BERNADETTE BARRYMORE

he friends arrived at Victoria Station with half an hour to spare and sat in the station café with a nice cup of tea and a slice of apple crumble pie with custard. Some ladies at the table next to them were talking about the Spanish flu, killing thousands in Great Britain, and how the returning servicemen brought it home. Bernadette couldn’t help herself from turning to them and saying, “You might mean to say the returning heroes who have gone through hell to save our skins.” Margaret shushed her and mouthed, “It’s her nerves,” to the seated ladies who smiled at her in understanding, and Margaret led Bernadette over to the platform. They could hear the train approaching the station, and Margaret told her friend that she would be watching her from a safe distance. The servicemen began to descend, and Bernadette felt sick to her stomach with nerves. And then finally she saw him. He looked gaunt and battle weary but still so handsome that Bernadette felt her heart stop. She stepped forward, and he stood and stared at her for a moment. He wasn’t smiling, and Bernadette wasn’t sure what to do, but just as she was about to run to him, he turned. He turned, and there was his mother awaiting him. They embraced and then walked out of the station together, and Bernadette stood and watched them as she thought her whole world had just ended. No matter what she quipped to Margaret, no matter what the servants at Devereux House believed to be true—it was clear enough—her marriage was over, and she thought that surely her heart would shrivel up and die. Margaret ran to her, and it seemed Bernadette needed assistance to even walk. She took her friend home, made her some warm milk and honey, and left her to her grief. “I can see you want to be alone, but I will come by after work. I will tell them you had a shock and won’t be in.” But Bernadette sat up and said, “No, I will be at work at my usual time. It is the busiest time of the year, and just because I have been let down, it is no excuse to let down others. When Margaret left, Bernadette replaced the warm milk with a glass of the sherry that Cook had placed in her care basket, and as she sipped it down thought, that’s not the end of it and not even close to the end. I am still his wife, and I will confront him. If he no longer loves me— she didn’t finish the thought since it was too unbearable to consider. Bernadette Devereux, known mostly to others as Bernadette Barrymore, tidied away the food and candles and wrapped her new negligee set in tissue paper before climbing into the bed she had excitedly been anticipating sharing with her husband after three long years. It was still early, but in her grief, she fell instantly asleep without kissing the two photographs under her pillow—the photographs she had kissed every night before. Tony Devereux was livid to see his mother standing at the station. He told her not to come. He planned to quietly go home and figure out what to do after a long sleep in a real bed. “I will take you back to the dower house, mother. I am in no mood for talking tonight.” Arabella was forced to explain that she was actually residing in the main house, “Well, when that girl left, it seemed the sensible thing to do. Of course, if you prefer, I can have the servants return my things to the dower house tomorrow—but surely not tonight, Tony.” “That girl? Oh, you mean my wife? The one I just left standing at the station. What is her address? I know you know it. If you don’t tell me, I will follow her home to find out.” Arabella saw the change in her son, once so easy-going and cheerful—he was such that it almost scared her. “Alright, alright; I just thought to spare you some grief. 941 Wisteria Park Crescent.” He answered calmly, “Expensive, overlooking a private park, sounds very nice.” Arabella scoffed, “Well, of course, he is paying for it. The Irish bricklayer—he is coming here in February to take her back. He wrote to me. And you will be glad to know he is bringing the annulment papers all taken care of and just in need of both of your signatures.” Tony was incredulous, “All sorted out, is it? Well, I won’t be signing them. I am bringing her back here to her rightful place. Whatever has been going on—she was all dressed up with a new ridiculous hat to meet me tonight, and since I haven’t heard one word from her since 1916, I intend to find out why.”