by Ellie Dean
‘How dare you speak to my sister like that,’ snapped Peggy.
Michael looked down at her in disdain. ‘I’ll speak to her in any way I want,’ he replied icily. ‘Not that it’s any of your damned business.’
Ron and Frank got to their feet, eased in front of Peggy and stared Michael down – two monolithic and immovable forces.
‘We don’t hold with talk like that in front of our women,’ said Frank.
‘I’m thinking you should apologise, and then leave,’ said Ron, his fists curling.
Michael glowered at the two men, turned on his heel and slammed out of the room. In the silence that followed, they could hear his heavy footsteps down the corridor.
‘He’s a nasty piece of work,’ muttered Frank.
‘Aye, that he is,’ said Ron. ‘But we’ve not seen the last of him, you can be sure of that.’
Peggy scrubbed her face with her hands. ‘Oh, lawks,’ she sighed. ‘I wish now I’d never called him back. Poor Doris has got enough to deal with without him being such a beast.’ And then an awful thought struck her. ‘I hope he won’t be lying in wait for her back at the house,’ she gasped. ‘She’ll have no defence against him, and it would be simply awful if he insisted upon staying with her.’
‘You don’t really think he’d do that, Peggy? It’s obvious he loathes her,’ said Frank.
‘It would be a fine act of revenge, though,’ murmured Ron. ‘Probably best if she comes to the Anchor with me and Rosie.’
Doris had fought back her tears as she’d looked down at John who was incarcerated in thick plaster casts. But he’d woken enough to assure her he was feeling fine, and once the nurse had given her his wallet, keys and watch, she’d gone back to the waiting room in some trepidation, fearing Michael would still be there.
Horrified by Peggy’s suspicions, and accepting that Michael could very well do such a thing, she’d gladly accepted Ron’s invitation to stay at the Anchor. It meant only crossing the road to the hospital, and she felt safer with Ron than she would have on her own all day at Beach View with only Cordelia for company.
She rose early that Tuesday morning, dressed in the crumpled clothes she’d been wearing the day before, and tried to do justice to the lovely breakfast Rosie had cooked for her. At some point she would need to go home to fetch her car and pack a small bag of essentials, although Rosie had lent her a nightdress and some underwear. But John was her priority now, and as the doctor had given his permission for her to visit out of the usual hours today, she wanted to be with him for as long as possible before Michael turned up – as he inevitably would.
She arrived at the hospital shortly after breakfast had been cleared away and made the long trek to the men’s surgical ward. The sister in charge had been notified of her visit and showed her where John’s bed was. ‘He’s had a little breakfast and is sleeping again,’ she said quietly. ‘It will take time for the heavy medication to wear off, but don’t worry, it’s quite usual.’
Doris sat in the armchair by the bed and regarded him lovingly. His beloved face was a much better colour today but for the dark bruise on his forehead. The left side of him had taken the impact, for that arm was in plaster, as was the leg, which was raised up by a set of pulleys. The sheet and blanket covered his body, but she knew his broken ribs were tightly bound and there was another plaster cast surrounding his hips which, according to the doctor, would stay on the longest.
She eyed the needles in his arm and the drips above the bed, managing to resist stroking his lovely silver hair from his brow, and sat patiently waiting for him to wake.
Halfway through the morning there was a bit of a kerfuffle outside the ward door, and Doris thought she heard Michael’s hectoring voice and braced herself for another confrontation. However, the noise soon died down, and she forgot about it when John finally woke.
‘Hello, darling,’ he murmured, his bright blue eyes rather unfocused with the effects of the heavy medication. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’
‘You silly, sweet man. Of course you’re not a nuisance,’ she assured him, carefully holding his hand. ‘I’m just so relieved I still have you.’
He smiled at her. ‘It’ll take more than a runaway car to get rid of me.’
‘Now, you’re not to worry about the office,’ she said. ‘I telephoned the secretary we employed over our honeymoon and she’s coming to collect the keys later today. I’m staying at the Anchor for the time being, by the way, so I can come to see you more often.’
He frowned at this, but let it pass. ‘Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, Doris,’ he murmured, his eyelids drooping once more.
‘I will, my love,’ she whispered back before softly kissing his brow.
Lunchtime came and went, but John slept on, so Doris nipped out for a sandwich from the Lilac Tea Rooms and was back by his side when the bell rang for visiting time. She braced herself for the inevitable as the visitors poured in, and Michael marched towards her, his expression set.
He ignored her completely as he stared down at his father for a long moment, and then went to talk to the nurse. Returning minutes later, he sat down on the other side of the bed and glared at her. ‘Where were you last night?’
‘I was with friends,’ she replied, meeting his gaze and refusing to be cowed.
‘I suppose it didn’t occur to you that I would need somewhere to stay? And by rights, it should have been in my father’s house.’
Doris refused to be drawn into an argument and remained silent.
‘It was most inconvenient,’ he went on. ‘I had to book into a hotel.’
Still Doris said nothing, but she could see it was really irritating him, and he was itching for a fight – and yet she couldn’t think of a thing to say to him.
He leaned forward, checked that his father was still asleep and eyed her coldly. ‘I see you’ve spent my inheritance by having all that work done on that ridiculous house,’ he hissed. ‘Well, don’t get too comfortable, you gold-digging harpy, because if anything happens to Father I will see you back on the street with nothing.’
Doris suddenly felt very calm. ‘Why do you hate me?’ she asked, genuinely curious. ‘I’ve done nothing to you to deserve such spleen.’
‘My mother was the most wonderful, caring woman with grace and beauty, real class and great charm. You aren’t fit to walk in her shadow, let alone take her place.’ He eyed her with a sneer. ‘You’ve inveigled your way into my father’s affections, catching him while he was still grieving for her and worried sick about me. All you really wanted was a meal ticket – and it shows in the amount of money you made him spend on that house.’
‘We shared the costs equally,’ she said flatly. ‘Your inheritance has not been touched – and I find it appalling that you should carry on like this when your poor father is lying there helpless and in pain.’
‘Father knows my feelings,’ he countered. ‘I’m not saying anything he hasn’t already heard.’ He glanced across at John before turning his cold gaze back to Doris. ‘Sooner or later, he’ll realise what a fool he’s been and send you packing – you’ll see.’
‘Michael.’
They were both startled by John’s rasping voice, and Doris could feel the heat in her face at the realisation he must have heard some – if not all – of their conversation.
‘Michael, you will apologise to my wife,’ John managed. ‘And then leave. I do not wish to see you again.’
‘I’m not apologising to her, and I’m staying right here,’ retorted Michael.
John made a tremendous effort to grasp Michael’s jacket sleeve. ‘When I die, and I’m telling you now, it won’t be for a long while yet – you’ll get your share of the proceeds from the family home I sold. I’ve arranged for you to receive the lump sum from your mother’s estate on your next birthday, on the proviso you make no further trouble. The home I share with Doris is already fully in her name, so you can’t touch it. If you contest the will, or threaten Doris in any w
ay, your inheritance will go straight to an army charity.’
His hand slipped from Michael’s arm and flopped onto the bed. ‘Just go, Michael,’ he said wearily. ‘I have nothing more to say to you.’
Michael’s face was so bloodless Doris thought he was about to faint, but he rallied enough to scrape his chair back and loom over his father. ‘You’re a fool,’ he hissed. ‘Mother must be turning in her grave at how easily you’ve been duped.’
He stormed out of the ward, startling patients and visitors alike as he slammed through the double doors, leaving them swinging wildly behind him as he marched away down the corridor.
‘Oh, John,’ said Doris tearfully. ‘I do wish you hadn’t heard any of that.’
‘Well, I’m glad I did,’ he said on a sigh. ‘And although it breaks my heart that my son should be so bitter and unforgiving, I can see him now for what he really is.’ He reached for her hand. ‘I’m sorry he distressed you, my love. But I don’t think we’ll see him again, so dry your eyes and give me a kiss.’
Doris softly kissed his cheek, overwhelmed with love and sorrow for him at the loss of a son he’d once adored, and who’d utterly betrayed him.
26
It was now March, and with the coal shortages, it was a battle for Peggy to keep the range fire burning so she could cook and keep the radiators working. Beach View was a large house, and with so few people living in it at the moment it felt colder than usual, so she’d shut off the dining room and the spare bedrooms and, like the war years, the family now spent most of their time in the kitchen – the only truly warm room in the house.
Compounding this misery, the cold and wet had rotted the winter harvest, so the price of bread and potatoes had soared, and it took all of Peggy’s ingenuity to put a decent, filling meal on the table every night. Frank helped by bringing some fish now and again, and Ron brought home the occasional rabbit or pigeon, but now all the old hens had been used for stock, stews and soups, there was precious little meat to be had and only one egg each once a week on the ration.
Peggy was bundled up in layers of cardigans and sweaters beneath her overcoat, with a woollen scarf around her neck, gloves, hat, and thick socks inside her boots to keep her feet warm. She climbed out of the car and was immediately blasted by the icy wind coming off the sea, so she gathered Daisy into her arms and ran up the front steps, shielding her from the bitter elements. It had been a long and tiring day at the factory with everyone moaning about the cold despite the bank of electric heaters Solly had provided, and Peggy was looking forward to putting her feet up with a cup of tea and a fag.
The hall was relatively warm as she closed the door behind her, and she hurried into the kitchen where the heat was positively blissful, and the aroma of rabbit stew came from the oven.
‘Hello, Cordelia,’ she said, noting how the elderly woman was sitting so close to the fire she was in danger of singeing the blanket over her knees. ‘Would you like me to make you a hot-water bottle for your poor hands?’
‘No thank you, dear,’ she replied. ‘Charlie’s just done one for me. There’s fresh tea in the pot too.’ She regarded Peggy over her half-moon glasses. ‘You look tired, Peggy. Busy day?’
‘Every day’s busy, Cordy,’ she said, helping Daisy off with her layers of clothing. ‘It’s the cold that’s getting everyone on edge and grumpy.’ She poured cups of tea for herself and Daisy and sat in the other fireside chair to light a cigarette. ‘I’m glad Charlie’s been looking after you, but where’s Danuta? Shouldn’t she be back by now?’
‘Charlie’s been a godsend,’ sighed Cordelia. ‘There’s no way I could have managed to put the stew together without him. As for Danuta, she’s been popping in all through the day to make sure I’ve wanted for nothing, so I expect she’s having to catch up on her nursing duties.’
Peggy closed her eyes, finally relaxing to let the warmth flood through her. ‘May seems so far away,’ she murmured. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, but now I know Jim’s coming home the time seems to be dragging even slower than before. When I think how many years it’s been, a few months is nothing at all really – but it feels like an absolute age.’
‘You’ve got the winter blues,’ said Cordelia. ‘Once spring comes, the time will go much faster.’
Peggy roused herself and went to check on the potatoes which were on the point of boiling dry. ‘I sincerely hope so,’ she replied, adding some more water to the pot. ‘But if the winter’s this bad here, how on earth is poor Ruby coping over in Canada? I do wish we had more news from her – that baby’s due around now – but the mail is clearly not getting through yet.’
‘She’ll write when she can,’ said Cordelia, lifting her cup with both cruelly swollen hands and taking a sip. ‘By the way, Doris telephoned earlier to say that John will be transferred to Cliffe Memorial at the end of the week to begin his course of intensive physiotherapy. They’re both hoping he’ll make as good a recovery as Ron did when he had that operation on his spine. But of course it’s still early days yet.’
‘I’m just glad John sent that rotter of a son packing,’ said Peggy, testing the potatoes with a fork. ‘It’s tragic, really, but Michael only has himself to blame.’
‘The whole episode was most unsavoury,’ said Cordelia with a sniff. ‘But it did prove that John has Doris’s best interests at heart by signing the entire house over to her.’
Peggy grinned. ‘Yes. It came as quite a shock to her that he’d do that, but at least it means she’s secure and I don’t have to worry about her.’
Charlie came thudding downstairs just as Peggy was about to lift the heavy stew pot out of the oven. ‘Let me do that,’ he said, taking it out and placing it carefully on a trivet to protect the new worktop.
‘You’re a good boy, thank you,’ murmured Peggy, leaving him to dish it up while she drained and mashed the potatoes.
The back door slammed and Danuta pushed her way into the kitchen carrying her nursing bag and a large, bulging holdall. She dropped the holdall on the floor, clearly not in the best of tempers. ‘Sorry I’m late, but Stanislaw asked me to fetch this from Cliffe, and we had a long disagreement which took up much time.’
Peggy frowned. ‘He’s not been drinking again, has he?’
Danuta shook her head and began to peel off her scarf, hat and gloves. ‘It is worse than that,’ she said darkly. ‘He is leaving Cliffe first thing tomorrow to go on a retraining course at Biggin Hill.’
‘But that’s—’
‘Exactly,’ snapped Danuta. ‘He is not anywhere near ready to fly again, but he has the head of a mule and will not listen to me. I tell him he is a fool – that he cannot even climb into the cockpit without help – and is a danger to everyone. But he laughs at me and says I must trust him as he knows best.’
‘Most men think they know best,’ said Cordelia acidly. ‘But it’s all a bit sudden, isn’t it? Why the urgency?’
Danuta took a shallow, quavering breath. ‘Phoenix Air needs another pilot now Kitty is very pregnant and Charlotte cannot fit in much flying with having to cope with the twins. There is too much work for Roger and Martin, and Stanislaw is convinced he is the man for the job.’
‘Oh dear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘But if he’s that keen to prove he can fly again, surely we should support him?’
Danuta’s lips thinned, her face drawn with anxiety and real fear. ‘He will do too much – show off and make danger,’ she hissed. ‘I know him very well, and he will kill himself trying to prove a point.’
Charlie placed the bowls of stew and mashed potato on the table. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Danuta,’ he said carefully. ‘Stan has always had a mind of his own, and he needs to prove to himself that he can still fly – that he’s still useful.’
‘I know and I understand this, Charlie,’ she replied, sinking into a kitchen chair. ‘But I fear he is a man who thinks he cannot come to harm and will take terrible risks. He is proud Polish man with much spirit – and that is very dangerous combina
tion.’
‘The instructors won’t let him fly until they’re absolutely sure he’s ready,’ said Charlie. ‘He’ll have a lot to prove before he’s even allowed into a cockpit, believe me.’
‘I would like to believe this,’ she said on a sigh. ‘But Stanislaw can be very persuasive.’
‘Persuasive or not,’ said Charlie thoughtfully, ‘he won’t get very far if he can’t actually climb into the cockpit.’ He must have seen the stricken look on Danuta’s face, for he awkwardly patted her shoulder. ‘Sorry, but it had to be said,’ he mumbled.
Peggy took Danuta’s hand. ‘I know he won’t be easy to live with if things don’t go right for him, Danuta, but at least you’ll have him back safe and sound.’
Danuta shot her a watery smile. ‘But which is worse, Mama Peggy? A Polish man with bruised pride – or a Polish man determined to do or die? I am thinking neither is going to be easy.’
‘If Stan’s well enough to go off like that, then he must have been discharged from Cliffe,’ said Peggy. ‘Has he found somewhere to live?’
Danuta nodded. ‘He has already spoken to Frank, and will rent one of the small houses from him in Tamarisk Bay.’
‘But that’s right out of the way of everywhere,’ Peggy gasped. ‘How’s he going to get about?’
‘He bought a car and it is being adapted for him at special factory in London. Until it is ready, I will be driving him.’
‘Good Lord. He has been busy, hasn’t he? Honestly, Danuta, you have the patience of a saint,’ sighed Peggy, dipping into her stew. ‘I hope he realises how lucky he is.’
Danuta laughed. ‘I love him, but I am not afraid to tell him how I feel when he goes too far. Patience might be for saints, Peggy, but a hot temper can also work wonders.’
It was the first week in April and Stanislaw had been away at Biggin Hill for almost a month. Danuta had received a few letters from him, asking if his car was ready and if Frank and Ron had finished working on the little house in Tamarisk Bay. However, she’d noticed there were few and only very vague references to what was going on with him at Biggin Hill, which was most unusual, for Stan wasn’t known for keeping things to himself, and she was beginning to wonder if he was in fact keeping his distance, unable to face her as he’d failed the course.