Happy Birthday: Part Twenty-Five

~ beetleypete

This is the twenty-fifth part of a fiction serial, in 789 words.

Once she got into the routine at Cragie House, Hettie settled in well. She wrote to Edward every week, as telephone calls were discouraged except in emergencies. The return address was obviously imaginary, but by some slight-of-hand devised between the security services and the Post Office, they were diverted to the training camp.

Her letters were full of made up trivia concerning her cover story, and she found herself inventing ficticious female colleagues and giving him descriptions of repetitive and boring food that they were served. For his part Edward’s replies were brief, and usually on a postcard. He would mention how the shops were doing, and say he was keeping well.

Captain Holland had learned Morse very quickly, and when she passed him out of the class, it was obvious he would now be sent on a mission. The Polish officer had disappeared soon after she met him, and had never been in any of her classes. No doubt he had been dropped into Eastern Europe already.

One evening after dinner, Hettie was relaxing in her room when there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find Dominic Holland clutching a bottle of whisky, and unsteady on his feet.

“Dearest Henrietta, I have received my posting for parachute training. Who knows when we will ever meet again? Will you join me in a farewell drink, lovely lady?” Although she liked him, Hettie was outraged. She told him she was a married woman, and she was not about to have a man in her room, especially not one who was so obviously drunk. He grinned at her, not really listening. “Not even one little drinkie for old time’s sake?”

Realising he wasn’t going to leave willingly, she closed the door in his face and locked it. That was the last time she ever saw him.

Over the next few weeks, the students came and went with such regularity that she found it hard to still remember their faces. Nervous young women about to embark on perilous missions, strong determined men who might be heading out to act as saboteurs or assassins. She never knew what they would be doing, or where they would be going, and that lack of continuity was at first unsatisfying, but eventually welcome. She discovered that she didn’t want to know their fate.

That summer didn’t feel very summery. Constant rain and chilly winds stopped Hettie walking the grounds, her only escape from the hemmed-in feeling of not being able to leave the house. She turned back to books, allowed to borrow anything from the extensive library that was still maintained on the ground floor of the vast mansion.

Many of the books were very old, and she explored Chaucer, and the plays of Shakespeare, struggling at first with the unusual words and phrases. As the season changed to winter, the house became snowbound, and she would sit by the window of her room marvelling at the history plays that were teaching her so much about the country she was born in.

That Christmas, she was given ten days leave. After so long away, she was starting to dread being back in Greenwich with Edward. What would they talk about? She would have to be on her guard all the time, careful not to mention the house, and to say nothing at all about her real job. It seemed to her that only single women should have been chosen. It was just too difficult to juggle marital repsonsibilities with a life of secrecy.

She was surprised how old he looked. The rather ridiculous moustache had grown to resemble something from a much earlier time, and his hair was starting to fall out, with a round bald spot at the back looking pale and reminding her of a monk. He had employed an elderly widow to do cleaning and cooking for him on a daily basis, so the house was clean and tidy. There was no need to worry about keeping her secrets though, as typically, Edward only had two topics of conversation. The business, and his desire to move to the suburbs once the war was over.

The old Edward was still in there somewhere though. He had hand-crafted a beautiful leather holdall for her as a Christmas gift, and that really touched her. She had nothing to offer in return, as there was no access to any shops where she had come from. He told her it didn’t matter. “My best present is having you home again, dear Het, even for such a short time”.

Excusing herself for a while, Hettie had to sit on the bed as tears flowed. He had been so nice, but she didn’t want to be there.

27 thoughts on “Happy Birthday: Part Twenty-Five”

  3. One has grown, while the other remains stagnant. Can this marriage be saved? Should it even? Doubtful. Hettie seems so lonely right now. Nobody came through the war unscathed, and methinks Hettie won’t, either, but … we already know she lives a long life, hopefully a mostly happy one.

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  5. (1) Santa Claus is well known for sleigh-of-hand flights.
    (2) Hettie found herself inventing fictitious female colleagues. “I had lunch yesterday with Rosie the Riveter. Afterwards, she said, ‘I have to head to the shipyard now.’ You should have seen Rosie bolt out the door!”
    (3) Hettie was relaxing in her room when there came a series of knuckle taps and fingernail scratches, with a pause here and there, on the door.
    .–. .-.. . .- … . / .-.. . – / — . / -.-. — — . / .. -. .-.-.-
    (Morse code for: “Please let me come in.”)
    (4) Captain Holland dropped in for a drink. Hettie smiles and said, “Nice of you to drop in. But if you want to have a drink with me, you’ll have to fold your parachute first!”
    (5) Overheard:
    Hettie: “Where are you going?”
    Nervous Young Woman: “To a German’s officer’s bed.”
    Hettie: “Well, good luck then! And how about the two of you?”
    Strong Determined Man #1: “To an early grave.”
    Strong Determined Man #2: “I’m with him.”
    Hettie: “Sounds rather depressing. Maybe a few drinks on the battlefield will lift your spirits?”
    (6) Hettie sat by the window one night reading Chaucer. Inspired by “The Miller’s Tale,” she opened the window, stuck her backside out the privy vent, and waited for someone to come by and kiss her ass in the dark.
    (7) Edward had grown a rather ridiculous mustache. It was so long that it rivaled Rapunzel’s hair in length. Hettie had to be careful not to trip over it as it trailed behind Edward through the rooms of the house. Hettie shook her head, and sighed, “I swear to God, living with this mustache is a real drag!”
    (8) Hettie never took a shine to Edward’s bald head. However, she ragged him a bit for losing his hair.

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  7. No illicit romance for Hettie! Not an easy life for her, good thing she has the solace of reading. Poor Edward needs to move out to the suburbs and enjoy having a garden, becoming the traditional suburban male, probably getting a little car which he will wash every weekend!

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