A Weekend is
a Lifetime
“Have a nice weekend
Emily.”
“Thank you Jo, see you
Monday.”
Emily pushed her way
out through the door then turned to wave before it closed behind her.
“It’s great to see her
looking so happy.” Maxine said.
“So, is she really
going to this country hotel then?” Jo shot Maxine a grin.
“She’s been on about it
all week so why not? Martin has been
gone for almost a year so it’s time she got on with her life.”
Hours later Emily
arrived at her weekend destination and swinging her car off the narrow country
lane, she entered the long gravel drive.
Butterflies churned in her stomach, it was as if she was on her first
date and a wave of guilt stirred her emotions.
Why shouldn’t she be out on her own she thought, Martin was gone and it
was a relief to be free.
“That’s not true.” Angrily she pushed this thought away. “I loved you dearly Martin. Oh, what am I doing?” she frowned, annoyed
with herself.
Peering ahead, Emily concentrated on
steering her car. The hotel was an
impressive Georgian building made from honey coloured stone with tall elegant
windows that looked out over immaculate lawns and flowerbeds, the brochure
hardly did it justice.
Instead of parking at the front, she
chose to pull into a yard surrounded by buildings that were once part of a
stable block. A collection of vintage
cars had already been left there and her modern car looked out of place amongst
them.
Pushing open the door, she stepped
out as a huge crash sounded overhead. Thunder rolled away into the distance and
looking up anxiously, Emily searched the sky, but it was clear. Hurrying to retrieve her bag before the storm
set in she headed for the entrance where a doorman greeted her amiably.
“Strange weather we are having.” She dashed in through the open door. “Do you think it will rain?”
The man frowned and looked skyward.
“Madame, welcome,” a short
well-groomed man greeted her from the reception desk. “If you would be so kind as to sign the
register I will arrange for your baggage to be taken to your room.”
Emily’s room was small and bright but
lacked modern amenities. In the en suit,
she found a huge cast iron bath standing on lion paw mounts, there was no shower
and a large basin rested on a stand beside the wall. A toilet was in a separate cubicle, again old
fashioned but clean and serviceable. It
looked as if the room had not been renovated in years, but then that was part
of its charm. She really wanted to
freshen up with a shower, a bath would take too long, so closing the door
behind her she went off in search of refreshments.
Lounging comfortably in an easy
chair, she sipped tea from a bone china cup and saucer as she browsed through a
copy of an old retro magazine.
“Guests are gathering on the west
terrace for drinks before dinner.” The
man from reception informed her politely.
“The sunset is particularly lovely,”
she said glancing out of the window. “I
think I will join them.”
The terraced lawns were a natural
suntrap especially at the end of a hot summer’s day. All evidence of the earlier storm had passed
and now the flowerbeds were happy to give up their scent.
“Good evening,” a tall slim fellow
waved his glass at her as she approached.
“Come and sit with us.”
“Good evening,” Emily replied and before
she had chance to sit he introduced himself and his friends.
“Bertrum Moffat-Brown, pleased to
meet you.” He took her outstretched hand. “May I introduce you to Grace, Gladys and
Dorothy. “
Bertrum was dressed in a tweed jacket
and trousers that looked slightly out of time and then she realised that both
Grace and Gladys were dressed as Land Army girls with Dorothy wearing a WAAF
uniform. She looked glamorous with
startling red lipstick and a victory roll in her hair.
Leading her to a wicker chair,
Bertrum insisted that she relax.
“Would you care for something to
drink?”
“I have just had a pot of tea thank
you.”
“I was thinking of something a little
stronger, Gin and Lime perhaps or maybe you would prefer a Port and Lemon.”
Considering his suggestions, Emily
ordered a Gin and Tonic instead.
“We haven’t seen you around these
parts before.” Grace was the first to speak once Bertrum had gone to order
their drinks.
“Oh no, I’m not from around here,
just driven up from London.”
“Really?” Gladys asked.
“It’s still there then.” Dorothy said
dryly, joining in on the conversation.
“We heard that the East End caught a
packet again last night. Were you in the
thick of it?”
Emily looked at Grace before
answering. They must belong to some kind
of re enactment society, she thought.
Perhaps this was a 40s weekend, she would have to play along with the
act.
“No luckily I was not in town.”
Bertrum returned with a tray of
drinks. He realised what the women were
talking about so as he handed out the glasses, he asked.
“What news of society, it’s been a
while since I was in the great metropolis although I do get to fly over it
regularly enough.”
Emily studied him and decided that he
was much younger than she originally thought.
His outfit made him look older coupled with the fact that he appeared
exhausted. Casting her mind back over
her history books she replied.
“Gracie Fields and George Fornby were
both entertaining folk in the underground during a raid a couple of weeks ago.”
“Gracie Fields is my favourite,”
Dorothy said. “Recently she came to
entertain the boys at the base and we were allowed to join them for the
evening.”
“Anne Shelton is quite the darling,”
Bertrum said dreamily.
“I heard George Fornby on the
wireless this morning just before Churchill’s speech,” Grace told them.
“Well I think you are best out of
London,” Gladys said. “How you sleep at
night with all those bombs going off I will never understand.”
“Can’t be many children left in
London,” Grace commented. “Mrs Mills has
taken in six of them on her farm and do you know, she had to delouse them the
moment they arrived. In a filthy state
they were, she calls them her little urchins.”
“Must be on account of all those
rats, they say the bombs drive them out into the streets.”
Bertrum laughed as he topped up his
whisky glass.
“You don’t have to worry yourselves
about bombs and rats ladies, we have the Luftwaffe on the run and soon all those
little urchins will be back home where they belong.”
“Half of them won’t go,” Dorothy told
them. They seem to be enjoying country
life too much, it amazes me to think that most of them have never seen a cow
before.”
Bertrum noticed that Emily seemed a
little out of the conversation. She had
not told them what she did in London, perhaps it was better not to ask. Her glass was empty so he asked if she would
like to accompany him around the gardens.
“Do you do this kind of thing often
Bertrum?” Emily asked once they were on their own.
“Please call me Berty. Well to answer
your question I can’t get away as often as I would like. Managed a forty eight hour pass, pulled a few
strings, you know the kind of thing.”
She smiled, he was obviously still in
character playing his part seriously so she decided not to spoil the
illusion. He seemed to be a true
gentleman, not the kind of man that she was accustomed to in London and she
found herself warming to him.
That evening they dined alone
together, the women choosing something a little livelier in another part of the
hotel. Emily found that she enjoyed his
company even though he was playacting.
She joined in with the spirit of the evening and decided that once back
in London, she would look up groups that hosted events like this. Everything in the hotel was devoted to the
1940s, even the staff were in on the charade and she wondered how she had
managed to book herself in without realising that the hotel was hosting a
themed weekend.
Sunday afternoon came all too quickly
and she was not looking forward to the long drive back to London. She could have chosen a hotel closer to home
but wasn’t that the idea, get as far away as possible from her miserable
existence?
Berty stood with her at the door of
the hotel, his friends were nowhere to be seen.
Taking her hand he looked at her and smiled.
“None of us know how much time we
have left so we must grasp life with both hands.” He hesitated as if searching for the right words. “I will have more leave in a couple of week’s
time, what say we meet up again here in a fortnight?”
Emily accepted his invitation without
hesitation, she had enjoyed her weekend immensely and did not want it to
end. Leaning towards him, she kissed his
cheek softly before picking up her bag and walking away.
“Who would have thought it?” Jo said
as Maxine joined her in the ladies room.
“Our Emily seeing another man.”
Regarding each other’s reflection in
the mirror, they giggled in disbelief.
“Well, you can’t blame her, it’s just
what she needs, a real man.”
“Was Martin always in a wheelchair?”
Jo asked becoming serious.
“Just before they were married he
became ill but they went ahead with their plans. She nursed him for almost ten years right up
until his death.”
“She must have loved him dearly.”
“I guess she did, but can you
imagine, what kind of life did she have?”
Two weeks later Emily set out to meet
Berty. She thought it strange that they
did not exchange telephone numbers, but caught up in the spirit of the weekend,
it didn’t seem appropriate to ask. She
checked ahead this time, the hotel was not hosting a themed weekend. She wondered what he would be like in real
life, his name couldn’t possibly be Berty.
Whatever he was called, she would always know him affectionately as
Berty.
Turning onto the gravel driveway, she
drove slowly between the trees. This time
cars were parked along the front of the building and the stable block now
seemed to be some kind of storage yard.
There was no doorman to greet her cheerfully at the entrance and inside
the reception area was arranged differently.
At least the bar was the same, comfortable chairs arranged around little
tables overlooking terraced lawns.
Smiling excitedly, she saw Berty
standing with his back to her at the bar so going up to him she tapped him on
the shoulder.
“Oh,” she said as the man turned
around. “I’m so sorry I thought you were
somebody else.”
“Emily?” the man stumbled backward
and almost fell. “Emily? No it can’t be.”
“Are you alright sir?” A passing waiter reached out and supported the
elderly man.
“Sit him down over here.” Emily said
indicating to a chair.
His hand shook alarmingly making the
ice cubes dance against the side of his whisky glass.
“It’s me, Berty.” He insisted once he
had recovered his breath.
“It can’t be.” He was much older than
the man she had met just two weeks earlier.
Perhaps something had happened and he had sent a relative to meet her.
“You see life was jolly dicey in
those days,” he began to explain. “I was
flying every hour of the day.”
“I think I need a drink,” Emily
interrupted.
“I was one of the lucky ones. The week after we arranged to meet I was shot
down and suffered terrible burns.”
Holding up his left hand, she could see his withered fingers and thickened
flesh.
Most of his face was hidden beneath a
grey beard, but she could see the scars.
He must have suffered greatly over the years with ongoing treatment she
thought.
“Needless to say, I was unable to
keep our rendezvous but I never forgot you.” He knew what she was thinking. “I was in hospital for several weeks then months
of convalescing followed, but it was the thought of you that got me
through.” He drained his glass before
going on. “After the war I became a
resident here. Every weekend as new
guests arrived, I hoped that one of them would be you, but as time passed, it
became an impossible dream.”
As he spoke, his eyes began to shine
and he sat up a little taller. The years
seemed to melt away and the Berty that she knew slowly returned. He looked at her lovingly then he asked.
“How have you managed to keep your
youthful looks, you’ve not aged at all?”
