by Nancy Revell
‘One of the lads in the office said it’s been hailed as one of the most daring and ingenious missions carried out by the Allies so far,’ Polly said, getting her sandwiches out and unwrapping them.
‘Bloody Nora,’ Angie laughed. ‘Talk about doorstep sarnies. I could have done with one of them to help me do some overhead welds this morning.’
Everyone chuckled. Angie was probably the shortest out of all the women and always struggled with any kind of vertical welds.
‘Ma’s insisting on making my packed lunch,’ Polly said, holding the sandwich in her hands and sighing. ‘She says the least she can do is make sure me and the bab are well nourished.’
‘I think they might beat Martha’s mam’s whoppers,’ Gloria chuckled, biting into her own moderate-sized cheese and onion sandwich.
‘So, Pol,’ Dorothy piped up as they ate their lunch and drank their tea, ‘what were you doing up in the office?’
‘Ah,’ Polly said, looking a little shamefaced.
‘Yeah, and why were yer not in the timekeeper’s cabin this morning when we were all clocking on?’
‘Well, the thing is—’ Polly started to say.
‘Yer’ve not gone over to the other side, have yer?’ Angie blurted out.
‘It’s not a case of them ’n us, yer know?’ Gloria quickly rose to Polly’s defence. She, of course, knew about Polly’s defection, having spoken to her this morning while dropping off Hope.
‘So, have you?’ Martha asked, shocked. ‘Have you gone to work in the office?’
Polly nodded and took a big bite out of her sandwich. As she did so, Bel and Marie-Anne walked into the canteen and came to sit by her.
‘Judging by the looks on all yer faces,’ Marie-Anne said, ‘Polly’s told yer. She’s one of us now. Isn’t she, Bel?’
Bel smiled. ‘She is indeed.’
‘But you said you’d never go and work in the offices, Pol?’ Martha said, genuinely perplexed.
‘I know I did,’ Polly said, swallowing hard. ‘But to be honest, I thought I might go mad cooped up in that little cabin all day. And there’s this new lad who is much more suited to it than me. And, well, when Helen offered me a job as a clerical assistant—’
‘A clerical assistant!’ Angie had half risen out of her chair.
‘Honestly, you lot make it sound like she’s committed a crime,’ Rosie laughed. She, of course, knew about the move. Helen had informed her, although it hadn’t been Helen who had offered her the job, but Polly who had asked for one.
‘I’ll be back welding after the baby’s born,’ Polly said, nervously moving the sandwich round in her hand. She had known she’d be in for a verbal battering.
‘I reckon being pregnant has made yer gan funny in the head,’ Angie said.
Polly burst out laughing. ‘Well, I’d agree with that, Angie. That and the war.’
‘Well, I’m over the moon,’ Bel said. ‘It means I get to work with my sister-in-law – and, moreover, Agnes and I won’t have to listen to how boring it is to work as a timekeeper any more.’ Agnes was Bel’s mother-in-law, although the two were as close as mother and daughter.
‘We didn’t think it was that bad,’ Martha said.
‘It was.’ Polly nodded. ‘Very. I think I did well to stand it for nearly two whole months.’
‘Sounds like you didn’t really have a choice,’ Martha said. ‘That is, if you want to stay working here.’
‘Exactly,’ Polly said with a big exhalation of air, ‘finally someone understands. I’m banned from working in the yard. So, it was really the lesser of two evils.’ She glanced at Marie-Anne and Bel. ‘No offence.’
‘Mmm, I still think yer a turncoat,’ Angie said.
‘Talking about being a turncoat!’ Dorothy glared at her friend. ‘You always said you’d never go out with anyone who was upper class, and Quentin’s practically aristocracy.’
‘I’m not gannin out with Quentin,’ Angie snapped.
‘So, where are you “gannin” next week?’ Dorothy asked, looking around at the women’s faces and raising her eyebrows.
‘The museum,’ Angie said.
‘And then where’s Quentin taking you?’ Dorothy asked, again raising her eyebrows.
‘The Palatine Hotel.’
They all chuckled.
‘I rest my case,’ Dorothy said, winking across at Polly.
‘Glor, I know you get sick of us asking,’ Dorothy said as they all made their way back over to Denewood, ‘but do you really think Jack’s not going to be able to come back any time soon?’
Gloria glanced across at Rosie.
‘And why do yer always look at Rosie whenever we ask about Jack?’ Angie asked.
‘Because she’s the boss,’ Gloria said, before quickly changing the subject. ‘When yer seeing Toby next then, Dor?’
Dorothy had met her boyfriend Toby, a recruiter for the Special Operations Executive, on Christmas Eve, when he’d turned up at Lily’s bordello to give Rosie a letter from Peter. He’d mistaken Dorothy for one of the ‘girls’, which had caused much hilarity and had led to Dorothy inviting him to Polly and Tommy’s wedding.
‘I’m seeing him next week!’ Dorothy clapped her hands together in excitement. ‘He’s got a forty-eight-hour pass. Why do you ask?’ she said, suddenly puzzled.
‘Only because you’ve not mentioned him for – oh,’ Gloria looked at an imaginary watch on her wrist, ‘must be at least half an hour.’
Angie laughed out loud.
‘Yer wanna live with her!’ she said, rolling her eyes to the heavens. ‘It’s Toby this. Toby that. Toby the other.’
As they made their way onto the upper deck and the klaxon sounded out, preventing any more chatter, it occurred to Dorothy that every time she quizzed her about Jack, Gloria subtly changed the subject. She’d have a chat about it with Angie later. They’d thought that something was up for a while now – something didn’t add up about Jack being in Scotland, or the fact that he never came back for a home visit. The army got leave to see their loved ones, so it was a mystery why a yard manager wouldn’t get a few days off now and again to see his family.
Dorothy glanced across at Gloria and Rosie. She was sure there was something they weren’t telling them, and it was about time she and Angie found out what it was.
Chapter Eight
Thursday 20 May
Helen came out of her office, buttoning up her tailored suit jacket. It was olive green and the perfect mix of feminine and professional.
‘Bel,’ she said, putting her boxed-up gas mask over her shoulder and her arm through her expensive Schiaparelli handbag, ‘can I borrow you for a few hours? I have to go to the launch at Pickersgill’s to do some hobnobbing. Harold’s orders.’ She widened her eyes. They all knew Harold hated leaving the confines of his office and that Helen was more or less doing his job as well as her own.
‘Yes, of course,’ Bel said, pulling a letter she had just finished typing out of her Remington and putting it on top of a pile to her left. She shot a look at Marie-Anne. This would normally be her job. She was, after all, Helen’s personal assistant and second in command.
‘And Marie-Anne,’ Helen added, ‘would you mind holding the fort while we’re gone? It might be a good idea if you take command of my office. It’ll save you running in every time the phone rings, plus I’ve got a load of invoices I need checking and filing away.’
Marie-Anne’s pale, freckled face lit up. Never in all the years she had worked at Thompson’s had she known anyone to be allowed to ‘take command’ of the manager’s office – even when it was Jack’s office, and he was the most laid-back, unassuming boss she’d ever known, unlike his daughter.
‘Yes, of course, no problem,’ Marie-Anne said, collecting her handbag from the side of her desk and standing up.
‘If there’s an emergency,’ Helen said, ‘just call Mr Royce’s secretary and she can get a message to us.’
Marie-Anne nodded. She knew Dahlia, whose family ha
d come over from Sweden after the First War. If her name didn’t give her origins away, then her long blonde hair and ice-blue eyes did.
Bel looked across at Polly, who was standing with her back to them, rifling through one of the large grey metal filing cabinets. She looked like a fish out of water. She turned around just in time for Bel to catch her eye and give her a quick wave.
Returning the gesture, Polly heard a few mutterings from a couple of the clerical staff next to her. It was obvious by the whispered snippets she caught that the boss didn’t normally take anyone anywhere, let alone to a launch.
Polly thought that they would have been even more surprised if they knew it was the case of a niece asking her aunt to accompany her on an afternoon out.
As soon as Helen and Bel had left, Marie-Anne straightened her skirt, pulled her shoulders back and clapped her hands.
‘If anyone needs me, they’ll find me in the manager’s office,’ she announced, trying unsuccessfully to suppress her look of elation.
Two dozen faces glanced up from whatever it was they were doing but no one said anything. Instead, they watched as their acting commander-in-chief sashayed her way over to her new, albeit temporary, abode.
Walking into the office, Marie-Anne decided that she might just have to ring Dahlia, regardless of any emergency, and drop it into the conversation exactly where she was calling from. She’d be green with envy. There was no way in a million years old man Royce would let her take his place when he had to go out on an afternoon jaunt.
Seeing Winston the yard cat sitting on Helen’s chair, Marie-Anne started clapping her hands for the second time. This time with aggression. ‘Shoo! Yer flea-ridden moggie!’
Winston gave her a lingering look before nonchalantly arching his back in a stretch, jumping from the chair to the floor and padding over to his basket.
Brushing hair from the leather upholstery, Marie-Anne lowered herself into the swivel chair. Surveying her new terrain, she felt like the bee’s knees. She was going to have this office spick and span and super organised by the time Helen came back, so determined was she that this would not be the last time she was asked to take charge. Reaching over to empty Helen’s ashtray, she nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang.
‘Good afternoon, J.L. Thompson and Sons Shipbuilders. You’re through to Miss Crawford’s office, how can I help?’ Marie-Anne put on her very best telephone voice.
‘Ah, hello there … is that Marie-Anne?’
‘It is indeed.’ Marie-Anne relaxed, recognising the voice at the other end of the line. ‘And would I be right in saying this is Dr Parker?’
‘You would,’ Dr Parker said. He could hear the smile in Marie-Anne’s voice, as well as the return of the Irish brogue. He let out a short chuckle. ‘You sounded different there. Thought Miss Crawford might have got herself a new secretary.’
‘Oh, no,’ Marie-Anne was quick to correct him, ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m in charge of the office for the next few hours.’
‘Ah, I take it that means Miss Crawford is not there?’
‘You’ve just this minute missed her, Dr Parker. She’s gone to the launch of SS Chiswick at Pickersgill’s.’ Marie-Anne hesitated. ‘Along with Mrs Elliot.’ Marie-Anne wasn’t sure why she added this bit of information as she was certain it was of no interest to Dr Parker.
‘Oh,’ Dr Parker said. Helen’s meeting with Bel and Pearl must have gone well. He thought it was something Helen would have wanted to share with him. ‘I’m guessing that means she’ll be gone a good few hours.’
‘I would have thought so,’ Marie-Anne said. ‘All that chit-chat and rubbing of shoulders to be done.’
‘Well, can you tell her I called when she gets back, please?’
‘Of course,’ Marie-Anne said. ‘I’m writing a memo as we speak. I shall make sure she gets it and rings you back at her earliest convenience.’
‘You’ll have to prise Marie-Anne off your chair when you get back, you do realise?’ Bel said.
Helen laughed. ‘I know.’
‘The look on her face,’ Bel chuckled. ‘It was as though world domination was just within her grasp.’
Neither of them said it but they both knew that Marie-Anne had been given free rein as a trade-off for Helen taking Bel to the launch. Something she had never previously done with any of her staff.
As they walked past the timekeeper’s cabin, the young lad tipped his cap. ‘Afternoon, Miss Crawford … Mrs Elliot.’
‘So, he’s the young boy who’s taken over Polly’s position permanently?’
‘He is,’ Helen said as she rifled round in her handbag.
‘He looks awfully young,’ Bel said, her eyes drawn to a gleaming green sports car that had been parked near the Admiral pub.
‘He is awfully young,’ Helen said, ‘thirteen going on fourteen. His father didn’t want him to follow the family tradition and end up spending most of his life down the mines and the rest of it coughing them up, so he asked his mate Jimmy, the head riveter, if he could get him a job here. We started him on weekends, and now, thanks to Polly’s low boredom threshold, he’s got a full-time job.’
Bel suddenly realised that this was the real reason for Polly’s move to the ‘other side’. She’d suspected her sister-in-law wasn’t being entirely honest with her.
‘If I was his ma, I’d be counting my blessings,’ Bel said. ‘There’s no way I’d want a son of mine working down the mines. If it was a toss-up between the shipyards and the mines, I’d choose the yards any day.’
Helen smiled. Bel, she’d realised, was naturally maternal towards all children, not just her own.
‘Wow!’ Bel exclaimed as Helen stopped in front of the sports car, pulled out a set of keys from her handbag and jangled them in the air. ‘This isn’t yours, is it?’
‘It is,’ Helen said. ‘I managed to convince the powers that be that as yard manager I really needed my own transport, and that I was willing to provide said transport and double up as my own chauffeur in return for them applying for a fuel allowance, which, of course, they did, and got.’
Helen opened her door. ‘I think they agreed it was a more than fair deal.’ She looked across at Bel, who was still staring at it in disbelief. ‘Hop in!’
‘What made you want to learn to drive?’ Bel asked as she opened the passenger door.
Helen laughed. ‘Bunny-hopping the St John’s ambulance with Polly and Dr Parker in the back all the way to the Royal. Afterwards, I realised I’d spent my whole life letting other people drive me around and it was time I took the controls myself.’ Helen sat in the driver’s seat, swinging her legs in afterwards. Bel copied, feeling the leather seats and the varnished walnut dashboard.
‘She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?’ Helen said, putting the key into the ignition. ‘And so much easier to drive than Grandfather’s old Jag.’
At the mention of Mr Havelock, the mood changed.
‘God, I never thought the mere mention of the old man would bring with it such horrible feelings.’ Helen looked across at Bel. ‘Heavens knows what it must make you feel like.’
When Bel didn’t answer, Helen turned the ignition and fired up the engine. It was louder than Bel had anticipated, but not so loud as to prevent conversation. They drove up the embankment.
‘Is that why you’ve asked me to accompany you to the launch?’ Bel asked. ‘So we can have the chat we talked about that day at the asylum?’
Helen let out a bitter laugh.
‘Asylum. That’s another word that makes me feel terrible, although for different reasons.’
Turning left onto Dame Dorothy Street, Helen slowed down to let a bus pull out.
‘Yes, you’re right. I did ask you to come with me so we could have a chat. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Far from it,’ Bel joked. ‘An afternoon off work and a drive in a car I’ve only ever seen pictured in magazines.’ As they turned right and drove through Monkwearmouth, an area known locally as the Barbar
y Coast, she looked at Helen. ‘Seriously, though, I don’t mind. I think now that you know, we need to be able to discuss it. It’s good that we can. And it’ll be easier just the two of us, without Ma.’
Helen nodded, keeping her eyes on the road. ‘I still find it beyond bizarre that you’re my aunty.’
‘Likewise,’ Bel said. ‘Makes me feel ancient.’
‘Which you’re not.’ Helen gave Bel a sideways glance. She was a very pretty woman and always immaculately presented. She knew most of the comptometer operators were sweet on Bel, and if she wasn’t married, there’d be a scrabble to ask her out.
‘The thing is,’ Helen said, ‘I’ve thought and thought about it this past week since I found out, but I’ll be damned if I know what to do, to be honest.’ She touched the brakes as a child stepped off the kerb only to be yanked back by her scolding mother. ‘I don’t know whether to confront my grandfather about everything – what he did to your ma … about you … I really just don’t know.’ This was the first time she had been able to speak her thoughts to another person. She would have given anything to have chatted through her concerns and confusion with John, but he still hadn’t called. He was clearly all-consumed with Claire.
‘I’m of the same mind,’ Bel said. ‘I’ve spent an end-less amount of time wondering what to do – if anything. Should I let sleeping dogs lie? I know that’s what Ma and Joe would prefer, even if they won’t come out and say it.’
As they drove along the high road that overlooked the Wear, Bel looked out of the passenger window. Viewed from this perspective, you could see the snaking bends of the river, its waters crowded with a mass of ships, colliers, cargo vessels and tugs.
‘But it’s not just about me or Ma, is it?’ Bel said. ‘There’s other people to consider.’ She looked at Helen. ‘Like your grandma, Henrietta?’
‘Oh, Grandmama died years ago,’ Helen said. ‘When I was very small.’
Bel thought either Helen was a very good liar or she genuinely believed her grandmother was dead.
‘She must have been quite young when she passed. What did she die of?’ Bel asked, trying not to sound like she was probing.