Also by the Author
CORONET AMONG THE WEEDS
LUCINDA
CORONET AMONG THE GRASS
THE BUSINESS
IN SUNSHINE OR IN SHADOW
STARDUST
NANNY
CHANGE OF HEART
GRAND AFFAIR
LOVE SONG
THE KISSING GARDEN
THE BLUE NOTE
SUMMERTIME
DISTANT MUSIC
THE MAGIC HOUR
FRIDAY'S GIRL
OUT OF THE BLUE
IN DISTANT FIELDS
THE WHITE MARRIAGE
GOODNIGHT SWEETHEART
THE ENCHANTED
THE LAND OF SUMMER
THE DAISY CLUB
The Belgravia series
BELGRAVIA
COUNTRY LIFE
AT HOME
BY INVITATION
The Nightingale series
TO HEAR A NIGHTINGALE
THE NIGHTINGALE SINGS
The Debutantes series
DEBUTANTES
THE SEASON
The Eden series
DAUGHTERS OF EDEN
THE HOUSE OF FLOWERS
The Bexham trilogy
THE CHESTNUT TREE
THE WIND OFF THE SEA
THE MOON AT MIDNIGHT
Novels with Terence Brady
VICTORIA
VICTORIA AND COMPANY
ROSE'S STORY
YES HONESTLY
Television Drama Series with Terence Brady
TAKE THREE GIRLS
UPSTAIRS DOWNSTAIRS
THOMAS AND SARAH
NANNY
FOREVER GREEN
Television Comedy Series with Terence Brady
NO HONESTLY
YES HONESTLY
PIG IN THE MIDDLE
OH MADELINE! (USA)
FATHER MATTHEW'S DAUGHTER
Television Plays with Terence Brady
MAKING THE PLAY
SUCH A SMALL WORLD
ONE OF THE FAMILY
Films with Terence Brady
LOVE WITH A PERFECT STRANGER
MAGIC MOMENT
Stage Plays with Terence Brady
I WISH I WISH
THE SHELL SEEKERS
(adaptation from the novel by Rosamunde Pilcher)
BELOW STAIRS
For more information on Charlotte Bingham and her books,
see her website at www.charlottebingham.com
Contents
Cover
Copyright
Dedication
Also by Charlotte Bingham
Foreword
The Kissing Garden
Long Ago
Part One: 1919
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Part Two: 1926
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part Three: 1931
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Part Four: 1945
Chapter Twenty-Eight
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Published 1999 by Doubleday a division of Transworld Publishers Ltd Copyright © 1999 by Charlotte Bingham
The right of Charlotte Bingham to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988
All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 0385 410549
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For Terence
My inspiration
As always
Foreword
The idea for the Kissing Garden came to me when our house was being blessed, for it was then that I noticed that while every nook and cranny received a prayer, the garden is usually ignored. What spirits of the past danced and swayed beneath our ancient yews, I wondered? Whose were the initials on the old sundial? And so this book was born, perhaps influenced by some enchanted shade from long ago.
Hardway, 1998
The Kissing Garden
Charlotte Bingham
Long Ago
It was hedged on four sides, walled by dense evergreen in which robins nested and sweet-smelling columbine grew. From the inside it would appear there was no entrance to this most secret of places until the eye was drawn to one corner which seemed not to run perfectly true. Here in fact was the only entrance, a gap set behind a step in the growth like a small antechamber, wide enough to admit only one person at a time. Beyond these high green walls on three sides lay dense woodlands which in spring were carpeted with small white and blue-belled flowers and in winter were half buried in deep, enveloping snow. Beyond the fourth wall, the hedge containing the hidden entrance, a bank ran down to the edge of a lake which was surrounded by a forest of trees, while high in the skies above them larks sang and occasionally a great hawk could be seen hung suspended in motion.
It was here one misty autumn morning that they brought his body to his final resting place. They laid him to sleep below the ground on which he had once stood dreaming of their future, covering him with its rich earth. At that moment the birds in the dark woods stopped their song and the creatures hidden in the shadows of the trees abandoned their hunting. Only one bird sang, a robin: perched on long thin legs and puffing his beacon-like breast, he sent forth a thread of silvery sound that echoed over the russet landscape and hung in the quiet misty air.
Minutes later they took to the boat once more and started to make their silent way back across the lake. Halfway across one of the men held up a gauntleted hand and his companions stopped rowing, as the man in the prow took up somethin
g from the bottom of the boat, a glittering silver object which caught the pale rays of a sun that was now breaking through the October mist. For a moment he held the object high, until with the sunlight still glinting sharply on its silvered surface he dropped it over the side, watching silently with the rest as it disappeared into the black waters to settle far below them in the darkness. And from that time, as the lake closed its waters over its hidden treasure, no hail or rain, nor any snow fell on that sacred place, nor was any winter wind allowed to trumpet its triumph.
Part One
1919
‘When you are deluded and full of doubt, even a thousand books of scripture are not enough.’
Fen-Yang
One
He appeared out of the smoke as if from battle, standing to attention by the huge locomotive which had drawn the dozen teeming carriages into Midhurst station. Amelia felt her mother’s hand under her elbow tighten, preparing to restrain her from running towards him, and making some unseemly display. But she need not have bothered, for it was clear that he was neither looking at Amelia nor indeed for her. He was simply standing, as if still on the battlefield, his gaze fixed far over their heads.
‘George?’
Amelia heard Lady Dashwood call out suddenly from the group standing just ahead of her, then watched as she detached herself to hurry to her son’s side.
‘George, my dear, dear boy!’ she cried. ‘Home, home the warrior!’
With her own mother still holding her back, Amelia watched as Lady Dashwood stood on the tips of her toes to kiss her tall, handsome son on the cheek. She knew her mother was restraining her because it was not Amelia’s place to be the first to welcome George home. They had discussed the protocol on the journey to the railway station, much as if they were discussing the formalities of a social arrangement rather than the safe return from war of a man now loved by two families. And Amelia knew her mother’s directions were right, for although George Dashwood and Amelia Dennison had long ago promised each other they would marry, and although this fact was well known to both their families, they were still not officially engaged.
Even so, it was almost more than Amelia could bear just to stand and watch as the Dashwood family surrounded the man with whom she had been so longing to be reunited that she had been unable to sleep properly since she had learned the date of his return. All who loved George had lived for this moment but perhaps none so much as the dark-haired young woman who for four long years had prayed every night for the safe return of the childhood friend who she fervently hoped would soon be her husband. At this moment all she wanted was to do what she had dreamed of doing at this time, to run to George, put her arms round his neck and tell him how much she had missed him and how agonizing had been their separation, but instead she had to remain dutifully where she was, a dozen or so paces from where the uniformed General Dashwood had now come forward to welcome his only son.
‘Captain Dashwood,’ General Dashwood said, acknowledging his son as he might any of his junior officers.
‘Sir,’ George replied, raising his hand in salute.
‘I know that’s correct,’ Clarence Dennison sighed to his wife and daughter, safely out of earshot. ‘But hardly necessary, surely? After more than four years at the front? Could he not just shake hands? Hardly a court martial offence, I’d have thought, but then that’s General Dashers all over.’
‘Clarence,’ his wife sighed, taking his arm. ‘Not everyone is as demonstrative as you, my love. Particularly the military. And I think we’re about to be summoned.’
She nodded ahead, where Lady Dashwood had turned to face them, indicating with the index finger of one gloved hand that the Dennisons could now join the welcoming party.
‘Something’s the matter,’ Amelia whispered to her mother as they moved forward. ‘You can see it from her face.’
But it was at George, not Lady Dashwood, Amelia was looking so anxiously as she approached, for he still seemed to be staring into the distance somewhere over Amelia’s head, still not acknowledging her presence.
‘George?’ Lady Dashwood was saying, now with a definite note of anxiety in her voice, prompting Amelia to take a more measured look at the homecoming hero. ‘George, dear? Amelia is here, George. Do you see? Amelia and her parents.’
Lady Dashwood turned and all but imperceptibly shook her head at the Dennisons.
‘I’m afraid it might be proving a little too much just at this moment,’ she said with her back to George. ‘But then he was often like this as a small boy, coming home from school.’
Amelia did her best to acknowledge a remark she knew to be an excuse before touching one of George’s hands lightly with her own.
‘George?’ she said. ‘It’s me. Amelia.’
‘Amelia?’ George said, now looking down at her with a smile. ‘Amelia – how wonderful to see you. Forgive me – I’m sorry I was a little distracted. Forgive me, won’t you? It’s just – it’s just been a bit of a long journey.’
‘Haven’t found your shore legs yet, that’s all,’ his father remarked, brushing the edge of his white moustache upwards with the back of one index finger. ‘Simply hasn’t found his shore legs.’
‘That’s all right, George,’ Amelia said, smiling up at him but noticing the faraway look that was still in his eyes. ‘I’m so happy to see you. And so glad you’re home safe, at long, long last, George.’
They were such silly little words. Words that covered days, and nights, months and hours of just one prayer. Please, please God, help George to be all right.
‘And I’m so very happy to see you, Amelia,’ he assured her, offering her his hand, which Amelia was not altogether sure whether she was meant to shake or to hold. ‘You must understand – if you can. This is all a bit – well. A bit overwhelming.’
‘Of course.’
Given the number of people who appeared to be staring at them Amelia chose to shake George’s hand, feeling more than slightly ridiculous, since all she really wanted to do was to put her arms about him and try to vanquish the memories of the last five nightmare years. However, she had no idea if that was what George wanted or not, because rather than continue talking to her, or even looking at her, he was again staring into the distance somewhere a long way past her.
Two
The two families travelled back from the station to Dashwood House in separate motor vehicles, the Dennisons’ old pre-war Hillman 6 following the Dashwoods’ brand new Lanchester, purchased by the general in celebration of the Peace, past Itchenor harbour with its gaily painted sailboats, its air of invitation to holiday. Out on the waters Amelia could see a small blue and white-painted dinghy, almost identical to the one in which George had taught Amelia to sail seven long summers ago, when she was a twelve-year-old and George was sixteen, and any talk of war had been vague, and confined to adult circles only.
The weather had been perfect, a long unbroken summer which the young had spent messing about in and around boats, swimming in the warm fresh seawater off the Sound and walking high on the Sussex Downs with their dogs, the Dennisons’ cheerful fox terrier and the Dashwoods’ pair of English setters.
Once, Amelia remembered, when the two of them were out alone, searching for fossils in the chalk high up on the Downs, George had teased her by saying that, since they were such good friends, perhaps one day they might marry? Amelia had thought the idea so hugely funny that she had exploded with laughter. Her laughter continued for such an age that she ended up being chased by George, wrestled to the ground and tickled.
‘Stop it! Stop it! I’ll promise you anything, if only you will stop!’
‘I certainly don’t want you to marry me!’ George had retorted, refusing to ease up his tickling. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than being married to you, Amelia Dennison!’
Finally he had let her go, rolling full-length down the hill pursued by barking dogs while Amelia tried to compose herself, sitting on the summit and pulling the dried summer grass from her lo
ng brown hair, hoping she would always be this happy, hoping against hope that she and George would somehow escape growing up; or if they did have to grow up they would always be together as they were now, laughing and happy, and full of that childhood ease that is so companionable.
They had known each other for as long as either of them could remember, their two families having, it seemed to both George and Amelia, always been friends. Never mind that the Dashwoods were military and the Dennisons artistic, in Sussex, a county which embraced its poets and its painters, it seemed that no-one found this odd, and it was a common sight for General Dashwood and Clarence Dennison to be seen strolling the Downs together rapt in conversation, or calling in at the Spread Eagle for a ‘little something’ on a stormy day after rain had ‘stopped play’.
But, of a sudden, on Midhurst Station, it had seemed to Amelia that the past was no longer of any importance, and that far from being intimates of each other, the two families had stood apart from each other, all too aware that the Dashwoods were the Dashwoods, and the Dennisons merely bohemic as Amelia had often heard Lady Dashwood describing her parents.
Not that they had discouraged George’s growing love for Amelia. They had neither discouraged it, nor encouraged it. And so when George came home on leave from the front in time to help celebrate Amelia’s sixteenth birthday and had realized how much he was in love with the pretty, vivacious dark-haired girl whom, it seemed to him, he had known all his life, it had come as no surprise to either family when he made plain his intention to propose to Amelia as soon as was perfectly possible after the war was over, which just at first, they had all thought would be pretty soon.
That had been nearly four years ago now, and while they had all done nothing but hope and pray for the young handsome boy who had gone off so confidently to fight for his country, and who had, at first, written to Amelia that he would be back to marry her ‘sooner than you can turn round’ they had none of them thought that they would be greeting – a stranger.