Chapter Ten
"Come on. I want to show you the church where we're getting married." Sandra took the mug from George's hand and towed him out of the kitchen.
"Sandra, let the young man have a break. He's just driven down from London and he only arrived home from Norway yesterday." Her mother stood in the kitchen door with her hands on her hips.
Sandra loved her home and her parents, but she didn't want to be treated like a child. She was starting to realize that she and George needed their own place. Part of the reason she was eager to go out was so they could have privacy to smooch in the car.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Fisher. Thank you for the cup of tea." George smiled at her mother and followed Sandra outside.
As she settled in the passenger seat of his car, she folded her hands gently over her belly, already protective of this precious new life growing inside her.
George leaned closer and laid his palm over her hands. "I'm very happy about the baby and the wedding. You know that, don't you?" He punctuated his words with tiny kisses.
"In the next couple of weeks, I'll find a home for us. Eventually we'll buy our own place, but to start with we'll have to make do with army married quarters. Is that okay?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck, so relieved to have him back. "I don't care where I live as long as I'm with you." Life would be wonderful. She'd have a darling little baby, a gorgeous husband, and a home of their own.
George pulled away and they drove off, bumping down the driveway. "So where's this church, then?" he asked.
Sandra directed him into the village, past the doctor's surgery where she'd love to work, past the convenience store and the small school. On the other side of the village, Saint Cuthbert's Church stood in the middle of the ancient cemetery. They parked on the edge of the road near the tiny thatched kissing gate that led into the churchyard, and climbed out of the car.
"What a wonderful place. It looks ancient."
"It is. Some of the graves date back to the twelfth century."
A cracked flagstone path led to the heavy oak door. Primroses and buttercups were scattered across the green grass between the gravestones. Sandra clung to George's arm, her thoughts flying as she imagined walking along this path in two weeks beside her father, wearing her lovely lace wedding dress.
George twisted the iron door handle and the latch clanked open. "Gosh. They don't make doors like this anymore." He put a shoulder against the metal-studded oak and pushed. They walked through the medieval entrance porch. The familiar smell of seasoned oak, beeswax polish, and slightly musty fabric pervaded the air.
They were both quiet as they trod the worn red carpet past the font, where she hoped her baby would be baptized. When they reached the nave, they stopped at the head of the aisle.
A serene silence filled the sacred space. Sandra drew in a shuddering breath and released it slowly, letting go all the worries and uncertainties of the past few months. George was home and they would soon be married. Everything was working out perfectly.
"I haven't been in a country church like this since I was at school." George laid a hand on the carved oak leaves and acorns on the bench end of a pew. "There's a peaceful atmosphere in here that you don't find anywhere else."
"I knew you'd like Saint Cuthbert's." This church was part of Sandra's childhood. She'd hoped George would feel as comfortable here as she did.
"It's perfect, darling." He ran his fingertips across her cheek and smiled.
Holding hands, they walked down the aisle and stopped at the step before the altar. Huge fragrant displays of flowers stood on each side.
Will you take George to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and protect him, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live? The familiar words of the marriage ceremony echoed in her mind. "I do," she whispered.
Sunbeams burst through the stained glass window behind the altar, streaking a rainbow pattern across the carpet at their feet.
George lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her finger beside her engagement ring. "In two weeks you'll be Mrs. Knight. Then in another six months, we'll have our first child. I'm so happy we found each other, love."
"So am I." Sandra wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes as his strong arms circled her. She was the luckiest woman in the world. Life was perfect and she couldn’t be happier.
• • •
George hummed as he turned into his parents' drive. The last ten days with Sandra had been wonderful. They'd visited Southampton General Hospital, where she had a place for the next specialty in her rotation, and met the consultant pediatrician she'd work for. It turned out the man was an army reservist, so he and George had immediately got along.
They'd also supervised the final wedding preparations and George had dutifully tasted cake samples, nodded and smiled when he was shown photographs of floral table displays, and visited the country hotel where the wedding reception was to take place. Whatever Sandra chose was fine with him. He wanted her to enjoy their special day. If she was happy, he would be, too.
Tonight he was due to meet up with some of his old friends for a bachelor party before the big day tomorrow.
He parked beside his father's silver Bentley and cut the engine. With perfect timing, Robert Mackenzie and his new wife climbed out of a taxi outside and walked up the gravel drive towards him.
"Rob, good to see you." They shook hands, and George kissed Moira's cheek.
"So where are we going tonight?" George asked Rob as they headed for the front door. As best man, he'd been responsible for organizing the bachelor party.
Rob slapped him on the back with a laugh. "You'll have to wait to find out."
"I can't be too late getting home. It's a big day tomorrow and I don't want to oversleep."
Rob shook his head. "You don't change, do you? You know what they say about all work and no play. Just relax and enjoy yourself for once."
"Oh, I play, believe me. But I'd rather save the playtime for my honeymoon."
Moira smiled. "A man with his priorities right. Your fiancée is a lucky woman."
They headed towards the house and George put his key in the lock. Before he could turn it, his mother pulled the door open and ushered them inside.
"Robert, Moira, how lovely to see you again." She kissed them both on the cheek, then smiled at George, but there was something wrong. He could tell by her tense, almost agitated manner. Before he could ask what, the phone on the hall table trilled.
His mother glared as if it had bitten her.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" A hint of foreboding crept into George's tone.
With obvious reluctance, she picked up the handset. "Yes, he's arrived. I'll pass you over. Surgeon Commander Graham for you, George. This is the third time he's called, but he won't tell me why."
George glanced at Robert questioningly to see if he knew what his brother-in-law wanted, but his friend's only answer was a shrug.
"Hello. Nice to hear from you, Alex." He'd only said good-bye to him two weeks ago at RNAS Yeovilton when they'd returned from Norway. He hadn't expected to speak to him again so soon.
"Ah, George. Thank goodness I got hold of you. We have an emergency, and I need your help. I gather you're due to get married tomorrow, so I'm sorry to call you up at such short notice."
George frowned. Sandra would be disappointed if they had to postpone their honeymoon, and so would he. After three months apart and two weeks staying with her parents, he was looking forward to some time alone with her. "Can you give me more details?"
"This is still classified, although I doubt it will remain so for long. You've heard that the Argentines have occupied the Falkland Isles?"
"Yes. I think everyone has." The news had been emblazoned across the front pages of the newspapers. To start with he'd thought it was a bad April Fools' Day joke, but it turned out to be true. He'd been following the news reports with interest, a small part of him lamenting the fact
that the British military operation was under navy command, so he wouldn't be called up to join the task force.
As far as he'd heard, the only Royal Army Medical Corps medics who were being mobilized were those attached to the parachute regiment who supported the commandos.
"We've requisitioned the P&O cruise liner Canberra as a hospital ship. I joined her in Gibraltar as part of the advance team sent to plan the conversion. It's docked in Southampton now, undergoing the refit.
"My assistant has managed to break his leg in a car accident. I need to replace him quickly with someone I can trust. The powers that be have given me permission to call on you. I'm sorry. Your Easter leave is canceled. I need you down at Southampton docks as soon as you can get here."
"What?" It was rare for George to dither, but he did now. "You mean today?"
"Yes. They'll be working through the night to complete the Canberra's refit. We plan to sail early tomorrow."
George stared blankly at the floral wallpaper. Disappointment engulfed him as things raced through his mind—Sandra smiling and happy as she talked him through the wedding-day schedule, how she'd teased him about waiting to see her wedding dress, the beautiful flowers she'd chosen, the wedding rings carefully stowed in his suitcase. And the honeymoon in Italy they were both looking forward to.
Everything would have to be canceled.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. She was going to be devastated. Yet he had no choice. Alex's call was not a request, it was an order. "Yes, sir. Of course. I'll leave immediately." He glanced at his watch. "I should be with you by this evening."
"Good man. Pack for cold weather, thermals and camouflage, Wellington boots won't go amiss."
"Yes, sir. I'll see you later." George replaced the receiver, a terrible sense of powerlessness closing in on him. This was a side of the army he hadn't considered. He wanted to serve his country, and he wanted to lead men. But he didn't like his freedom curtailed, and right now, having his wedding day snatched away from him, that was how he felt.
He pivoted to find four faces staring at him. "You can't go today. You're getting married tomorrow." His mother wedged her hands on her hips and glared at him, her cheeks flushed. He'd never seen her so angry.
"I can't ignore a direct order."
"Your father will call someone, won't you, John." His mother turned her laser glare onto his father, who had wandered out of his study during the phone conversation.
"Yes. Poor show, the navy dropping you in it like this." His father huffed and puffed in his usual fashion.
"I could call Alex and try to get you off the hook," Robert offered tentatively. He winced in sympathy and Moira avoided George's gaze, obviously embarrassed that it was her brother who'd just wrecked his wedding.
For a moment, George was tempted to accept Robert's offer, not for himself, but to spare Sandra the disappointment of canceling the wedding. The thought of hurting her left him breathless and hollow, but even if Robert could talk Alex into choosing someone else, this would go down as a black mark on George's record. It might blight his career for the rest of his life. However inconvenient the timing, he'd joined the army to serve his country. He would not back out when he was needed.
"No." He fisted his hand against his thigh. "I have to go." And he had to leave soon.
Head hanging, he ran upstairs to his room and sat on the edge of his bed. Cradling the telephone from his nightstand in his hand, he dialed the Fishers's number. This would be the hardest call he'd ever had to make.
• • •
Sandra sat on the hard tiles of the kitchen floor, hugging her knees, the phone pressed to her ear. "Please be there for the wedding ceremony so we're married before you go away again. You can leave straight after that. You don't have to stay for the reception."
"I'm sorry, my darling. I know it's terrible timing, but I have to leave today."
Tears swam in her eyes as she hung on to her control by a thread. When her mum shouted that George was on the phone, she'd galloped downstairs, eager to talk to him. She'd thought he'd called to say he'd arrived home safely. Then he'd dropped his bombshell.
"There has to be a way around this. You can't miss our wedding after all the planning and expense. It's totally unreasonable of the army or navy or whoever is giving the orders to expect you to drop everything and dash off like this."
His breath rushed out on a frustrated sigh. "I know. I feel the same way. More than anything else in the world, I want to be there for our wedding tomorrow, but the ship sails in the morning."
"Can't they wait for you?" Even as the words left her lips, she knew they were unreasonable. A hospital ship bound for the South Atlantic was not going to delay sailing for one junior doctor.
"If it's Moira's brother giving the orders, can't you tell him you're getting married and ask him to find someone else for the job? Can't Robert or Moira talk to him? Isn't there a navy doctor who can go?"
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It doesn't work like that." George sighed again. "Look, I'm really sorry. I have to go. I need to pack and get on the road. I promised Alex I'd be at Southampton docks tonight."
"You promised me you'd turn up at the church tomorrow and marry me." The moment the bitter words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. It wasn't George's fault he'd been called up for this stupid war with Argentina over some island nobody had ever heard of. Who cared who ruled it? Except she'd read an article in the newspaper about the Falkland Islands residents wanting to remain British, and if there was one thing the British stood up for, it was democracy and freedom of choice.
George remained silent.
Her breath rushed out on a hopeless sigh of defeat. She couldn't stop him leaving and in her heart of hearts, she didn't want to. George was a man of principle and integrity and would never avoid doing his duty for his country. That was part of the reason she loved him.
"I'm sorry. I know this is difficult for you as well, darling." Sandra cupped her hand around the phone receiver as she spoke softly, wishing she could touch him and kiss him.
"I want to get married as much as you do," he said.
"I know." As silent tears overflowed her lashes, Sandra pulled her hair back from her damp face.
"We'll get married as soon as I come back."
If you come back. The thought burned through Sandra like a blowtorch, searing away her self-control, and a sob caught in her chest.
"Be careful," she stuttered between shuddering breaths.
"I love you, Sandra. I have your photo in my wallet, and I'll keep it with me all the time. I'll write if I get the chance, but if you don't hear from me it only means I haven't been able to send a letter home, okay?"
"Love you, too."
"Good-bye, darling."
"Good-bye." Sandra pressed her hand over her mouth as he put down the phone and the dial tone sounded in her ear.
All her worst fears about marrying an army officer were coming true, and they weren't even married yet.