‘I think my mom may have a beau.’
Constance blinked the tears back where they belonged. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I’m kinda reading the between the lines, but in her letters, it sounds like Mr De Rosa, who owns this Italian deli not far from where we live, is sweet on her.’
Constance frowned. ‘What’s a deli?’
Henry looked at her, his eyes widening. ‘You’ve never heard of a deli?’
She shook her head.
‘Ah, you don’t know what you’re missing, Connie. A deli sells fine foods; you know, cured meats, cheeses, and olives. There’s this smell when you step inside Mr De Rosa’s shop, and its how I’d imagine walking down a street in Rome would smell. It’s kinda garlicky and peppery and cheesy all at the same time.’
‘You’re making me hungry!’
‘Well, I did promise you a fish supper.’
‘And I’ll hold you to that, but let’s walk a little further. If your leg’s not hurting you?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Would you like your mum to remarry?’
‘Do you know what? I would. I’d like her to be happy, and Mr De Rosa is a good man. And I’m all for it if it means I get a lifetime’s supply of his pastrami.’ He read her expression and grinned. ‘Pastrami is a cured meat that’s mixed with spices and then smoked, and you can’t beat a pastrami sandwich from De Rosa’s Deli. Although pancakes from the Sweet Jam Café come close, they just drip with maple syrup.’
‘What’s maple syrup?’
‘What’s maple syrup?’
She nodded, giggling at his incredulous expression.
‘Connie, you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted maple syrup. It’s the liquid from inside a maple tree, and when it’s boiled up, it becomes this gooey sweet syrup. It is the best.’
Constance closed her eyes and imagined she could taste it. She opened them deciding it was time she gave him a run for his money. ‘You can’t beat a piece of fresh-from-the-sea fried haddock, chips and mushy peas from Mrs Hennings Fish Shop either.’ It was one of the few treats the war hadn’t managed to snaffle.
‘Mushy peas?’ Henry raised an eyebrow.
‘Halt! Who goes there?’ A voice shouted across the sand from the Esplanade and Constance glanced anxiously up at the seawall. A sailor manning the old Victorian gun emplacement shouted from the beachside entrance to Puckpool Camp. She hadn’t paid attention to how far they’d walked.
‘Wing Commander Henry Johnson, Royal Canadian Airforce, and Constance Downer of Ryde.’
Constance felt in her pocket for her identity card which she handed to the sailor to examine. He glanced at it, and satisfied passed it back.
‘As you were,’ the voice said, and Constance flushed seeing him wink at Henry.
‘All this talk about food’s made me hungry.’
‘Me too.’ Constance agreed, and as they turned back retracing their footsteps in the sand the sun dipped low, and the tide began its stealthy ascent up the beach. By the time they barrelled into Mrs Hennings Fish Shop, it was dark.
‘Good evening Mrs Hennings. Could we have two fried fillets of haddock please and chips for two with a serving of mushy peas please?’
‘Hey.’ Henry laughed. ‘I never agreed to the mushy peas!’
Chapter 17
‘Okay, I’m still on the fence about the mushy peas, but I will hold my hand up to that being the best piece of fish I’ve ever had,’ Henry said, as they strolled toward Pier View House. He was mindful of making sure Constance was home by curfew.
Constance groaned. ‘I ate too much, my tummy hurts.’
Henry laughed. ‘There were rather a lot of chips.’
‘Mrs Hennings is not normally that generous. I think she rather took a shine to you.’ Constance had thought the woman who at times looked like she would rather be anywhere than in her fish shop with her swollen ankles and red work-worn hands had seemed to prance from fryer to till at the sight of Henry. She wasn’t the only one either. The two girls who’d been huddled over a shared plate of chips in the corner began giggling and stealing surreptitious glances over at him. Henry seemed oblivious to the effect his tall, handsome presence was having. Constance eyed the girls, recognizing one of them as Flo Brown from the factory. She was a terrible flirt, or so the factory gossips said. She held onto Henry’s arm just a little tighter.
It had been a wonderful evening, she thought with a happy sigh, as they passed by the edifice of the Royal Kent Hotel once more deliberately slowing her pace because she didn’t want it to end. The only sour note had been the two lads who’d brushed past them deliberately knocking into Henry as they left the fish shop.
‘Hey watch it mate!’ Henry called, as they laughed and carried on their way but Constance pulled him inside to the warm glow of the shop. She knew some of the local lads were envious of the foreign boys and the almost exotic appeal they held for the girls of Wight. ‘Ignore them, Henry, I know Willy Parker’s mother and believe me he doesn’t know any better.’
It was ten minute to nine when they reached the little side gate beside A Stitch in Time.
‘It’s not that I want to cut our night short Connie it’s just that I want to be sure your father is happy for me to call on you again.’
Constance felt a thrill run through her at his words; he wanted to see her again! It was just as well because she’d die if he didn’t feel the same way as she did. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’ She smiled up at him. The evening had been more magical than she’d imagined it would be as she’d tossed and turned each night from Monday through to the wee hours of Friday morning. Although in her dream date she hadn’t gotten a green smudge from the pea she’d dropped down her front on Ginny’s cardigan. How she was going to get it out, she didn’t know!
Her hand reluctantly reached out for the latch, but her gaze never left Henry’s. She didn’t want the evening to finish. It was far too early, she thought mentally poking her tongue out at her father. All the other girls didn’t have to be home until ten thirty. It wasn’t fair. But all thoughts of her father and anyone else for that matter vanished as Henry gently cupped her face in his hands, and his eyes seemed to darken as he looked at her with an expression she couldn’t read. Instinctively she tilted her chin raising her mouth toward his. She tasted salt as their lips connected and a jolt, almost electrical in its intensity, coursed through her. As she pressed herself against Henry, she sank deeper into her first kiss. Her body seemed to no longer belong to her, and she fell further into the realm of a foreign desire not knowing and not caring where it took her.
The jarring sound of a tin hitting tin caused them both to jump apart as it shattered the still night air. Constance was breathless, and she took a few seconds to regain her equilibrium unable to look at Henry for fear of falling off that abyss she’d been teetering on. Her father never put the rubbish out this late at night. It was his way, she knew, of making sure there was no funny business going on out the front of A Stitch in Time!
‘You’d best go in.’ Henry’s voice was ragged around the edges.
Constance nodded but made no move to do so.
‘I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away from the camp next but when I do can I come and see you?’
The bin lid rattled once more. ‘Yes of course.’ She gazed up at him taking a photograph of his face to pull out between times. When she was sure every detail of his features from the glint of stubble determined to make an appearance to the line of freckles marching across his nose were firmly imprinted in her mind’s eye, she stood on her tippy toes and kissed him hard on his lips. ‘Goodnight Henry,’ she whispered, unlatching the gate. She didn’t dare look behind her as she disappeared down the path for fear that she would be unable to leave him.
Later she lay restlessly on her bed, her blankets in a heap on the floor where she’d kicked them off. It was too hot to sleep, but even if it had been the kind of night when she donned a woolly hat and slippers for bed, she knew she wo
uldn’t have been able to nod off. Her thoughts were too full of Henry and the way her body had taken on a life of its own responding to his kiss. Her legs had seemed to liquefy, and there had been an ache inside her that needed filling. Constance knew as she stared up at the ceiling that when she met Henry at the folly last Monday she’d been a girl but as she’d tripped up the stairs tonight, pausing only out of politeness to tell her parents and Ginny that she’d had a lovely evening that she wasn’t that girl anymore. She, Constance Mary Downer, now knew what it was to be a woman with all the promises of something wonderful waiting just around the corner.
A familiar drone began to grow louder, and she knew not even a trip down to the Anderson Shelter would dampen her ardour. She might have only known Henry a short while, but she was in love. She knew this with the same certainty she knew the bombs would rain down on Wight that night.
͠
Wednesday night arrived despite Constance’s best efforts at willing it away. She was wide-eyed thanks to a mix of terror at the evening ahead and awe at the room in which she was standing. In its hey-day, this had been Darlinghurst House’s formal dining room. The only clues to the room’s glamorous past now, however, lay in the crystal chandelier dangling from the ornate ceiling rose. It didn’t sparkle as it once had thanks to the film of dust coating the teardrop crystals. There was no one left with the time or inclination to look after it now. The upstairs and downstairs staff of yesteryear were long gone. The ornate, gilt-framed portraits of disapproving relatives in old-fashioned dress frowning down at whoever stepped across the threshold were a reminder too, of the wealthy and somewhat ostentatious Bournemouth set who’d opted to vacate the home and head back to the south coast beach town from whence they’d come. They’d no wish to limit themselves to the two rooms allocated them after the house was commandeered for the war effort.
The atmosphere in the room was oppressive despite the large windows letting in the last of the days light, their square panes framed by heavy, velvet drapes. The low hum of voices bounced off the rich and dark, oak paneled walls as the voices of the soldiers well enough to attend this evening’s show rose and fell. Some had robes on, some were in their pajamas; all were in varying states of bandaged repair. The nurses too milled about making sure their charges were comfortable. Tonight was a break from the ho-hum routine of the soldier's respite and making her presence known lest any of her boys get too excited was the matron. She reminded Constance of a bird of prey, but the woman’s hawkish gaze was forgotten as she spied Henry.
Her heart soared—he’d come! He was standing at the back of the room near the wide entrance framed by a sturdy set of intricately carved double doors, his wedge cap clasped in his hands. She forgot to be coy as she’d heard Myrtle and her worldly posse at the factory say one should be when it came to dealing with boyfriends. Her face broke into a wide smile of its own accord, and she waved over leaving the huddle of animated, overexcited girls all dressed in their very best, she’d arrived with, weaving her way through the crowded room to where Henry stood.
‘I couldn’t get away from the camp before now, but I was determined not to miss out on hearing you sing tonight.’ He smiled down at her, and it was evident to Constance in the way his eyes softened as he looked at her that he was as pleased to see her as she was him. In that instance, she forgot her roiling nerves as her emotions swung between elation and relief at the sight of him. In the days that had passed since she’d fallen for her handsome Canadian Airforce man, she’d replayed their evening together over and over in her mind. As time ticked over with no word from him, however, she’d begun to wonder if she was as Evelyn, had said on Saturday afternoon, naïve.
Her sister had called home with an offering of early spring carrots and a pat of butter. As their mother busied herself rustling up a plate of cheese sandwiches, Ginny had shared her happy news with her sister-in-law. Evelyn had been just as thrilled at the thought of a baby coming into the family as the rest of them and the atmosphere as they fell upon the sandwiches, agreeing they tasted that much better thanks to the smearing of real butter, was jovial. Constance was helping herself to another triangle when Ginny elbowed her. ‘Connie has a bit of news too, Evie.’ As Ginny had predicted Evelyn turned a pale green on hearing the news. Her little sister had a good-looking beau and a Canadian one no less. Their mother had clucked her tongue at her elder daughter, telling her to be nice before heading down the stairs to relieve her husband from the shop for half an hour while he had his lunch.
Ginny, who’d been feeling tired of late, went for a lie-down and it was left to the sisters to make a fresh pot of tea for their dad, and to clear up.
‘I’m sorry I was a bite, Connie,’ Evelyn said breaking the silence as she measured the tea. ‘You’re a little trusting when it comes to the real world that’s all, and I don’t want you to get hurt. It doesn’t pay to fall too hard for any of the soldiers gadding about town.’
Constance was reminded of an actress’s line she’d once heard in a film. She was also irked by her sister’s condescending tone. Trusting indeed!
Evelyn, however, wasn’t finished. ‘There’s a lot of smooth operators in uniform around. Soldiers who know how to woo and sweet talk a girl and how to break her heart good and proper.’
It was only when Evelyn had left to catch the bus back to Norris Castle Farm that Constance forgot her irritation with her sister as the penny dropped. Evie had been talking about herself. Some cad had given her the runaround. Her heart went out to her sister then, and she wished she could catch her up and give her a hug, but the bus would be halfway to the farm now. The seeds had been sewn though, and as each day tumbled into the next, she’d begun to wonder if she was just one of many girls Henry took a turn-about with. Was she as Evelyn had suggested a silly, and naïve girl who fell head over heels the first time a man showed interest in her? Now, at the sight of him, all those traitorous thoughts picked up their hems and marched out the sturdy oak doors. He was here, and that was all she needed in the way of reassurance.
She spied Doris Cosby arranging herself at the piano, and her stomach lurched as she was reminded as to why she was here. ‘I feel sick Henry. I don’t think I can do this,’ Constance’s voice came out in a broken rasp. How she was supposed to sing when she could hardly speak was beyond her.
Henry took her hand. ‘Hey, of course, you can Connie. Look around you. These poor guys deserve a little cheering up, doncha think?’
Constance’s eyes settled on a soldier with a bandaged head His arm was in a sling, and his leg in a cast was stretched out in front of him. She felt a tug at her heart.
‘Take it from someone who knows, you girls singing tonight will be the only bright spot in these fella’s lives at the moment. They’re missing their sweethearts, their families and you can help take their minds off all that for an hour or so. Is it so hard?’
He was right, she thought. It was such a small thing she had to do compared to what these boys had had to do and had gone through in the name of the war.
‘When you sing, pretend it’s just you and me.’ He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
‘Connie come on!’ Lil tugged at her arm, there was no time for introductions, and so Constance gave Henry one last smile before following her friend through the crowded space to where the cluster of girls from the shipyard were gathered in front of the tiled open fireplace, the mantle providing a frame behind where they stood. It was down to Sybil MacKay, as the eldest of the group, to step forward and say a few words before Doris began to play the opening notes of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” with gusto.
While they weren’t The Andrews Sisters, the girls held their own and hats off to Doris, the songs she’d insisted they play were going down a treat. They were foot tapping and fun, and Constance smiled spying two of the nurses jitterbugging together down the back of the room. Even the po-faced matron was swaying along to the rhythm. The fast-paced set finished, and it was Constance’s turn to step forward. She took a deep breat
h and looked around the room at all the poor battered men, determined to do them proud before her eyes sought Henry. His gaze never faltered from hers, and her voice seemed to take on a life of its own, dipping and soaring over the notes of the Vera Lyn melody. She felt like she was soaring over the white cliffs of Dover and when the song came to a close, she saw one or two of the nurses wipe their eyes. The applause was thunderous, and she grinned as Henry gave her a thumbs up before returning to her spot next to Lil. ‘You were fantastic,’ Lil managed to whisper before Doris began pummelling the piano keys once more.
The show was over far too soon, and that it had been a success was evident in the whistles and shouts for more that had seen them perform one last number. They’d opened on The Andrews Sisters, and they closed with the trio’s “Rum and Cola.” Constance looked at her workmate's faces; they were flushed with the success of the evening. She too was on a high. It was true; she thought turning her attention to the audience that music had the power to move people. The atmosphere had been heavy and spoke of pain and suffering when they’d first arrived. Now, she thought listening to the buzz of conversation as memories of bygone dances were relieved, the mood had lifted.
‘Are you coming with us?’ Lil asked, elbowing Constance out of her reverie.
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied, as Henry crossed the room toward her.
‘Constance Downer, you’ve gone and got yourself a fella, haven’t you?’ Lil laughed. ‘And a fine looking one at that.’
Chapter 18
It was nearly a month since Constance and Henry had met, and there weren’t many moments in Constance’s day when he didn't occupy her thoughts. She’d wonder what he was doing, and as she toiled at her mundane task in the factory, her mind would drift replaying their last outing. As though using a fine tooth comb she’d scour each detail of their time together unaware of the lovelorn look on her face until one of the girls would elbow her as they passed by telling her to stop daydreaming. She couldn’t help herself though; it was the only way she could get through the minutes, hours or days until the next time she saw him.
The Promise Page 13