Abdication: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

hung for a moment in the outside air as more London-bound travellers came huffing onto the bus, visibly disappointed to find that the presence of a group of human bodies had made little effect on the cold inside.
    At Oxford, the last stop before the end of the two-hundred-mile journey to London, May and Sam left the coach for some fresh air. A barely lit cigarette stub was clinging to the corner of the driver’s bottom lip and the front crease down the length of his trousers had disappeared. He looked crumpled and tired, the bonhomie of the early part of the journey squeezed out of him. Sam offered him a Player’s from his own packet and, with an embarrassed shrug of the shoulders, the driver apologised for his dishevelled appearance. He confided that he still preferred his winter uniform to the summer variety. The white linen jacket, compulsory throughout July and August, was never free from oil and smuts and he dreaded the ignominy of being confused for an ice-cream salesman.
    An insipid watercolour sun was setting as the men stood and smoked outside the bus in the half-ghostly light. May stared at the skyline ahead of them.
    “Matthew Arnold says ‘the dreaming spires of Oxford need not June for beauty’s heightening.’” Sam recited. “I learned the poem at school but I never thought I would see the place for myself.”
    May was mesmerised by the dramatic outline of the city and the silhouetted buildings with their towers and spires, which glinted with a romantic beauty. She was barely awake when she felt Sam putting his hand inside her own glove before leading her across the bus terminal at Victoria. The National Omnibus let them off at Bethnal Green Road. Night had fallen and struggling through the darkness with their heavy cases they left the busy main road and soon arrived at a short terrace of small brick houses abutting a park. Children swung off ropes tied to the waists of the gas lamps and May had to step into the street to avoid trampling the chalked-in numbers of a recently abandoned game of hopscotch. All along Cyprus Street, wooden shutters painted black opened out flat against the wall on either side of the ground-floor windows. A brightly coloured display of flags decorated part of a wall opposite the Duke of Wellington pub and a memorial stone had been set well into the brick. Despite her tiredness, May tugged at Sam’s arm to stop for a moment so she could read the words.
R.I.P. In loving memory of the men of Cyprus Street who made the Great Sacrifice 1914–1918.
Erected by the Duke of Wellington’s discharged and demobilized soldiers and sailors benevolent club.
    Spelled out clearly beneath the plaque were more than two dozen names.
    Turning the corner onto Oak Street they saw a broad-chested man, his curly hair breaking on his shoulders, standing at the open door of number 52.
    “At last,” he said, beaming at May and Sam. “I am Nat. And you are really here at last.”
    Nathanial Castor, the son of their mother’s adored elder sister Gladys, had been expecting his cousins for an hour or more and even though this was their first meeting, he enfolded May in his arms before embracing Sam with equal warmth.
    May looked back in the direction of the Cyprus Street war memorial.
    “We call it the shrine,” Nat told her. “It commemorates the highest number of men from any one London street to have died in the war, and reminds us all how they did their duty to their country.”
    “It’s beautiful,” May said.
    “Yes, isn’t it?” Nat agreed. And then he said, “Come in, come in, Sarah is longing to meet you.”

C HAPTER T HREE
     

    A s Miss Evangeline Nettlefold reached across the dining room table for a second piece of toast, she felt the seam at the side of her woollen dress give way.
    Despite her size, Evangeline often surprised her friends with her stylishness, particularly when everyone knew she was all but penniless. Her often admired hats, the straw boaters, berets and