by Jenny Holmes
‘I will tell them,’ Bill vowed. He felt diminished by his own weakness but circumstance trapped him, like a fly set in gleaming amber. ‘When the time is right.’
Grace turned in her seat and faced him fair and square. She spoke without blame. ‘We both know I’ll never match up to Shirley in their eyes. No, let me say what needs to be said. It’s her they want you to marry.’
‘This isn’t the Dark Ages. It’s not up to them.’ He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I don’t have any feelings for Shirley – you know that. It’s you I dream about, you I want to marry.’
She sighed and leaned her head back against the seat, staring out into the darkness.
‘Do you hear me? This Shirley business doesn’t change the way I feel. I love you.’
‘And I love you,’ she murmured, taking his hands and pressing them to her cheeks.
‘Grace, you mean the world to me. I’d do anything not to hurt you.’
His hands were cold. ‘I believe you, Bill. And I do understand. You’re their only child; your future’s important to them.’
‘Yes. I don’t want to upset them, especially now that Dad’s poorly.’
Though it made sense, Grace’s heart felt squeezed by constantly having to keep disappointment at bay. At the same time, she couldn’t muster enough confidence to override Bill’s fears, to hold him in her arms and to convince him that love would conquer all. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she murmured. ‘And I am willing to stick to our agreement. We’ll keep things quiet until the time is right.’
‘And I will tell them,’ he insisted again, but each time he said it he felt his courage slip away. ‘Once Dad has been to the doctor’s for his check-up, I’ll tell them we’re engaged and you can start wearing your ring. I’ll do it at Christmas. We’ll have a party. What do you say to that?’
‘Is this supposed to be his sister?’ Elsie studied the sunny photograph of Angelo and a young woman with long, black hair wearing a sleeveless summer dress, standing in front of the famous tower. The two people in the picture had their arms around each other’s waists and smiled for the camera.
‘Yes, her name is Maria. She works in the family’s hotel as a chamber maid.’ Una wished she hadn’t broken off from scrubbing the collar of her shirt to show Elsie the picture that she carried with her everywhere she went. ‘Why are you staring at me like that?’
‘She doesn’t look much like him.’ The woman was in her late twenties, much smaller than Angelo, with rounder features. ‘She’s pretty, though.’
Una snatched back the photo. ‘Maria is Angelo’s older sister,’ she insisted. ‘Why would he show it to me otherwise?’
‘True,’ Elsie conceded. ‘But it pays to be careful. You shouldn’t take everything he says at face value.’
‘Why not?’ Until this moment Una hadn’t had a single doubt. She’d been floating, flying, soaring from one day to the next. Mud and scratches, aching back and fingers stiff from frostbite meant nothing because she was in love with Angelo. ‘Honestly, I might have expected this from Jean or Ivy, but not from you.’
In the laundry room next to the kitchen, Elsie carried on ironing her dungarees. She slapped the iron down hard onto the coarse cotton fabric. ‘What else has he told you? That he’s the bambino of his family, that his mamma adores him and he has a little dog called Mimi who loves ice cream?’
‘Oh, I’m not listening to you any more.’ Una was ready to storm off. ‘You’re jealous, that’s your trouble. You just want to spoil everything for me.’
‘Yes, all right; I’m only teasing.’ Elsie relented and put down her iron for a second time. ‘You may be lucky and find out that your Angelo lives up to his name. Angelo for Angel, don’t you know.’
‘He is very nice.’ Una kicked herself for sounding so prim and faint hearted. ‘No, that’s the wrong word. He’s sincere. What he says comes from his heart.’
‘Not like our home-grown boys, then?’ Elsie had been out with plenty of reticent stable lads in her time – the type who kept their feelings so well hidden beneath their flat caps that she sometimes wondered if they had any to speak of. ‘It’s like getting blood out of a stone trying to find out what goes on in their hearts. But Italians are different, I grant you.’
‘So you do like him?’
Elsie shrugged. ‘He has a nice smile. No, listen – I’m serious,’ she said, tugging Una’s sleeve as she frowned once more. ‘You can tell more from a smile than from a hundred words. That’s what I told Eunice, but she wouldn’t listen.’
Again, that name! ‘What has Eunice Mason got to do with this? Come on, Elsie, spit it out.’
‘You don’t want to know.’ Giving a regretful shake of her head, she started ironing again, this time with renewed vigour until her face grew flushed and her forehead damp.
‘Yes, I do. Are you trying to tell me that Eunice fell for one of the Italian prisoners too?’
‘Yes, but not Angelo.’
‘Who then?’ A relieved Una pestered to get at the truth and rid herself of the feeling that she was forever in Eunice’s unhappy shadow.
‘Lorenzo, that’s who. And I had an uneasy feeling about him from the start. That’s what I mean about a smile that’s not from the heart.’
‘He’s not so bad,’ Una objected. True, Lorenzo seemed a touch vain and he had a superior air. But he’d played a big part in organizing her first meeting with Angelo and for that she was grateful.
‘Wait until you hear the rest.’ Now that she’d started, Elsie was eager to press her point home. ‘Yes, Lorenzo is charming and of course, with looks like his, he can sweet talk any girl he likes, including Eunice. She would come back to Fieldhead after a day’s haymaking with the Beckwith Camp prisoners and she would sing his praises all night long. Ask Jean and Kathleen – ask anyone. It was high summer and Eunice lived, breathed and ate Lorenzo.’
Am I like that with Angelo? Una forced herself to ask the difficult question. So far they’d engineered four meetings in all – the first one at the Camp with Lorenzo and Brenda’s help then one close to home while working together at Peggy Russell’s farm. The next had been on Thursday when she’d run into him again at Home Farm and their snatched dinner-time conversation had been rudely interrupted by Frank. The latest was yesterday afternoon when Angelo and a large group of prisoners had been given permission to come to Burnside to watch the football match. Giving the unwary guard the slip had proved easy and they’d spent an hour together inside the unheated Institute building. They’d sat on a bench and kissed and hugged each other for warmth then kissed again. Yes, I am exactly the same, she thought with a sigh. Even when I’m not seeing Angelo, I think about him morning, noon and night.
‘There was only one problem.’ Elsie closed her eyes for a moment then opened them and looked steadily at Una. ‘Eventually Eunice found out that Lorenzo was married with a wife and three children back home in Rome. She was heartbroken of course.’
‘Who told her?’ Una saw it all in a flash – the love, the desire and the sudden, crushing fall into black despair.
‘He did. He told the truth to put an end to it. Ask Kathleen how she had to listen to her crying all night long.’
No one’s slate was clean. Every soldier, sailor or airman on every side – English, German, French, Russian and Italian – had come into the war with a history, a job, a family. A handsome POW might pass his spare time writing love letters to half a dozen local girls while his Fräulein or mademoiselle waited patiently for him to return home. Una visualized all too clearly Lorenzo’s cruel deceit and fear formed like icicles in her heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Tell me – what would you do without me?’ Neville waylaid Una in the stable at Brigg Farm just as she was finishing mucking out Major’s box. He teased her by waving a small sheet of paper under her nose then wafting it out of reach. Then he scrambled up the stone steps into the hayloft and grinned down at her. ‘Guess what this is!’
She leaned her fork agai
nst the wall and stood, hands on hips, glaring up at him. ‘I know what it is. Just give it to me, please.’
A weak afternoon sun slanted into the loft. Outside in the yard, the big grey horse munched oats from his bucket, occasionally shifting his weight and blowing softly through his nose. ‘What’s it worth?’
‘Stop mucking around, Nev. You’ll have your sixpence as soon as you’ve handed it over.’
‘“Romeo, Romeo!”’ He brandished Angelo’s note and gave a croaky guffaw. ‘“Wherefore art thou?”’
‘You’re the limit,’ she fumed as she set foot on the bottom step. ‘I’m coming up there and when I get hold of you, you’ll wish I hadn’t.’
He waited until she reached the top step and made a lunge towards him. ‘“A rose by any other name …”’ He dodged sideways out of her grasp then jumped the full set of steps onto the ground below, taking with him a shower of loose hay. He made a soft landing in a barrel full of fresh straw.
There was nothing for it but to go back down. ‘Please, Neville. I don’t have time for this.’
‘Ah, but you’ve got all the time in the world for our Italian friend.’ In his role as go-between, he’d kept track of Una and Angelo’s budding romance. ‘Anyone would think there wasn’t a war on, the way you two bill and coo. Oh yes, you find time for him all right.’
Una knitted her brows. ‘That’s not fair. I work as hard as anyone else around here – harder than some I could mention.’
Seeing that she was growing truly angry, Neville resisted the temptation to prolong the suspense. ‘I know you do. Don’t get upset.’
‘I’m not upset.’ She held out her hand and waited.
He kept the note just out of reach. ‘Do I get extra pay for first-class delivery?’
‘Neville!’ She darted forward and snatched it from him, delving into the pocket of her corduroy breeches for the sixpence she owed him. ‘Thank you. Now, scram!’
‘Amore mio.’
She waited until Neville’s footsteps had faded before sitting on the bottom step to read the familiar handwriting.
I miss you molto, molto. I think of you always. I wait tonight in our wood. Please be here.
With love in my heart from your Angelo.
A rush of emotion filled her chest. First there was relief that he had written after twenty-four hours of waiting and wondering. Then there was a longing to see him and feel his kisses on her cheeks and lips, then worry that there was no time to send a message back saying yes, of course she would come – unless she were to chase after Neville and ask him if he would cycle over to Beckwith Camp with a reply. She dashed across the yard, almost bumping into Major’s hefty hind quarters and only narrowly avoiding a swift kick from his back leg.
‘Oi, what’s your hurry?’ Roland Thomson called from the back of his cart where he stood with his pitchfork, ready to unload sugar beet.
Just then Brenda rode into the yard on her motor bike. ‘Ah, there you are,’ she said to Una as she came to a halt and cut the engine. ‘I’ve been looking for you all over the place. I thought you were with Joyce and Jean, digging on the top field.’
‘We finished the beet early,’ Una explained. ‘They went back to the hostel. I had to stay behind to muck out.’
Brenda turned to Roland. ‘Is she free to go now, please?’
With a swift nod, he released Una. ‘Are you back here tomorrow?’
‘What’s tomorrow? Saturday.’ Una ran through the week’s rota in her head. ‘No, I’ll be working at Home Farm with Grace.’ She could hardly leave fast enough, flinging her answer over her shoulder as she mounted the pillion seat and set off with Brenda down the farm track towards the road. ‘Why did you want me?’ she asked Brenda.
‘Because I’ve got permission from Her Ladyship to deliver the invitations for the Christmas show, that’s why. It’s taken this long for her to talk to HQ about it. Then she had to ask if the Canadian officers could come too. Red tape – you know how it is.’
‘So that’s where we’re going now?’ The lucky coincidence made Una laugh. ‘To Beckwith Camp?’
Brenda eased out onto the tarmac road then opened the throttle and sped down into the valley. ‘Yes. I thought that would cheer you up and it did, didn’t it? We have to call at the old hospital first but that shouldn’t take long.’
It must be fate, Una decided, holding tight to the luggage rack behind her as they sped along the twisting lanes until they arrived at Penny Lane.
‘Do you know why this road is so straight?’ Brenda asked, closing down the throttle to take the corner. ‘It’s because it was a Roman road between two hill forts, that’s why.’
At that moment Una couldn’t have cared less. Her mind was working out the details of how she would let Angelo know that she was here so that he could arrange to slip away and meet her. Would she have to wait until it was dark? she wondered. Might Brenda be able to distract the guard while she went looking for him?
‘Here we are at our first stop.’ Brenda slowed down again at the gates of the gloomy building that had been commandeered by the Canadian Air Force then she parked the bike by the sentry box. ‘Come on, Una – best foot forward.’
The sentry came out to meet them. He was small and clean shaven, sporting an American-style crew cut and a broad, welcoming smile. ‘Hi there, ladies. How can I help?’
Brenda took out a manila envelope from the satchel slung across her shoulder. ‘Could we deliver this to the officer in charge, please?’
While the guard enquired about its contents then went on to make a telephone call from inside his sentry box, Una let her attention wander to the isolated building at the end of the short drive. It was built on three storeys, with narrow, arched windows and ornate chimney stacks. The gabled main entrance was in deep shadow but she was soon able to see the door open and two uniformed men emerge. They came quickly towards them.
‘Hey, girls!’ The taller of the two opened up the conversation. He clicked his heels and gave a casual salute. ‘Jim Aldridge, Squadron Leader. This is my second in command, Flight Lieutenant John Mackenzie – Mac for short. To what do we owe the pleasure?’
Encouraged by the friendly greeting, Brenda showed him the envelope. ‘This is an invitation for you all to join us in Burnside for our Land Army Christmas show. There’ll be singing and dancing, including an interval with tea and sandwiches. We’re even getting a Christmas tree. We hope you’ll allow your men to come.’
Food at the interval? Una thought. A Christmas tree? This was the first she’d heard of either.
The squadron leader took the envelope. ‘You bet,’ he said eagerly. ‘The men get lonesome so far away from home, especially at this time of year. This will put mighty big smiles on their faces.’
‘Champion. The letter tells you the time and the place, et cetera. How many seats shall we put out for you?’
‘How many, Mac?’
Mackenzie did a quick count in his head. ‘Fifteen. Unless it turns out that the Luftwaffe has other plans for us that evening.’
This reminder of the RCAF pilots’ role in resisting the enemy created an awkward pause. Beyond the house Una could see an open area with a basketball net where four men were practising in the fading light. They passed the ball between them until one aimed then gave a triumphant shout when it dropped through the net. ‘Let’s hope not,’ she said quietly.
‘Fifteen,’ Brenda repeated with a firm nod of her head. ‘We’ll see you on the twenty-third, Squadron Leader Aldridge.’
‘You sure will,’ he agreed. ‘You Land Girls are flavour of the month with our guys. Ain’t that so, Mac?’
‘Yessir!’ Mackenzie winked at Una while Brenda kick-started her bike. Like the sentry on duty, he wore his hair very short. He pushed his shoulders back, feet together, hands by his sides as if standing to attention though his handsome face expressed wry amusement.
Una returned his smile. At that moment she felt immensely proud of her Land Army hat with its shiny badge, of he
r smart, double-breasted coat, shiny shoes and tailored breeches.
‘We’ll be there,’ Mackenzie promised as he and his superior officer turned to walk back up the drive.
The sentry leaned close to whisper in her ear. ‘You hit it off with the flight lieutenant,’ he confided with a cheeky grin. ‘You’re Mac’s kind of girl – small and neat.’
The compliment embarrassed her and she felt her cheeks go red.
‘No offence,’ the sentry added.
‘None taken,’ she replied as she hurried to join Brenda.
‘Mission accomplished,’ Brenda said brightly as she pulled away. ‘Beckwith Camp, here we come.’
‘I hear motor bike,’ Angelo told Una, taking her hand as they walked through the quiet, secret wood. ‘I look out and see.’
She and Brenda had arrived at the camp gates at the same time as a covered lorry delivering boxes of butter, sacks of flour and potatoes – kitchen provisions for the week ahead. They’d been waved through the gate and crawled after the truck between rows of Nissen huts until they’d been flagged down by a corporal.
‘Come into the office,’ he’d told Brenda when she explained their business. ‘Let me make a quick telephone call.’
‘You can put the kettle on while you’re at it.’ She’d given Una a shove in the direction of the copse of pine trees then followed quickly. ‘I haven’t wet my whistle all afternoon. I’m parched.’
Una had taken the hint and now here she was hand in hand with the man who’d captured her heart. ‘I got your note,’ she explained.
‘Bene. You are happy?’ He clasped her hand tightly and led her onwards to their spot by the stream.