Snowflakes in the Wind Read online

  Nicholas’s head shot up. He was totally taken aback. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s all right. I realized very quickly you weren’t that way, even before you told me about her. The one who got away.’

  ‘Look, John—’

  ‘I know, I know. It’s in the past.’ John took a swallow of his drink. Only he didn’t believe that for a moment. Whoever this girl was, she’d ruined him for other women. Male officers far outnumbered females, and yet he’d watched both civilian women and the QAs giving Nick the come-on on various occasions, some following up with a dedicated pursuit that always came to nothing because Nick simply didn’t seem to notice them.

  John sighed ruefully. If Nick wasn’t such a good friend he’d punch him. Here was yours truly, not having had a roll in the hay for months, and there was Nick turning ’em down without batting an eyelid. Of course a good number of the men on the island took advantage of the dance halls where Hong Kong’s thousands of prostitutes did business, but having learned they were dubbed the ‘gonorrhoea racetrack’ and having treated countless men who bore evidence to this, he hadn’t availed himself of this dubious pleasure.

  ‘It is in the past. She is in the past.’ Nicholas’s voice was terse. ‘And don’t try and change the subject from the matter in hand. You know as well as I do that it was the height of stupidity for the great minds who are supposedly in charge to inflict us with a new general and a new governor last month, men who are totally unfamiliar with the island’s terrain. It’s asking for trouble and the Japanese are the ones who’ll give it to us.’

  ‘Nick, Nick, Nick . . .’ John’s eyes were half on his friend and half on a group of QAs who had just walked into the club.

  ‘And yes, you might be right about me feeling guilty about being here when Britain’s being battered by the damn Luftwaffe and starved by food rationing and the rest of it.’

  ‘I don’t think they’re actually starving—’

  ‘We’ve had it easy. Most of the time since we’ve been here we’ve been treating casualties of the gonorrhoea racetrack alongside the usual tropical diseases, training accidents and routine surgery.’

  ‘All necessary and requiring our attention.’

  ‘But not what I joined up for.’ Nicholas ran his hand through his hair. ‘And who the hell are you looking at anyway?’ Irritated, he turned to face the way his friend was staring.

  Abby had had mixed feelings when she had learned her next posting was to Hong Kong. Her first posting to France had been a baptism of fire, it was true, but after Dunkirk when most of her unit had been wiped out and she had suffered severe injuries, she supposed she ought to be grateful that she was being given a passport to paradise. That’s what Sybil had called it, anyway, when she had visited her friend in the hospital where Sybil would remain for some long time.

  Poor Sybil. Abby wasn’t really seeing the inside of the officers’ club that she and the other four QAs who had arrived in Hong Kong that morning had just entered. As her hand involuntarily touched the left side of her face where the scars were still pink and raised, she was remembering the look in Sybil’s eyes when they had said their goodbyes. There had been a cage over the stumps that were all that was left of Sybil’s legs after the bomb that had killed most of their unit and blasted Abby in the face and arm had scored a direct hit, but Sybil’s eyes had spoken of her despair at being crippled. Sybil had shrapnel lodged in her chest and other injuries too. She was lucky in comparison, Abby thought. What were scars compared to losing limbs?

  She had told herself this on the journey on the luxury liner from England – the ship having the protection of Royal Navy fighting ships – especially when she looked in a mirror. Some of the other QAs on the ship, revelling in the freedom of leaving a war-torn Britain, had had affairs right under the nose of the matron who had accompanied them from England. Fifty-five QA nurses had been on board, but only Abby and four others had disembarked at Hong Kong, leaving the other fifty to sail on to Singapore.

  She had been told by the plastic surgeon who had treated the injuries to her face and left arm that the scars would fade to barely noticeable silver lines in time, but right now she was still very conscious of her marred face when in company. But she had been fortunate not to lose her eye, and after two operations on her arm when the surgeon had dug and delved for pieces of shrapnel, he had announced there was no reason why her arm and hand shouldn’t work as well as ever, as had since proved the case.

  ‘I’m dying for a gin fizz.’ Delia Cook, one of the QAs Abby had struck up a friendship with on the journey from England, slipped her arm through Abby’s. ‘And look at all these lovely officers. I adore the tropical uniform they wear, don’t you? Who would have thought we’d end up in Hong Kong? We’re so lucky.’

  Abby smiled. Delia was a petite, vivacious brunette and she was determined to make the most of this posting. Newly qualified and leaving home for the first time, Delia had been transparently thrilled at what she saw as a dream destination. She had entered into a torrid affair with one of the officers on the liner the moment they had left England, saying goodbye to him when they had docked at Hong Kong with tears and promises to write. They both knew she wouldn’t. Delia’s officer was married for one thing, and for another Delia wasn’t the type of girl to tie herself to one man. As she had said to Abby just before they had walked into the officers’ club, ‘Why have just one delicious chocolate when you can sample the whole box?’

  Much as she liked Delia, Abby found the other girl made her feel aeons old. Although there was only four years’ difference in their ages, it could have been forty. Delia was happy and carefree and as bubbly as the gin fizzes she had a weakness for, but she was kind too, as her next words bore evidence to. ‘You look beautiful,’ she whispered to Abby. ‘Really, you do. No one notices the scars when they look into your eyes.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Abby squeezed the arm in hers. She had confided how she felt to Delia on the boat, and ever since then the other girl had tried to boost her confidence in the sort of situation they were facing now. ‘Let’s get you a gin fizz before you die, as you put it.’

  Abby hadn’t shared Delia’s enthusiasm for their posting. After Dunkirk, Hong Kong had seemed almost a cop-out in a way. True, nurses were still needed there for the garrison of a little over 12,000 men, but everyone knew it had been the life of pleasure the soldiers had enjoyed that had taken its toll on the health of the troops. Gossip among the nursing fraternity had it that a posting to Hong Kong was a ‘safe’ one and positively magical compared to most. Abby had done her homework and knew the colony of Hong Kong was composed of the island itself, with its capital Victoria overlooking the magnificent harbour and, across a narrow strait, a piece of mainland bordering China, the peninsula of Kowloon and various islands. This constituted the New Territories. Hong Kong’s only airport was on the eastern edge of Kowloon.

  She had briefly wondered, with China so close, if the Japanese posed any threat, but had been assured this was not the case. And such had been the determined optimism of the authorities that she, along with all the other QAs, believed them. As one of the QAs in England had said when she had learned of Abby’s posting, ‘You’ll see out the war in one of the cushiest postings on earth, you lucky thing.’

  ‘Don’t look now but there are a couple of officers coming over,’ Delia murmured in her ear in the next moment. ‘And one is a walking dreamboat, I kid not. Yours isn’t bad either.’

  Of course Abby looked. And then froze. For a frantic moment she wanted to turn and run, away from the bright lights in the club to the kinder darkness outside. But it was too late. Nicholas was in front of her, taking her hands in his. His voice was just as she remembered it as he said softly, ‘I can’t believe it, after all this time. Abigail, is it really you?’

  He had always called her Abigail. It was a silly thought to hit at such a moment. No one but Nicholas and her old headmaster, Mr Newton, had ever given her her full name. She was aware of Delia at the side of her,
face agog, and that Nicholas had another man with him, but they were on the perimeter of her vision. Somehow she managed to form words, words that seemed so very ordinary in the circumstances: ‘Hello, Nicholas. How are you?’

  He didn’t reply immediately, just staring into her eyes, but such was his expression that she felt herself begin to tremble deep inside. She wanted to turn the damaged side of her face away so that she appeared like the old Abigail but that was impossible, impossible and ridiculous because she couldn’t hide for ever.

  ‘I’ve missed you.’ His voice was no more than a whisper and it could have been as though they had parted just days before.

  Her voice was equally low. ‘I’ve missed you too.’

  It was Delia who moved in where angels fear to tread. Her voice fairly smouldering with curiosity and just a little peeved that the walking dreamboat had eyes for no one but Abby, she said brightly, ‘So you two know each other?’

  ‘We’re old friends,’ Nicholas answered without taking his gaze from Abby.

  So this was her, the girl who had broken Nick’s heart. John felt the very air was crackling between the two of them. And by the look of her face she’d had a hell of a time of it in the not-too-distant past, he thought grimly. His curiosity was every bit as avid as Delia’s but John was a gentleman first and foremost, besides which, Delia was an extremely attractive female. Taking her arm, he said softly, ‘While these two are catching up why don’t we go and get the drinks in?’ and he guided her away towards the bar before she had a chance to object.

  Nicholas continued to look down at her for a moment more. His face had drained of colour when he noticed the left side of her face; he couldn’t bear to think of what she had been through to have sustained such injuries, but she was still beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful, his Abigail . . . ‘Can we—’ His voice caught in his throat and he had to clear it before he could say, ‘Can we go for a walk and talk? The club gardens are lovely. Have you seen them?’

  ‘We only arrived today.’ Abby lowered her head; his gaze was hurting her. Not because of her scars – he hadn’t seemed to notice them – but because he was looking at her in the same old way and she had forgotten how wonderful it was to be looked at like this.

  ‘Come on.’ He kept hold of one hand as he led her out of the club and into the tropical night that sounded and felt so different from England. She walked blindly, her head spinning, unable to think beyond the fact that Nicholas was here, here in Hong Kong and with her.

  When they reached a small arbour heavily festooned with sweet-smelling flowers, he drew her down onto the slatted bench inside. The club gardens had lamps positioned in various spots but the arbour was in shadow and for this she was grateful. She knew it was vain and not worthy of people like Sybil who were so much worse off than her, but right at this moment she would have given everything she possessed to be as she had been before Dunkirk. She hadn’t thought that she cared overmuch about her looks before that time, but since then she had often had the thought that she was glad Nicholas would always remember her as she had been. But now that comfort was gone.

  When he took her hand again she let him, but her body had stiffened. Delia had called him a walking dreamboat and he was. What was he feeling for her now? Pity? Sympathy? He was a kind man, she had always known that. He could have any girl he wanted, he always had been able to. Perhaps he was married or engaged? Whatever, she wasn’t the same and he – he was wonderful.

  ‘You arrived today?’ he said quietly. ‘What hospital have you been assigned to?’

  Please don’t let it be his. Please, God, don’t let me have to see him every day, love him every day . . . She must have opened her mouth and told him although she wasn’t conscious of it through the pleading in her head, because he said, ‘Me too.’

  ‘You . . . you’ve been here for a while?’

  Nicholas didn’t reply to this; what he did say, very, very gently was, ‘Abigail, look at me.’

  She raised her face and his eyes were waiting for her. ‘You said in there you had missed me. Is that true?’ She couldn’t speak, and he said again, ‘Is it true, Abigail?’

  She closed her eyes, striving to be strong.

  ‘Because I’ve missed you, every single day that we have been apart I have missed you, but missing you is too weak to express how I have felt. For a while after you sent me away I thought I could purge you from me by having other women. No, don’t pull away, listen to me. I tried, Abigail. I really did. I’m not proud of it but I bedded quite a few before I realized the futility of it. I didn’t want them and the sex was meaningless beyond a temporary relief. And so I stopped. I resigned myself to putting everything into my work. I worked the longest hours of anyone I knew and when I wasn’t working I was reading textbooks, researching new ideas, learning all I could. I’m a damn good surgeon, Abigail, thanks partly to you.’ His voice had been rueful and he paused, before going on, ‘And I chose for my work to become my life, only it wasn’t a choice. It was a necessity, if I was to keep my sanity. But I never stopped loving you. Not for one minute, one second.’

  ‘Don’t . . .’

  It was a whisper and he bent his head. ‘What?’

  ‘You loved me before—’ She took a tortured breath. ‘Before this . . .’ She touched her cheek.

  ‘Your face?’ It was incredulous. ‘You think that, or anything, could stop me loving you? The scars will fade but I’m sure you have been told that. My love won’t fade. It hasn’t over the last painfully long years, much as I’ve tried to make it so. Abigail’ – he brought her hand to his lips for a second and she shuddered at the touch – ‘your grandfather and brother, my father, all of that, does it still hold sway over any possibility of a future together? I know we have a hundred things to say to each other but I need to know that first. Does it?’

  She had been so stupid. She gazed at him, at his dear handsome face. She had known long before Dunkirk that she had made the wrong decision when she had sent him away but she had clung to it, knowing it was far too late and it would have made a mockery of her life if she had admitted the truth. Through her own foolishness she had lost him. Rachel had said regarding her decision to enlist as a QA that she had to follow her own star; perhaps it had been that which had opened her eyes. And then Dunkirk with all its horror, the carnage and loss of life, had further strengthened the little inner voice deep inside that wouldn’t be silenced, a voice that had said that her grandfather and Robin, Nicholas’s father, society, weren’t so important as the love she and Nicholas had shared. If her grandfather and brother and the farm folk had turned against her because she had fallen in love with someone they didn’t approve of, then that would have been sad but it was Nicholas who mattered. But the belief had come too late, or so she had thought. Now she had been given a second chance. Against all the odds, she had been given a second chance.

  Her voice breaking, she whispered, ‘I love you. I’ve always loved you and there has never been anyone else. I was so wrong to let anything or anyone part us, I know that now and—’

  Her words were lost as his arms, telling of his hunger, crushed her into him as his mouth took hers.

  It was much later when John and a very tipsy Delia came in search of them and, having found them wrapped in each other’s arms and oblivious to the world, tiptoed away again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next few weeks were the happiest of Abby’s life despite knowing Nicholas was worried about a possible Japanese invasion. Nothing could dampen her joy, and like the other QAs she comforted herself with the fact that the powers that be didn’t seem unduly concerned. In fact one officer, accused of spreading alarm and despondency by voicing the sort of views that Nicholas held, had been imprisoned for a term, his commanding officer declaring that invasion was not ‘on the cards’ as the man had stated. And the Geneva Convention would protect medical staff, the QA nurses said to each other umpteen times when the situation was discussed, along with any wounded and POWs. Internati
onal law would be respected, everyone knew that.

  Abby just lived for the time she spent with Nicholas when they were off duty, a time they spent alone together because every moment was too precious to share with anyone else. And when he was with her, for her sake Nicholas tried to hide his growing fear that they were living on borrowed time.

  He wasn’t alone now in believing that the Japanese were on the verge of hostilities; even John had come round to the idea. Churchill’s pledge in the middle of November when he’d warned Japan that if she went to war with the US, a British declaration of war would follow within the hour, had further sealed Hong Kong’s fate, the men felt. And it was clear that the island was chronically short of experienced soldiers and equipment, and any stand against the Japanese would be militarily unsustainable.

  At the end of November, a rumour – believed to be true – swept round the officers’ club. It was murmured that Major General Maltby, Hong Kong’s commanding officer, had been told by Churchill that if an attack came, British prestige in Asia had to be maintained at all cost. This meant the garrison would be expected to fight to the death. It wasn’t comforting, but it was believable.

  It threw Nicholas into further torment. He didn’t mind so much for himself, but the thought that Abby was in such danger and he couldn’t protect her was unbearable.

  In the first week of December, with US–Japan relations deteriorating further, Nicholas went to see the commanding officer he reported directly to. He had a special request that he knew the lieutenant colonel wouldn’t look kindly on, but the two men had become friends when Nicholas had fought to save the lieutenant colonel’s leg from being amputated when it had become infected after an accident the year before. The two men had a frank, off-the-record talk, at the end of which Nicholas felt his worst fears had been confirmed. But he had the piece of paper he had requested. He left the lieutenant colonel’s office and found the military chaplain, and from there he went to find Abby.