A Man Called Darius Read online

  The heavy door opened and a fresh face greeted me with a smile. Aunt Martha had got herself a new maid.

  “Good afternoon Madame... Miss Greenwood is expecting you, will you come this way please.”

  Well, it was a great improvement on the last maid Aunt Martha had employed. She would open the door with a fag in her mouth and leave you standing in the hall as she grunted her way through to see the Mistress. I supposed now that the war was over, we could expect a better class of servant... and then I corrected myself again for my snobbery as I followed the young lady into the hall. She took my bags immediately and smiled again. She was very young… about twenty-two or three, I would have guessed; very neat and very attractive, with clear fair skin and dark hair, swept back under her starched white cap. She had wonderful legs... damn her, I thought... but kindly, as I followed her and she announced my arrival as she opened the lounge door. Martha Greenwood greeted me as I had expected she would, with the faintest hint of a wry smile and with her eyebrows raised above her gold-rimmed spectacles. She was never a one to show her emotions and never, never laughed …laugh was to detract from the dignity of her state, she maintained. Her very smile was more than I should have expected since she had never made any attempt to hide the fact that she disliked me.

  “You will want to stay with us during your leave I expect,” she said, in a statement rather than a question. He tone was dry as I came towards her and she put out her hand for me to kiss, making sure that I kept my distance. I shook her hand and she scowled.

  “I can quite easily stay at the Officer’s Club. It’s of no consequence,” I managed to stutter somewhat. She blinked and touched the edge of her spectacles nervously with her thin fingers.

  “No… no...You must stay here. It is what Jeremy would want.” She rang the bell on a small table nearby for the maid to return as she continued speaking. “He will be home from the office around 6 o’clock. We weren’t sure exactly when you would arrive, you see. You young women have a full curriculum in your busy lives these days, I understand,” she said sarcastically, as she twisted her lips around her dentures. Aunt Martha had never approved of Jeremy and me, although we had been ‘unofficially’ engaged for the past four years, but she need not have worried. I had no intention of ever marrying her dear nephew... nor he, me, for that matter. We were good friends in a strange sort of a way, since we had grown up together ever since his mother, Miss Greenwood’s sister, Emily had married my father after his divorce from my mother. Jeremy’s mother had married Gregory Shackleton, Q.C. when Jeremy was a year old, much to Martha Greenwood’s disapproval …not the marriage, but the conditions of the birth where she insisted the cart had been put before the horse... and Gregory had been killed in an air crash five years later. Martha Greenwood had never approved of daddy, since he was only a common solicitor and had never reached the dizzy heights of the Bar, except the one in the Eagle & Dove in Wandsworth, where he was often to be found... dizzy and otherwise. She had already accepted the marriage to Gregory, although she regularly made it clear that her views would never change... her views about the cart before the horse and she had been infuriated beyond words when Emily Shackleton announced that she was going to live with my father and that she would marry him when his divorce was settled... however, none of them had to wait for very long, for my dear mother died very soon after my father announced his intentions to leave her and to marry Emily.

  Jeremy and I were growing up by this time. I had known him since I was about six years of age and we used to have holidays with our parents, on the coast, together. You see, mother was never very strong and died of tuberculosis. She was thirty-five when she died and I was fourteen. Daddy married Miss Shackleton four months after the funeral, a fact of which I am not very proud and neither was Martha Greenwood ...so we had something in common, but daddy was very happy in his second marriage, so I couldn’t fault it. I just wish he had waited a little longer before he tied the knot again, that’s all, but then it is easy for me to judge, I suppose. I was very young and unfamiliar to the adult mind and to the perplexities of their lives and through all of this, Jeremy and I accepted most of what was planned for us until I decided I wanted to take up nursing just as war broke out in 1939.

  The family were upset about my plans, all except Miss Martha Greenwood, that is. She preferred to think that I would go the way of all nurses... as she imagined the nursing profession in her narrow mind and that suited her perfectly, giving her more time to devote to her adorable Jeremy whom she regarded as her own. Martha had concluded that her sister Emily was an unsuitable mother for Jeremy, especially after she married my father and consequently, Jeremy had lived most of his life with the elder sister, his Aunt Martha, whilst daddy and his new wife toured the world when he wasn’t working, which he did only about three or four weeks in the year. God alone knows how they afforded it, but nobody ever questioned that. Maybe the Honourable Gregory Thackery Shackleton had left his little Emily better off than most of us imagined, however, whatever the situation of her inheritance, she certainly enjoyed life to the full with my father... until she fell ill with acute bronchitis and had to be taken to the Spa water resorts for her cures.

  ***

  We had lived in Highgate Village until I went into nursing and then daddy moved to ‘Rowan Trees’ which was a large house on the outskirts of Banbury. I think he had hopes of starting a new family, but nothing happened.

  ***

  Tea was served in the lounge and Miss Greenwood did not attempt to make conversation. ‘Small talk’ would have been unforgivable... an utter waste of time if it wasn’t actually a sin... however she did manage eventually to complain about the rationing and the inconvenience of coupons; the cost of sugar and the shortage of eggs. When I told her that we could have as many eggs for breakfast as we wished in Basra, she simply sniffed the air, wrinkling her long, thin nose and showing her over-large and ill-fitting dentures.

  “It was like that in Puna when I was a girl,” she said and clinked her silver spoon against her very best china tea-cup, “I was never a one for sugar anyway, but I hate to be deprived of not being able to offer it to my guests,” she added.

  I waved the inconvenience aside as being of little consequence, but she replied by saying that she was talking about her important and regular guests from the Inner City Lodge... and not I …

  I tried to continue in the conversation, petty though it was, ignoring her abrasive remarks but I probably did the worst thing I could ever have done when I mentioned father.

  “I expect daddy will be at Rowan Trees for Christmas. Jeremy did say in his last letter to me that he and Emily would be at the Cotswolds for some time leading up to Christmas.”

  Martha Greenwood totally ignored my statement and continued to stir her sugarless tea.

  “There are some scones there, if you wish,” she said, “ but I can’t guarantee what’s in them. Frampton can’t get the same flour that she used to at Mildmays and we get some old rubbish these days. Don’t know where she shops and I can’t get out myself now... can I? Well, I hardly move from my chair at all as you can see.”

  She glanced down at her swollen feet as she spoke and tapped her highly polished lace-up shoes with her ivory-tipped walking stick.

  “None of us getting any younger, are we?” she remarked, narrowing her eyes and staring in my direction,

  “You’re right,” I said, “I shall be twenty-four in April, and I sipped my tea as she drew in her breath.

  “You should be married and settled down by now, don’t you think?” She teased hoping I would mention Jeremy, but I didn’t. It was farthest from my mind as I thought of a pair of amber green eyes looking out over a Theatre mask.

  I wanted to hit back at her in that moment and say something like... “You old bat. Why didn’t you take your own advice when you were young, if you ever were young,” but I refrained. I was really sorry for M
iss Greenwood in that moment and I had a strange compelling feeling of pity for her, for all her wealth and her large house, with her servants at her beck and call. I felt she had missed so much in life. She had no family of her own, only an adopted son from her sister’s marriage. She would die without having lived, I thought but then, she had obviously done what she had wanted to do with her life... or had she? Nobody could ever mention that subject to Martha Greenwood. Nobody even bothered to try.

  ***

  Jeremy arrived home as predicted by his devoted Aunt at precisely 6.05 p.m. The grandfather clock in the hall struck six, just as he burst through the door and it was five minutes slow according to Martha.

  “Hello dahling... how lovely to see you,”

  Jeremy’s high-pitched voice rang out in the silence that surrounded us. He held out his arms as he approached, and kissed my hands. This hand kissing seemed to be a way of life from what I had remembered in the Greenwood residence. I smiled and returned his greetings with a hug, but he shuddered as he pulled away from me.

  “Looking jolly smart in that uniform... what?” he said, “Let’s have a twirl then... go on.”

  He grinned and turned me round to have a good look at what had returned from the Middle East.

  “You had tea with Auntie, then... yes?” he lisped as he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. I nodded.

  “Nice to see you Jeremy. You don’t look a day older than when I last saw you. It must be over two years now, isn’t it?”

  His lips became tight again when he heard my remark and he fluttered his eyelashes, glancing at the ceiling.

  “Six hundred and sixty four days to be precise, my Sweet. Come... we have much to talk about and I’m famished. I’m sure Frampton has something a bit more appetizing than those awful scones... bloody things.”

  Miss Greenwood’s face softened at the first sight of her beloved nephew, but she tut-tutted when he used the adjective to Frampton’s scones.

  “S’cuse us, Auntie dearest, won’t you, “ he called out as he grabbed my arm and made for the stairs leading down to the kitchen, but Martha Greenwood called him back, closing her eyes and touching the side of her face with her bony forefinger, whereupon Jeremy retraced his steps, mincing like a trained ballet dancer and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  “Frampton’s got a new grocer you know,” he commented breathlessly as he led me down to the kitchen. “Changed all our ration books, she has and now we’re stuck... think she’s got a ‘thing’ about that old chappie, you know. Can’t see why else she stays with him … Wish she’d get her bloody ‘oats’ elsewhere …” he giggled at his own pun and his eyes twinkled as he dusted his pin-stripped collar with a well-manicured hand. “Gawd I do wish I’d gotten into the Forces, Frannie. So smart, the uniform, what? Navy for me, I would have thought. Those lovely tight sexy trousers … Am I missing such a lot Dahling, d’you think?”

  Jeremy had been rejected at his medical on conscription but we never spoke about that, as there had been some heart trouble from his childhood, from a bout of rheumatic fever. He was rather a high coloured young man, slightly overweight and with his thinning fair hair and gold-framed spectacles, appeared rather older than his twenty-four years. He was not what you would describe... masculine, by any stretch of the imagination, but he was always kind and inoffensive. You couldn’t help liking him and he was often more than generous when money was concerned. I got a cheque from him on many an occasion and not just for birthdays or at Christmas. It could arrive at any time. Always addressed to me as ‘Bunny Hugs’ although he never ever addressed me in that way when he was talking. It was always Frannie. He never called me by my full name of Francesca and wouldn’t accept the double-barrel that followed it... Barrington-Smythe. God knows where daddy got it from, but he never failed to use it, even amongst his most intimate friends and of course, Emily loved it too.

  Yes, Jeremy was very kind, but we lived in different worlds now and I couldn’t stop thinking of the amber green eyes in the underground Theatre of the desert.

  Chapter Three

  Daddy came back to London and telephoned me at the Greenwood residence on December 22nd.

  “Darling Frannie. It’s so nice to hear your voice again. How are you?”

  “I’m fine ... and you?”

  “Oh... I’m O.K. my love, ‘though Emily isn’t too well these days. I think it’s her old trouble again... the chest you know... and she’s having a spot of trouble with... oh Gawd, I might as well tell you, you being a nurse. I guess you’ll understand. It’s her waterworks... but she doesn’t like me talking about it. Hates it when I do, matter of fact, so you won’t mention it when you see her, will you? Her undercarriage, I mean... That’s a good girl.”

  “Is she having treatment for it?”

  My question wasn’t answered and changed the subject straight away so I gathered that Emily had come into the room whilst he was talking to me.

  “Are you staying with the Greenwood Dame?” he asked laughingly and I could hear a female voice scold him in the background. Emily was always very faithful to uphold the Greenwood good name in all matters, even if she didn’t very much like her elder sister.

  “Do you mean... staying here for Christmas?” I asked with concern.and daddy’s answer stunned me.

  “Why yes, of course darling... less you can go to the officer’s club.”

  I felt very disappointed but pretended I was fine. Nevertheless, I put forward my request rather boldly.

  “No chance of coming to Rowan Trees, I suppose... is there?”

  There was a protracted silence at the other end of the ‘phone and I thought I heard some whispering going on.

  “Oh darling, we’d love to have you. That goes without saying... you know that... but well... we’re going up to the Lake District; a little spot near Windermere actually. It’s Emily’s health. She needs the change, you know.”

  I recognized the familiar ‘avoid at all costs’ voice, but I had to accept it.

  “O.K. daddy. Keep well and maybe I’ll see you before I return to Basra. Love to Emily. Jeremy sends his love too. Bye.”

  “Bye darling... and darling, you do understand, don’t you? I mean, any other time....”

  “I understand daddy... of course I do. Take care.”

  “Bye darling. You are a good girl. Love you.”

  The telephone went silent, almost as though the instrument itself was telling me to get lost... and I returned to the drawing room where Martha Greenwood was smiling all over her nephew and hoping that I would observe, just how much she loved him... If only she knew... Jeremy loved her too. I was sure of that, but I wasn’t sure if his love would have sustained the loss of her fortune, at the event of her death... or worse still... if she left that fortune to somebody else... but I dismissed that as a cruel thought and smiled at them both.

  Jeremy’s love was a peculiar commodity. Had I been a boy and not a girl, I think he would have loved me too, but as it was, we were just good friends in the best possible sense. Aunt Martha thought the sun shone from his rear and was delighted when he brought home his friend, Sebastian for cream tea... It was wonderful for Jeremy to be ‘one of the lads’ she thought as she tapped her polished lace-ups with delight, thinking he had years ahead for thinking about girls and although she hoped one day that he would marry, she dreaded the thought of losing him, especially to another woman, however good and suitable that female might be, but Martha Greenwood, Darling girl …there are other loves and you’d better start to learn about them fast, if you’re not going to end up with a broken heart.

  ***

  Christmas day arrived with a great flurry of snow that fell from the skies like chopped tissue paper and as you will appreciate... pleased me immensely. I can’t say the same for Aunt Martha or Jeremy.

  Frampton prepared a delicious lunch and I marvel
led at how she had achieved it, considering the rationing was still very much a daily routine, although the war had been over for nearly a year. Frampton’s grocer friend certainly did us all proud, as also did her butcher and greengrocer, for all that Martha complained about the quality of their goods. I remember thinking that Frampton must be a very popular woman indeed and in courtesy to thank her for all her hard work, I went down to the kitchen to convey my congratulations and to wish her a happy Christmas. She was a very sweet and gentle lady; always smiling and with two large dimples on her rosy cheeks. She smiled a lot, but I think a lot of it was shyness, although I gave her no reason to be shy of me. I shook hands with her heartily and leaned forward to kiss her. She closed her eyes and blushed an even deeper hue of scarlet. It was my resolve, as soon as I could after the holiday to get her and Monica, the maid, a little present of appreciation when I went shopping in town. I liked Frampton very much as I also liked Monica, who was working her last year before going to University, having failed her entrance exam once and was eager to try again in the spring. We talked a lot about everything and nothing really, but by the time I was leaving the kitchen, I wished I could have spent Christmas with these two lovely people. Just the three of us... below stairs...

  ***

  Jeremy bought me a handsome leather handbag and shouted ‘snap’ when I unfolded my present to him, - a genuine hand-carved leather wallet from Egypt. Martha’s face fell too when I showed her my gift to her of a leather cigarette case. She had always been a heavy smoker but she told me haughtily that she had given it up …Surprise, surprise, I thought … and what other things have you decided to give up, my dear?

  She gave me a thick, hard-covered book called Nursing in Singapore 1914, by a lady named Helen Armstrong. I’d never heard of that lady and wanted to forget about nursing for the duration of my leave at least, never mind about 1914 or otherwise.