by Ellie Dean
Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Ellie Dean
Title Page
Acknowledgements
A Map of Cliffehaven
The Cliffehaven Family Tree
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
Copyright
About the Book
THE FIFTEENTH CLIFFEHAVEN NOVEL BY SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR ELLIE DEAN
Cliffehaven, June 1944
As the planes continue to circle over Cliffehaven, Peggy Reilly’s sister Doris must seek refuge after a V-1 blast destroys her home. Rita, Sarah and the other residents at Beach View Boarding House quickly find their peace disturbed and it’s not long before even Peggy loses her patience. But with more bad news to come, will Doris finally be forced to swallow her pride?
Meanwhile Peggy’s father-in-law Ron Reilly is delighted when his sweetheart Rosie returns home. Until a heart-breaking confession suggests things may never be the same between them.
With loved ones scattered far and wide across the globe, and tensions running high, the end of the war feels somehow further than ever. And yet with the long-awaited Allied invasion in sight, a glimmer of light is starting to break through…
A fabulous, heart-warming Second World War novel in Ellie Dean's bestselling Cliffehaven series (previously called the Beach View Boarding House series).
About the Author
As the Sun Breaks Through is Ellie Dean’s fifteenth novel in her Cliffehaven series. She lives in a tiny hamlet set deep in the heart of the South Downs in Sussex, which has been her home for many years and where she raised her three children.
To find out more visit www.ellie-dean.co.uk
Also available by Ellie Dean
There’ll Be Blue Skies
Far From Home
Keep Smiling Through
Where the Heart Lies
Always in my Heart
All My Tomorrows
Some Lucky Day
While We’re Apart
Sealed With a Loving Kiss
Sweet Memories of You
Shelter from the Storm
Until You Come Home
The Waiting Hours
With a Kiss and a Prayer
Acknowledgements
As I began to write the Cliffehaven series, I soon realised that I would need to do a great deal of research if I was going to get my facts right, and I fully acknowledge that I’ve made a few blunders along the way.
I would like to thank Paul Nash – my favourite anorak – who is so knowledgeable about all things related to the aircraft which fought during the Second World War and the battles and the viewpoints of both sides. His patience in answering my often daft questions and researching into particular areas of the war has been very much appreciated, along with his ability to find interesting incidents that are not commonly known but which have enhanced my stories and given my imagination wings.
Thank you, too, to Jean Relf, who lent me her father’s diaries and letters which have given me such a terrific insight into what it was really like in Burma with the Chindits.
I would also like to thank my dear husband, Oliver, for never begrudging the hours I spend in my office, for providing coffee and encouragement, and for reminding me that it’s been eight hours since I started writing that day and it’s now time to stop and eat. His skills at ‘cooking’ salad have become legendary in our house!
1
Cliffehaven June 1944
All was still in the rooms above the Anchor as Cliffehaven slept beneath a veil of sea mist and Harvey lay on the hearthrug, basking in the glow from the fire. Rosie’s sitting room was a haven of warmth and comfort in the soft light, but an icy chill had begun to creep through Ron.
Harvey lifted his head and looked enquiringly at Ron as the mantel clock chimed three. Ron stirred uneasily in his chair. All hope that Rosie would return slowly died along with the flames in the hearth, to be replaced by a terrible dread. Something must have happened to her – or had she simply changed her mind about coming home and stayed with Major Radwell? The thought of them being together whilst he waited here made his stomach churn. He couldn’t lose her – not without talking to her face-to-face, and not without a fight. Yet who could he fight? Certainly not a one-armed war hero.
He gave a deep sigh, knowing there was nothing he could do until Rosie came home and they had the chance to try and pick up the pieces.
The slam of the side door to the Anchor snapped him from his thoughts and hope reignited at the sound of Monty’s paws scrabbling on the stairs, and a familiar voice calling up to him.
‘Ron? Is that you?’
‘Aye,’ he called back, leaping to his feet, his heart joyful as the dogs greeted one another and Rosie emerged at the top of the stairs laden with a suitcase and several large brown paper parcels tied up with string.
A quick glance over her shoulder told him she was alone and he rushed to relieve her of the luggage before he gathered her into his arms. ‘I was so afraid you weren’t coming back,’ he breathed against her soft cheek.
She leaned into him and briefly rested her head on his shoulder before looking up at him with a wan smile. ‘Silly man,’ she chided softly. ‘Of course I was coming home.’
Ron wanted to kiss the very breath from her, to hold her to his heart and sweep her off to the bedroom to finally make her his own, but he could feel the tension in her body as she didn’t encourage a more intimate kiss but began to slowly pull from his embrace. This was clearly not the moment to declare himself; let alone take it for granted that she’d want to be ravished.
He swallowed his disappointment, noting the shadows beneath her blue eyes and the signs of strain around her lovely mouth. ‘It’s very late, and you must be exhausted,’ he murmured.
‘The whole episode has been a nightmare,’ she replied, taking off her hat and gloves and shedding her overcoat. ‘Compounded by the fact the journey home seemed to go on forever. The trains were full and horribly slow, and when I thought that at last we were making headway, we were held up for hours outside Dartford because a V-1 had blown up the tracks.’ She kicked off her shoes, then made a fuss of Harvey and checked there was food and water for Monty.
Ron watched this flurry of activity, noting how she avoided looking at him. He felt awkward and suddenly unsure of what to do or say, for it was clear she wasn’t that delighted to see him, and he suspected by her use of words that she hadn’t travelled alone. But he didn’t ask the questions that were clamouring in his head, for he was afraid of what she might tell him. ‘To be sure, ’tis thankful I am that you’re home and safe,’ he managed gruffly.
‘So am I,’ she replied, looking at him finally with a warm smile. ‘Thank you for looking after things whilst I was away, and for waiting up for me, Ron. I do appreciate it, but if I don’t wash and get to bed, I’ll keel over.’
‘I made sandwiches in case you were hungry,’ he said, ‘and even managed to get hold of a lemon for your gin and tonic.’ He looked at her hopefully even though he knew he was being selfish in wanting to keep her with him for a few moments more.
Rosie’s expression was rueful as she regarded his suit and tie, the roses on the mantel and the carefully arranged refreshments on the sideboard. She touched his face w
ith light fingers. ‘I can see you’ve made a huge effort to welcome me back, Ron, but I can barely think straight after the day I’ve had, let alone eat anything.’ She feathered her lips over his cheek. ‘I’m sorry.’
Ron’s spirits flagged. He’d hoped for too much from this homecoming. All his plans for a loving reconciliation had been shattered by the lateness of the hour and Rosie’s exhaustion. ‘I could scrub your back and keep you warm between those sheets,’ he offered, desperately trying to rekindle the spark that had always been between them before tonight.
Rosie shook her head, her eyes dull with weariness. ‘That’s not a good idea, Ron,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but I need to be alone tonight.’
A wave of hope washed through him that there would come a night when they could be together, and he tentatively reached for her hand. ‘I love you, Rosie,’ he said, ‘and am willing to wait for as long as you need. I’m sorry you had to deal with everything on your own, but—’
‘We’ll talk tomorrow,’ she replied softly before glancing at the clock and shooting him a wry smile, for it was already a new day.
‘Everything is all right between us, isn’t it, Rosie?’ He could hear the plaintiveness in his voice and despised it, for it made him sound weak.
Rosie squeezed his fingers. ‘Later, Ron. We’ll sort it all out later.’ She picked up her case and turned towards her bedroom. ‘Goodnight, Ron. Drop the latch on your way out, will you?’
Rosie left the room without a backward glance, and Ron felt as if he’d been cast adrift. He took a shuddering breath and reached for his army greatcoat. ‘Come on, Harvey. We’re not wanted here.’
Harvey disentangled himself from his pup Monty, and climbed off the couch to nudge his nose against Ron’s hand in sympathy.
Ron stroked his brindled head and then clumped down the stairs. This ignominious departure was not how he’d imagined things going tonight, and as he closed the side door behind him, he was engulfed by a sense of helplessness, and a terrible suspicion that Rosie was hiding something from him.
He took a deep breath of the cool, salty air and looked up at the sky. The sea mist had cleared to reveal the first few streaks of pearly dawn light and the promise of another fine June day – but what would this day bring, and how would he cope if it turned out Rosie no longer loved him?
The Town Hall clock struck the half-hour as yet another squadron of RAF bombers took off from Cliffe aerodrome, accompanied as always by their night fighters. The war and the rest of the world were carrying on oblivious of the turmoil in his heart, and although he knew that his troubles were nothing compared to what was happening in the world, it didn’t lessen his anguish.
‘Come, Harvey,’ he said softly to the lurcher sitting at his feet. ‘There’ll not be much sleep to be had now. Let’s go to the seafront.’
Harvey yawned and shook himself before reluctantly following him down the hill and away from the comforts of Beach View to the promenade. Cliffehaven was still asleep except for those working the night shift on the factory estate and the soldiers manning the big guns along the shore, but the skies over France glowed with a false red dawn, and the sounds of the distant booms and crumps of bombs were carried across the water in the stillness.
Ron moved within the darker shadows cast by the remaining buildings that lined the coast road where the tram used to run day trippers back and forth. There was no curfew and he wasn’t using a torch, so he was perfectly within his rights to be out here, but his old pal, Sergeant Bert Williams, was known to prowl the town at all hours, and Ron wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.
He sat on a stone bench set within the sturdy Victorian shelter which had survived a bomb blast and bullets with only a few scars to show for it. Reaching into his greatcoat pocket, he pulled out his pipe and spent some minutes filling and lighting it whilst a disgruntled Harvey sprawled beneath the bench with a stoic sigh.
Ron tried to rein in his turbulent emotions as he looked gloomily beyond the coils of barbed wire and heavily mined shingle to the concrete tank traps which were strung in an ugly line across the bay. Despite the continuous roar of the RAF planes and the distant sounds of warfare, the sea was calm, the early light turning it into a sheet of molten silver which gently undulated and broke with a soft hiss against the shore. The old pier was a sorry sight; cut off from the beach to prevent enemy landings, its skeleton stark against the lightening sky, the bones of what had once been the ballroom and amusement arcade now embracing the rusting carcass of a German fighter plane.
He regarded his surroundings through the pipe smoke, remembering how he and Rosie had gone swimming in the sea in those halcyon days between the wars. They’d danced in the pier ballroom, and enjoyed picnics on the beach with his sons, Jim and Frank, and their wives, Peggy and Pauline, and all the children. He could almost hear the happy laughter of those children as they’d played in the sand, and the music that had drifted to them from the bandstand, and thought he could catch the merest hint of toffee apples and candy floss mingling sweetly with the salty air.
In his despondent mood, the happy memories were overshadowed by darker thoughts. How very different they all now were from those carefree people. Jim was fighting the Japs in Burma; Peggy was working for Solly Goldman at his uniform factory whilst caring for her lodgers at Beach View; and Frank and Pauline were not only mourning the loss of two of their precious sons, but praying that their surviving boy would come home unscathed from the Allied invasion into France.
Ron shivered, although his greatcoat was thick enough to ward off the cold. Peggy’s daughter, Anne, now had children of her own and was waiting anxiously in Somerset for news of her fighter pilot husband who was a POW. Young Cissy was a WAAF and stationed at nearby Cliffe, where she’d had to witness the horrors of planes crash-landing and the endless lists of the missing as she too waited to hear from her American pilot who was also a POW. Peggy’s two younger boys were with Anne and maturing fast – especially Bob, who was rapidly approaching call-up age. Beach View Boarding House still rang with the laughter of their evacuees, but with the family scattered and only little Daisy to watch over, the laughter often sounded hollow to Ron.
He bit down on the stem of his pipe as his thoughts turned inevitably to the previous war. By some miracle, he and his two sons had survived what the politicians had called the ‘war to end all wars’, and they’d firmly believed that after the horrors of the Somme and the death of a generation of young men the future would hold new purpose and opportunity. And yet the bitter reality was that war had come again and another generation of youngsters was being called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of peace.
He shifted on the bench and grimaced as he felt the familiar sharp twinge in his back. The splinter of shrapnel had embedded itself there when the Huns bombarded no-man’s-land as he’d been carrying a wounded comrade back to the British trenches. He’d managed to drag them both to safety, only to learn that he’d been carrying a dead man.
The shrapnel was a constant reminder of that friend and their war, and although his family had urged him to see a doctor about it, he’d come to think of it as an intrinsic part of who he was – a memorial to all the pals he’d lost and who would never grow old as he was growing old. He’d come to the decision long ago that it was his penance for surviving and that he’d carry it with him until the end.
Determined to ignore the pain and not dwell on those dark days, he turned his mind back to the town which had been his home for almost fifty years.
Some of the grander hotels along the seafront had been blown to smithereens; the small fishing fleet his father had bequeathed him was no longer moored beneath the towering white cliffs at the far end of the beach; and to the north of the town where there had once been grazing land and farm buildings, there now stood an ugly sprawl of factories. The High Street was scarred by rubble-filled bomb sites, and the slums beyond the badly damaged station had been wiped out with firebombs.
Ron grimaced. A
t least the war had done some good by clearing those rat-infested hovels, and once peace was restored, it would hopefully force the council to build proper housing for the displaced families.
He puffed on his pipe, his thoughts rambling and disjointed as he tried not to focus on the coming day. Yet it was impossible. He knew Rosie too well, and her evasiveness increased his suspicion that she was hiding something from him. Had the events surrounding her husband’s death made her turn to Radwell for comfort, or was she having second thoughts about spending the rest of her life with a man who could offer her very little but his heart? Radwell’s absence was a good sign, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still in the picture.
He felt a chill run through him as the sun started to rise above the sea, its golden orb stained by the blood-red of the fires over France. He had to believe Rosie had stayed true, and that it was just the aftermath of a rotten journey that had made her short with him. Once she was fully rested they would talk, and then, if the spark had been rekindled … He dipped his hand into his coat pocket and touched the small jewellery box. Then he would propose.
Ron suddenly became aware of Harvey, who was whining and shivering, and felt a mortifying wave of guilt. ‘Poor old boy,’ he murmured, stroking his head as he emerged from beneath the bench to lay his muzzle on Ron’s knee. ‘It’s not fair of me to keep you sitting about in this cold.’
Harvey’s eyes were liquid and beseeching as he looked back at him.
Ron stood up. ‘Come on then, ye heathen beast. Let’s be off home to see what we can filch from Peggy’s larder for breakfast. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to need a full stomach to get through today.’
Despite her exhaustion, Rosie was finding it almost impossible to relax, for her thoughts and emotions were all over the place. She’d defied government restrictions by filling the bathtub almost to the top and adding scented crystals, but now she climbed out of the cooling water, and wrapped herself in her warm dressing gown.
Wiping away the steam from the bathroom mirror and catching sight of her reflection, she winced. Her face was drawn, her complexion wan, the blue of her eyes dulled by weariness and the experiences of the past few weeks. Turning her back on this unedifying sight, she padded barefoot into the sitting room to pour a stiff drink in the hope it might help her to sleep.