Chapter 1

I was going through the attic of my father's house, passing things down to my younger sister, Annie, and hence to her husband, Ron. Essentially we were clearing the house after his death from cancer a few weeks before and were dividing up the contents into what we wanted (with only a few good natured squabbles), what we could sell and what we were throwing out to be sold, as per the instructions in his will. Mum had pre-deceased Dad by a couple of years and the only other relative we knew about was his sister, Abigail, who now lived in a nursing home in Australia and had Alzheimer's. We had tried to get in touch with Aunt Abi's family, but so far hadn't had much luck. The nursing home said they'd passed the messages on, but her family rarely visited as they were scattered all over the country.

I had finally reached the end of the attic, the last space to be cleared, and had pulled out the last box and was looking with interest at the contents, a few photos, letters and a large quantity of what appeared to be diaries. They were a little bit of a mystery. As far as I knew, my Dad didn't keep a diary, or rather hadn't when I was around. Besides, the dates suggested a time in the 1950s when my Dad would have been aged between ten and twenty.

I carried them down to the landing and let Annie have a look; Ron had disappeared outside, skiving again, letting us get on with things. Then again we didn't really care, it had been a while since we had spent any time with each other. Bringing up families and, in my case, divorcing an errant wife, can take up a lot of your time and so I'd hit fifty and wondered where it all went...

Still Annie looked as nice as ever, if a little older and still able to get to the nub of any matter quickly...

"Diaries huh?" she questioned.

"Yes, from the 50's, want them?" I responded.

"You know I'm not an avid reader, so, if you want them, they're yours," she replied.

"I'll have a look through. If there's anything of interest, I'll let you know," I said.

"OK, Ben, they're yours. Just let me know if there are any juicy scandals in the family's past," she chuckled.

"No problem, sis," I chuckled in return, as we took everything down to the kitchen.

I popped the box into my car, which mostly had Dad's tools and a few ornaments which held sentimental value to me, and promptly forgot all about it.

It was a week later that I finally got around to the box and pulled the first few diaries out, only to find there were two types. One set, clearly written by my Dad, but another, written by his Grandfather, a man about whom I knew very little. Only that he died before I was ten and had been somewhat of a recluse, although Grandma Jenny, my Dad's Mum, always had a smile when she talked about him. There were also a series of letters written in part by my Gran and also Aunt Abigail to each other and some to my Dad and his Grandfather.

It took a little while to sort out the order of events and generally I read them side by side and used the letters to fill in the odd details too. However it did seem that there was a 'juicy' scandal, though I did wonder if it was one my sis would care to know about. Still, having a bit of a literary bent I pieced together the intertwined tales of the 'scandal' into one coherent whole and wrote it as I believed it happened...

(1954)

I watched as the car drove up, a four door Rover 10 saloon I believed, probably acquired from an Army disposal sale, as for all I chose to live alone since the death of my wife, I still read articles in the press and had a monthly delivery of various magazines on whatever subjects piqued my interest.

Still I'm getting a little ahead of myself here; I believe an introduction is in order...

My name, for what it's worth, is Alan. I'm in my fifties and retired from being a very successful businessman (or war profiteer, if you believe the idiot press). I live in what used to be the Lord of the Manor's house, having bought it for a song when the aging aristocrat found the difference between what he spent and what he earned had finally caught up with him. I spent a small part of my fortune modernising the place, fitting internal toilets and bathrooms and upgrading the wiring. I even bought a television for the coronation and invited the estate staff and their families round to watch it, though rarely watched it myself after, preferring the radio or gramophone. I had planned the house on being mine and Georgette's retirement home. Georgette was my wife and the mother of our children. They had all flown the nest but we could still afford it, even with the staffing and estate costs. Yet in the end it was for naught, she developed a hacking cough and tests showed it to be cancer. Within a month she was dead and I was left in a house far too big for me, yet I was loathe to give up what I had worked so hard to obtain.

Well, three years had now passed and it seemed I was about to have family around me again, though the circumstances weren't too good. My son and his family had arrived for him to convalesce after he had been wounded in the Korean War. He was brought home by hospital ship, only to realise that their home in smoggy London wasn't a good place for an invalid.

I had spoken to his wife, Jennifer. She was a woman whom I'd once seriously misjudged and now she didn't particularly care for me at all. She had asked me to allow them to come and stay with me as the country air would do Tom far more good than the choking smogs that beset the capital at that time. Indeed only a couple of years before 4,000 people had died prematurely and 100,000 more were made ill during what had become known as the Great Smog. That she had asked, told me just how serious my son's wounds were. Only a threat to her family could make Jennifer even bear my presence.

The sadness I felt over Tom's wounds had been stoked over the years by the deaths of three of my four children. Beatrice died in labour and her firstborn with her, her husband had remarried and I'd lost touch; Simon had vanished in the Blitz, no body had ever been found; Robert was killed on Sword beach during the D Day landings, which was why I had been further angered by Tom's insistence on remaining in the military.

I wandered down, summoning the two ladies in charge of my household who cooked and cleaned for me, as the car pulled up, driven by Jennifer. This was unusual in that day and age, then again you had to be doing rather well to even afford a car back then, never mind see a woman drive one. Beside her, sitting all hunched up and pale faced was my son, someone with whom I rarely interacted at all these days, having made the mistake of openly stating my doubts as to the suitability of Jennifer as his wife, as she had been an actress. This had brought us into a blazing row with neither of us prepared to put aside our stupid pride over the matter. So I'd missed out on seeing my grand-children growing up. Though, fortunately, Georgette did visit and passed on the news of Tom's military career, another bone of contention between us.

The rear doors of the car then opened and two young adolescents spilled out. The terrible twins my wife had called them, Abigail and Tony, both only just fourteen and seeing me for the first time ever as they'd not been permitted to attend Georgette's funeral, having both been at boarding school.

I nodded to them and stepped forward to open the door for Jennifer, watching a slight moue of distaste pass over her features at seeing me before she alighted.

"Hello, Jennifer, good journey?" I asked when she stood.

"Tolerable, Alan, thank you," she replied coldly.

Always Alan, never Dad. I hadn't earned that honour in her life at all, I sighed mentally.

"How are we to get Tom out?" I asked, knowing the land-mine that had ended his military career had left him with only one leg and extensive damage to his other as well as his lower abdomen. Still, he was lucky to be alive, I guessed, and, for all our differences, I was at least prepared to admit I might have been wrong and indeed had missed him.

"I'm afraid we'll have to carry him. I have a van due with his medical equipment, but they may be hours yet," she replied.

I opened the front passenger door and gazed at my son. Pale, unhealthy, a minor sheen of perspiration coating his exposed flesh, his hair lank and seemingly unwashed, all in all, not the man I remembered.

"Tom," I acknowledged.

"Dad," he returned.

"I'm going to pick you out and carry you to the house. Is there any advice as to where not to place my hands to avoid your wounds?" I asked.

"You'll have to try a fireman's carry, Dad. Sorry, my legs are just too painful," he replied.

Fortunately I'm still a fit vigorous man and believed I'd at least manage to pick him up, my fitness and his weight loss should help.

Kneeling down, I assisted Tom to lean forward and over my shoulder. I also felt an extra pair of hands on my back and to my side, supporting me in this awkward task. Glancing to the side I saw it was Tony who had stepped in to assist and I nodded my thanks. It was awkward, but with Tony's help I managed to get upright with Tom over my shoulder and I walked to the house, leaving the two ladies to retrieve the family's luggage as Jennifer and the children followed slowly and in silence.

Once inside, I carried Tom to a downstairs room that I'd had the ladies prepare for him. It had a bed and also a set of doors that led to a south facing patio with balustrades. With Tony's help I managed to lay Tom down gently on the bed and decided that introductions were in order.

"Thank you, Tony," I said, before turning to face Abigail as well. "I'm your Grandfather. I know you don't know me, not really, so please call me Alan, and definitely not sir. I'm very pleased to finally meet you."

I held out my hand to Tony and he shook it before I turned to Abigail and gave her a formal kiss on the back of her hand.

"Delightful," I murmured watching her blush slightly at being treated as an adult.

<Ben's Note: this was before the days of 'teenagers'. A time when you had children or adults and you were a child more or less till you reached 18-21, married or got a job.>

"Now, if you'd please go with Mrs Harris," I said, pointing her out. "She'll show you to your rooms and then help with any luggage."

I watched them troop off, neither having said a word, but that was only to be expected I surmised. They both gave the impression of a fish out of water.

I turned to Tom and Jennifer somewhat unsure as to what to say, but determined to swallow my pride.

"I realise things I have said in the past give you no reason to feel as welcome as you should. However, for now, let this house be your home and I hope you, Tom will recover and you, Jennifer will accept my apologies for my disgraceful conduct in the past and allow bygones to be bygones, as well as letting me make amends and for us to get to know each other," I said.

"Thanks for having us, Dad," wheezed Tom.

"Thank you, Alan," said Jennifer in tones so cold I swear I could feel icicles on them.

I've arranged for Henry ... that is Doctor Davis and his good lady Pamela, the district nurse, to call tomorrow afternoon, simply to introduce themselves and get to know you, Tom, in case you have any things that need to be and can be sorted locally. Although Jennifer told me that an army doctor will visit once a week to advise on recuperation," I said.

"I'm not sure that I want some local doctor, who may know nothing of war wounds, even coming near Tom," stated Jennifer.

"Normally I'd agree," I said in placating tones. "However Henry is an ex-army doctor and Pamela was in Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps and both served during the war so have experience of war wounds."

"Oh, I see," said Jennifer coldly. "Well, I withdraw my objection."

"Thanks, Dad. I may need dressings and suchlike to be changed and wounds to be inspected," gasped Tom, who was clearly in a lot of discomfort and not relishing his role as peacemaker.

"Your wounds aren't healing?" I asked.

"No, not as well as they ought, despite the liberal use of antibiotics. That plus the physical damage and pain is rather ... extreme," Tom said as Jennifer took his hand.

"I know the basics, but at the moment I suspect you need to rest. There is a hand bell at the side of the bed which will summon Mrs Harris if you have any needs," I replied, then turned to Jennifer. "May I escort you to your room?"

"I had expected to stay with Tom," she replied.

"There's only room for a chair and footstool and whilst both together are quite comfortable, I did feel that if you needed a break or privacy then you could have your own room. At least it's where yours and Tom's clothing can be kept," I replied.

"Thank you, Alan," she replied after a long pause. "That's most considerate of you."

I led the way out of the room and into the central hallway before ascending the stairs with Jennifer following me and glancing around at the various objects on display. Other than the ticking of the many clocks situated about the house we walked in uncomfortable silence and I admit my courage failed me as I did not attempt to put right the mistakes of the past, but thought perhaps tomorrow.

"I've put you into Georgette's old room as its south facing and quite cosy. There's also a fireplace if it gets chilly as well as a basin with hot water taps," I said eventually, trying to break the ice.

"Thank you, Alan," she replied adding a tone of disdain into her voice. "Why did Mum have her own room?"

"It was supposed to be our room and I had Georgette furnish it to her tastes before her ... before she died and I never had the heart to use it afterwards, too many reminders," I replied feeling an old ache I could never quite shift.

"I see," said Jennifer in softer tones.

I opened the door and allowed Jennifer to enter, watching her pause and look around.

"Mum had beautiful taste," she said quietly.

"That she did. Dinner will be at five, but let Mrs Ellis know if Tom has any particular needs with regards to food. You can summon her by the bell pull in the corner," I replied.

"Thank you, Alan," she said by way of dismissal.

Hearing the door close behind her, Jenny finally allowed the long checked bitterness and seething anger to surface. How dare he! How dare that awful man simply ask for bygones to be bygones after he had all but called her a whore? Simply because, when she had accepted Tom's proposal, she had been an actress. She still remembered the scene well when Alan had sent a peremptory summons demanding her presence at his office. Tom had told her it was simply his (Alan's) way and so she had sat outside the office, waiting, whilst his snobbish secretary had held her nose up as if an awful stench had drifted into the room. Finally, a buzzer had gone off and she had been permitted to enter his presence. What had happened next had been worse. Alan had simply demanded that she terminate their engagement and leave his son alone. He'd even had the temerity to offer her money to do so. Implying that, as an actress, her morals were of the gutter and that she simply wasn't good enough for Tom. Admittedly she was no blushing virgin, but through common sense and careful selection via the 'casting couch', she had gotten herself established. Though, unlike others, she hadn't embarked on open affairs or became a rich man's mistress.

In the end it had been the dashing Lieutenant who had showered her with flowers and had, initially, been an irritation, then a distraction until he had charmed his way into her heart. At the time she had no idea who his father was. The terrible wait as the Dunkirk drama unfolded and knowing he was trapped in France had sealed their love and she'd accepted his proposal once he sought her out on his return. Their first meeting with Alan and Georgette as an engaged couple had, she thought, gone well, even if Alan had been stiff and formal. The second in his office had left her simply slamming the door behind her, tears flowing at his rudeness and assumptions, only to run into Tom, who had heard everything through the door and had confronted his father in a blazing row as he'd defended her honour.

Alan had threatened to cut Tom out of his will if he didn't give Jennifer up. Tom responded that he'd rather give his family up and had, with Jennifer, simply walked away, both seething and both determined not to have anything to do with that awful man ever again.

They had married in a registry office, not the grand church affair Tom had wanted for her, with only a few friends as witnesses, before Tom had to report back to his unit. As it happened they had been surprised by Georgette turning up along with Simon and Robert to give them her blessings and to apologise for Alan's behaviour, though her attempt to seek reconciliation fell on deaf ears, both theirs and presumably Alan's. Still, Georgette and Jennifer became fast friends, though the touchy subject of Alan was rarely if ever mentioned.

By the end of the war Jennifer had two beautiful children, twins, although the difficult birth had left her barren. Still, she expected Tom to demob like most of the armed forces, only to see him take a drop in rank and remain enlisted. He was however based in the Lifeguard's Barracks in the Royal Mews, so they bought a small house in London and lived a life of wedded bliss, until at least the Korean War...

Jenny had begged him to resign his commission, though knew he wouldn't. His love affair with the army seemed stronger than the love they had. So he'd gone to fight, and, almost when the Armistice had been signed, stepped on a land mine, to be changed forever from the man she remembered and loved and whom she had last seen whole at Georgette's funeral just before his embarkation. The wounds themselves were worse than she imagined when she learned that he'd lost a leg. She'd anticipated some changes, perhaps a slowing down of life, but what awaited her in the military hospital was horrifying. Tom had lost a leg, but his other had sustained major tissue loss and damage. Even worse, he'd lost a testicle and the other had been severely damaged and was showing no signs of recovery along with several deep abdominal wounds.

Jenny was also honest enough with herself to acknowledge that she was sexually frustrated too. It had been too long and now the source of her satisfaction had returned and might never perform again. Frankly, she was a little tired of her fingers now...

Having been told Tom really needed to be in some sort of convalescent home, but that few places were available, Jenny had swallowed her pride and asked the one man she wanted nothing to do with if they could come and stay with him.

She was surprised when Alan had immediately said yes...

Chapter 2 »