. I honestly don’t know what to say.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll have to think.’

  ‘Bernard … please don’t hate me.’

  ‘I don’t hate you, Sophia. But you’ll have to give me time to get used to the idea of you … Look, I’ll be in touch. Only just now I think I want to be on my own for a bit.’

  After he had gone Sophia realised she was trembling from head to foot. She closed the door and stood with her arms wrapped around herself while wave upon wave of shame flooded through her as she thought of what she had done. It had seemed such a reasonable solution when she had planned it – but then she had been desperate enough with worry for her own future and the future of her unborn child to close her mind to the worst implications of the reality. Now she could no longer do that. She had seen the look on Bernard’s face when she had told him and she did not think she would ever forget it as long as she lived. It was burned forever in her memory along with the words he had spoken in that cold, flat voice: ‘You want me to pretend to be the father of your child.’

  Sophia bowed her head, cheeks flaming, hating the whole wide world, but most of all hating herself. How could she have thought for a single moment that Bernard might actually be prepared to overlook something so dreadful? How could she have been so arrogant as to imagine he might still want her? Well, now she knew he didn’t. Oh, he hadn’t refused to help her outright, of course. He was too kind for that. But there was no doubt at all how shocked he had been and how disgusted – not only by what she had done but because she had asked him to give her baby a name. A fresh wave of humiliation licked through her and she doubled up against it, wishing she could somehow disappear right inside herself and never have to face anyone – especially Bernard – ever again. She shouldn’t have done it, she shouldn’t, she should have looked for another way. Anything, anything would have been better than having Bernard look at her like that.

  Sophia realised with a sudden sharp tug of surprise that it was Bernard’s reaction t
hat was causing her the most distress. Not because his refusal to help her would mean she had to find another way to solve her problem although, heaven knew, that was bad enough. But it was his face she couldn’t forget, the way he had looked at her, that was what was beyond being borne.

  I never realised how much I cared what he thought of me, she thought. I took his affection for me for granted, treated it as if it were quite worthless. Only now, when it is too late, do I realise what it meant to me. Oh dear God, what have I done?

  Sophia leaned against the door weeping with pain and humiliation – and something else. A new emotion, sharp as knives, yet strangely, hauntingly bitter sweet, a longing not for what had been but what might have been. It was an emotion still tantalisingly unformed, almost ghostly, just beyond the reach of her consciousness. If Sophia had had to put a name to it she would have described it perhaps as an aching sense of loss. But this time it was not for her parents nor for Dieter. Sophia knew, in the deepest recesses of her mind, that it was for Bernard.

  In the week before she saw Bernard again Sophia found herself thinking of him constantly.

  It was ridiculous, she thought, that someone she had known so well for so long should suddenly fill her every waking thought. Perhaps it was some mechanism of self-preservation drawing her towards the man she still hoped might offer the safety of a nest for her to rear the child that was growing inside her. But she could no longer believe that for the longing was not only for the safety and security that Bernard represented, it was also physical. Each time she pictured his face, sweet sharp chords jarred somewhere deep inside her, she remembered the way his arms had once felt around her and ached with longing. It was stupid, irrational, strangely exciting and also desperately depressing since she was sure now that Bernard was out of her reach. Why couldn’t she have felt this way before, when he had wanted her? But there it was, just one more crazy thing in a crazy mixed-up world.

  Occasionally – usually on those mornings when she woke feeling wondrously free of the nausea that plagued her – Sophia allowed herself to think that perhaps Bernard might still care for her. He had, after all, promised to be in touch; perhaps when he had had time to get used to the idea he would give her another chance. But the moods of optimism never lasted long. Sophia had come face to face with the enormity of what she had done and she could not now imagine how Bernard could ever forgive her, much less still love her now that he knew the truth.

  The best thing she could do when the war was over, she decided, was to go to England. She would get a job to support herself and her baby and there would be no one to point a finger and accuse her of collaboration. In England, she suspected, no one would know and no one would care. She only hoped the war would be over in time for her to leave before her baby was born.

  The days passed, each very like the one before. Sophia lived through them mechanically, trying to plan constructively and not to think too much of the snags and problems. But they were always there in the night, accusing faces in the shadows, whispering doubts in the wind that whistled around the cottage and rattled the shutters.

  Then one evening when she left the surgery she found Bernard outside waiting for her.

  As she saw him standing there with his bicycle propped up beside him she felt her throat constrict with shyness.

  ‘Bernard.’

  ‘Sophia. I’ve been thinking things over.’ There was a hard edge to his voice that was new. Sophia’s heart sank.

  ‘I’m sorry, Bernard. I should never have …’

  He cut across her.

  ‘I will marry you and give your baby a name – on the understanding that we try to make that marriage work just as we would if everything was … normal. To the outside world I want us to look like an ordinary happy family. But I want to make one thing clear. If ever I should find out that you have cheated on me again, in any way whatever. I shall not only leave you but I shall make damned sure everyone in Jersey knows the truth. Do you understand, Sophia?’

  ‘Oh Bernard.’

  ‘You do understand? I won’t be messed about or made a fool of ever again.’

  She nodded. Her knees were weak and she was on the verge of tears suddenly. ‘I don’t want anybody else. I’ll be a good wife to you. I promise. I do love you, Bernard.’ He laughed shortly and she laid a hand on his sleeve. ‘It’s true – I do. I didn’t realise it until I thought I’d lost you …’

  She broke off. He had not made even the smallest move towards her. She was frightened suddenly by this new Bernard. She had always felt before that she could twist him round her little finger – not any more. Now he was in control. He had been hurt but he had turned his pain to his own advantage, used it to form a defence. It wouldn’t be easy to break down those barricades. If she wanted him to love her as well as marry her she would have to win him all over again.

  Shivering in her threadbare coat, her stomach aching with hunger and the ever-present nausea rising in her throat again, Sophia felt almost as daunted by the enormity of what lay before her as she had been by the prospect of bringing her child into the world alone. But already the seeds of hope were springing. He had loved her once, she would make him love her again. And she would make sure he never came to regret his decision to marry her.

  Bernard and Sophia were married very quietly as soon as the necessary legalities had been observed. Scarcely an eyebrow was raised. Islanders who would normally have had a sharp eye for a thickening waistline were too concerned with their own situation and everyone was obsessed with the imminent arrival of a Red Cross ship which promised parcels of food, cigarettes and chocolate – undreamed of bliss after months of near starvation!

  Bernard moved into the cottage at St Peter and he and Sophia began the long and delicate task of rebuilding a shattered relationship only this time with their roles reversed. Now it was Bernard with the whip hand, Sophia anxious and determined to please. And gradually, gradually the warmth began to return, slowly the trust began to mount, all cemented with the deep vein of physical attraction which Bernard had always felt for Sophia and which now she was beginning to reciprocate.

  Her experience might, she sometimes thought, have left her frigid. On the contrary being pregnant seemed to have fostered a new sensuousness. Coupled with her gratitude and the admiration and respect she felt for the new hard-edged Bernard it made a good combination and boded well for the future.

  But for all that the balance of power between them had changed. It was never to swing back again.

  ‘Sophia – what did you do with that wireless set of Paul’s?’ Bernard asked one evening in May. Sophia, who was at the sink washing the supper dishes, felt a sharp sensation shoot through the pit of her stomach.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought I might dig it up. The war is as good as over; the Germans won’t harm us now. And I heard at work today that Winston Churchill is going to broadcast tomorrow. They are putting up loudspeakers in Royal Square and the Howard Davis Park for people to hear it but you’re not going to feel like standing about in crowds, are you?’

  ‘No. I don’t think I am,’ Sophia agreed, kneading her hands into the small of her back. She had been especially uncomfortable today, and a niggling ache low in her back had grown more and more persistent until she found herself wriggling to try and get away from it.

  ‘I’ll show you where it is,’ Catherine said, throwing down her tea towel. ‘Oh, isn’t it just wonderful? Everyone says the troops will be here tomorrow or the next day at the very latest. And when they do I’m going down to the pier to watch them arrive. Maybe Nicky or Paul will be with them! Who knows? And Mama and Papa could be home soon too.’

  She and Bernard went out into the garden and Sophia stood watching them as they dug in the little patch of earth beneath the sage bush. She felt oddly unreal. She wished she could be as excited as Catherine and Bernard about the end of the war but somehow it seemed almost unimportant. It was a relief, of course, to know that soon everything would be back to normal and t
hey would not have to be frightened or hungry again. But as for leaping about and shrieking with delight – she just couldn’t do it.

  ‘Here we are then!’ Bernard said, coming back into the kitchen with the biscuit box containing the wireless, setting it down on the table and dusting it with a piece of rag. ‘Now, I’m going to fix it up to the gramophone amplifiers so you’ll be able to hear it better. Three o’clock tomorrow – don’t forget, will you?’

  Sophia did not answer. The wireless set had awakened old memories; she was thinking that if it had not been for that Dieter would still be alive.

  ‘Sophia?’ Bernard prompted her. ‘ It’s going to be a very historic moment. You won’t want to miss it.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t miss it,’ Sophia promised.

  But she did.

  Sophia’s pains began in earnest during the night. At first light Bernard went to fetch the midwife, who sent for a doctor. Sophia was much further advanced than she had expected; the baby could be born very soon. The doctor, however, was less sure. He did not like the position the baby was lying in. He thought it might be some hours yet. Throughout the long morning, while crowds gathered at the pier to watch the Germans packing up, Catherine sat beside her bed, sponging her perspiring face and holding her hand but eventually she could not bear to see her sister in such distress for a moment longer. She listened to Winston Churchill’s speech but heard only Sophia’s moans coming from upstairs as she tossed and turned and tried to escape from the all-consuming agony.

  ‘You’ve got to do something!’ Bernard begged the doctor when he came home from work and found the baby had still not arrived but the doctor, though looking anxious and strained himself, refused.

  ‘I think we should wait a little longer before we do anything drastic. I still think your wife should be able to deliver her baby on her own.’

  ‘I just want her to be out of all this pain!’ Bernard yelled, uncharacteristically angry. ‘How can you let it go on?’

  ‘My dear man it’s been going on for generations,’ the doctor said wearily. ‘Tomorrow she’ll have forgotten all about it, you’ll see.’