Read Online The Bannister Girls by Jean Saunders - Free Book Online Page B

but Louise clearly found her a great embarrassment, because of Stanley’s recent commission. She had heard that very morning that he would hold the rank of Major, and he had told her jovially on the telephone that he was to get a desk job somewhere near the south coast of England, and it was unlikely that he would ever leave British shores.
    Louise was thrilled and relieved when she heard, but seeing Rose Morton’s pretty, pale face and sad eyes, she felt a strange sense of shame, and a fierce wish after all, that Stanley could come home a hero.
    Clemence had risen to the occasion as Fred had known she would. By the end of the day, one would have thought that Lady Bannister herself had graciously issued the invitation to Rose to accompany them all to Somerset.
    â€˜We hope to move down to Meadowcroft at the end of next week, Rose dear,’ she said kindly. ‘Can you be ready by then?’
    â€˜Of course.’ Rose gave the quick tight little smile that vanished as soon as it came. ‘There’s nothing to keep me in London. The movement will go on whether I’m here or not. I do appreciate your generosity, Lady Bannister.’
    Clemence smiled back uneasily, thinking it a pity that young women should be so passionate about politics and the like these days. And all those girls they called canaries, having their skin dyed yellow by the dreadful TNT that Fred had spoken about, and content to wear those terrible mob caps over their hair, and the uncomfortable oilskins or overalls when they worked. So unladylike. So undignified.
    War did that to people, of course. It stripped one of one’s dignity. Knitting diligently and pouring tea at railway stations was quite quite different, but just as vital…
    At least Angel seemed more docile today, Clemence thought with some relief. She resolved to keep a stricter eye on Angel in the future. One never knew who one’s daughter might be meeting in these dreadfully modern days of going without a chaperon.
    A letter arrived for Angel on the day before they left for Somerset. Thankfully, her mother was ensconced with her knitting circle when Sophie handed it to Angel on a silver salver. Her heart leapt as she saw the same forceful square handwriting that she would know anywhere now. Some of Jacques’ flowers had already started to fade, no matter how hard Angel had tried to keep them alive. But one of the pink tea roses was already pressed between the pages of her heavy Bible.
    The letter was dated on the morning they had parted. Incredibly, it had taken five days to cross London, its envelope crumpled and dirty. She threw the envelope onto the fire, and concentrated on the words, hearing his voice as she did so.
    â€˜My dearest Angel,’ she read, feeling her pulses race at the endearment. She read it several times before going on to the letter itself.
    â€˜Perhaps it is improper for me to address you so. Perhaps you hate me for leaving you as I did. I pray that it is not so,
chérie
. I could not bear to say good-bye, and there was so little time that morning. It is my greatest wish that one day we shall be together. We knew each other for such a brief while, yet I feel that I have known you always, loved you always. I cherish the hours that we shared, for they meant all the world to me. You gave me something to come back to, Angel. Something to fight for. I shall take your memory into the sky with me. I believe that I also take your love asa talisman. I leave you mine.
    Ever Yours, Jacques.’
    Angel’s breath was tight in her throat when she finished reading. There was so much more that he hadn’t said. She knew that it was unwise to give military details away, even in a personal letter. But she had already guessed that he was flying to France the day after they had met. One day out of their lives was all they had had. She sent up a silent prayer that it was not all they would have.
    She pushed the letter into the pocket of