The Postcard by Leah Fleming Read Free Book Online Page A

set in gold.
    ‘Blue to match your eyes, and diamonds for our love to last forever. You like it?’
    ‘I love it. Thank you . . .’ But try as she might to get it on, the ring was too small. Tears of disappointment filled her eyes. ‘It’s so sparkly, so lovely, but my
knuckles are swollen . . .’ she cried.
    ‘We can get it stretched. You’re my girl now, Phoebe Faye.’
    ‘Phoebe Boardman’s my real name. Phoebe Annie Boardman. Nothing’s real in the theatre.’
    ‘You are real to me whatever your given name. Now I can go back knowing you’ll be waiting for me.’
    ‘You didn’t need to buy a ring for me to do that. You mustn’t tell anyone yet. I can’t do the concerts at the Front if they think I have a personal connection to anyone
there. I have to do my bit. I just want to be useful.’ She drank in his drawn cheeks and his tired eyes.
    ‘Of course you do. We’ll keep it a secret between the two of us and then next leave we’ll get married. Look, I’ve got to get the train from Waterloo at six. You will see
me off?’
    They returned to his room at the Cavendish and locked the door. How quickly those precious hours sped by until it was time to dress and make their way to the crowded station, full of troops and
anxious women amongst the bustle of steam, smoke, commuting office workers and uniforms of all hues.
    Phoebe clung onto his arm, wishing the ring now on her pinkie finger was on her left hand for all to admire. She’d been foolish not to have her finger measured but that didn’t matter
now.
    ‘Don’t stay too long on the platform. I want to remember you smiling. Write soon and often; I don’t know how long it’ll be before my next leave . . .’Arthur looked
down at her. ‘It’s been everything I dreamed of and more. Don’t let’s ever quarrel again, my dearest Phoebe.’
    ‘Please stay safe for me . . . Don’t take any risks . . . I couldn’t bear to lose you now,’ she cried as they clung to each other until the whistle blew and he had to
jump into an open carriage. She followed him, waving, right to the end of the platform where she stood until the last puff of steam had vanished. It was dark and the moon shone bright in a starry
sky. She lingered, unable to tear herself away from that sacred spot.
    ‘Come on, miss, time to go,’ said a platform porter. ‘He’ll be back before long.’
    Phoebe shivered, reluctantly picking her frozen feet off the cold stone and making her way back through crowds of weeping women to the station entrance. She paused outside, suddenly feeling that
utter loneliness of being alone in a crowd. I must keep busy, she thought, turning to see the time on the Waterloo Clock. If she took a cab she might still make the show . . .
    How different the capital looks when you are in love, Phoebe thought the next morning. Everything around her seemed brighter and cheerier, much less drab. Every uniform she saw
in the street reminded her of Arthur. She wanted to shout her happiness from the rooftops, but she just hugged it around herself like a fur coat. This is my precious secret, she told herself, as
she hid the blue leather box with her ring inside at the back of her underwear drawer. She would tell everyone the good news, but not just yet. Just for the moment this secret was hers alone.
    She woke from her reverie with tears streaming down her face. They had never met face to face again and after Arthur’s death she never looked at another man. It was as if
he’d been her one chance of happiness until Fate tore him from her. She’d no desire ever to be hurt like that again. Theirs was a generous, passionate love, enough to last a lifetime.
Now, all her ambition and yearnings must be channelled into Caroline’s future, no matter what.
    Meeting Marthe on the station had been awkward and for a moment she thought the nursemaid might give the game away she looked so upset. Once the letter giving her notice was sent, there was no
turning back.