Shelter From the Storm

by Ellie Dean

  They drew apart, both feeling a little embarrassed by this show of raw emotion.

  ‘We’d better go down and get some breakfast,’ said Paula. ‘It’s almost time for work, and that motor gun boat’s engine service is bound to be tricky.’

  April nodded before going to the dressing table to clean her face and hide the tracks of her tears with make-up. She would come through this, she vowed silently. And she would learn to be strong and focused in the difficult months ahead. It was time to grow up, to face reality squarely – for although Paula was a stalwart friend who would stand by her for as long as possible, she really was on her own in this.

  5

  Cliffehaven, April 1943

  Doreen had been down in Wales for a few weeks now and it seemed from her letter to Peggy that she and her girls were happily settling into a small rented cottage on the outskirts of Swansea. She’d managed to get a secretarial job at the girls’ new school, which suited them all, and her pregnancy was progressing very well.

  Peggy was relieved that her younger sister was contented, and it seemed that things were picking up all round, which was a tremendous boost to her spirits. Ethel and Stan had announced their engagement, and Ruby and Mike had thrown a terrific party at the Anchor to celebrate their own. Further afield, the news from Russia and the Pacific was heartening.

  The routine at Beach View went on as normal, however, and Peggy was faced with the usual stack of ironing on this Tuesday afternoon. She stood at the end of the kitchen table where she’d folded a towel to use as an ironing board, and as the iron smoothed the wrinkles and creases from the sheets and pillowcases, she kept an eye on Daisy.

  The toddler was making her unsteady way around the kitchen by clinging to chair and table legs in pursuit of Queenie, the black kitten. Queenie didn’t appreciate being hugged by Daisy and she darted away, shot up the curtain beneath the sink and sought sanctuary in her usual spot on the shelf by the window.

  Peggy smiled wryly at this, for she couldn’t blame Queenie. Daisy could be quite rough with her, not understanding that cats didn’t like being half-strangled and carted about under her arm or shoved into her doll’s pram. She continued to watch Daisy’s progress, realising it wouldn’t be long before she found her feet properly and became even more adventurous.

  ‘Don’t let her get into the coal scuttle, Cordelia,’ she said sharply. ‘She’ll get filthy and spread it everywhere.’

  Cordelia Finch quickly sidetracked Daisy from the scuttle by flapping one of the rag books at her. Her smile was soft with affection as she struggled to draw the small girl up onto her lap. ‘She’s a little imp,’ she said fondly as she ruffled Daisy’s dark curls. ‘But eating anthracite isn’t good for you, Daisy, and not at all ladylike.’

  Daisy laughed up at her and clapped her hands before shoving the rag book into Cordelia’s face. ‘Nan-Nan,’ she said. ‘Boo. Boo.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll read your book. Just let me put on my glasses.’ She patted her cardigan pockets and delved into the sides of the armchair. ‘Goodness me, now where on earth did I put them?’

  ‘They’re on top of your head, Cordelia,’ said Peggy.

  ‘On my bed? They can’t be. I was reading the paper earlier.’

  Peggy placed the iron on the hob to heat it up again and then reached over to pluck the half-moon glasses from the mass of snowy white hair. ‘They were on your head,’ she said clearly.

  ‘Oh, silly old Nan-Nan,’ Cordelia chuckled to Daisy. ‘She’ll lose her head next, won’t she? And then where would we be, eh?’

  Peggy smiled. Cordelia was animated and totally absorbed with Daisy, and it was lovely to see how delighted they were in each other. Daisy’s arrival had brought interest to Cordelia, and Peggy knew that she relished being the baby’s Nan-Nan, even though they weren’t related.

  With a sigh of pleasure, she went back to her ironing. There was always a silver lining to the clouds, no matter how dark they were, and the war had brought new life to Cordelia. The comings and goings of the girls with their little dramas, their energy, laughter and lively music, had bucked her up no end – and being involved so closely with Daisy’s care had confirmed to her that she was truly cherished and regarded as an intrinsic part of the family.

  Peggy’s heart was warmed at the thought, for Cordelia’s own sons had emigrated to Canada many years ago, and until recently she’d had very little contact with them or their families. It was a blessing to Peggy that she was able to make Cordelia’s later years happy and fulfilled.

  Peggy’s thoughts returned to the job in hand as she swept the hot iron over one of Ron’s decent shirts (there were only two meriting this description). He seemed to be wearing his best ones more often – this was the second week they’d been in the wash – and she wondered if at last he’d turned over a new leaf and the days of dressing like a tramp were coming to an end. Perhaps Rosie had finally ordered him to smarten himself up when they were together – for he’d surprised them all at Beach View by actually going to a barber to get his hair cut and eyebrows trimmed – or perhaps he’d taken note of how neat and handsome Bertie Double-Barrelled looked every time he came round to see Cordelia, and had decided that a smart appearance was the way to Rosie’s heart – and her bed. Either way, it was good he was taking a pride in himself, and Peggy rather hoped it lasted.

  She carried on with the ironing as Cordelia turned the pages of the rag book and pointed out the different colours to Daisy, who was trying very hard to repeat the words. But Peggy’s mind wasn’t really focused on either Ron or Daisy, for an airgraph from Jim had arrived in the second post, and she was eager to see what he had to say.

  She knew he was up near the tea plantations in the mountains of India and that he was in charge of a motor repair station which serviced American vehicles as well as the British ones. Thankfully, the camp didn’t appear to be anywhere near the fierce fighting that was going on between the Americans and the Japanese, and she prayed fervently that it would stay that way.

  Jim seemed, as usual, to have managed to kit himself out with what he considered to be the necessities of life – as well as taking on a stray pup he’d called Patch – and was set up comfortably in camp with servants to tend to his every need and native mechanics to do most of the work at the garage.

  She smiled at the thought. He’d better not get too used to that state of affairs, or he’d have a nasty shock when he got home. The house needed decorating from top to bottom, the floors scraped back and revarnished, and there was a long list of repairs awaiting him. And it would be nice if he could buy a washing machine like the one Doris had – and an electric iron, perhaps even a proper toaster. It would make her chores much easier with so many people in the house, and give her more time to concentrate on him and Daisy.

  It was all wishful thinking, really, and she gave a sigh that was laced with worry and sadness. Despite all his wheeling and dealing to make himself comfortable out there, she knew he was suffering from the awful heat and being plagued by the mosquitoes. It was a minor miracle he hadn’t gone down with malaria like so many of the other men, but she suspected he had suffered from bouts of dysentery after eating all that strange food which probably hadn’t been washed properly and was full of all sorts of bugs and creepy-crawlies.

  Peggy’s hand was a little unsteady as she set aside the iron and hung Ron’s shirt on a hanger which she hooked over the back of a kitchen chair. Jim’s continued absence was like a knife in her heart, and although she stumbled through the days and kept smiling no matter how low she felt, it was the nights that defeated her.

  The bed felt so cold and empty without him lying beside her, and she missed the lovely Irish lilt to his voice and the way he could smile at her and make her feel like a girl again. She missed the lovemaking too – the intimacy of whispering in the darkness, of his hands on her skin and the drum of his heart against her ear as they . . .

  ‘Hello, Peg. I hope I’m not interrupting?’

  Peggy was sna
tched from her pleasantly disturbing daydream as Rosie Braithwaite came up the cellar steps and into the kitchen with Monty on his lead. ‘Hello, Rosie,’ she said, hoping her thoughts on Jim weren’t revealed in her face. ‘What can we do for you this afternoon?’

  Monty and Queenie eyed one another suspiciously, and the cat hissed furiously then shot onto a higher shelf as Monty danced about, whining in frustration.

  Rosie pulled Monty away from the sink and ordered him to sit down and behave. She laughed delightedly as the cat eyed them all imperiously from behind a saucepan before it lifted its tiny withered back leg and began to wash its bottom.

  ‘I’ve come to tell you Mary’s news,’ Rosie said. She greeted Cordelia with a beaming smile and reached for her god-daughter. ‘And to get a cuddle from my gorgeous Daisy.’

  Cordelia looked slightly miffed as Daisy was unceremoniously plucked from her lap without so much as a by your leave, but as she was expected to share Daisy with all and sundry, she said nothing.

  Rosie nuzzled Daisy’s cheek, which made her giggle, and then gave her a soft kiss. ‘She’s so lovely, Peggy,’ she said wistfully. ‘You are lucky.’

  ‘I do realise that,’ Peggy replied as she put the kettle on, ‘but she’s not all sweetness and light, you know. Her temper tantrums can be quite appalling.’

  ‘Surely not?’ Rosie crooned. ‘My sweet Daisy being naughty? I never heard of such a thing.’

  Peggy could see that Daisy was getting a bit overexcited with all the attention and knew that there would be tears and a tantrum any minute, but she was loath to break up Rosie’s happy moment, so she said nothing as she tidied away the pile of fresh ironing and hunted out cups and saucers, then spooned fresh tea into the old brown pot. She couldn’t begrudge Rosie these precious times, for she knew how deeply her friend had longed to have a child of her own. But with her husband shut away in a lunatic asylum, and the law making it impossible for her to divorce him and marry again, her chances of that had been crushed.

  There had been a time when Rosie had planned to adopt her brother’s illegitimate baby, but that too had come to nothing, and Peggy was well aware of how badly Rosie had suffered then. And yet, miraculously, her niece had come to Cliffehaven in search of the truth, and Rosie had been reunited with Mary for the first time since she’d held her as a tiny baby.

  Peggy made the tea and put the pot on the table, leaving the fresh leaves to steep for a bit before she poured it out. It was a rare luxury to have fresh tea, and she meant to get all the flavour out of it. ‘So, Rosie, what’s been happening to Mary since she went back to Sussex?’

  ‘She’s working on the Bonifaces’ farm and giving piano lessons at night.’ Rosie put a squirming, grizzling Daisy carefully on the floor and encouraged her to take her wheeled horse for a turn round the kitchen. ‘She’s also started up a choir in the village – some of those land girls have really good voices, apparently, and she’s hoping to enter them into a county competition.’

  ‘Then I’m sure she’ll be successful,’ said Peggy comfortably. ‘She’s very gifted at music, is Mary. Look at the way she got everyone singing along in the Anchor, and how she encouraged Fran to show us what she could do on the violin.’

  Rosie nodded a little impatiently. ‘But there’s more, Peg. Jack Boniface managed to get home on leave for a long weekend and they finally got officially engaged,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Oh, how lovely,’ sighed Peggy, who did so love a good romance. ‘He seemed such a nice lad, and they made a handsome couple.’

  ‘They’re planning on getting married on his next leave, though goodness knows when that will be,’ continued Rosie. ‘The marines are being sent all over the world, to some of the worst fighting. I just hope to goodness he stays safe.’

  There was a moment of silence between them and then Rosie visibly shook off her dark thoughts. ‘But the really good news is she’s planning to come down for a short visit in the summer before she goes off to teacher training college.’

  Peggy saw the brightness in her friend’s eyes and understood just how much this visit meant to her. She reached for her hand. ‘Oh, Rosie, how lovely for you.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it? She’ll get to see what we’ve done with the spare room, and it will be just wonderful to spend some time with her.’ She pulled a face. ‘Although I suspect I’ll have to be charitable and share her with you-know-who.’

  Peggy knew about the years of bitterness that lay between Rosie and Mary’s birth mother, but she was surprised that the two of them hadn’t sorted out their differences by now. ‘But you’re getting on all right with her, aren’t you? I thought you’d decided to let bygones be bygones.’

  ‘We muddle through, but we’ll never be as close as we once were,’ Rosie replied. ‘It’s the loss of trust, you see, Peggy. Once that’s gone . . .’

  Peggy regarded her sharply and saw how she was twisting her fingers in her lap. ‘What’s the matter, Rosie? What’s happened?’

  Rosie stroked Monty’s silky head as he rested his nose on her knees, then she lifted her chin and gave Peggy a dazzling smile that didn’t quite reach her blue eyes. ‘Take no notice, Peg. I’m just being silly, that’s all.’

  Peggy could see she wasn’t being silly at all – and in fact was trying very hard to keep her emotions in check. ‘If it’s silly, then why not share it?’

  ‘You’ll think I’m very foolish,’ Rosie muttered, ‘but . . .’

  Peggy waited.

  ‘I thought Ron might be here,’ Rosie blurted out.

  Peggy frowned. ‘He’s off with Harvey somewhere and I’m not expecting him home until teatime. He’s probably planning on calling in at the Anchor later – just as he does every afternoon. Why? Was there something you need to talk to him about?’

  Rosie’s lips trembled. ‘That’s just it, Peg. I haven’t had the chance to see much of him lately, let alone talk to him. I’m beginning to think he’s up to something.’

  Peggy remembered the best shirts and Ron’s very rare trip to the barber – and a tingle of unease threaded up her spine. ‘He’s probably busy with the Home Guard and all his other commitments,’ she said quickly.

  Rosie looked at her evenly. ‘That hasn’t stopped him before – so why now? He hasn’t called in to help change the barrels, or stopped for more than a few minutes in the evenings before he shoots off again. He hasn’t even come up for his usual cup of tea mid-afternoon – and when I do get the chance to question him about this odd behaviour, he just looks shifty and clams up.’

  ‘Ron always looks shifty,’ said Cordelia with a sniff. ‘Nothing new in that.’

  Peggy tried to make light of it despite her own gathering doubts. ‘Cordelia’s right,’ she said. ‘Ron isn’t one to let any of us know what he’s up to.’

  ‘I know. But this time it’s different.’ Rosie squared her shoulders and met Peggy’s gaze evenly. ‘I think he’s got another woman.’

  Peggy didn’t want to believe that, but the shirts, the haircut and his neglect of Rosie all seemed suspicious. She shrugged off this thought and decided to give Ron the benefit of the doubt. ‘Rosie,’ she said firmly, ‘he loves you. He’s loved you from the minute you took over the Anchor, and I’m positive he wouldn’t dream of even looking at another woman.’

  ‘No sensible woman would have him,’ said Cordelia tersely. ‘I do think you’re making a fuss about nothing, Rosie.’

  Rosie bit her lip. ‘You’re probably right, Cordelia, but as a woman you must know how it is. Something doesn’t feel right, and I can sense that his thoughts are elsewhere even when he is with me.’

  Peggy was certainly familiar with that feeling, for over the years she’d always known when Jim’s head had been turned by a pretty face or a well-bolstered bosom. Luckily she’d always managed to nip it in the bud – but if Ron was straying . . . That was a different thing entirely and she hadn’t a clue as to how she would deal with it.

  Rosie lifted her chin and met Peggy’s gaze al
most defiantly. ‘You know as well as I do that a woman’s intuition about these things rarely fails her. And if I find out he’s messing about, I’ll have his guts for garters. And whoever the woman is, she’d better watch herself, because I’ll claw the skin off her cheating face.’

  Peggy had no doubt of it, for beneath that feminine, film siren appearance beat the heart of a steely, determined woman who would stand no nonsense from anyone – especially her man. If Ron had been straying – and it was looking quite likely that he was – then she didn’t hold out much hope of him escaping Rosie’s wrath. This was far more serious than any of his other escapades, and Irish blarney and twinkling charm were no match for a Rosie scorned.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ twittered Cordelia. ‘Poor Ron. I almost feel sorry for him.’

  Peggy saw the spark of anger in Rosie’s eyes and quickly interrupted. ‘I think we could all do with drinking this tea and having a fag,’ she said briskly. ‘You need to calm down, Rosie, and not let your imagination run away with you. Ron might be many things, but I really can’t believe he’d do you wrong. We’ll get to the bottom of this, but we’ll do and say nothing before we have absolute proof that your suspicions are correct.’

  ‘And if it’s proved I was right?’

  ‘Then he’ll have you and me to deal with,’ Peggy said flatly. ‘And I don’t much reckon his chances of getting out of that alive.’

  The subject of this conversation was blissfully unaware of the impending storm clouds that were gathering around him as he sneaked out of the back door of the Crown that afternoon and hurried down the litter-strewn alley with Harvey. There was a spring in his step and he was feeling quite rejuvenated. Life was exciting and it just went to prove that although there might be snow on the roof, there was a furnace in the hearth, and a man of his age could still make his mark.

  Gloria was a grand girl, with a quick mind and a ready smile – and having got to know her better over the past few weeks, he’d come to admire her hugely. The rest of the townsfolk in Cliffehaven might turn their noses up at her, but that brassy façade covered hidden depths, and in Ron’s opinion, she was worth more than all of them put together.