On a Turning Tide

by Ellie Dean

  Ron’s heart warmed at the thought of Dolly Cardew. She’d been a friend since he was a youth of thirteen or so, and had turned from tomboy into the most intriguing woman he was ever likely to meet. Always glamorous and vivacious, she seemed to breeze through life without a care – although he was privy to the heartache and regrets she’d suffered along the way. She was now in her sixties but could easily pass as someone at least a decade younger, and Ron knew that behind that sophisticated air of being rather empty-headed and frivolous, she possessed an extremely sharp mind, a keen eye and ear for detail, and a lethal knowledge of hand-to-hand combat and sabotage which she’d put to good use in both wars.

  He glanced at his son surreptitiously, wondering how he and Pauline would react if they knew the truth about Dolly. Everyone in the family thought she’d retired from her office job in London to a flat in Bournemouth where she was ruffling feathers amongst the good ladies of the local WI – whereas, in fact, she was working for the Special Operations Executive which had been formed back in 1940.

  The secrecy surrounding the work and the agents of the SOE was absolute, but Ron had performed similar covert missions in the First War and had learned of her involvement in that side of things during an unexpected meeting in France where they’d both been sent to sabotage a German communications centre.

  This covert experience had led her to be recruited, and as he was also still involved in a very minor way, he knew that Dolly had played a key part in Danuta’s recruitment and training for the dangerous missions behind enemy lines which had almost cost the girl her life – and had supplied the necessary paperwork to secure her the post as district nurse and assistant midwife once she’d recovered from the injuries that had been inflicted on her by the Gestapo.

  Ron dragged his thoughts from the delectable Dolly and blew on his tea. The family would remain ignorant of the parts they’d played, for each of them had signed the Official Secrets Act – and he didn’t mind at all that they all thought he was just a grumpy old man who told tall war stories, moaned about the shrapnel moving in his back to avoid work, and did his bit with the Home Guard – or Dad’s Army as the wags called it.

  He turned his attention back to his son who was gloomily staring out to sea. ‘What about you, Frank? You look a bit down in the mouth, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  Frank grimaced. ‘I’m still waiting for the compensation to come through for all our boats that were requisitioned. I’m managing all right on what I earn at the tool factory, and Pauline’s wages help – but I need to get back to sea where I belong.’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘You know what the government’s like – they requisition your property quick enough with lots of promises, but are very slow to honour them.’

  ‘It’ll come eventually,’ said Ron, blowing on the tea again before taking a tentative sip. ‘And until this war’s done with, and the fishing grounds and beaches are cleared of mines, there’ll be no boats going out from Cliffehaven anyway.’

  Frank gave a grunt of agreement and sat in silence for a while, his large hands cradling the mug as he watched the dogs dash in and out of the water.

  ‘Brendon’s been very good about writing home, so we know he’s all right so far,’ he murmured eventually. ‘He and Betty got engaged during that short leave he had in Devon, so no doubt he’ll be bringing her to meet us all when this lot’s over – if it’s ever over,’ he added dourly.

  ‘Aye, it’s beginning to feel endless, that’s for sure,’ murmured Ron. He took another sip and then gave up on it to light his pipe. ‘We’ll just have to concentrate on the good things for now. Cordelia’s birthday party is all organised at the golf club – Bertie Double-Barrelled has seen to that, so it’ll be quite a bash.’ He nudged Frank’s arm. ‘We’ll have to be wearing our best bib and tucker for that one – the club’s very posh and insists that men wear ties and jackets in the dining room.’

  Frank grunted at this and Ron silently agreed that it was a bind, but one that had to be borne with dignity if they wanted a quiet life. ‘Daisy will be three at the beginning of December and Peggy’s talking about having a tea party at home with some of the other little ones from the factory crèche – so I’ll be making meself scarce that day.’

  He took a breath and hurried on. ‘Then there’s me wedding. Me and Rosie will be tying the knot at the Town Hall on the ninth of December. We’ve decided the church isn’t for us.’

  ‘Oh aye?’ Frank regarded him evenly. ‘You mean you chickened out and Rosie gave in,’ he teased.

  Ron grinned. ‘Something like that. To be sure, she’s a good wee girl, and I’m a lucky man to have her in me life.’

  ‘That y’are,’ said Frank, pulling out a tin of tobacco from his pocket to roll a cigarette. ‘And what does Father O’Leary have to say about this change of plans?’

  ‘I’ve yet to tell him,’ Ron admitted. ‘I’m going over there later, and to be sure, I’m not looking forward to it.’

  ‘I’m surprised Rosie isn’t going with you,’ said Frank, cupping his hands around the match to light his cigarette.

  ‘She thought it was best I did it, as me and the Father have a close understanding of things,’ Ron replied airily.

  Frank gave a bark of laughter. ‘Don’t give me that. You’re both a couple of old divils who’ve never agreed on anything. Rosie’s punishing you for mucking up her plans, more like, but I suspect he’ll be glad not to have to perform the ceremony knowing what a heathen y’are, Da.’

  ‘Aye, you could be right,’ muttered Ron. ‘To be sure, ’tis a relief I’ll not be going through all that rigmarole, and that Rosie’s been so understanding about it.’ The tea had finally cooled enough to drink, so he raised the mug in a toast. ‘Here’s to weddings, birthdays and Christmas and the hope that 1945 will bring peace.’

  Frank raised his mug in agreement. ‘You always were an optimist, Da.’

  Ron slowly drank the cooled tea, relishing the fire of the whisky warming him through and dulling the pain in his back. ‘There’s no point in being down in the mouth about things we have no control over,’ he said. ‘But I have to confess ’tis a worrying thing having to face Father O’Leary again. The wily old so-and-so will no doubt make me pay for spoiling his fun.’

  Frank chuckled. ‘Better that than going through something you know isn’t right.’ He eyed his father quizzically. ‘It must have taken a lot of courage to tell Rosie.’

  ‘Aye, it did. To be honest with you, son, I thought I would lose her.’

  Frank nudged him with his shoulder. ‘But you didn’t, so everything turned out just right, didn’t it?’

  ‘Aye,’ breathed a happy Ron, holding out his mug for more tea and whisky to give him courage to face the priest.

  They sat in companionable silence as the dogs grew tired of their game and came to shake themselves dry before slumping in a panting heap by the side of the beached fishing boat. Frank was the first to break the silence.

  ‘I got a letter from Jim yesterday. He seems to be on the mend, but I’m not sure I believe his injuries were so superficial. They wouldn’t have kept him this long in hospital if they had been. And the tone of his letters isn’t right, either. It’s too matter-of-fact and overly cheerful – and when Jim’s in that frame of mind it means he’s hiding something.’

  Ron had come to the same conclusion a while ago. ‘I’m thinking he’s putting it all on for wee Peggy’s sake, so she’s not worried about him. If his injuries were that light he’d have been treated in the field hospital and then sent back into the fighting again by now.’

  ‘Aye, that was my thought too.’ Frank regarded his father solemnly. ‘At least we know for sure it wasn’t bad enough to send him home like his mate Ernie. That poor wee man will not be walking again, and Jim blames himself for putting him in the line of fire.’

  Ron nodded. ‘Ernie’s wife wrote to Peggy, telling her how grateful she was that Jim had saved Ernie’s life that day – but it seems neither man is willing to talk about
what happened, so I reckon we’ll never get to the bottom of it.’

  He swallowed the last of his tea. ‘I’d better be getting on. Mass will be over and I want to catch Father O’Leary before he has his lunchtime tipple.’

  Frank followed him as he clambered awkwardly out of the boat and eased his back. ‘Is the shrapnel bothering you, Da?’ he asked with concern.

  ‘Ach, it’s nothing,’ Ron fibbed. ‘Just old age and creaking bones.’

  Frank eyed him sternly. ‘It looks more than that. You should take the family’s advice and go and see a doctor about it.’ He held up his hand to wave away Ron’s protest. ‘I know the army surgeon said he couldn’t do more to get that last bit out, but I’m sure things have moved on since then and there’s something they can do to be rid of it once and for all.’

  ‘To be sure, the medics have enough to do without bothering them with my troubles,’ Ron replied, cross with himself for having let Frank see he was in pain. To ward off further discussion, he took his son in his arms and hugged him. ‘I’ll see you at Cordelia’s party, if not before,’ he said, trying not to flinch as his son hugged him back with great fervour.

  He could feel Frank watching him as he left the beach and walked determinedly up the steep slope, the dogs trailing after him. Frank’s strong embrace had made his back feel even worse, but he was damned if he’d let it show.

  By the time he’d reached the presbytery his back was easing somewhat, so he tethered the dogs to the gatepost and walked up the gravel drive to the front door, his mind working furiously on what to say to the old priest that wouldn’t offend him. For all his faults, Father O’Leary was a good man at heart, and his unwavering faith in what he believed had earned Ron’s respect.

  The priest’s house was an enormous red-brick barn of a place that had been built in Victorian times to house several priests and three members of staff. It was set behind the cemetery trees in a large garden that was forever in shadow, and since the other priests had either retired or gone into the services, Father O’Leary lived there in almost solitary splendour, but for an elderly housekeeper called, rather appropriately, Miss Thorn, who resided in a couple of rooms behind the kitchen and fiercely guarded him against all comers.

  Ron’s rap of the knocker was answered almost immediately, which told him she’d seen him coming, and the door opened to reveal her sour, wrinkled face and unwelcoming glare.

  ‘Good day to you, Miss Thorn,’ he said, taking off his cap and giving her his friendliest of smiles. ‘Would the Father be in?’

  ‘He’s about to have his pre-luncheon sherry,’ she replied. ‘You’ll have to come back.’

  ‘Ach, now, Miss Thorn, I’ve come a long way and ’tis urgent I speak to him now. Would you be after telling him it’s Ronan Reilly?’

  A lesser man would have quailed in the force of her glare, but Ron had faced the might of the Hun and stood firm.

  ‘I know who you are,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll see if Father wishes to speak to you.’ She slammed the door in his face.

  ‘Old witch,’ Ron muttered. How Father Peter put up with her, he couldn’t fathom, but he supposed the old boy needed someone to look after him and he’d unfortunately drawn the short straw.

  When the door opened again it was Father O’Leary standing there. ‘I hope this is important, Ronan. My sherry’s waiting.’

  ‘This won’t take long, Father,’ he replied quickly. ‘Rosie and I have had a long talk, and we’ve decided to get married at the Town Hall,’ he said in a rush. ‘I appreciate all you’ve done for us, and we’re sorry if it’s an inconvenience to cancel things, but we both agree it’s for the best.’

  Father O’Leary eyed him for a long moment and then broke into a chuckle. ‘I wondered how long it would take you to see the error of your ways. But at least it shows you do possess some moral fibre.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Father,’ he replied, a little nonplussed by his reaction. ‘You and I both know it wouldn’t have been right, and me conscience is much easier now things are sorted.’

  The little man looked up at him keenly. ‘I’m glad to hear you have a conscience, Ronan – it shows you’re not a completely lost cause. But what I’m asking meself, is, why does a man who is not a believer have a conscience about going through a ceremony before God in church? You think on that, Ronan. Now good day to you.’

  Ron stood on the step as the door was once more closed on him, albeit softly. The older man’s reaction had come as a pleasant surprise, but his parting words lingered with him all the way back to Beach View and throughout the rest of the day.

  5

  Doris had rather hoped John would call in to ask how she was after that distressing scene with Chumley, and to give her a chance to fully explain. But as he hadn’t – and what was left of her pride stopped her from going to him – she’d eaten the remains of the potato and corned beef hash she’d made the day before, and spent a miserable evening listening to the wireless as she knitted a cardigan from the unravelled wool of an old sweater.

  The knowledge that if it hadn’t been for Chumley’s interference and her silly fib she could have been sharing a roast beef dinner and pleasant evening with John at the club hadn’t made her feel any better, and she’d gone to bed early in the hope that a good night’s sleep would help her see things in a clearer light.

  Sunday had dawned with brighter skies and a brisk wind. The absence of rain was heartening even though she hadn’t slept particularly well and was feeling a bit groggy. However, as she finished her solitary breakfast, she was able to clarify her thoughts on what must lie behind Chumley’s aggressive and unwelcome attentions, and to take a more reasoned look at her relationship with John.

  He was a good man who’d offered friendship and delightful company at a time when she’d needed it most – and through her loneliness, she’d been drawn to his warmth and kindness, perhaps even falling a little in love with him. She was still finding her feet in this new life she was making, and coming to terms with the loss of Ted and everything she’d once taken for granted, so perhaps it had been wishful thinking that had made her see more in his friendliness than was really there?

  If so, then she’d been in danger of making an utter fool of herself by imagining he was in love with her, thereby risking not only his companionship, but her job too. In a way, she thought, she should be grateful to Chumley for bringing things to a head.

  Doris cleared away her breakfast dishes and went into the pristine bathroom to wash and prepare for the day. Pride was all very well, but there were times when one had to push that aside and do the right thing – and this was one of those times. She would write a letter to John, telling him everything, and slip it through his letter box so he’d find it when he came back from his usual round of Sunday morning golf.

  She’d just finished the letter and was reaching for her coat when there was a knock at the door. John would still be at the golf club, so it had to be that damned chauffeur – or worse, Chumley. Fired up and ready to give either man an earful, she yanked the door open.

  John White swiftly took off his hat and took a step back, startled by her furious expression. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he stuttered. ‘Is it a bad time to call?’

  Doris almost sagged with relief. ‘It’s the perfect time,’ she said. ‘In fact, I was about to drop in a letter, thinking you were at golf,’ she babbled on. ‘But it’s always better to discuss things face to face, isn’t it?’ She realised she wasn’t making much sense, so she stopped talking and stood back to invite him in.

  ‘Golf has been the last thing on my mind this morning,’ he said as he stepped into the hall, his hat clutched in his hands, his expression a little wary. ‘I’ve come to apologise for my appalling manners yesterday,’ he continued. ‘I should never have left you unsheltered from the rain like that – and certainly should have allowed you to explain what was happening between you and Chumley – although it really isn’t any of my business,’ he finished rather lamely.

  �
�There’s nothing going on between us,’ she said firmly. ‘And it’s me who should be apologising for being untruthful.’

  ‘I’m sure you had a perfectly good reason,’ he replied, running his fingers through his thick silvery hair.

  ‘Shall we go into the sitting room where there’s a fire and we can talk more comfortably?’ At his nod, she led the way, and gave the meagre fire a prod with the poker to liven it up. ‘I could make some coffee, but I warn you, it’s more chicory than anything, and doesn’t taste very nice.’

  His eyes were very blue as he smiled down at her. ‘I think I’ll pass up the offer for now,’ he said.

  ‘A wise decision,’ she replied, taking one of the armchairs by the fire and indicating he should take the other.

  John drew a silver cigarette case from his jacket pocket, opened it and offered it to her. When he’d lit both cigarettes he remained tense and upright on the edge of the chair, as if he was on parade.

  ‘I’ve had the feeling something has been bothering you all week, and it’s clear to me now that it has to do with Chumley,’ he began hesitantly. ‘Would it be impertinent of me to enquire what has brought this about?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she replied, feeling rather foolish, for if she’d been straight with him right from the start they wouldn’t be having this awkward conversation now. ‘But it’s a long story, and I really don’t know where to begin.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me how you became acquainted with Chumley?’ he encouraged. ‘I’ve always found it’s easier to begin at the beginning so the flow of things goes in the right order.’

  How wise he was, thought Doris, beginning to relax at last in his calm, caring presence. She took a breath, marshalling her thoughts, then began to tell him how the Chumleys had taken over the manor fifteen years ago, and how it had soon become clear that Lady Aurelia was a force to be reckoned with when it came to raising money and setting up charities. She went on to tell him about her own charitable works at the time, and how flattered she’d been to be invited to join Lady Aurelia’s fund-raising committee.