The Restoration Garden: A Novel - 8

Irene

The day I was set to meet James for lunch, I spent the better part of the morning pinching my cheeks, hoping to coax some color into them. When that failed, I decided to head to the kitchen to find some beetroots instead, a tip I’d learned from Vogue magazine. But as I opened my door, I nearly collided with my stepmother, who stood just outside, her hand poised midair as though she’d been about to knock.

“Oh!” Lady Montgomery exclaimed as I came to an abrupt stop. “I was just looking for you.”

“Is something the matter?” I asked.

“Your father left his important papers at home this morning. He needs them urgently at the university, but I can’t go because the doctor is coming to see Margaret today.”

“Why does Margaret need to see the doctor?”

Lady Montgomery waved her hand. “I’m sure it’s fine. We’re all just a little worried about her cough. That’s the reason your father was so distracted this morning when he left. But he really does need this. Would you—” She cut herself off abruptly. “Never mind. I’ll ask Albert if he can run it over.”

I placed my hand on her arm to stop her. “You need me to take something to Cambridge?”

“Would that be too much trouble?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I’m happy to help.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. I was already on my way to meet James, and it was easy to detour to Father’s office along the way. If anything, it gave me the excuse I needed to disappear without anyone asking questions about my absence. But the fact she was asking me as a last resort stung.

She let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

See? I wanted to say. I’m not so selfish and useless after all.

She handed me the folder but didn’t let go when I attempted to take it. I raised my eyebrows in confusion.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this . . .” she began before biting her lip. “But this is terribly sensitive information. No one can know you have it or what’s in it. It’s imperative it not be lost.”

It annoyed me that she thought I needed the caution, but I was determined to prove I was mature enough for the task, which meant swallowing my pride. “I’ll take the utmost care.”

She nodded, finally accepting the fact she was entrusting me with something so vital. “Don’t forget your gas mask when you leave.”

I carefully stuffed the folder into my purse and set off for the city later that morning. I tried accidentally forgetting my gas mask, but Lady Montgomery insisted on following the regulations to the letter of the law, meaning we had to drag the cumbersome masks with us anytime we stepped foot outside the grounds, even though we’d never had cause to use them. I would have ignored her, but she personally retrieved the mask from my bedroom and followed me out the gates before I could make my escape.

The pressure in my ribs eased the moment I stepped beyond the iron gates. It had been too long since I had ventured outside of Havenworth. The walk to the nearest rail line was nearly twenty minutes along the quiet country roads. There were no cars on the road thanks to the petrol rationing, and I appreciated the quiet while surrounded by the lush fens and endless fields. It had been too long since I’d experienced this kind of tranquility.

The city itself was much less peaceful. Bicycles zipped along the roads, and long queues of women clutching their ration books stretched down the pavements outside the shops. The tension in the air was palpable. But arriving on campus felt like stepping into another universe. There was no urgency here, no trace of war. Students strolled across the green, carrying stacks of books, chatting animatedly as though nothing had changed.

If such normalcy could exist at a university, surely there were other places in the world. Places I might go, if Father would allow it.

I’d been to his office only once before, but I remembered where it was: in the building with the ornately carved sculptures and crests above the grand entrance. First a left turn along the hall, then up the stairs and another left. The third door on the right.

I raised my hand to knock. But before my knuckles made contact, a shout from behind the door froze me in place.

“You can’t be serious, John. Collaborating with Americans? It’s madness.”

I needed only an instant to recognize the familiar gruff voice. My stepuncle, Edward Howell. I hesitated at the door, unsure whether an interruption would be welcomed when they were obviously engaged in an argument. The last thing I wanted was to give Father any more reasons to be frustrated with me.

“What choice do we have? There’s no way we can scale up the technology on our own. It needs more support than the committee can offer right now.”

I leaned closer, nearly pressing my ear against the heavy door.

“If you’ve discovered a way for our planes to detect enemy aircraft from the air, that would be the most significant invention of the century. You cannot hand it to the Americans. You’d be giving away our most valuable tool. They will do nothing but profit off the technology. Our factories are more than capable of producing whatever you’ve designed.”

“Not in enough quantity to support our military. Every factory in this country has been converted to the production of munitions. You know as well as I do Churchill will not spare a single one for something as unproven as new radar technology. He wants to dismantle the committee altogether.”

“We would be giving England’s future away,” Edward pleaded. “Think of all the profits—”

“And if we don’t, we will lose the war. What of that cost to England?” The ferocity in Father’s voice made me rear back, shocking me so much that I dropped my purse. The contents spilled out around me. Coins, tissues, and, most worrisome, the papers inside Father’s folder. I dropped to my knees and quickly gathered the items, shoving them back in my purse. But as I picked up Father’s papers, I couldn’t stop myself from peering at the contents.

On the pages were detailed plans for something called the cavity magnetron.

The door flew open just as I rose to my feet and Edward stalked out without even noticing my presence. I quickly stuffed the documents back in the folder.

When I stepped into his office, Father was pacing behind his desk. I had to clear my throat twice before he finally noticed me.

“Irene? What are you doing here?”

I held up his folder. “You forgot this. Lady Montgomery asked me to bring it to you.”

There was no denying the relief in his expression as he took it from me and opened it. I waited silently for some kind of acknowledgment or gratitude, but the contents had already captured the entirety of his attention.

The restaurant where James suggested we meet was undoubtedly one of the most elegant I’d ever seen. The spacious interior, with its soaring ceilings, radiated sophistication. Round tables draped in long white linens were impeccably set with gold-edged bone china and polished silverware that gleamed under the soft lighting. Father and Lady Montgomery preferred quiet suppers at home, and when we did dine out, my stepmother always chose more understated venues.

A wave of nerves rippled through me as I stepped inside, scanning the room for James. I could see I wasn’t dressed appropriately for this kind of establishment. My simple yellow shift was perfectly fine, but felt hopelessly out of place among the other patrons’ more formal attire.

“Do you have a reservation?” the maître d’ asked, his upper lip curling as he eyed the gas mask dangling from my wrist.

“I’m supposed to be meeting a friend,” I said, feeling rather sheepish. What if James couldn’t make it after all? What if he’d simply changed his mind? “Officer James Atherton.”

The waiter’s demeanor changed almost instantly. “Of course. Please follow me.”

He led me to the back of the restaurant, where James sat at a table in a quiet corner. My heart jolted the moment I set eyes on him. He was dressed in his uniform, just like the night we first met. Despite my feelings about the war, I couldn’t help but appreciate the way his broad shoulders filled out the dark-blue jacket.

James rose to his feet with an eager smile that made my stomach flutter. “You came.”

“Of course I did. It’s not every day I’m invited to lunch by a mysterious gentleman. I had to see what awaited me.”

“I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

Despite his injured leg, he held my chair for me as I took my seat, then returned to his. I tucked my gas mask under my feet, feeling ashamed that I’d brought it. “You’ve already exceeded them by bringing me here.”

James frowned, sensing the discomfort I’d tried to hide. “What’s wrong? Do you not like French cuisine?”

“It’s just that I’m not really dressed properly for this kind of place.”

“You could be wearing a flour sack and still be the most beautiful woman here. Besides, it would be cruel to make me dine alone. Lunch is my treat.”

My cheeks flushed from the compliment. “Well, how can I possibly refuse now?”

“You can’t,” he replied, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’m utterly irresistible. It’s a proven fact.”

A waiter passed by carrying a tray of plates. A symphony of aromas filled my nose. “Is that . . . chocolate cake?”

“Restaurants aren’t subject to the same rationing rules as the rest of us common folk.”

I laughed. There was nothing common about James. I didn’t know much about him, but it was clear he carried the confidence of a man who knew he belonged in such a place. A confidence I wished I had. I hadn’t grown up wealthy. During my childhood back in Boston, we’d lived in a one-bedroom apartment, barely surviving on Father’s salary. The wealth that came from Father’s marriage to Lady Montgomery had never felt like something that belonged to me. She provided for nicer dresses and proper schooling, but all the luxuries and niceties of our lives at Havenworth were things I merely experienced tangentially.

James ordered the steak. I found it much harder to decide between the poached fish in a lemon cream sauce or the herbed chicken with roasted potatoes, finally settling on the latter. I could barely remember the last time I’d eaten such rich food, and it took all my composure not to sigh aloud when the waiter set my plate in front of me.

I took a bite, savoring the flavor. But then a feeling of guilt came over me. “It seems so strange that restaurants can serve all of this while most people can’t even buy bread and butter at the store.”

James shrugged. “Perhaps. But few things are ever fair when there’s a war on. And denying yourself pleasure will do nothing to change that. The government has already decided who wins and who loses in this war.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He swallowed a bite of his steak. “I mean that it will be the governments who benefit and enrich themselves from the war, regardless of the outcome on the battlefields.”

“Is that what they teach you at the RAF?”

He laughed. “Not at all. As military officers, we’re taught to believe the world can be easily divided along simple lines of good and evil. Anything that benefits Britain is righteous and holy.”

“That’s exactly what my father and stepmother believe, too.”

“But it’s not what you believe.”

I inhaled slowly, flattered to be asked my opinion. I’d never really given it much thought—at least not the kind of deep, sophisticated type of thought such a matter required. My notions of the war had emanated entirely from how it had impacted my life. It was rather selfish and immature, I realized now as I sat across from James. “No, I suppose it’s not. I believe that good and evil exist inside of all of us. Rarely are our intentions ever truly pure, but even if they were, the outcomes never are. There is a cost to every decision, every choice. Even if this war is justified, there will be lives lost and families torn apart on all sides. How can anyone think that is a good thing? What is the point of this war if we are giving up all the things we are supposedly fighting to protect?”

His face broke into a satisfied smile. “Everyone is so quick to assume Hitler is the great evil of the world. And yet Britain is rounding up and interning thousands of its own people, all for the crime of having German heritage.”

“That can’t be true,” I said, shocked at the assertion.

“But it is. The Isle of Man has been converted into a concentration camp. There are others popping up all over the country, filled mostly with German and Italian aliens. Even Jewish refugees escaping the continent have found themselves behind the barbed-wire fences.”

“Why would our country do that? What harm could any of them possibly be causing?”

He tilted his head and looked at me like my question surprised him. “Most people are quite willing to sacrifice their morals in the face of hardships. We’re all supposed to pretend that the war effort will unify us in our patriotism, when the truth is the wealthy look after themselves and average citizens are the ones making all the sacrifices.”

The thought of innocent people forced into camps because of their heritage was almost too horrible to contemplate. “It’s not right.”

“Your naivete is quite refreshing.”

I couldn’t tell whether he was joking, so I kept my mouth shut, hoping the rush of embarrassment in my cheeks wasn’t visible to him.

“The truth is, Germany’s fascist government has given them every advantage over Great Britain. They’ve solved the problems of unemployment and increased their infrastructure and military capacity. It was a mistake for us to go to war with them when we’re doomed for failure, but it’s not the politicians who will pay for that decision.” He shook his head. “I’ve been talking far too much. I apologize if I’ve been rude.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said eagerly, not wanting him to think I wasn’t capable of such sophisticated conversation. “It’s important to care about the world around us.”

He reached across the table and placed his hand over mine. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Irene. You notice things other people overlook. There are so many fools who walk blindly through life, never questioning anything.”

I beamed at the compliment, even as I doubted its accuracy. What did I know of the world? I was stuck in Havenworth with no experience, no future. Would James still like me if he discovered how sheltered and naive I really was?

After lunch, we strolled along the streets hand in hand. He no longer needed his crutches, but his gait was undeniably changed by his injury. Some men might have been embarrassed by it, but James held his head high, seemingly unperturbed by his limp. His confidence made me only more attracted to him.

“I hope you don’t think it’s too forward, but there’s something I wanted to give you,” he said before we parted ways at the train station. He pulled a small thin box from his coat pocket.

My heart leaped with excitement. The green tin and gold lettering were instantly familiar, even though I hadn’t seen them in months. “Faber-Castell coloring pencils?”

“You said they were your favorite.”

“Thank you!” Gratitude overwhelmed me, and before I could stop myself, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. It was a fleeting gesture, but in that moment it felt monumental.

I pulled back quickly, my face flushing with embarrassment at my impropriety. But James held me close and smiled, as if nothing could have been more natural. “Talent like yours deserves the finest tools,” he said softly. “It shouldn’t be held back by anything less.”

His words were everything I had longed to hear. It wasn’t until much later that I found myself wondering how he had managed to acquire such an extraordinary gift in the first place.