Connie's Daughter

by Claire Lorrimer

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Mysterious and attractive, Clare is a wartime VAD nurse, and is engaged to Robin Claye, an army officer. On the surface Clare appears to be happy. However, will the scandalous past of her parents continue to haunt her?

Release date: April 10, 2014

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 400

Sample

The hit-and-run raids over London were becoming more frequent. The warning wail of the sirens could now be heard every evening as soon as it was dark. They sounded that evening just before Clare was due to go off duty. Following the usual drill, she stayed in the ward making sure the blackout curtains were closely drawn, moving from bed to bed to see if the patients were all right, and in particular, stayed awhile and gave what strength and comfort she could to any man who was particularly ill, or had just had an operation.

Sister Evans, sister-in-charge of the ward, an acidulated woman with a sharp tongue, known to the men as poor old “Effing-Evans”, was busy with a junior nurse behind some screens. Just as the warning sounded one of the young officers had haemorrhaged.

Clare was at her best in a crisis. The officers in this ward were accustomed to the sight of the calm, lovely girl who walked with such quiet dignity among them. She brought with her a subtle quality of peace and security which was immensely soothing to those with hideous wounds and war-jangled nerves. She was a model of neatness which even that perfectionist, Sister Evans, could not criticize; cool and fresh-looking in her starched uniform, the short, Red Cross veil showing only a fringe of the long, red-gold hair which she wore coiled in a neat bun.

Her figure was perfect and her colouring – the red hair, milk-white skin and large blue eyes – made her very striking. Men who first looked into Clare’s eyes found them disarmingly soft and mistakenly imagined that they held an invitation. But it was not the kind of invitation they wanted that Clare ever gave. She was friendly. She liked the companionship of men and had made one or two very good friends in the hospital. She was a beautiful dancer and could be fun at a party. But there was always an invisible barrier between herself and the opposite sex. Men very quickly came up against it, and left her alone. They didn’t understand her coldness. She knew that. Nervously exhausted men, weary of war and bloodshed, liked their girls uncomplicated and yielding. She could only allow a certain degree of intimacy before there came a sudden curious jolt to her feelings. It was as though she entered a dark and frightening tunnel at the end of which outrage rather than passionate satisfaction awaited her.

She was engaged to Robin Claye – a young officer now fighting in Tripoli. She had been able to get closer to him than to most of the boys who tried to make love to her because he seemed to understand and appreciate her reserve. He respected her reticence and did not expect her to “go the whole way” until after their marriage.

She lived outside the hospital with Aunt Hilda – her mother’s only sister, in her flat near Sloane Square.

Clare’s home, Swanningdean Farm, was five miles out of Brighton under the shadow of the Sussex Downs. It was usually peaceful and lovely there. She used to be devoted to both home and parents when she was very small. But it wasn’t like that now. There weren’t often rows or open hostility but undercurrents of dissension and misunderstandings were turning Clare against her parents and making her less inclined to go home on leave. Aunt Hilda seemed to understand her much better than her mother did.

Clare had been glad when war broke out that she was just old enough to be a VAD and could come up to London and share the flat with Aunt Hilda and her cousin Philippa. Clare didn’t see much of Pip because she had a secretarial job at the War Office and being a gregarious, sunny-natured girl, was nearly always out at some party in the evenings. Despite being Clare’s opposite, the two girls got on well on the few occasions they were together.

For the last two years – since she was eighteen – Clare had given herself wholly to her work as a VAD, all except the part of her heart and mind which belonged to Robin. She was going to marry him at the end of the following week when he was due home on leave.

She was nice to all the patients whether she liked them or not. If she had a favourite at all it was Captain Talbot who occupied the first bed, beside which she now lingered for a few moments.

She turned his pillows which looked hot and rumpled. He had a haggard, lean face, grey from the effects of a long spell of septicaemia; a post-operative drawn and hollow look. He was one of the oldest men here – nearly twenty-eight – and due for his majority. On the locker beside him stood a photograph of a very pretty girl in Wren uniform – his fiancée, who had been posted to Gibraltar just before the Tripoli campaign in which Colin Talbot had been wounded.

Clare knew a certain amount about the background and histories of all these men whom she nursed daily. Colin, for instance, had been reading Classics at Oxford when the war claimed him. Few people visited him because he had no mother and his father, a regular and rather high-ranking officer, was in Burma. Clare admired Colin because he never complained and she was moved emotionally by his bitter, dogged courage.

She liked him, too, because he never made a pass at her as the others were inclined to do. When there was time, they talked about books, poetry and music, which they both enjoyed. She knew that he wanted, when the war was over, to work in the production side of the theatre. He was particularly interested in Shakespeare.

She asked him now if he would like a drink.

“I’d rather have a cigarette,” he said.

She lit one for him. He put it between his lips, smiling his thanks.

“Sister says you smoke too much,” she said.

“Sister says a lot of things but I’m afraid I don’t take any notice.”

“Well, kindly listen to me, Captain Talbot. This chain-smoking is very bad for your nerves.”

He grinned.

“Haven’t got any. How are you today? You haven’t said one word to me until now.”

“Too busy. Have you had your usual letter?”

He turned his glance with deep affection on the sweet smiling face of his Wren.

“I have. And you?”

“Of course. Robin’ll be home next week.”

“For the Great Day.”

Before she could answer they heard a bomb drop not far from the hospital. Windows and doors rattled. Somebody swore.

Colin Talbot looked at the young VAD thoughtfully. She had barely flickered an eyelash.

She’s a real Florence Nightingale type, he thought – cool as a cucumber. Or perhaps she’s as scared as I am and the indifference is a façade. Girls like these nurses and my Eve make one immensely proud of the women of this country. They behave magnificently. There goes another stick of bombs – closer this time. How damnably impotent one feels lying here unable to hit back. Don’t think about it! Think about this girl – that red hair and those mysterious eyes. I’m never sure what she’s thinking – she’s quite an interesting character …

The man in the bed next to Colin was in a drugged sleep and cared nothing for the raid or the crumping sound of bombs exploding in the distance. The noise of the anti-aircraft gunfire was growing heavier.

Clare came to the bedside of a boy known as Tubby Benson. His right arm had been blown off at the shoulder. Rugger had been the big thing in his life. He was a varsity blue. Clare felt maternal towards him and was desperately sorry about his arm. Tubby talked of nothing but the artificial one they were making for him now and what he was going to do with it. He was an inveterate joker and tried Sister Evans’ patience sorely. He played all kinds of practical jokes on her.

“Hello, Nurse,” he greeted the VAD “Come to hold my hand?”

“As if I hadn’t something better to do,” she smiled.

“Nothing could be better than holding my one and only hand …” And he held it out to her, his long-lashed eyes appealing.

She took his hand and smiled down at him.

“Sorry I haven’t time to stay and chat, Tubby.”

“Now that would be a treat.”

She rearranged his rumpled bedclothes and brushed some ash off the sheets.

“A little bird tells me that you’ll be fussing over a tall, handsome husband next week,” he said with a teasing grin.

Clare coloured but laughed, and walked on.

Tubby Benson followed the neat figure with his gaze.

She’s a bit of a pet is our Mellors, he thought. Some of the chaps think she’s starchy but I know she isn’t. She was jolly sweet to me when I was coming out of the anaesthetic after my op. I’m mad about the colour of her hair. They say redheads are hot stuff. I wonder if she is? Blast this bloody stump. Good for nothing. Not much good trying to make a bid for the beautiful Clare with only one arm to hold her. Besides, she’s fully occupied. I envy her chap. Yet I don’t. Even when she’s being very sweet and having a bit of a joke she kind of wards a fellow off. Not like that physiotherapist who expects reactions from every touch – and gets one!

A fretful voice from the other side of the ward called:

“Nurse! Nurse!”

Clare walked over to the man who was calling her. A tall, gaunt second lieutenant, he had come up from the ranks just before he was wounded; a boastful type with an inferiority complex, and a meek little wife whom he nagged from the moment she arrived in the ward till the moment she left. Nobody much liked Mr Fuller although Clare tried not to make any distinction.

He gave her a disgruntled look and growled:

“It’s time for my tablets – long past.”

She glanced at the little gold watch pinned to her bib. Robin had given it to her as an engagement present.

“Only just time, Mr Fuller.”

“Well, don’t let’s have an argument about it,” he said hastily.

She said nothing. She was used to his bad temper. She brought him a glass of water and stood beside him while he took the tablets. He watched her sullenly.

Who does she think she is? So la-di-da! I’m sick of these lady-nurses who think themselves Angels of Mercy. The only reason they come to a hospital like this is to get a man. I’d like to have her in my bed and show her what’s what and see if she doesn’t like it, too – pretending to be so uppish, and goody-goody.

Clare moved on. Now she was picking up a book that had dropped beside the man she liked least in this ward, even less than she liked Mr Fuller.

Captain Binelli had Italian blood in him. His mother was English and he had been born and brought up in London. His father ran a big restaurant in the West End – one of the smart successful ones. He was a naturalized Englishman and had not joined the fate of so many of his fellow restaurateurs who had been sent out to Canada or interned on the Isle of Man.

They called Captain Binelli “Cas”, short for Casanova, a nickname that he had apparently won because he fancied himself as a lady-killer. His black hair was plastered like black satin over his skull. He had a neat little dark moustache and wore bright-coloured, expensive silk pyjamas. He seemed to be very well off and talked about the Mercedes-Benz he drove. At visiting hours there were always one or two pretty girls to see him. Women and sex were his favourite topics. He was the type that didn’t get on with a thoughtful bookworm like Colin Talbot on the other side of the ward. A lot of the fellows found him good fun and enjoyed the drinks and cigars he supplied – along with the delicacies that his father sent from the restaurant.

Clare didn’t mind the harmless flirtations with boys like Tubby. But it was different with Binelli. He barely troubled to conceal the fact that he wanted to go to bed with her; whenever he got the chance, he inferred it by gestures or actions which made her cheeks burn. She supposed she hadn’t the technique to deal with men like him. Pip would have managed him. Clare felt annoyed with herself because she could never really handle a situation in which sex was involved. With Cas Binelli her main reaction was to withdraw as from a beautiful but venomous snake.

As she handed him the book he managed to catch hold of her fingers and press them.

“Thank you, darling.”

“I’ve asked you before not to call me ‘darling’.”

“You’re so luscious I could eat you,” he whispered, unperturbed by the cold disapproval in her eyes.

“Please let go of my hand, Captain Binelli.”

“Won’t you ever call me ‘Cas’?”

“No.”

Another bomb fell. Sister Evans came from behind the screen followed by a junior nurse carrying bowls and towels.

“Sister will see you holding my hand. Kindly let me go,” whispered Clare crossly.

Cas sighed. He wore a little medal around his neck. It dangled among the black hairs on his chest and somehow she found it revolting. He spoke in a low whisper only she could hear:

“When are you going to realize what it means for a man to lie and think about a woman and want her as I want you – beautiful, beautiful Clare?”

She started to protest, her face flushed with embarrassment. He gave her a little jerk that pulled her down so that his lips brushed her ear.

“You’re going to be married next week, aren’t you? Will you be more forthcoming with him than you are with me?”

“You disgust me!” she exclaimed, snatching her hand away.

He lay back on his pillow, laughing softly and following her with his amorous gaze as she hurried towards Sister Evans.

“Effing-Evans” looked as sour as a pickle that had gone off, he thought. It’s bloody good fun to watch the little VAD blush as though I’d put a hand inside her bib. I only wish I could. She’s got beautiful little breasts. What a lay she’ll be. I bet she’ll lose that chaste-as-the-snows-on-Etna look when the husband gets busy. Lucky chap. I can imagine what her skin is like. Those redheads have such white bodies. I’ll lay a hundred-to-one once she’s roused she’ll be fun.

The ward sister had a few short sharp words for Clare.

“I watched you playing up to Captain Binelli. I’ll not have that sort of behaviour.”

“I assure you I did nothing of the sort, Sister,” exclaimed Clare indignantly. “On the contrary, I was going to complain of his behaviour towards me.”

That annoyed the older woman who had never had to complain about the behaviour of any man. But she said no more because the “All Clear” was sounding and there was work to be done; and on the whole, she trusted Mellors. Jealous though she was of the girl’s obvious attractiveness, she knew Nurse Mellors was not flirtatious like so many of the VADs whom Sister Evans abhorred with all the bitterness of a plain woman who has never been loved.

Clare felt more than ordinarily relieved when her spell of duty ended and she was able to leave the hospital and walk to the Underground.

When she let herself into her aunt’s flat she found a message on the telephone pad, written by Aunt Hilda, who worked in the WVS and was always out until late.

Robin phoned to say he has flown home unexpectedly. He’ll be here in time to take you out to dinner. I told him I’d give him Pip’s bed as she’s staying with friends tonight. I shan’t be back till late. Enjoy yourselves.

Clare’s spirits soared. Robin was back! She would see him tonight. He had come home days before he was expected. How wonderful!

Aunt Hilda must have come in an hour ago, written this note and gone out again. That meant Robin could turn up at any moment.

Clare felt wildly happy. She rushed to take off her clothes and plunge into a bath. She could even put up with the fact that owing to government fuel economies the water was not very hot. She was in and out of the bath quickly, dusted herself with powder, dabbed perfume behind her ears, and put on a black dress. She pinned her hair high up on her head in the way Robin liked it. Suddenly her mood of exhilaration gave way to a momentary shyness at the thought of getting to know her future husband again after their separation. Would everything be the same between them or might he have changed?

As she waited for Robin, she turned on the fire and lights in the sitting room, and to reassure herself, reread his last letter.

I do love you, Clare. Thank God you’re different from other girls. One of the chaps here is continually boasting because all his girlfriends are willing to sleep with him. It doesn’t seem to occur to him that they might be just as ready to sleep with someone else, too! I’m glad you’re not like that.

Clare’s heart was warmed by that paragraph. He was so right, as well she knew. Some of the nurses with whom she associated, and school friends now in the Services, had already gone to bed with boyfriends and seemed proud of it. But she and Robin had agreed on a conventional way of life.

She shut her eyes and in a warm reflective mood tried to imagine Robin sitting here beside her, his hands gently caressing her hair and neck. She allowed these thoughts to go further. In her imagination his kisses grew more passionate and her cheeks burned. She sat up and frowned. She felt hot and uncomfortable – almost apprehensive.

Then the doorbell rang. She sprang to her feet and ran to open the door. Robin stood there; fair, slight, good-looking, smiling at her with eager eyes. She rushed into his arms. In the hall they hugged and kissed each other for a long time. Clare’s shyness fell away and she felt absolute happiness, a new fervour born of excitement and pleasure after the long separation and the constant anxiety of not having known when – if ever – she would see him again.

She led her fiancé to the sofa in the sitting room, fussed over him, brought him drinks and a cigarette, then sat on a hassock at his knee. She looked at him dreamily while his hand ran over her hair and down the nape of her neck in the old tender familiar way.

He hadn’t changed. He was the same Robin with his clean boyish look and charming manners. His uniform certainly didn’t look as if he’d just travelled over 1,500 miles in it. This was typical of Robin. One never associated him with untidy clothes – or untidy principles.

He looked at her with adoring eyes.

“I don’t think you’ve any idea how gorgeous you are, Clare,” he said. “You’re looking more beautiful than ever. I hope those chaps you’re nursing remember you’re engaged to me!”

“Don’t worry, I keep them at arm’s length!” Clare smiled back at him. “Not that they don’t all try to make a pass – all except Colin Talbot.”

“Talbot? Who is he?”

“Oh, darling, just one of the wounded officers I’m nursing. He has a nasty septic leg wound and it’s taking a long time to heal. He’s years older than you and anyway, he’s madly in love with a very attractive Wren called Evelyn.”

“You seem to know a lot about him!” Robin countered.

“Only because we happen to talk now and then. Actually, he’s the sort of man I’d like to have had for a father.”

Robin looked at Clare curiously.

“I know that you don’t like your father much – or your mother, come to that. I feel rather badly about not having met them more than once. I never did ask your father’s permission to marry you, did I?”

“He wouldn’t care who I married – so long as I assured him I was in love.” She laughed. “I think I’ve always been a bit of a problem to my parents and they’ll be delighted you’re taking me off their hands.”

“And I’ll be delighted to have you on my hands!” said Robin.

She seemed to the young officer even more beautiful now than as he had remembered her during those months abroad. Maybe he was just starved of the sight of a woman – most of the chaps could think and talk of little else. He had tried hard not to think too much about Clare. The mental image of her figure had disturbed his nights quite often enough. He could hardly believe she was sitting here beside him now and that he could reach out and touch her. But he must remember to go carefully. He’d found out already that she was afraid of over-ardent love-making. It would be different after they were married. A girl like Clare was obviously made for love. He’d have the joy of teaching her. He was aware that she was completely virginal, untouched; and accepted this as ample explanation for her reticence when he became too passionate.

He recalled some of the flattering remarks made by the chaps in his Company when they had seen a full-length snap of her that he had taken abroad with him. They’d all been envious and he’d come in for quite a bit of lewd banter about his wedding night before he’d finally come away on leave. Well, soon Clare would be warm and eager and responsive in his embrace.

He held her at arm’s length and looked at her adoringly.

“My God, Clare, you are absolutely stunning. You can’t begin to guess how much I’ve longed for this. When the CO told me I could nip off a few days early, I could have hugged him.”

“Well, hug me instead!” Clare said, laughing. “It’s the most wonderful surprise, Robin. I’ve been dying to see you, too.”

“It’s grand to find you alone. I was sure Aunt Hilda and Pip would be knocking around somewhere.” He kissed her again and sighed with contentment. “We’ve heard some pretty ghastly stories out there about the hit-and-run raids at home. I saw quite a bit of the damage from the train. It must be awful for you in London, darling. I’ve worried about you quite a bit, I can tell you.”

Then he started to talk about the Tripoli campaign. It was awful at times, he said. His best friend had been blown up by a mine only a few days ago.

“Let’s hope this wretched war will soon be over and we can settled down again to a decent sort of life.”

She studied the fair boyish face and thought now that it showed marks of weariness. Her maternal instinct was aroused.

“You look as though you want sleep,” she said.

“Oh, a couple of drinks and I’ll be okay. Now tell me about our wedding, darling.”

“All fixed. At St. Peter’s in Brighton. And we’re to have the wedding breakfast at the Metropole.”

That suited Robin. As long as he married Clare it mattered little to him where or how.

“I wish I could take you abroad for a proper honeymoon, but I’m afraid it’ll mean a couple of days then back to Tripoli,” he said.

“Never mind. At least when we have to separate we can feel we really belong to each other.”

“We’ve never really belonged yet, have we?” he said, and kissed her rather more passionately than usual. She responded with more passion than she had ever shown before. But after a moment or two, she drew away from him.

“I think we ought to go out and get something to eat, don’t you?”

“Not for a moment, Clare, please. We may not get another cha. . .