The Brooklands Girls

by Margaret Dickinson

  Twenty

  The party for Jake Goodall, held on the croquet lawn, left the young man with a tumult of emotions. In turn, he was embarrassed by the attention, yet warmed by it and grateful for his good fortune. Each member of the family and staff gave him presents – most of them useful gifts – but the one most precious to him was a book on horses from Pips.

  The day ended with Jake stammering his thanks to Henrietta, who said, ‘You are most welcome, Jake. I am so glad I found you all those years ago.’

  ‘So am I,’ was his heartfelt reply.

  Only three days after their return to London, Pips answered the doorbell in Milly’s flat to find Rebecca standing there.

  ‘You didn’t take a scrap of notice of what I said, did you? Not only have you seen him again, but you took him home to meet your family. You’re determined to get your claws into him, aren’t you?’

  ‘Come in, Rebecca. I’m not about to have an argument with you on the doorstep.’

  Reluctantly, the girl stepped over the threshold. Pips closed the door and led the way into the living room. She was thankful that Milly was out.

  ‘Now,’ she said, turning to face the irate young woman, ‘just understand this – your father and I are friends. That’s all.’

  Rebecca shook her head. ‘No, it isn’t. He told me last night that he intends to ask you to marry him.’

  Pips stared at her. ‘That’s news to me,’ she said, able to be quite truthful. There was a pause before she added, ‘And what did you say to him?’

  ‘I told him I wasn’t happy about it. That he should honour Mummy’s memory and not even think about remarrying. And certainly not you.’

  ‘And what did he say then?’

  ‘What he said is nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I rather think it is.’

  Rebecca avoided meeting Pips’s steady gaze. ‘He – he got quite angry. He asked me if I expected him to remain celibate for the rest of his life. Then he – he told me that Mummy hadn’t been a proper wife to him for years but that he’d respected that because of her illness.’

  ‘He must have loved her very much, Rebecca,’ Pips said gently. ‘Many men would have sought solace elsewhere.’

  Suddenly, Rebecca sank into a chair and fished a handkerchief out of her handbag. ‘He told me more about you and your family. I’m – I’m sorry for what I implied before. I realize now that you’re not a –’ she smiled wryly – ‘a “camp follower”.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Pips began indignantly, then her sense of humour came to her rescue and she laughed too. The tension between them eased a little.

  ‘Are you going to marry him?’

  ‘I really haven’t thought about it. Besides, he hasn’t asked me.’

  ‘But he will. I know he will.’ Tears filled her eyes again.

  Pips watched her for a few moments and then asked, ‘Is it because you don’t like me or because you don’t want him to remarry at all?’

  ‘He’s all I’ve got,’ Rebecca whispered. ‘I can’t bear to lose him.’

  ‘Why on earth would you “lose” him, as you put it?’

  ‘You’d take him away from me.’

  ‘Rebecca, you’re his daughter. Nothing and no one will ever change that. He loves you devotedly. I can see that and, besides, you have your own life to build. You’re at the start of your career and maybe one day you’ll meet someone and get married.’ Her mouth twitched as she added, ‘I’m sure your father would love to be a grandfather.’

  Rebecca managed to smile thinly. ‘I’m sure he would, but where are all the young men that I and my contemporaries are going to marry? I think I’m destined – along with a lot of other girls of my age – to remain a spinster, don’t you?’

  Sadly, that was a statement with which Pips could not argue. She was, after all, ‘in the same boat’, as the saying went.

  By the time Rebecca left, they had not become friends and probably never would, but they had cleared the air between them – at least for the moment. Rebecca would never embrace the idea of her father’s remarriage and her relationship with any future stepmother – whether it was Pips or not – would always be frosty. But at least their meeting had served one purpose for Pips: by the time George took her out for a romantic candlelit supper, she was prepared for his proposal.

  The expected invitation to have dinner with him came the following week and, as they reached the coffee stage, George reached across the table and took both her hands into his. ‘Pips, you know how I feel about you, don’t you? Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

  Even though she had been forewarned, Pips was still unsure of her reply.

  ‘George, I am extremely fond of you, I think you know that, but I’m not sure that I could give up my lifestyle and I expect you would want me to become a dutiful wife.’

  ‘Good Lord, no!’ George smiled. ‘That’s what I love about you, Pips. Your energy, your courage and meeting life head-on. I shall probably trail in your wake, but, no, I’d never expect or want you to give up racing, though of course I’ll worry about your safety.’

  ‘And flying,’ she said impishly. ‘I want to take a course of lessons.’

  ‘Now that is exciting. I wouldn’t mind having a shot at that myself.’

  ‘Really? That would be marvellous. It would be a shared interest.’

  ‘I’m sure there’ll be others.’

  They smiled at each other. Their shared experiences in the horrific war united them. When the memories surfaced and perhaps threatened to overwhelm them, each would always understand the other.

  ‘But there is one insurmountable problem,’ George said.

  ‘Rebecca,’ Pips murmured.

  He looked startled. ‘Why would you think that?’

  Pips wished she could bite the end of her tongue off. She had spoken without thinking.

  George frowned and, making Pips feel even more uncomfortable, asked, ‘Has she said something to you?’

  The only time Pips had ever been known to lie had been in the war when she’d helped ease a dying soldier’s passing. She had even, on one occasion, pretended to be the mother of a fatally wounded boy. He had gone peacefully with her kiss on his forehead. But now, she would not begin any relationship with George – whatever that was to be – with a lie.

  ‘I get the feeling she’s not happy about you marrying again.’

  He stared at her for a moment and then seemed to realize that he was putting Pips in a very awkward position. Slowly, he said, ‘Then I will talk to her.’

  ‘Oh please . . .’ Pips began, but he squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘I won’t let her know you’ve said anything, I promise.’

  Pips nodded and then, after a pause, she said, ‘So, what was the problem you meant?’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘The difference in our ages. I don’t think your mother will be too happy about that, do you?’

  Now Pips was able to laugh. ‘I think my mother has finally accepted that I will go my own way in life. If I say I’m going to marry you, then I will.’

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Going to marry me?’

  Pips’s laughter faded. ‘Honestly, George, I don’t know. I’m very fond of you. Love you, I suppose . . .’

  She hesitated and he said softly, ‘There’s a “but”, isn’t there?’

  She signed heavily. ‘You know what happened to me before? You were there.’

  ‘Dr Giles Kendall, you mean?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Were you – very much in love with him?’

  Pips frowned and then shook her head. ‘I don’t think I can have been. I hardly ever think about him now and, if I’d loved him deeply, surely I would still be broken-hearted. And I’m not.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he murmured. ‘He wasn’t worth it.’

  ‘But he was my first . . .’ She paused, searching for the right word, but there was no need for her to say more. George understood. />
  ‘That doesn’t worry me, so long as you’re not still carrying a torch for him.’

  Pips chuckled. ‘Not even a candle.’ Then she sobered as she added, ‘But there’s still Rebecca. The very last thing I’d want to do is to come between you and your daughter. She needs you, George, and I think – if you’re totally honest – it would break your heart if there was a rift between you.’

  When they met again the following week for lunch at Claridge’s as they had arranged, George’s face was bleak as he sat down opposite her. As if unable to keep it to himself any longer, the usually reserved and rather staid man blurted out, ‘You were right. Rebecca has told me she can’t bear to think of me marrying anyone. It’s not against you personally, just that she thinks I should be faithful to her mother’s memory. But Pips, Rebecca is young. She has no idea how lonely the rest of my life will be.’

  Pips waited patiently. She could sense there was more he wanted to say. He fiddled with his napkin and waved away the approaching waiter.

  ‘She told me herself what she had said to you. About – about my wife’s death. Pips, I am so sorry. I was appalled. We had quite a row about it. I think it’s the first time we have ever quarrelled like that.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry that happened, because she will blame me for being the cause of it.’

  ‘I told her she was being very selfish and she shot back at me that she’d had to care for her mother from quite a young age when I was away playing soldiers.’

  ‘George, she’s still very young. She’s lost her mother in tragic circumstances, it has to be said. And I guess you’ve been away in the army for much of her young life and now, you’re all she has left.’

  ‘But can’t she see that you would be a wonderful mother to her?’

  ‘She doesn’t want a stepmother and certainly not one who is only a few years older than she is.’

  ‘Then couldn’t you be friends?’

  ‘We could try, but only if we’re both willing. Otherwise it would never work.’

  ‘You haven’t actually said you’ll marry me yet. Perhaps after this, you won’t want to.’

  Pips reached across the table and took his hand. ‘Yes, I will marry you, George, but not yet. However, in the meantime . . .’ She smiled and gave him a saucy wink.

  George Allender, a former officer in the British Army, actually blushed.

  Twenty-One

  As summer turned into autumn, they met as often as they could in discreet hotels or, occasionally, at Milly’s flat if she was away. When Milly had been introduced to him, she’d declared later to Pips, ‘He’s absolutely adorable, Pips, darling. But whatever is Mitch going to say?’

  ‘It’s none of Mitch Hammond’s business,’ Pips said tartly. Milly raised her eyebrows, but said no more.

  One weekend, Pips and George travelled to Brighton and stayed in a hotel as man and wife under the name of Mr and Mrs Maitland.

  ‘It sounds so much more believable than “Smith”, don’t you think?’ Pips had giggled. ‘And we daren’t use your name in case Rebecca is keeping tabs on you.’

  ‘I think she may already have guessed.’

  ‘Really? Has she said something?’

  ‘No, but that’s exactly why I think she knows. She pointedly avoids asking me what I’ve been doing whilst she’s been on duty and when she’s home on her day off or her weekend off, she fills the time with organizing for us to go here, there and everywhere; museums and art galleries in the daytime and the theatre, the opera and the ballet in the evenings. I’m exhausted by the time she goes back on duty.’

  ‘But it’s good, isn’t it? That she wants to spend time with you.’

  George shrugged. ‘Much as I love her, I’d rather be with you.’

  Pips touched his face tenderly. ‘We manage all right, don’t we?’

  He sighed. ‘Pips, I want to be with you all the time. I want to wake up beside you in the morning – every morning. I want to watch you when you race, go up to Lincolnshire with you when you visit your folks. Just – everything.’

  ‘Then tell her.’

  ‘I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. But as soon as I do, she puts her hands up and says, “I don’t want to hear it, Dad”.’

  He caught hold of her hand, turned it over and kissed her palm. ‘Marry me, Pips. Please.’

  Pips felt herself relenting. He was a dear, kind man. She felt safe with him. He would never hurt her as she had been hurt the last time she’d believed herself in love. She loved George, there was no doubting that, but it was not the kind of exciting, all-consuming passion that she believed falling in love meant. And yet, now, what else was there to hope for? It was said by some that there were almost two million women in Britain who would never now find a husband. A whole generation of fine young men had been wiped out and with them the hopes and dreams of a generation of young women and the children too that they would never bear. The effects of the war that was supposed to end all wars would be felt for decades to come.

  Pips kissed him tenderly. ‘I will, George,’ she breathed against his lips. ‘But not just yet. Let’s enjoy what we have right now. Maybe, in time, Rebecca will come around.’

  As she drew back from him she could see the disappointment in his eyes and the doubt on his face. She squeezed his hand. ‘I’ve got a practice session this afternoon. Come with me.’

  ‘I can’t. I must go. Rebecca will be home tonight.’

  ‘Then I’ll see you next week? Milly’s away with friends, so you can come to her flat.’

  ‘I presume you’ve told her. Does she mind?’

  ‘Milly? Heavens no! She thrives on intrigue and romance. And before you ask, she’s very discreet, although I know you probably wouldn’t think so. And then, next weekend, I’ll be going home. Will you be able to come with me?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll see what Rebecca’s doing.’

  ‘Clara Nuttall, I want a word with you.’

  Bess Cooper had marched down the village street from her own cottage and was now standing outside the Nuttalls’ home, her arms folded across her chest, fuming with what she believed was righteous indignation.

  Bert looked up from digging his vegetable patch and frowned. ‘What’s to do, Bess?’

  ‘You might well ask, Bert Nuttall. I want a word with your wife. Fetch ’er out here else I’ll drag her out mesen. By her hair, if I have to.’

  ‘Eee, steady on, Bess.’ He threw down his fork and stepped towards the irate woman. ‘Nowt can be as bad as that.’

  Bess pursed her lips. ‘I’ll be the judge of that, Bert. Just get her out here and then you’ll hear.’

  In the cottage garden a few yards away, the Nuttalls’ nearest neighbour was making no pretence at not listening. She was standing near the fence gaping openly at Bess. Bert glanced at her briefly and then turned back to Bess. ‘Won’t you come inside? We don’t want half the village to hear.’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I want ’em all to know what your precious son’s been up to.’

  ‘Sam? Is this about Sam?’

  ‘Indeed it is.’

  ‘Then shouldn’t you be telling me?’

  ‘This is women’s business.’

  ‘Ah,’ Bert said thoughtfully and then again, ‘Ah, I see.’ And now he had begun to understand. ‘I’ll get her. Wait here, then, if you won’t come in.’

  Bess waited for five long minutes, her anger growing with each minute that passed. When at last Clara appeared out of the front door, Bess’s wrath had reached boiling point. She pointed an accusing finger. ‘Your lad’s got my Peggy pregnant. You’d better make sure he owns up to it and marries her as quick as possible.’

  Clara’s mouth dropped open and, behind her, Bert sighed. He’d suspected that something like this might be the trouble. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw their neighbour cover her mouth with her fingers, but he knew it would not stay covered – or silent – for long. Before nightfall, the news would be all around the village. />
  He had one last attempt at taking both women indoors, to keep the matter to themselves for just a while longer, but now neither of them was listening to him. Clara moved towards Bess.

  ‘Oh aye, and what makes you so sure it’s Sam’s?’

  ‘Why, you – you . . .’ Bess’s hand shot out to grab Clara’s hair, but the woman dodged backwards and, on the wrong side of the gate, Bess could not reach her.

  ‘They’ve been walking out for over a year now. It’s high time he made an honest woman of her.’

  ‘Honest? That’s a laugh. This is the second time she’s got ’ersen into trouble. D’you really expect him to take on Harold Dawson’s bastard and this ’un too – whoever the father is?’

  ‘The father,’ Bess bellowed at the top of her voice, ‘is your Sam, and if he doesn’t do the right thing, I’ll drag him there mesen.’

  ‘Over my dead body.’

  ‘That can be arranged, Clara. That can be arranged.’

  With that parting shot, Bess turned and marched back up the street, whilst Clara went back into her home, up the stairs to her bedroom, undressed and got into bed even though it was only eleven o’clock in the morning.

  Bert sighed and went back to digging his vegetable patch.

  ‘Mrs Maitland, may I have a word with you, please?’

  Henrietta looked up from her needlework to see Peggy standing hesitantly in the doorway of the parlour. Her pretty face was blotched and her eyes swollen with weeping.

  ‘Oh my dear girl, whatever’s the matter? Come in and sit down. I’ll ring for Sarah to bring us some tea.’

  ‘Oh, no. Please – don’t trouble.’

  ‘No trouble, my dear. I can see something’s wrong. How can I help?’

  As if her legs gave way beneath her, Peggy sank down into a chair. ‘I – I have to give in my notice, Mrs Maitland.’

  ‘Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that. You’re an excellent member of our staff, Peggy. May I ask why?’

  Fresh tears welled in the girl’s eyes. ‘I – I’m so ashamed, Mrs Maitland. You’ll be so angry – so disgusted at me.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that. Just tell me.’