When Robins Sing

© 2013 by Paul Taylor. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/26/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-9733-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-9732-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-9734-4 (e)

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Contents

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

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9

10

11

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About the Book

For 'Poppy' forever my muse, with all my love.

Prologue

A s she had every night since his return, Estelle awoke and lay there listening to her husband’s breathing. Still not believing he was lying there beside her, she searched for his hand and gently stroked the burnt fingers as she said a silent prayer of thanks for the miracle that had delivered him from certain death. She knew that she was one of the lucky few, the wife of an airman who had returned alive. Although he had come home a broken and changed man, he had come home, and for this she would be eternally grateful.

Estelle felt the tears well up as her thoughts drifted to her beloved father, who hadn’t made it back, the career soldier who had survived the First World War only to be cruelly taken by the Second. He had died in some strange and faraway place that was just a spot on a map to them all, which had left her mother a lost and desolate soul. There were no remains, no burial plot for her mother to visit. Her only links to him now were the medals and photographs that adorned the sideboard together with his letters, neatly tied in a bundle, which she doubted her mother ever read.

The image of her smiling father on her wedding day burned vividly in Estelle’s mind’s eye as she relived every precious moment of a day that had turned out to be his parting gift to her. How perfect everything had been. It was as if the war had ended, her men folk were safe and sound, and the world had returned to normal. And now?

As she fought the tangled web of emotions criss-crossing her mind, the still of the night was broken by a strangled cry as her husband’s demons rose once more. He began to twist and turn, and Estelle steeled herself as the nightly battle for sanity began. It always followed the same pattern, and at first she had tried to wake him, but to no avail. The calling out for lost comrades was followed by the screaming and yelling of a badly injured man trying to escape the blazing inferno that he was trapped in; and she gently held his trembling, frightened body, the perspiration running in rivers as he lay there reliving his terrible nightmare.

The RAF doctors had told her there was no quick release from this trauma—only time could heal his mind, but his injuries were another matter. He’d spent four months in the hospital, where his shattered legs had been rebuilt and his burns treated, and now it was her turn to continue the healing process by cajoling him into fighting the despair and the pain and giving him a reason to live. As for his sight, that was something beyond them all. They’d been told there was no damage to any part of the optic nerve, and there appeared to be no physical reason for his blindness: his sight might or might not return, and if it did, it could be a partial or total recovery. So for the moment—and Estelle only thought of it as that—she was both his crutch and his eyes.

‘Estelle!’ The trembling was subsiding, the nightmare retreating, and as always his first word was for her, a loud cry from the heart that always reduced her to jelly.

‘It’s all right, Duncan. I’m here.’ She wanted so much to hold him tight to her, squeeze all the hurt from him and banish the demons, but his body was still too tender from the burns. Instead, all she could do was caress his face and kiss his brow, all the while gently whispering words of love as he slowly returned to her.

‘Is it morning yet, Essie?’

She knew he was back when he called her that.

‘Almost, my darling. Listen, Duncan, can you hear that birdsong? That’s our robin telling us it’s time to get up and take another step forward. Maybe we could go out in the car today?’

She tried to sound jolly and bouncy, as if this were some bright, new idea she had just thought of, but she knew deep down what his response would be.

‘Will you get me to the loo, darling?’ As always, he quickly changed the subject, and Estelle got up and fetched the wheelchair from the hall.

The pain was written across his face as she gently eased him up from the bed and, swivelling his legs over the side, guided him into the chair. Tears ran down Duncan’s cheeks as the effort, combined with the after-effects of the nightmare, overtook him once again, and Estelle tenderly brushed them away as she pushed him down the hallway.

1

W hether the reason was her new-found freedom or the novelty of living in a large town, Estelle did not know, but life at the teaching hospital was twenty-four-hour-a-day happiness. Not that she had been unhappy before, but here she had discovered a whole new world of sights to see and places to visit, and her every day was an exciting step into the unknown. Despite the customary late nights, she greeted each morning with an enthusiasm that was infectious to all her fellow students.

Medicine wasn’t in the family blood. All her ancestors on both sides had had a military history, but for as long as she could remember, she had wanted to be a doctor, and she followed the dream to the exclusion of everything else in her life. Her days were full of learning, and her nights—despite a stream of men falling at her feet declaring undying love for her—were mostly spent revising. She quickly learned that medical student life was as much about having a good time as the pursuit of the Hippocratic oath, and she had smoked her first cigarette, which she had found repulsive, and drunk alcohol, which was something she decided she could take or leave. Her virginity was still intact.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like partying or men; there just weren’t enough hours in a day, as far as she was concerned, to combine learning and loving. Whether it was something to do with her strict upbringing or the relentless pursuit of her dream, she wasn’t quite certain, but these were all things that didn’t bother her unduly. In fact, nothing bothered Estelle. Even the war that was raging all around her was taken in stride with a smile as the goalposts drew nearer and nearer.

Then one morning her calm, disciplined world took a sudden and decisive turn. Estelle entered the lecture hall to be confronted by a new professor, who introduced himself to the students simply as Wilbert Richards. Tall, dark, and handsome—that hackneyed phrase had never been more apt, Estelle mused, and he had a smile that illuminated the auditorium.

His tutorial was innovative, and Estelle hung on his every word, spellbound and thirsting for more. The man himself was so magnetic she had difficulty concentrating on the subject matter. She spent the rest of the day and most of the night trying to shut him out of her thoughts, but it was impossible. Her excitement at the prospect of the next day’s lecture saw to that, and the dawn arrived before she realised the night had passed. Foregoing breakfast to be first into the auditorium, she sat mesmerised once more as Wilbert lived up to all her expectations. Estelle was now hopelessly and forever smitten, but where did she go from here?

A week passed, a week in which each day was a living torment for her. Just when she felt she had summoned up enough courage to confront him, he called her aside one morning after a lecture and asked if she would like to join him that night for a drink. She accepted without giving it another thought. There was no space left in her world, and certainly no place for a Wilbert Richards, but she’d already decided that no matter the sacrifice, she would somehow find the time to squeeze him into her twenty-four hours.

He took her to a pretty little pub full of brass rubbings and oak beams with a huge open fire, but its charm was lost on Estelle—she only had eyes for the man sitting next to her. She just sat there that first night hypnotized as he wove a web of tropical heaven around her, her whole disciplined existence instantly evaporating into thin air—and, what was more, she didn’t care!

Wilbert transported her to another world, a Caribbean paradise which seemed almost unreal to her, so different was it from the madness that was Britain at war. He was unlike any man she had ever known. As his gentle West Indian accent related tales of sun-drenched days spent by a crystal-clear sea, she felt all her suppressed feelings bursting to the surface.

It transpired that Wilbert was a surgeon from St Lucia. He had come to England primarily to teach medicine but, because of his ancestry, felt a need to contribute to the war effort and was awaiting his call-up. His father had emigrated from England to St Lucia in search of a challenge. He and his first wife were both doctors who had gone there as part of the British government’s programme to raise the standard of health care in the British Commonwealth and had been very successful in their separate careers. Unfortunately, the good life which had been their way proved their downfall. A world of partying and various other social events resulted in the wife running off with the third secretary from the British High Commission. Wilbert’s father had then married a local girl, who had given birth to Wilbert.

All too soon the spell was broken for Estelle by the ringing of the bell for last orders. She soon found herself confronting the reality of a wet spring night as Wilbert walked her back to her digs, he still weaving his magic, she fighting the internal dictates of her body.

They were to go out together a couple more times, and each time it was more difficult for Estelle to let go of the man on her doorstep. Then one morning Wilbert invited her to spend the weekend at his cottage. For Estelle it was the icing on the cake.

By Friday lunchtime Estelle’s excitement at the weekend ahead had reached fever pitch. A very significant moment in her life was on the horizon, and she couldn’t wait for it to happen. Wilbert had asked her after the morning’s lecture where she would like to go, and her rather limp reply had been, ‘I don’t know—you surprise me.’ She wasn’t quite sure what to expect but was almost certain it would be a quick drink at a local pub and straight back to his place and into bed. This fantasy ran riot in her imagination, and she found herself willing the time away, continually looking out of the flat window, searching for a sight of his car coming down the road.

However, Wilbert surprised her by driving out of town into the countryside. The continual rain of the past week had finally succumbed to the sunshine. Tiny patches of thin, wispy cloud peppered the blue sky, and Estelle sat there entranced by the beautiful panorama passing her by. Their destination turned out to be not a pub but a country mansion hotel where Wilbert was received like royalty.

How many women has he brought here? Estelle found herself wondering as they were led into the restaurant, and Wilbert must have been reading her mind.

‘I stayed here for three weeks until I found the cottage. The food is exquisite and the service second to none.’

It really was the most luxurious place Estelle had ever been. The restaurant was wall-to-wall white linen with bouquets of mixed spring flowers splashing their colour on each table, the silver cutlery and crystal glasses glinting in the late evening sun.

‘It’s beautiful, Wilbert. What a lovely surprise,’ she replied breathlessly as a flock of waiters scurried around her while Wilbert conducted the proceedings with a smile here and a nod there.

There was a war going on, but you wouldn’t have thought so. Everything on the menu was available, and with Wilbert’s guidance, Estelle made her choice. During the meal Wilbert told her about his training in America and how one day he would like to return there to work in one of the big city hospitals in Florida. He was opening up a world full of possibilities that would be available to her once she had qualified, and Estelle already imagined herself on a ship leaving Southampton waters with Wilbert standing on the deck beside her. It was a magical evening that she hoped would never end, but all too soon for Estelle the wonderful meal was over and the table cleared away.

They took their coffee in the lounge, only faintly aware of the pianist in the corner playing Ivor Novello. The other diners faded into obscurity as they sat there, fingers entwined, smiling contentedly at each other. Estelle now did most of the talking. She told him about her home village of Pendlethorpe, her parents, her dreams, her happiness at finding the man sitting next to her. On the drive home very little was said. Estelle passed the journey leaning on Wilbert’s shoulder, the electric anticipation running between them filling the car.

Estelle entered the cottage without any feelings of misgiving and, dropping her baggage, threw herself into Wilbert’s outstretched arms the minute the front door closed behind them. They stayed that way for what seemed an eternity before they disentangled themselves and Wilbert took her hand and led her up the stairs.

Wilbert was calm, his every movement a ballet in slow motion. Any inhibitions Estelle had instantly rolled away as he casually undressed and lay on top of the bed smiling at her, his coffee-coloured skin shining in the bedside light, his hand held out towards her. She had bought a new nightdress for the occasion but didn’t even bother to take it out of her case. Undressing, she took his outstretched hand and kissed his fingers and then lay down beside him as he turned towards her.

They said nothing. The forces of nature didn’t leave time for words as Wilbert rolled on top of her and gently took away her virginity. The moment of pain was quickly dispelled as the pleasure took over, and Wilbert’s gentle rhythm led her to unimaginable joy. There were moments of sleep in between the love-making, but they were few and far between, and they greeted the dawn still entwined in each other’s arms.

From that first night, Estelle’s every spare moment became filled with loving. Her worst fears were realised as her studies started to take second place in her life, and it was only thanks to Wilbert that she didn’t abandon them completely. He continually urged her on, putting her feet back on the ground when she got carried away by the magic of her new-found world, constantly reminding her that her chosen vocation was more important than anything else in life. Although she found it difficult not to show any affection towards him at the hospital, Wilbert was the complete professional: he was always the tutor, she the student, and for this she loved him even more.

The weeks rolled into months, their loving fuelled by the thought that he could soon be gone from her, but when the parting came it was nothing like she had envisaged. There was no last meal together, no last night of loving or tearful farewell, just a letter pinned to the bedroom door of the cottage when she arrived one morning. His call-up had come through, and he hadn’t had the heart to tell her to her face, but that news paled into insignificance as she stood rooted to the spot, fighting the tears as she read what followed:

There is no point in giving you excuses for my behaviour, or to beat about the bush, but you and I have no future together, and it’s better that we finish now. Please try and understand that I didn’t set out to use you. Everything just got out of hand, and I have genuinely fallen in love with you—that’s the truth. However, I have been lying to you throughout. I apologise for breaking this to you in this way, but I am married with three children back home in St Lucia, and although I have searched my heart to discover my true feelings, all along deep down I have known that I could never leave my family.

You must not let this spoil your dream: go on and finish your studies. You will make a great doctor and, one day, someone a perfect wife. You will always be in my heart.

Wilbert

Every imaginable feeling swept through Estelle’s mind as she slumped on the bed and wept. She’d given every ounce of her body and soul to this man,