Beyond the Storm. Diana Finley

to escape. The ambushers opened fire with revolvers, rifles and shotguns, killing the general and the colonel’s wife instantly. The car swerved sideways and crashed into a ditch.

      Sam was nearly upon them. He witnessed the event, but was unable to intervene or escape the notice of the attackers. He had no option but to continue cycling. As he reached the rebel road block, unarmed and vulnerable in his white shorts and shirt, he waved his tennis racket in the air. The IRA men, respecting a sportsman, shook their heads and allowed him through unharmed, before making their escape without further bloodshed.

      Sam was able to summon help for the injured survivors of the ambush. He was genuinely surprised when his advance through the site of the attack was later referred to as an act of heroism. He had been confident that the rebels had nothing to gain by targeting him too and, in any case, felt he had no alternative but to proceed. Sam’s gentle and courteous manner endeared him to all sides of the conflict. Over time he gained a reputation for being a fair and effective negotiator.

      After two years, he made a brief visit home before leaving for India with his regiment. Freda was overjoyed to see her eldest brother. Humphrey had begun his medical studies in London, and Albert was still at school, prior to joining his brother at St. Thomas’s Hospital.

      The family had been invited to an evening with the Fairbairn sisters. Dr Lawrence disliked social gatherings. He regarded them as a regrettable but necessary extension of his working role. Winifred felt shy and self-conscious, worrying about the earth that refused to be prised from under her fingernails, and about her outdated gown. Freda was thrilled at any opportunity to leave the house and meet people. She had heard that the Misses Fairbairns’ orphaned niece Charlotte was staying with them, and she hoped to befriend her. Sam regarded the evening as a bit of a bore, but he was quite happy to accompany his sister. Their parents joined the older guests in the drawing room, while Sam and Freda made their way to the sitting room, where younger people were gathered.

      Though not vain or self-conscious, Sam was aware that he made quite an entrance; tall and slim in his lieutenant’s uniform. After two years away from home, his shoulders had broadened and he had acquired a confident and easy-going manner.

      He and Freda were introduced to Charlotte. She had a pale complexion and fair hair arranged on top of her head. She was wearing an azure blue dress, pulled in becomingly to her narrow waist with a darker blue satin band. Sam supposed she was pretty, yet there was a hardness about her. Her smile was quizzical rather than warm, as if she was about to say, ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ Sam’s attitude to women was one of gallantry rather than true connection, due perhaps to lack of exposure. He thought nothing critical of Charlotte; only he sensed that experience had made her suspicious of others. Perhaps it was an instinct to comfort and protect her, but he found himself strangely drawn to her.

      ‘Do you ride, Miss Fairbairn? The weather is so fine at present – I wonder if you would like to go for a ride with me? Not too far, of course.’

      She frowned. ‘Distance is no object for Bunty, or for me.’

      That prickly, challenging expression again.

      ‘Bunty is your horse? I’m afraid I was thinking of my bicycle.’

      Charlotte snorted. ‘Never been on a bicycle in my life, and don’t intend to try.’

      Sam was not an expert horseman, but he had achieved some proficiency in Ireland. Charlotte’s uncle lent him his horse, which was a little more frisky than he would have liked. Charlotte’s Bunty was a fine bay with a serene temperament. Over the coming week, they made several excursions together. Charlotte seemed to enjoy his company. She relaxed and started to laugh more, but there was little warmth in her manner. She remained distant and gave no signal that greater closeness would have been welcomed. Yet, by the time Sam was ready to leave for India, they had agreed to write to each other.

      * * *

      Sam was completely bewitched by India: the overwhelming heat, the noise, the colours, smells and tastes of it. He wrote to Charlotte of all he experienced. In particular, he told her of his trips to Kashmir: trekking on horseback through hills smelling of pine and rosemary, sleeping under canvas on a camp-bed made up by his batman Morris, and eating delicious fragrant food cooked over an open fire by Rahman Singh. He knew she would like to hear of his equestrian adventures, the sturdy little horses sure-footed on stony screes and steep mountain tracks.

      Despite the detailed and vivid descriptions of his experiences, Sam thought little of Charlotte during the long voyage, and for the first weeks in Calcutta. At times he worried about not missing her, but he put it down to the distraction of adjusting to such an alien environment. His head was filled with one new impression after another – there was little room for anything else.

      Gradually, he settled in to his rooms and took stock of his life. He became aware of an absence. It was not as if he were lonely; far from it, he was constantly in company. His fellow officers were a mixed bunch, as always, but he found comradeship with Ellis, St John, Cameron and Hailsham. His men liked and respected him. He enjoyed the knowledge that he had created a good rapport with them. His contact with the local people was equally positive. He was learning Urdu in order to communicate better with them. There were regular dinners and dances at the officers’ mess, where he dallied with one or two young women: an English governess employed by a local Maharaja to tutor his children, and the older daughter of the District Commissioner. His senior officer, Major Wellbeck, warned him off.

      ‘Take care, Lawrence. These girls are after husbands, remember. If that’s what you want, fine. But make the proper approaches.’

      Sam felt colour rising up his neck.

      ‘If it’s just a bit of hanky-panky you’re after, there are always the native women. The adjutant can tell you which is a safe house, so to speak.’

      Sam wrote beautiful letters, descriptive, expressive, poetic. As time went on, the tone of Charlotte’s replies became a little softer. The emotional content of Sam’s letters rose in intensity. He was deeply moved by them himself. They were so convincing. How much easier it was to put feelings into writing than to express them face to face.

      After a year, he asked Charlotte if she would consider becoming his wife and joining him in India. She wrote back to affirm that she might consider such a proposal, and detailing her precise needs regarding sufficient stabling at their married quarters. She explained that as she had no father to ask the ‘correct questions’, she had to ask them herself. Namely, what exactly were Sam’s prospects in terms of his likely career path and future earnings? He replied that he expected to be promoted to captain the following year, when he would be twenty-five. He was too modest to mention that his commanding officer had explained that such early promotion reflected Sam’s exceptional potential. Charlotte suggested they wait until the following year to get married. Until that time they considered themselves engaged.

      The following year, 1927, Sam returned home on three months’ leave. His parents were delighted to see him, and pleased about the forthcoming marriage. For some weeks Sam and Charlotte embarked on a spending spree, which alarmed Doctor Lawrence and Winifred inordinately, but they came to accept that the young couple needed to equip an entire household. The army provided some essential basics, but further items of furniture, bedding, kitchen goods and clothing were assembled, ready to be boxed and shipped to India. Winifred’s greatest sadness was that Charlotte rejected her offered gift of her mother’s old wedding ring. Charlotte wanted to choose a new one for herself.

      ‘But what about the expense, my dear?’ asked Winifred.

      ‘Hang the expense,’ Charlotte replied.

      Sam and Charlotte were married at Stonethwaite Parish Church. Humphrey was Sam’s best man. As they stood shuffling from foot to foot at the altar, awaiting the bride’s arrival, Sam was overcome with misgiving. He saw his father in the front row, sombre as always, staring straight ahead. Next to him his mother, red-eyed and clutching a handkerchief, tried to smile at Sam.

      ‘Oh God, what have I done?’ breathed Sam.

      ‘Courage, mon brave,’ whispered Humphrey.