Chapter Eleven

News

Peter Robinson : September 1939
It was quiet in the little cottage we had rented. I climbed the stairs to the single bedroom. Victoria was still asleep. This was unusual, for the five days we had been together in the Scottish Highlands, she had been up at dawn every day to go for her first run. I had got up a couple of mornings and tried to keep up with her. But by the Wednesday, I had decided to stay in bed a little longer and then have breakfast ready when she came back. I liked to keep fit, but five or ten miles before breakfast is carrying things a little far.
Last night had been different. For a change, we had gone to a little restaurant a couple of miles away, instead of the local pub. After dinner, when the moment felt right, I took a deep breath and made my marriage proposal to her. Victoria's answer had taken me totally by surprise. Without hesitation she crushed all my hopes with a single caustic, ‘NO!’
I didn't understand at all. For the three months after we met we had been conducting a passionate affair. We had spent every moment I could sneak away from the airfield, together. We had done everything we could together, shows in London, art galleries, museums, walks in the country. And sex, we seemed to fit together perfectly. I was by no means a virgin before Victoria, but our lovemaking was wonderful beyond anything I had ever experienced.
Yet, most of all, our relationship was a meeting of minds. We talked for hours about anything and everything. In no time at all, I had fallen very deeply in love with her. Perhaps because of her beauty, perhaps because of the quirks of her personality, but mostly because it just felt right to be with her.
Most of our walk back to the cottage was in a silence stonier than the path we were walking. I couldn't understand her position at all. Finally, back at the cottage I had asked, ‘Why?’
‘You need to find someone else. You need to find someone uncomplicated, and unspoiled by the world.’
‘You are the most flawless person I have ever known.’
‘No I am not! If I stay with you, in the end I would only ruin everything we have.’
I am afraid to say we fought, both of us ranted at each other. Then, somehow, we found ourselves in each other's arms. We made love fiercely, passionately, but finally when we finished, Victoria burst into racking sobs. She cried wordlessly for I don't know how long. I didn't know what to do so I simply held her as she shook. Then finally she fell into a deep sleep.
For a change, it was I who rose in the dawn mist. I walked to a nearby loch and found a kind of peace, skipping stones across the still, dark, water. But all diversions run their course and now I was back in the bedroom, looking at the mysterious girl who had stolen my heart.
The morning sunlight played over Victoria's sleeping form. She had thrown back the sheet as she slept, exposing her breast. No sculptor could have captured the beauty of her form, but it was her face that really caught my attention. In her sleep she was perfectly relaxed and her face was like that of a serene angel. I felt my breath catch in my throat, maybe she was right. How could I ever expect to capture such a heavenly creature? Surely she must be an angel come to earth.
I sat on edge of the bed and brushed a golden wisp from her face, then I bent to kiss her cheek. She stirred and opened her eyes. ‘Peter?’
‘Yes, my sweet, it is getting late.’
She rolled away from me. In a fluid motion she was out of the bed and standing naked. Without any kind of shame, she stood looking out of the window. A moment passed as she leant on the frame looking away towards the loch.
I stayed on the bed, I must admit, admiring her slim waist and firm bottom, and at the same time dreading what she would say. ‘I am sorry Peter. I never meant to hurt you.’
‘Does that mean…?’
She turned, her face wore an imploring look, ‘It is not that I do not feel affection, no even love, love, for you, but I am confused und frightened. I have been desired for what I look like.’
I am sure I blushed, and I dropped my eyes. ‘And for my wealth, und I have been hurt before, and so I fear your motivation. I fear why you want me. I have seen the worst that men can be, und I do not know how to trust any more.’
I was crushed. All I could utter was. ‘I don't understand.’
‘Please, do not hate me. I am… I do not even know if I can trust myself. And I loved, love another, and whatever I feel for you, my heart is still broken.’
‘So you will not marry me?’
‘No, not now, maybe not ever.’
No, such a little word, but striking with the force of a bludgeon. I felt like my heart was crushed to a useless pulp. I slumped onto the bed and repeated. ‘I don't understand.’
‘Don't hate me.’
‘I don't hate you, I love you.’
‘Ach, Peter,’ Victoria crossed over to me and hugged my face to her chest, ‘I do love you. But I need to first understand myself, to be sure of myself. Somehow I must let go of my grief. Until I do that, I am not able, not fit, to be your wife.’

It was mid day as we entered the village pub. Victoria and I had made a truce. I had been terrified she would reject me entirely, but for now we would go on as we had been. I only partially understood her inner turmoil, but I made it plain that I would wait forever if necessary.
The pub was a typical country affair. We entered a small dark room stained with smoke from the large open fireplace set in one wall. As we had found, on our previous visits, the innkeeper was not the almost obligatory plump, jolly, man. He was a tall, thin, middle-aged fellow, who limped around the pub with a sour expression. He looked as if he had been badly let down by the world. Yet, we had found him pleasant enough over the time we had been coming there.
Today if anything, his air was even more forbidding than usual. He stood behind the bar scowling and wiping glasses. There was a small group of locals talking in subdued voices. They also had been politely tolerant of the Sassenach strangers over the past week.
But on that morning, as we entered, you could have cut the air with a knife. Baleful stares were directed at us. A big man stepped towards us. ‘You lot aren't welcome here any longer.’
I was taken aback, ‘I'm sorry, I don't understand.’
The man scowled. ‘They've done it, your girlfriend’s lot, those bastards have done it.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The Germans, they've invaded Poland.’
Victoria swayed, grabbing my shoulder. ‘When?’ I asked.
‘Just this morning, before first light.’
Victoria grabbed my shirt almost frantically, ‘Verdammung! Ist es die Tschechoslowakei wieder? Nicht Tschechoslowakei wieder!.’
I turned to her ignoring the locals, ‘No, it will not be Czechoslovakia all over again.’
‘Würden nicht England zwischen zwei stühlen sitzen wieder?’
All eyes in the room seemed to be boring into Victoria. Seeing some thunderous looks on the faces of the customers, I said nervously. ‘Speak English.’
Abruptly, I was pushed aside. A fat, red faced, man bawled at Victoria, ‘Get out of here, you bloody Hun! Your sort aren’t welcome here!’
Victoria looked startled, almost frightened. I prepared to have to fight to get her out. Suddenly, there was a crash as the innkeeper slammed a glass down on the bar. ‘I'll not have that in here, Andrew McLeod.’
The fat man turned, a surprised look on his face. The innkeeper went on, ‘I've more reason to hate Germans than any here. Leave the lass alone!’
He paused, frowning at his customers, daring them to disagree with him. The fat man stepped back looking sheepish. The publican turned to Victoria. ‘If you don't like the company in here, lass, you can take your boyfriend round into the lounge. I'll be in to serve you in a moment.’
We sat ourselves in the lounge. I must say, I was more than half inclined to simply run for it. After a moment, the Innkeeper came in with his usual pronounced limp. He tapped his leg. ‘This is a tin affair. Left my leg on the Somme in 1916.’
Victoria stood and to my surprise she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you, you do not know how much your kindness means to me.’
The Innkeeper blushed, ‘There lass, you'll be getting Mrs. MacDougal down on me. I've talked to you and your young man enough to know you are no Nazi.’
‘No, not a Nazi.’
‘Nonetheless lass, if there is going to be a war you might find it safer at home. Some nasty things happened to Germans here in the last war.’


With the help of the Innkeeper, we managed to get a car that took us back to the cottage to pack our gear, and then to the nearest station. Getting a train to Edinburgh from there was not difficult. But from Edinburgh there were no tickets to be had on any trains going south.
It was not until the following morning we finally caught a train. We spent a tense night in a hotel. Victoria paced the floor for most of the night. She was terrified by the possibility that Britain and France would turn their backs on Poland, like they had done to Czechoslovakia only a few months before. Once on the train she finally slept, leaning on my shoulder for much of the trip.
We parted at Kings Cross Station. Victoria had to go across to Paddington to catch a train for Oxford, while I had to make my way back to my Squadron. I found it very hard putting her in the taxi. Her distraught face looked very pale, through the window of the cab, as it disappeared into the London traffic.