Ella reaches for my hand. ‘But you see, Kendra dear, you have a choice. You can either let the pain overwhelm you, defining your life from that point on – perhaps even ending it or, at best, consigning you to a living death – or you can find a way to bear it, to carry it with you and still go on living. As you well know yourself, you can’t always choose what life throws at you. But you always have a choice in how you deal with it. Caroline’s words gave me that choice; they were my lifeline when I read that letter: “He would want you to live your life, a life filled with as much beauty and joy and love as you can possibly cram into it. Do so, please, for his sake, and for ours.” I realised that I had to do as she asked, for her sake and for her father’s. That if I could do it then maybe she could too. That was our pact. And it was one that would bind us even more tightly together, as the sisters we had so hoped we would become.’
Her eyes close and her complexion looks waxen against the white of the pillows.
‘Granny?’ Her eyelids flicker open again briefly, although I can see that she’s drifting as the flood of memories carries her back to another time and place. Then, as her eyes close once more, she smiles. I have to lean in close to hear the words she whispers.
‘Rhona? My darling girl. Thank you for coming . . .’
PART 2
1942, Scotland
Not long after she’d received Caroline’s letter, Ella was approached one day by Wing Commander Johnstone, the senior officer on the base at Gulford. She was fitting a battery into one of the aircraft outside the hangar when she saw him sauntering over to her. Ella stood to attention and he saluted her back, then came to look more closely at her work.
‘You enjoy working on the planes, don’t you, Aircraftwoman Lennox?’
‘Yes, sir, very much.’
‘And I know you do an excellent job. Your superior officers have high praise for your attitude and the standard of your work. They say you put your heart into it.’
Ella nodded, dropping her gaze for a moment. Since learning of Christophe’s death, she had been so broken that sometimes she felt that all she had left to give to this job was her heart – or what was left of it. Some days it was hard to summon up the energy to continue.
The wind swirled across the airfield carrying with it the faint cries of the sea-gulls. Tucking a loose strand of hair back under her cap, Ella’s hand shook as she was ambushed yet again by the image of Christophe’s face close to hers that night in the dunes, the love in his eyes shining like moonlight on water. She couldn’t yet bring herself to believe his shattered body lay lonely in a makeshift grave in an unknown part of France.
She blinked the image away, trying to stay focused on the officer who stood before her now.
‘I’m also told that you speak French?’ Wing Commander Johnstone continued.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How would you feel about transferring to a slightly different role?’ His tone was nonchalant, although she sensed that he was choosing his words carefully. ‘A colleague of mine is looking for a French speaker to help out with a special project.’
Ella looked him in the eye, her interest piqued. ‘Well, that would depend, sir. You see, I like my job because I feel I’m making a real difference on the Continent. Every aircraft I send off is a direct connection with the war. I’d like to help, but only if it means still being able to make a difference over there.’
The lines around her superior officer’s eyes crinkled deeply as he smiled a broad smile of amusement. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Aircraftwoman Lennox. I think it’s safe to say you’d still be making a difference alright. And, in fact, I believe it would be a role that could give you even more of a direct link to France.’
‘In that case, sir, I’d like to know more.’
‘Very good. I’ll make the necessary telephone call. Squadron Officer Macpherson will give you your orders shortly.’ He saluted her smartly. ‘And in the meantime . . .’
‘Yes, sir?’
He patted the undercarriage of the Hurricane. ‘Keep up the good work.’
It was not without regret that Ella handed over her mechanic’s blue serge jump suit in return for the smartly tailored skirt and jacket worn by most WAAFs. Before she left RAF Gulford she’d been put down for some basic wireless training in preparation for her new role. When she walked into the office at RAF Gulford on the first day of the training, a couple of pilots who were lounging outside the door looked her up and down. One removed his cigarette from between his lips and gave a long, low whistle. But the appearance of Squadron Officer Macpherson, who gave him one of her iciest glares, made him jump to attention and salute her respectfully.
‘Right, Ella, we’re going to give you your wireless operator’s training here before you leave us.’ She was brisk and efficient, but Ella felt that Squadron Officer Macpherson might miss her when she was gone, and she knew that she would miss her too.
Vicky was horribly torn about Ella’s going as well. ‘There, I knew you’d look like a knock-out in the proper uniform.’ She’d beamed when they were dressing that morning. ‘I’m going to show you how the radio kit works. But I really, really don’t want you to go. I’m going to miss you awfully.’ She’d hugged Ella tightly, to hide the tears that were pooling in her eyes.
Sandy was silent when she took her leave of the airfield. ‘I’ll keep in touch,’ Ella promised, as she hugged him goodbye. He still said nothing, seemingly unable to speak, but cleared his throat gruffly and patted her on the back.
Then he held her at arm’s length and smiled at her, finding his voice. ‘Any time you get fed up sitting behind a desk, just you come straight back here. I’ll keep your tool-kit at the ready for you, lass.’
The army truck jolted along the interminable, twisting single-track road that hugged the rugged contours of the land, swerving every now and then to avoid stray sheep and making Ella’s stomach lurch and churn with a mixture of nerves and nausea. It had been a long day’s drive from Edinburgh to the wilderness of Scotland’s west coast, and it was growing dark as they turned off the tiny road to bump along the drive of Arisaig House. The grey stone building, glimpsed between a phalanx of tall pines, with its blacked-out windows, and the dark hills rising steeply behind it, looked somewhat forbidding to Ella as she peered out through the window. She craned her neck to look up at the clock tower that stood sentry on one side of the courtyard, its gilded hands pointing towards eleven o’clock. As the truck drew to a halt, silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine and the faint, plaintive cry of a nightbird from the seashore somewhere below them. A door opened, throwing a rectangle of light across the gravel, and Ella stepped out of the car and made her way towards it.
‘Welcome to Arisaig, Miss Lennox.’ The officer, in army uniform, glanced at her appraisingly. ‘You must be tired and hungry after your long drive. Let’s get you something to eat. Then, as it’s late, we’ll sign you in and get a driver to take you straight to your billet. You’ll be staying at Back of Keppoch, it’s not far at all.’
Ella discovered she was ravenously hungry as she perched on a bench at one end of a long table in a cavernous kitchen. The churning in her stomach had settled now that she was no longer in the car and, although she was still feeling a little nervous, she tucked into the bread and ham that an orderly in a khaki army sweater had placed in front of her.
She was still not entirely sure what she was doing here: the briefing in Edinburgh had been vague, to say the least. As instructed, she’d met a Mr Brown at the North British Hotel. He’d stood as she’d walked into the Palm Court, his professional manner not quite concealing the light of appreciation in his eyes as he’d shaken her hand. He was wearing civvies, but had the bearing of a military man, tall and well-built under his suit and with the air of someone more at home out of doors than sitting at a little round table in a smart hotel. As she’d taken off her peaked cap and smoothed a strand of hair back into its neat bun, Ella had noticed how handsome he was, his classically regular features creasing as he’d smiled at her reassuringly.