The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,76
see you home, dear boy. I’ve wired your father to let him know you’re safe.’
‘Thank you, Auntie.’ Andrew kissed her cheek.
‘Where’s your kit bag?’ Lydia asked.
‘In France, Mamma,’ Andrew said with a grim smile.
‘Oh goodness. Oh, yes. I really can’t bear to think what you’ve been through,’ said Lydia. ‘We’ll not talk about it. Come on, let’s get you home.’ She steered him out of the station, chattering in relief. ‘Felicity wanted to come and greet you too, but I said she would have to wait till tomorrow. I want you to myself for a few hours – I know how she monopolises you once you’re home. Will they let you stay long?’
‘Not long,’ said Andrew, feeling weak with fatigue. He could hardly put one foot in front of the other. He was relieved Felicity wasn’t going to see him like this.
‘You look dead on your feet,’ said Tibby. ‘Go straight home. No need to drop me off at The Anchorage, Lydia, I’ll walk back.’
Lydia didn’t insist. As she drove Andrew up to Templeton Hall in the gloaming, she said, ‘Tibby’s been a bit of a brick while you’ve been gone. She comes over with eggs and cheese, and she sits with Mother and talks to her about flowers. Every Tuesday she has your grandmother for the day and gives me a break.’ She glanced at Andrew. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but your aunt is really rather a nice person. Still mad as a March hare – but a kind soul.’
‘Yes, she is,’ Andrew agreed, not adding that he’d always known Tibby was special but had never said so for fear of upsetting his mother. Lydia needed constant reassuring that she was loved above all others.
‘There’s hot water for a bath,’ said Lydia as they entered the house. ‘And a cold supper of cheese, oatcakes and potato scones. We’ll crack open a nice Vouvray I’ve had chilling.’
Andrew hardly had the energy to speak, let alone bathe and eat.
‘I just want to crawl into bed, Mamma,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’
She didn’t mask her disappointment. ‘Oh, well, I suppose not.’
‘We’ll have plenty of time together tomorrow,’ said Andrew. ‘I promise.’
Lydia put a hand to his cheek, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you home . . . Whatever happens in this beastly war, I feel so much safer with you around, my darling.’
He kissed her forehead. Better to say nothing rather than promise he would be around to protect her – he had no idea where he might be sent next. The country would be bracing itself for invasion. These next few days at Ebbsmouth would be precious because none of them knew what lay ahead.
While his mother wanted no talk about the horrors of the retreat, Felicity demanded details. Andrew was rather taken aback by her curiosity at the carnage and heroics on the beaches of northern France.
They were walking along the cliff close to The Anchorage – the cove was fenced off and out of bounds to civilians – when she pressed him for more stories.
‘I feel so useless here,’ said Felicity. ‘The most exciting thing I do is try to catch people out for not closing their blinds properly. But you’ve seen real life-and-death action. Tell me more about the rescue from Dunkirk.’
Andrew felt a wave of anxiety overcome him as his mind recalled what had taken place. The fighting had been hard and attritional.
‘We were trying to protect those getting onto the ships first,’ he said. ‘Allow the medics time to patch up and evacuate the wounded.’
‘Were you being bombed the whole time too?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Did it go on for days?’
‘Days, yes.’
‘You must have been one of the last off?’
‘No.’ Andrew stopped and gazed out over the blue-grey sea. ‘There were Indian troops still there firing on the Germans as we waded out to a boat.’
‘Indian?’ Felicity echoed in surprise. ‘Whatever were Indians doing in France?’
‘They were part of the Expeditionary Force,’ Andrew explained. ‘Mule companies – providing transport.’
‘Carrying the baggage, you mean?’
‘Not just that – pulling guns – and fighting too,’ said Andrew.
He thought of the muleteers he’d seen having to shoot their animals to stop them falling into enemy hands and then spiking abandoned guns. Just hearing them shouting above the din in Urdu, the language of the Indian Army, and seeing them stoically turning to fight off the advancing Nazis with bayonets, had raised his morale.