Hari sat beside the hospital bed staring out of the window afraid to look at Colonel Edwards’ grey face. He was sick, gravely sick. He had no relatives and he had wanted her beside him when his moment came.
Outside, the hospital blocks staggered downwards to a dip in the hillside. Old House Lodge had once been a hospital only for those unfortunate people afflicted with infectious diseases, but now it was wartime it had been turned into a hospital for the sick and wounded from the services.
The colonel opened his eyes. ‘Hari,’ he said softly, ‘don’t grieve, I’ve had my day and I want to say I love you, my dear. I would like to add, as a daughter, but it wouldn’t be true. I love you as a man loves a woman; that’s why I sent you away you know, to Bletchley.’
Hari rubbed his hand. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know, David.’ It was the first time she’d spoken his Christian name and he smiled beautifully.
‘You’re a good lady, Angharad Jones, and I want you to have all the happiness in the world.’ He touched her cheek. ‘You’re just a young slip of a girl, you’ll meet the man who loves you and you will love him and I know you are going to be very happy one day.’
‘I have already met the man I love,’ Hari said painfully. ‘And he’s just not meant for me.’
‘My dear Hari.’ There were tears in the colonel’s eyes and, too late, Hari realized he’d misunderstood. He kissed her hand. ‘You’ve made me the happiest man in the world dear, dear little Hari.’ He closed his eyes and with her hand against his lips, he died, softly.
Hari began to cry, tears for him, but also tears that she knew were self-pity. The nurse touched her on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about your father, dear, or is he your granddad? He had a good life and you saw him happily on his way. God bless ye and look after ye, not many are there for their loved ones at the end.’
Hari stumbled out into the night and sagged against the railings fronting the lodge. She had a sister and a father and neither of them were there for her when she needed them. Hari slid to the ground and began to cry. Around her the tang of autumn sharpened the air, the leaves, gold and bronze in the sun, looked sullen and dull in the evening light.
Overhead, the clouds cleared. Through the chill air came the faint drone of planes. The sound intensified, filling the world. Hari ran instinctively for shelter. Bullets hailed down as though searching for her. They spat on the ground at her heels. She dived for the sparse cover of the bushes on the outskirts of the lodge and threw herself flat, the smell of earth in her nostrils and the tears she was still shedding sinking into the ground.
Was that Michael up there in one of the bombers? Would he fly over Carmarthen as well as Swansea and bomb the farm and even his mother into oblivion?
And then the lodge itself took a direct hit. The walls were gone, huge chunks of masonry flew like massive missives towards her. One whole wall landed within inches of where she lay; flames shot into the darkening sky, licking at the night, illuminating the surrounding area.
Hari stayed on the ground feeling leaves crackle against her cheeks as she turned her head to look at the devastation that was occurring all around her. The bombers, their targets lit and exposed by the flames from the old hospital buildings, dropped more bombs, easily hitting the surrounding houses. The whole world seemed to be in flames. Hell had come for her before she was even dead.
Eventually, the bombers droned away, their task complete. Hari sat up and looked at the still-burning lodge, the funeral pyre for all those inside. Hari cried for Colonel Edwards but was glad that he had died before suffering the indignity of being blown to death by the Luftwaffe.
Eventually, she staggered to her feet and looked into the basin of Swansea Bay. A ship that was waiting for the incoming tide was on fire. Flares of flames like bonfires showed where houses had been hit. Tiny figures ran about the devastated streets like ants. She waved her fists to the sky in a useless gesture of anger.
Hari began to walk down the hill, making her way back to the town. If she was lucky her house would still be standing and she would lie in her own bed and sleep all the pain away.
As she rounded the corner she saw her house was there, solid and welcoming and she closed the door on the carnage outside with a sigh of resignation and relief.
The talk at Bridgend the next day revolved around Colonel Edwards. Hari was asked many times how he had died. She told them briefly. ‘He passed away peacefully before the bombing.’ And silently she thanked God it was true.
She went to her radio at last but there was nothing coming through. She sat with her head in her hands until, at last, she heard the tap of the machine.
The message was being passed on from Bletchley Park; she could tell it was passed on by Babs. After the official code and brief, precise message, the tapping became faltering, the sender clearly inexperienced. Hari took down the coded message with difficulty, the transmission was intermittent and then unbelievably she recognized some words not in code but in Welsh. Her own name, Angharad, the word for darling, cariad, and ‘it’s me, sis. Black Opal.’ And the radio went dead.