We'll meet again

The shocked expression on her face turned to dismay. She had decided that Richard was the man for me and eligible in every way.

"Has he just told you?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"He told me in London. It was the night of the air raid. It was a disaster. She is going to divorce him on the grounds of adultery... with me.”

Her expression changed to one of horror.

"It is quite false," I said quickly. "There has never been adultery... I think not with anyone, certainly not with me.”

I explained about the flat and the suppers and how he had always known I was waiting for Jowan. I left out nothing; I told her about his wife's visit to the teashop which had puzzled me at the time, though now I knew why she had come.

"Good heavens!" my mother cried. "I don't believe this of Richard.

He is the last person .

"People often do unexpected things.”

"I should not have thought Richard would. But... er... when it is over, Richard will be free and ...”

"He has asked me to marry him then.”

"It would be best," she said. "Mind you, there wouldn't be much talk about this. In wartime these things are trivial.”

"Richard says she is a socialite and that her actions are reported in the gossip columns so there could be some publicity.”

"I see. And you might be mentioned. Well, these things happen.

If you marry him it would not seem so important.”

"I wouldn't want to marry him just because...”

"No, of course not. Well, we shall have to wait and see. I shall tell your father. He would know more about these things than we do. I saw that Richard was very upset.”

"He is, of course-mainly because he has involved me.”

"How do you feel about him, Violetta? You like him, don't you?”

"Yes. Very much.”

"And if it were not for Jowan...”

"I can't think of that. I still feel he will come back.”

She sighed, then smiled suddenly.

"Half the things one worries about never happen," she said. "This divorce, it might pass quietly. People are not as interested in that sort of thing as they used to be. There's a war on and we are not living in the Victorian age when everyone was so prim and prudish.

Don't worry. You've been through enough lately. I think this may be like a storm in a teacup. I am sure your father will agree with me.

I'm glad you came home for a while. It will all come right, I am sure.

So try and get a good night's rest.”

"I certainly feel better now that I have told you," I said.

She kissed me tenderly and waited until I was in bed. Then she tucked me in, as she used to when I was very young.

My parents were wonderful during those days. Dorabella came for weekends, which was helpful. There had been no news of Richard's divorce and Dorabella said: "That sort of thing is happening all the time. I doubt we shall hear any more of it.”

Richard was still declared unfit for active service and the war was progressing satisfactorily for the Allies.

Paris had been liberated and General de Gaulle was now there.

General Montgomery, speaking to the men in northwest France, said the end was in sight and we must finish it off in record time.

It was August and we had had almost five years of war. Surely, I thought, if Jowan were alive I should have heard something by now?

I knew my mother was most concerned about my future and I guessed it was the main topic between her and my father. They had both been dismayed to hear that Richard had made a hasty wartime marriage which was in the process of being dissolved. It was out of character for him, but they had both decided that he was the best husband for me, though they had considered Gordon. Gordon was an honest, upright man, but he had a mad mother; also he was something of an enigma. So they had set their hearts on Richard, for I was sure they had long ago made up their minds that it was unlikely that Jowan would come back.

Even I was beginning to wonder. The time was passing. The invasion of France had begun in June and it was now nearly September.

Hope was beginning to fade. Should I be one of those sad women who lose their lovers during the war and spend the rest of their lives grieving?

It was the third of September-the fifth anniversary of the war.

Everywhere the Allies were triumphant and this was a day of prayer throughout the country.

We were dining early because Dorabella was with us and would return to London that evening. My father was saying: "It cannot last much longer. Our forces are only forty miles from Brussels and the French and Americans are in Lyons. This is great progress.”

Then the telephone rang. Dorabella was on her feet first. "I'll get it," she said.

In a few seconds she came back.

"It's Mrs. Jermyn from Cornwall. She wants to speak to Violetta.”

My heart was pounding. Could it be news at last?

My mother glanced at me anxiously, fearful that I should be disappointed.

I dashed to the telephone.

"Violetta," Mrs. Jermyn's voice was breathless. "I've had news.”

"Jowan...”

"Yes, dear. He's in this country. I've just had a call. They told me he was here ... and he was on the telephone. I've spoken to him. He's coming home!”