The Land Girls at Christmas

by Jenny Holmes

  ‘The kitchen is out of bounds until after the police have been,’ Joyce reminded Grace as Una joined them in the common room. ‘Otherwise, we’d be able to make a brew before you set off.’

  ‘Never mind – I’ll manage without.’ Grace was fully dressed except for her coat and hat. When she saw Una, she invited her to come close to the hearth where the last embers still glimmered in the before-dawn light. ‘Come and sit down. How’s your head?’

  ‘Much better, ta.’ The comfort of her voice consoled Una. ‘Why are you leaving so early? Won’t the roads still be blocked?’

  ‘That’s what I told her.’ Joyce drew back the red velvet curtains. ‘You see? It’ll be an hour before day breaks.’

  ‘I’ll take a torch,’ Grace promised. ‘And I’ll be able to skirt the worst snow drifts.’ There were two reasons for leaving early. One was that she was anxious to see how Edgar was coping with his newly sworn abstinence and the second was that she felt she needed some time to herself to iron out her feelings about Bill and Brenda. ‘There’s been no snow overnight. I’m sure I’ll get through. By the way, Una – this might sound a bit peculiar, but can you describe the knife that Frank was carrying?’

  ‘You’re darned right, it’s odd.’ Joyce looked warily at Una to see if the question had upset her. ‘You don’t have to answer right this minute.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Una knew that Grace must have a good reason to ask. ‘As far as I remember, it had a rough horn handle and a long, thin blade.’

  ‘I thought so. That’s probably the knife that went missing from the forge. Dad mentioned it on the phone but I didn’t take much notice.’

  ‘That means that Frank must have broken in there as well.’ First, Beckwith Camp; secondly, the Blacksmith’s Arms; and now the hostel. Una thought she saw the motive. ‘He breaks into places where he can keep warm at night and maybe find something to eat.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Grace agreed. ‘He’d obviously been raiding the kitchen shelves before you disturbed him.’

  ‘But that might not be his only reason.’ For the time being Joyce inclined towards Kathleen’s more sinister motive. ‘You’ve known Frank the longest, Grace. Do you think he’s a real danger to women?’

  Grace took a deep breath then shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know. He does frighten people with his odd behaviour, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘And he did try to throttle you and he came at me with a knife,’ Joyce reminded Una. ‘Which is another reason why I don’t think you should set off until it gets light.’ She turned to Grace. ‘Frank might still be lurking nearby.’

  Though Grace thought it was unlikely, she did see that Joyce had a point. ‘All right, you win. I’ll stay here until eight then I’ll definitely have to get a move on.’

  ‘Will that be an extra person for breakfast?’ Elsie had poked her head around the door. ‘Ma C can’t use the kitchen, so it’ll be whatever she can rustle up from the larder – a slice of ham or cheese or what have you.’

  ‘Count me in,’ Grace agreed, putting down her coat and hat while Joyce and Una nipped back upstairs to get dressed. She was too restless to sit down so she moved around the room, picking up a magazine then looking at the titles of the books on the bookshelf. The door opened again and Brenda came in.

  ‘I heard you talking with Joyce and Una,’ Brenda began quietly.

  Grace overcame her first inclination to turn her back then delivered a stiff response. ‘Yes. They persuaded me to stay for breakfast.’

  ‘Do you mind me coming to find you? I’ll go away again if you do.’

  She relented a little. ‘No – come in. Close the door after you.’

  Brenda approached the bookcase. ‘I’ve had a chance to think things through.’

  ‘You’re not the only one.’ In spite of the break-in, there’d been too much time overnight for Grace to remember what she’d learned. A kiss that she hadn’t known about. An embrace that had deepened Bill’s lies.

  ‘I didn’t know …’ Brenda faltered. Red patches on her neck were clearly visible beneath her open-necked shirt. ‘Honestly – I had no idea.’

  ‘About the engagement? No – Bill and I did a good job of hiding it.’

  ‘If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have—’

  ‘Stop, don’t go on. I only wish I could have come clean.’

  ‘You didn’t need to say it outright – just given me a clue that he was spoken for. I’d have taken the hint, honestly I would.’

  Would nothing break this mounting awkwardness? Grace patted the books on the shelf into a tidy row then took a deep breath. ‘It doesn’t matter now. The engagement is off. Nothing matters.’

  Brenda studied her face and saw the effort that it took for Grace to remain cool and calm and not to let her feelings spill out. They were exact opposites, she realized. I act on my feelings. Everything is on the surface with me. Things run much deeper with Grace. ‘I know you blame Bill at present, but you might not once I’ve told you exactly what happened.’

  ‘I know what happened. There’s no need.’

  ‘Listen to me anyway. I set my cap at Bill – you know that. If it hadn’t been him, it would have been Jack Hudson or Thomas Lund. It could be Flight Lieutenant Mackenzie, Lorenzo – anyone who captured my fancy. The point is I made the first move – no, moves. I did it more than once.’

  Grace walked to the window and saw their two reflections against the dark sky: her own face pale and serious, with Brenda standing by the bookcase, twisting her fingers together and shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

  ‘I’m not even sure that he knew what I was up to. I asked him to fix Old Sloper, knowing full well it was just an excuse. I flirted with him, Grace, and offered to buy him a drink. He brushed me off. But you know what I’m like – I saw that as a challenge. So I went at it again – in the pub, whenever I got the chance. And, as luck would have it, everyone had gone home and I was by myself in the Institute when he came to mend the boiler with his spanners and spare washers and hose – all very romantic, eh?’

  Grace turned to look at her, her face impassive.

  ‘I’m sorry. That’s me and my two left feet, trying to make light of a bad situation. As I say, I went outside to see what was up and I found Bill busy in the boiler house. I said I’d help. He didn’t encourage me but I went ahead and held his torch. I was as close as this to him.’ Brenda demonstrated the distance with her thumb and forefinger. ‘It was a tiny space. Clumsy me, I managed to fall over – that part wasn’t planned, I swear. He helped me up. I snatched a kiss. It was that way round. Bill didn’t kiss me. I kissed him. And then you came across the road with the key.’

  Grace’s brow creased into a deep frown. ‘I see.’

  Brenda put her hands behind her back then crossed her fingers. ‘Do you really? I can’t tell you how awful this makes me feel.’

  Grace still didn’t relent. ‘Awful in what way exactly?’

  ‘Firstly because I realize what a chump I’ve made of myself. And secondly I can see how much I’ve hurt you.’

  ‘Not you – him,’ Grace insisted. ‘Bill is the one who let me down. I want to respect the man I love and the moment he tried to push the blame onto you …’

  ‘Which he was quite right to do,’ Brenda pointed out.

  ‘Even so, he wasn’t a gentleman and I was disappointed. He went down in my estimation.’

  ‘But you love him anyway.’

  ‘Who says so?’

  ‘You did. You said you wanted to respect the man you love, so that proves it.’ Brenda had got everything to do with Bill off her chest but she still had something important to say so she joined Grace at the window. ‘You’re not to take umbrage at this next bit, all right? We’re chalk and cheese, you and me. I’m all la-la-la and happy-go-lucky. You’re buttoned up and serious – sometimes a bit too serious, in my opinion.’

  Grace blinked then gave a small shake of her head. ‘Even if it’s true, I can’t help the way I am.’<
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  ‘Ah but, can’t you, though? Think of it this way – it’s not the worst thing in the world for your fiancé to keep a few things to himself. I mean, what would have been the point of him running to tell you every last detail about what had happened in that boiler room? No, he probably knew how much it would bother you so that’s why he kept quiet.’

  ‘To save my feelings?’

  ‘It could be.’ Brenda had regained some of her confidence. She thrust her hands in her breeches pockets and rocked back on her heels. ‘And what would be wrong with that, given that it was me who led him on? In any case, one kiss is nothing. That’s the way I would look at it if I were you.’

  Grace shot her an astonished look. ‘Nothing?’ she echoed.

  ‘Not in the grand scheme of things – no. Not when most of the men we love are being shot at and torpedoed and bombed.’

  Not in comparison with what Edgar has been through. It was as if the sun was slowly starting to rise on the dark landscape inside Grace’s head.

  Brenda saw that she had hit the mark. ‘And the rest of them who are still at home come downstairs every morning expecting to see their call-up papers land on the mat. Now that’s really something to worry about, isn’t it?’

  Grace’s frown eased and she gave a deep sigh. ‘It’s not you who’s been the chump – it’s me.’

  ‘You and me both,’ Brenda insisted. ‘And Bill, too – let’s not forget him. We’ve all made mistakes.’

  ‘But I’ve still got the ring!’ Grace’s sudden exclamation came as Joyce and Una returned with a breakfast of ham sandwiches and cold milk. ‘It’s in its box in my dressing-table drawer.’

  ‘Do you hear that?’ a triumphant Brenda said to the others. ‘A ring is a binding promise. Grace is still engaged to Bill after all!’

  ‘Forget about the blinking tree!’ Kathleen’s mind was fixed on getting everyone into the village for their afternoon dress rehearsal. She made them set off in good time and led the way on foot past Peggy Russell’s farm, following wide tyre tracks in the snow made by Arnold White’s tractor. ‘Let’s concentrate on the show, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘But we’ve only got tomorrow and the day after,’ Joyce pointed out. It bothered her that they’d set off early for the Institute and had to leave the tree behind. ‘That’s not much time to lug it down to the village, put it in a tub, decorate it and stick a fairy on the top.’

  ‘I know, but it would have held us up if we’d tried to carry it through the snow. We have to get this rehearsal underway – that’s far more important.’

  Kathleen had spent the morning chivvying her fellow performers. She’d reminded them to bring the dresses and shoes they intended to wear and insisted they must all be word perfect. Even the arrival of a middle-aged, moustachioed police constable riding out from the village on the back of Arnold’s tractor hadn’t diverted her from her main goal. He’d poked around in the kitchen, asked Una, Kathleen and Joyce a few questions, jotted down their answers then gone away again.

  ‘A fat lot of good he was,’ Ivy had commented to Jean and Dorothy who had come to the conclusion that what they needed was a Miss Marple on the job.

  ‘A woman makes a far better detective than a man,’ Jean had insisted. ‘She knows more about how a criminal thinks, what drives him to do what he does.’

  Kathleen had given the constable’s plodding questions scant attention – yes, she had recognized the intruder, yes, he was carrying a knife, no, she had no idea where he went afterwards. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have lots to do,’ she’d told him, returning to the common room to round up the troops ready for the snowy trudge into the village.

  So here they were – a gang of twenty Land Girls in overcoats and wellington boots – crunching through a winter wonderland between stone walls, past Peggy’s farm where the dog barked and strained at his chain, past barns and over bridges until they came within sight of Burnside.

  Brenda had kept a careful eye on Una at the rear of the group and even now wanted to offer her the choice of turning back. ‘If you’re not up to it, I’m sure Kathleen would understand,’ she told her.

  ‘No – I’m feeling better, ta.’ In fact, the fresh air and stiff exercise had cleared her head and when she spotted the familiar sight of the POW lorry parked outside the Institute, her heart leaped.

  ‘Aha!’ Brenda followed her gaze. ‘We still have the decorators in, I see.’

  Without saying a word, Una rushed to the front of the group – a small figure in a large, brown coat with a bright red tartan scarf tied around her head. She was the first to reach the junction, where she mounted the bank of soiled snow that had been dumped at the roadside by a plough, then jumped nimbly into the road to run and skid the final hundred yards.

  Brenda advanced more slowly, threading between Jean and Dorothy and ignoring their comments about Una making a show of herself.

  ‘Someone’s keen,’ Joyce remarked as Brenda came between her and Kathleen.

  Una had already reached the parked lorry and without waiting for the others, she disappeared into the yard.

  Brenda supplied the reason for Una’s haste. ‘She’s waiting for a letter. It’s kept her awake at night. But the question is: is Angelo as keen as she is?’

  ‘He says he is.’ Joyce didn’t sound sure. ‘He has all the right words, but when it comes to action, who can tell?’

  ‘The gift of the gab, eh?’ Like Joyce, Brenda felt that she should look out for Una. ‘What is it about her?’ she wondered aloud.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Joyce stepped up onto the snow bank then jumped down onto the main road.

  ‘Why do we cluck around her like a pair of mother hens?’

  ‘Do we?’ She was surprised then thought about it for a while. ‘Yes, I suppose it’s because we both know how much Angelo could hurt her.’ Heartbreak and loss – Joyce was an expert in both.

  Brenda unbuttoned her coat as they approached the Institute. ‘Stand by to pick up the pieces,’ she warned. ‘These Italians have a reputation for loving us and leaving us, don’t you know.’

  In the main hall of the Institute a gang of prisoners were hard at work under the watchful eye of a solitary guard. Three walls had been given a fresh coat of whitewash and they were underway with the fourth when Una arrived.

  ‘Aye, aye!’ Albert recognized her straight away. ‘If it isn’t our little spud-picker.’

  She looked eagerly around the big room. There was a prisoner up a ladder and another stirring pots of paint. Two were on their knees, putting the finishing touches to the skirting boards. So far there was no sign of either Lorenzo or Angelo.

  Albert looked at his watch. ‘You’re a good hour early,’ he told her, taking in her rosy cheeks and her beautiful hazel eyes and deciding that she was a welcome break to the monotony of his morning. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m surprised you got here at all.’

  ‘Oh no, it takes more than a couple of inches of snow to put us off.’ Where is he? Please let him be here! Una looked from one prisoner to the next until she finally spotted Lorenzo emerging from the kitchen – a Roman god in paint-spattered overalls, absurdly out of place in the shabby hall. ‘Can I go and have a quick word?’ she asked the smirking guard.

  ‘Go right ahead.’ Seeing the chance of a further small drama being played out in front of him, he took out a cigarette and lit it. These girls are all the same, he thought. They fall over themselves to play Juliet to these Romeos, Lorenzos, Lotharios … whatever they call themselves.

  Una hurried towards Lorenzo, her heart beating so hard and fast that it hammered at her ribs. ‘Where is he? Is he here?’

  Lorenzo gestured with a tilt of his handsome, dark head that Angelo was in the kitchen.

  Faster still and harder, her heart practically jumped through her ribcage. She pushed open the door and there he was, washing paintbrushes at the big stone sink. No one else was in the room.

  His eyes lit up when he saw her. Putting down the brushes, he reached
for a towel to dry his hands. She didn’t wait for him to finish, simply rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck. He put his arms around her waist, scooped her up and kissed her on the mouth.

  ‘My Una,’ he murmured as he hugged her and kissed her again.

  She leaned her head back and felt his lips on her neck. ‘Did you get my letter? Did Neville bring it?’

  Angelo released her and patted his shirt pocket. ‘It is here, close to my heart. You love me now and for ever. I know.’

  ‘Even if you have to go away,’ she murmured as she breathed out.

  Perhaps he didn’t hear. ‘Neville, he gives letter to Lorenzo. They put me in room, lock the door.’

  Una freed herself so that she could see his face more clearly and work out what he was telling her. ‘Who did – the guards? When?’

  ‘Four days ago. I hear motor bike. I know it is you. I try to come.’

  ‘But they caught you and locked you up?’ She remembered catching a glimpse of him between two soldiers, being marched towards a brick building.

  ‘Today they open the door. Lorenzo shows me letter and read for me. I am happy.’

  Her heart was so full of love that tears shone in her eyes. He was the most precious thing in the world to her, with his deep, faltering words, his soft caresses. ‘I’ve longed to see you so much. I can’t believe you’re actually here, that we’re together in the same room.’

  ‘Believe,’ he whispered. ‘Every night I dream. One day, I am free. We are together.’

  She put her hand up to stroke his cheek and his neck. His skin was warm and smooth. She put her fingertips on the gold cross nestling at his throat.

  ‘You like?’ he said, reaching to unfasten it. ‘You have.’

  She put her hand out to stop him. ‘No, you must wear it to keep you safe. I don’t need any more gifts, just so long as I know you love me.’

  Women’s voices reached them from inside the hall – Kathleen’s first and then the buzz and chatter of many more. Angelo frowned.

  Una held his face between her hands. ‘Yes, I know we don’t have much time. The whole gang is here for our final rehearsal. Soon you’ll have to pack up your paint things and leave.’