Nobody’s Girl

by Tania Crosse

  Meg stared at him. And then she bent down, a force she couldn’t comprehend driving her to wrap her arms about him, eyes closed, breathing in his closeness.

  She drew back, astonished at herself, waiting, wondering.

  A smile meandered slowly onto Ralph’s face. ‘Well, I don’t mind having a black eye and a few bruised ribs if it leads to this.’

  He stood up, his arms reaching about her shoulders, and she melted against him. She knew now that the feeling she’d had growing inside her for so long, that she’d tried so hard to deny, was real. Relief, euphoria, a joy she’d never known spread out through her limbs, tingling deliciously. Ralph. Oh, Ralph. Whatever would she have done without him?

  Thirty-Four

  ‘There you are,’ Ralph said, placing two pints on the table in the pub and pushing one over to Bob. ‘Get that down your throat.’

  ‘Cheers, mate.’ Bob lifted his beer and took a long swig before replacing the glass on the table and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘So, let me guess what it was you wanted to talk to me about. Meg.’

  He watched Ralph colour, but couldn’t let his good friend squirm for more than a few seconds. ‘I know you’ve been trying to keep it secret,’ he went on with a wistful smile. ‘But it’s been obvious to everyone ever since poor Jane was kidnapped. And I knew long before that, when you hadn’t even realised yourselves.’

  Ralph lowered his eyes to his pint. ‘I’m so sorry, Bob. I feel awful about it. I mean, I reckon you took a shine to her right from the beginning.’

  ‘Was it that obvious? Well, don’t worry about it. All’s fair in love and war, and all that. And she’s a lovely girl, but I don’t think I’d have been the right one for her. So don’t be hard on yourself. Besides…’ Bob paused, and his eyes lit up with a grin. ‘They’re showing a film in the village hall on Friday. Mrs C says it’s OK if I take Sally to see it.’

  Ralph looked up, eyebrows raised in wry surprise. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. And you let me buy you a pint to say sorry—’

  ‘Ah, next round’s on me,’ Bob grinned back. ‘You and me’ve been best mates for years. I’m not letting a girl come between us, even if she is something special. As I say, I’ve turned my attentions elsewhere, and we’re not going to fall out when there are far more serious matters to worry about.’

  ‘Germany, you mean,’ Ralph said gravely, their mood instantly sobering.

  ‘Bloody awful that business with the Jews, poor sods.’

  ‘Kristallnacht they’re calling it.’ Ralph gave an ironic shake of his head. ‘Sounds so pretty, doesn’t it? Night of the glass. Makes you think of chandeliers and mirrors, a grand ball, not nights of terror and death and destruction.’

  ‘It’s going to be war, isn’t it?’

  The words echoed like ice in Ralph’s head, and he slowly nodded. He took another gulp of his beer and carefully placed the glass back on the table. ‘I can’t see it ending any other way,’ he murmured, and lifted his eyes to meet his friend’s worried gaze.

  *

  ‘Oh, Wig.’ Clarissa gazed up at Wigmore as he turned off the radio, her face pale. ‘That’s terrible. Those poor, homeless little Jewish children. You heard what he said. They’ll be looking for foster homes when they start bringing them over. Can’t we…?’

  Wig took a long, pensive draw on his pipe as he contemplated his wife’s pleading face. Yes, Viscount Samuel’s broadcast had moved him, too. But the most important thing in his life had always been to protect his beloved Clarrie. Ever since Rosebud’s death and their failure to produce any further children, she had been like a damaged swan. So fragile. And he didn’t want anything to spoil whatever contentment he had managed to build up around her.

  ‘I know it’s heartbreaking, Clarrie, but… Offering one of them a home is… well, it’s a big step. And they won’t be cuddly little children. You heard what he said. This Kindertransport is going to include youngsters up to seventeen years of age. They’ll all be traumatised to some extent. Most of them won’t speak English. They could be angry, wanting to lash out at anyone around them. And when I’m helping to make shells to use against their homeland…’ Wig let out a huge sigh, his brow corrugated in a tormented frown. ‘It’d be too much strain on you, my love.’

  His heart dropped as he watched Clarrie lower her head, but then she looked up at him again with expectation glowing on her face. ‘What if we specified a baby?’

  ‘A baby? Keeping you up half the night? Do you honestly think you could cope with that? And I won’t be around much to help. I’ll be needed at the factory day and night.’

  ‘But… Nana May—’

  ‘Nana May is an old lady,’ Wig insisted. ‘She’d be less able to cope than you, my dearest. And babies grow into toddlers who are even more hard work.’

  ‘But it’s only until things settle down—’

  ‘Clarrie.’ Wig rested his pipe in the ashtray and took his wife’s hands, gazing steadily into her eyes. ‘Things aren’t going to settle down. Hitler can’t be trusted to keep his word. And he’s marching thousands of Jews off to concentration camps, and God knows what he’ll decide to do with them there. He can’t go unchallenged. No. There’s going to be a war, no matter what Chamberlain is trying to tell us. And the last war lasted four years. Who knows how long this one could last.’

  ‘But, Wig—’

  ‘No, Clarrie. I’m sorry. I understand how you feel. But I’ve got to put my foot down. And I think this household has already been through enough trouble as it is, with that dreadful business with Green and that Esme girl. If it hadn’t been for Ralph, God knows what might have happened to poor Jane. Or Meg for that matter. Let’s just be happy that we have them all safe under our roof again. And believe me, my darling, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other things you can do to help once the war starts.’

  He felt his chest squeeze with compassion as Clarrie’s face wrinkled tensely. But then she extricated her hands from his and instead entwined her arms about his neck.

  ‘Of course, you’re right,’ she mumbled against him, and he knew she was fighting back tears. ‘The important thing is for you and I and everyone here to get through whatever’s coming, isn’t it? Oh, Wig, I do love you so much.’

  Wig held her close, patting her back, calm and patient, although inside his head, his thoughts were spinning. Thank God the kidnapping had had a happy outcome. If anything more serious had happened, especially to Meg, he didn’t know how Clarrie would have taken it. He’d have been devastated himself, since he’d become inordinately fond of the girl, too. But it would have broken Clarrie.

  But that wasn’t going to be the end of it all, with this new war looming. Who knew what was coming to them all? Could he keep safe everyone under his care? He could only do his best. And his heart tightened into a knot.

  *

  The refectory table in the servants’ hall had been carried to one side, leaving a decent, clear space for dancing. Wig and Clarrie had bought the servants a gramophone of their own for Christmas so that they could enjoy themselves without borrowing Wig’s own precious machine. Nevertheless, for an hour or so after the servants’ own Christmas dinner, Wigmore, Clarissa and Nana May had come to join in the frivolities with their staff. After all, who knew what the new year would bring? It could be the last opportunity for some time that they could all be together.

  ‘Well, this is a great way to celebrate Christmas, isn’t it?’ Bob called as he pulled Sally to her feet to go and twirl her around to the music.

  ‘And so much better without that Esme girl,’ Mrs Phillips agreed. ‘Always thought she was a little minx, but couldn’t very well say anything, could I? And to think she was carrying on with that Green fellow right under our noses.’

  ‘Well, let’s not talk about that now,’ Ralph advised in a low voice. ‘It’s all in the past, and they’re both locked up in prison where they belong. And we don’t want to upset Jane.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think she’d hear,’
Meg chuckled, indicating where Jane was dancing away with her policeman friend.

  ‘So kind of Mrs C to invite Eric, wasn’t it?’ Louise put in, starry-eyed. ‘I wonder if he’s got a friend?’

  Ralph exchanged an amused glance with Meg. He was just about to ask her for another dance when Clarrie and Wig abandoned the lively jitterbug that was playing, and came over to them.

  ‘Oh, Meg, dear,’ Clarrie puffed. ‘Ooph, I think that’s enough for us, don’t you, Wig? Could you possibly make some tea and bring it to us in the drawing room?’

  ‘Of course, Mrs C,’ Meg answered, catching her breath and springing forward to hold open the door to the kitchen.

  ‘None for me, thank you, Meg,’ Wig told her as he passed. ‘I’ll help myself to a whisky. Nana May?’

  ‘Oh, no, tea for me,’ the old lady beamed. ‘Meg, you look lovely, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, why, thank you, Nana May,’ Meg blushed. ‘I’ll bring the tea as soon as it’s brewed.’

  She followed them through to the kitchen and turned on the electric kettle, jolly music still wafting through from the servants’ hall. It had been a lovely Christmas Day. But she wasn’t kidding herself. Everyone was concentrating on having fun. It could be the last time for some while.

  She carried the tea tray along the corridor, past the main staircase with the glittering Christmas tree in the stairwell – a smaller one this year – and into the drawing room. Mr W, Mrs C and Nana May were seated in easy chairs around the blazing fire, all five dogs toasting themselves on the hearth rug. It was such a happy, traditional scene that it brought a lump to her throat. For would it be the same next year, and the year after that?

  ‘Such a shame Perry and Sofia and the boys all went down with ’flu so we couldn’t all be together,’ Mrs C was saying as Meg placed the tray on a side table.

  ‘Well, hopefully next year…’ Nana May ventured, but they all knew why her voice was so hesitant.

  ‘Come on, you lot!’ Meg clicked her tongue and patted her hand repeatedly against her thigh. ‘Time you went out for a last walk.’

  The dogs scrambled up, some more enthusiastically than others. It was cosy by the fire, but had they remembered that outside, the lake was frozen and thick snow carpeted the grounds in a white, velvet blanket? They all trotted out to the kitchen, and Meg put her head round into the servants’ hall.

  ‘Ralph, I’m taking the dogs out. D’you want to come?’

  ‘Of course,’ Ralph grinned, and Meg’s heart did that strange thing it did whenever he smiled at her.

  A few minutes later, togged up in wellington boots and thick coats, and with scarves wound about their necks and hats rammed down on their heads, they trudged into the magical world outside. A crescent moon peeped from behind the murky clouds banked up in a dank, inky sky, but the snow was so deep and luminous that they didn’t need a torch to light their way. The freezing air was so still, a faint mist was rising over the lake, and all was silent under the deadening, glistening blanket.

  ‘You don’t get many nights like this,’ Ralph whispered, enchanted by the glorious scene, his breath billowing in clouds as it met the arctic air. ‘And to share it with the girl of my dreams makes it extra special.’

  ‘Girl of your dreams?’ Meg giggled, watching the four bigger dogs bouncing around in the snow while old Patch had to drag his short legs through it.

  ‘Yes. You know,’ Ralph murmured, his voice thick, ‘I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, cleaning out the milking parlour that morning. I just wanted to take you in my arms and look after you.’

  ‘And you did, if I remember rightly,’ Meg chuckled. ‘When I fainted.’

  ‘Mmm. And right now, I want to take you in my arms again. Like this.’

  He wrapped his arms about her, drawing her so close against him that she could feel his warmth even through both their thick coats. He bent his head, and she lifted her face towards him, waiting for his kiss. His lips were cold on hers, but they sent hot desire raging through her body, and her heart melted.

  ‘You don’t just want me for my money, then?’ she joked as they slid apart.

  ‘Of course,’ he teased her back. ‘Anyway, what money? It’s supposed to be a secret, isn’t it? Besides, I’ve got money of my own. I’ve never had much to spend my wages on, so I’ve always saved it. So between us, we could buy somewhere really nice to live.’

  ‘With a roaring fire.’

  ‘And as many dogs as you wanted.’

  ‘Talking of which, we’re supposed to be walking them. And I’m getting frozen standing here.’

  ‘Come on, then.’

  Ralph threaded his arm around her waist and she leant against him as they crunched on through the crisp snow. At that moment, Meg felt she had found her peace at last, as if her parents were still with her, living in her heart and approving of the man she’d come to love. But even Ralph didn’t know her other secret. No one did. It wasn’t a house she’d be getting with her money. It was a farm. But she would have to wait until she was twenty-one, and with the future so uncertain, her dreams didn’t seem quite so important. This was her home for now, among these people she’d come to love, and she was content to wander on through the mystical landscape, arm in arm with the man who had come to mean everything to her.

  Neither of them had noticed the drawing-room curtains being pulled open and the figure gazing out over the snow-covered grounds.

  ‘Just look at those two,’ Clarrie sighed contentedly.

  ‘Who’s that, dear?’ Nana May asked from her chair.

  ‘Why, Meg and Ralph. I do hope things work out between them. Just imagine, if they were to get married and stay here forever. We could build another cottage for them in the grounds, couldn’t we, Wig?’

  Wigmore grunted, and took another sip of his whisky. In a week’s time, they’d be welcoming in the new year. 1939. And who knew what the future held? Wig was certain it could only bring one thing. War.

  But glancing across at the radiant happiness on Clarrie’s face, he knew he shouldn’t break the spell. Meg had brought her joy. Given her some peace. Perhaps he ought to let her enjoy it while it lasted.

  For the curtain was about to fall on them all…

  We hope you enjoyed this book!

  Tania Crosse’s next book is coming in winter 2017

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  Acknowledgements

  About Tania Crosse

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  Acknowledgements

  First of all, my deepest gratitude to my wonderful agent, Broo Doherty, for finding a home for my new London and South-East series with dynamic, young publisher Aria, part of Head of Zeus. Also, of course, to the entire production team at Aria for bringing Nobody’s Girl, the first in the series, to fruition.

  An enormous thank you also to dear, long-standing friend, barrister and magistrate, Colin Skeen, for his diligent research on my behalf into the legal matters in the story. And to another dear friend, Sir Michael Willats, for his information on vintage vehicles. If I have made any mistakes, they are mine, not theirs.

  As ever, I must thank my amazing husband, my first proof-reader and honest critic as each chapter comes off the press. Thank you for being so patient, for being there to share the fun times and the tears – and for running the house so that I can concentrate on writing. I could never have done any of this without you.

  Last but not least, thank you to Sir Winston Churchill for appearing to me in a flash vision on my first visit to Chartwell and providing the original inspiration for Nobody’s Girl and its sequel.

  About Tania Crosse

  Delaying her childhood dream of writing historical novels until her family had grown up, TANIA CROSSE eventually completed a series of published stories based on her beloved Dartmoor. She is now setting her future sag
as in London and the southeast.

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  Aria is the new digital-first fiction imprint from Head of Zeus.

  It’s Aria’s ambition to discover and publish tomorrow’s superstars, targeting fiction addicts and readers keen to discover new and exciting authors.

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  Addictive Fiction

  First published in the UK in 2017 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

  Copyright © Tania Crosse, 2017

  The moral right of Tania Crosse to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.