Windflower Wedding. Elizabeth Elgin

needle viciously.

      ‘That is gruesome and horrible! Not all those soldiers are Nazis. Many are decent boys like Drew and Bas! And you must not call it Tsaritsyn. It is Stalingrad. It has been Stalingrad for nearly twenty years.’

      ‘Indeed? So those soldiers who try to take Tsaritsyn are changing their tune now. They were all fervent Nazis when the war was going well for them and no country stood up to them!’

      ‘And you, Mama, had not one good word to say for the Communists, yet now you side with them!’

      ‘I do, Anna, because they are defending Mother Russia. And if they rid it of those arrogant Huns, I will accept they have earned their right to my country.’

      ‘Even though you will never see our home again – nor Peterhof?’

      ‘Even though. And I would be proud, Aleksandrina Anastasia Petrovska, to be fighting alongside those women in Petersburg and Tsaritsyn.’

      She said it softly, almost as though it were a whispered prayer and it gave Anna the courage to say, ‘Then you will approve of what I am going to do this morning.’

      ‘Try me.’

      ‘I – I’m going to Creesby, with all the other women whose surname begins with R or S, to register at the Ministry of Labour. All women of my age have to do war work now.’

      ‘I see. You will work on munitions or some other demeaning thing! You, a countess born, who has no need to work!’

      ‘I have every need, Mama. And my Russian title counts for nothing here. I am Mrs Sutton. I was glad enough to come to England to safety so now I can’t refuse England.’

      ‘It is preposterous! First Tatiana and now you! Those people seem to think they can do as they wish!’

      ‘They can, Mama. They do! There’s a war on, remember.’

      ‘Ha! A Petrovska in a factory! Have you seen those munitions workers? They go yellow!’

      ‘I’ve seen them. Their work is dangerous. They must wear special soft shoes and cover up wedding rings with tape – nothing to make a spark, you see. I hope they don’t send me to that kind of war work.’

      ‘They had better not! They will hear from me if they do!’

      ‘They would take no notice, Mama. This is everybody’s war and we must all help to fight it. Drew is fighting, and Daisy and Bas – and Tatiana is in London, braving the bombing.’

      ‘You owe this country nothing! Your loyalty must first be to Russia, where you were born!’

      ‘So what would you have me do, then? Will I stow away on a ship going to Archangel? And will I tell them - if I get there safely, that is – that I am the Countess Aleksandrina Anastasia Sutton, daughter of the late Count Peter Petrovsky of the bourgeoisie and have come to make Molotov cocktails to throw at the Germans! Oh, Mama …’

      ‘Do not be flippant! I can see now where your daughter gets her impudence from!’

      ‘I’m sorry – truly I am!’ Anna hastened, because her mother’s bottom lip had started to quiver, which heralded either a prolonged burst of weeping or a fit of rage, guaranteed to bring on a migraine. She dropped to her knees beside her mother’s chair, taking her hands. ‘I’m sorry for your Russia and all the poor people there, but now we live in England, and I must work. I’ve no say in the matter. But they can’t send me away from my home because I am a married woman – and married women are not directed into the armed forces.’

      ‘What about married women with children – you have a child, Anna Petrovska!’

      ‘My child is nearly grown up. Only women with a child under fourteen years are allowed to stay at home now. Women of my age are being sent to fill jobs to free younger, single women for the armed forces. Almost any useful job will do, as long as I work.’

      ‘So what is there for you to do in Holdenby, will you tell me, please?’

      ‘We-e-e-ll, I could help Winnie on the telephone exchange, or I could work at Home Farm or I could – could … Oh dear, there isn’t a lot I could do locally, is there? But I’m sure there will be work in Creesby. The Labour Exchange will tell me where to go, and I’m sure they will bear in mind that our bus service isn’t very frequent and that I don’t get enough petrol coupons to drive there every day. But I mustn’t complain; not when the young ones risk their lives every day.’

      And night, too, she thought for no reason at all – except that she was thinking for the first time with real compassion of a young air-gunner who had been given no choice. And of Tatiana, far away in London, who loved him still.

      Keth lay down the axe, pausing to wipe his forehead, closing his eyes, breathing deeply on the salt air that blew in cooling gusts.

      It was difficult to believe after all the frustrations and delays that he was actually here at Clissy-sur-Mer, less than half a mile from the coast, doing something as safe and ordinary as chopping logs. Then he smiled because it was a long time since he’d chopped logs at Rowangarth bothy.

      The breeze was welcome. In all the turmoil of getting here, not once had he given thought to the fact that so much further south it would be warmer. And had times been normal, he supposed that this part of France would have been a holiday resort.

      ‘Hullo.’ He looked up, smiling, as Natasha walked towards him carrying a fat, earthenware mug of coffee.

      ‘Good morning, Hibou – or now I think I should call you Gaston. You are honoured. There is very little coffee in the shops, so don’t expect it every day. The Boche takes most of it, just as they think they have the right to all the wine the château produces.’

      ‘But they don’t get it, of course?’

      ‘No. M’sieur at the big house sees to it that we locals have our fair share. Tante Clara left me to sleep in this morning because I was up late last night.’

      ‘And you have missed school?’

      ‘Ha! I left school a year ago. Book-learning isn’t important at this time.’

      ‘It was when I was sixteen,’ Keth scolded.

      ‘Really? Well, as far as I am concerned, school is a waste of time; learning to stay alive is not!’ She went to sit on the chopping block, arranging her skirts prettily.

      ‘Where is Madame?’

      ‘Gone to the village to buy your food and to let it be known, I suppose, that her hired help has arrived.’

      ‘Is that wise, Natasha – and should we be talking like this in the open?’

      ‘It would be unwise not to let them know you have come. Why shouldn’t they know Tante Clara’s gardener is here? Now, if they walk by and see a stranger, no one will think anything about it.

      ‘And talking out here is safe enough. The dogs would bark if anyone came.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘This place is a good walk from Clissy. It is why They decided it should be a safe house.’ She touched her nose with a warning forefinger.

      ‘Who are They?’

      ‘If I knew I wouldn’t tell you; but I don’t know. There are many people around here who – help, but it wouldn’t do for me to know them.’

      ‘The Nazis wouldn’t suspect a child?’

      ‘They would. And when they looked at my papers they would see I wasn’t as childish as I look! But this far they’ve left me alone.’

      ‘Aren’t you afraid, Natasha?’ All at once Keth remembered the pill in the cuff of his shirt.

      ‘Of course I’m afraid. It would be stupid not to be. But I don’t intend to go the way of my mother and father.’

      She said it with such matter-of-factness that he