by Erica James
‘Well, ’afore you go rushing back outside, sit you down and I’ll put the betsy on for a cuppa.’ Mrs Cook said. Not only did she cluck around Thomas and Walter like a mother hen, she now did the same with Leon. When he’d first arrived he’d been as thin as a reed, and even with the rationing imposed on them, Mrs Cook had managed to put some weight on him. A selection of clothes had been found for him, care of the WVS, and when he wasn’t in his work clothes for the garden, he polished up pretty well.
Over their mugs of tea – and home-made lemonade for the boys – and after Mrs Cook had teased Lily again about finding herself a husband at the dance, Lily asked Leon if he had a date for the evening.
His face instantly turned a deep shade of red. ‘I shall not be going,’ he said quietly.
‘Why not,’ Clarissa asked, ‘just about everyone else from the village is going?’
He looked at her shyly before his glaze flickered towards Lily. ‘I have no one to go with. And—’ he broke off.
‘And?’ prompted Mrs Cook.
He smiled ruefully. ‘And I cannot dance. Not a step.’
Lily laughed. ‘Nor can most folk round ’ere, but it won’t stop any of ’em from going.’
‘Please do change your mind,’ Clarissa urged Leon with a smile, ‘I’m sure dancing won’t be compulsory.’
‘Not unless there’s a new Ministry of Something or Other that’s passed a law that says we all have to dance from now on!’ Mrs Cook said with a hearty laugh.
The dress Clarissa had chosen was a deep shade of coral and was neither too dressy nor too plain. She had deliberated over what to wear for some time, trying to look as though she had made the effort but had not tried too hard. The dress she’d chosen had been one of the day dresses she had worn on board the Belle Etoile, and at the time Effie had remarked how well the colour suited her. ‘Don’t you think Clarissa looks beautiful in that dress?’ she had asked Ellis.
‘Don’t play those games with me,’ Ellis had answered her with a snarl.
An expression of mock innocence on her face, Effie had said, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Sure you do. If I say it suits her, you’ll accuse me of some kind of bias, and if I say nothing, you’ll accuse me of something far worse.’
‘Such as?’
‘Of feigned indifference.’
‘Indifference or artifice is not something any of us could accuse you of,’ Artie had stepped in. ‘Come on, Clarissa,’ he’d added, ‘let’s leave these two to it and have a game of quoits.’
More than a year on since she’d crossed the Atlantic and met them, Clarissa still did not know how Ellis and Effie really felt about each other. Was their sparring no more than an elaborate act of courtship before finally accepting they were – and always had been – perfectly suited? She really wouldn’t be at all surprised one day to receive a letter from them saying, ‘Guess what, we’re married!’
With a light cream wrap and her gas mask case hooked over her shoulder, her lipstick and a handkerchief tucked inside, she hurried downstairs to the drawing room where she could hear Charles and Lavinia talking in low voices; they were talking about her. And Leon. They turned abruptly when they realised she was in the room and had probably heard what they’d been saying.
‘Please,’ she said, when they looked at her with embarrassment, ‘you really don’t have to worry about Leon’s intentions towards me.’
Lavinia’s face was grave. ‘We know things have changed dramatically with this wretched war,’ she said, ‘and the normal conventions seem to be a thing of the past, but do you really think it was wise of you to ask Leon to walk you down to the village for the dance? What message will it give to people?’
‘You should know me well enough by now to know that I don’t give a toot what people will think,’ Clarissa said, trying to keep her voice light. ‘Besides, Leon isn’t interested in me, it’s Lily for whom he has a soft spot.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Lavinia.
‘Yes, that’s why I wanted him to go to the dance, so he can spend some time with Lily. It’s just a pity she went home to change, as otherwise I would have proposed he escorted her.’
Charles frowned. ‘Is that such a good thing, the two of them becoming – becoming overly friendly with each other?’
‘I think whatever moments of happiness people can find for themselves in these difficult times should be grabbed with both hands. Enjoy your evening,’ she said with a bright smile.
Leon was waiting for her in the kitchen where Mrs Cook was fussing with a brush at the shoulders of his second-hand jacket. His anxious eyes implored Clarissa to make the woman stop.
‘Ready to go?’ she asked him.
He nodded, but his expression was that of a man bound for an experience far worse than anything Mrs Cook was capable of inflicting.
It was a lovely evening, and as Clarissa and Leon walked along the lane to the village, the sound of birdsong filled in the silence between them, the light and busy chatter of sparrows and the chirpy refrain of blackbirds underpinned by the lower cooing of woodpigeons.
Leon was a man of few words at the best of times and, like Clarissa, he seemed perfectly content to let the quiet stillness between them continue. They had reached the entrance to Brian Coddling’s farm – Shillingbury Farm – when Clarissa decided that, given Leon’s extreme shyness, he might need to be given a little encouragement when it came to Lily this evening. She was about to offer some words of advice when he asked, ‘Do you believe Lily is serious when she says she hopes to find a husband tonight?’
Clarissa chose her words with care. ‘All the girls in the village will have been joking today about finding a husband, but it’s nothing more than talk. Really what they want is to enjoy themselves, and maybe a man to hold them close and perhaps kiss them.’
Leon nodded his head and appeared to think about it. ‘You think that is what Lily wants?’
‘Yes. If this were in the village where you lived back in Poland, wouldn’t it be the same? Wouldn’t the girls there behave in the same way?’
He suddenly looked very sad, as though thinking of home was too painful for him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘that was clumsy of me. You must miss your home so very much.’
‘I do. I miss my family. And my friends. But you are all so kind to me here. I will never forget that. Sometimes I cannot imagine that I will ever return to my village. For what shall I return to? And what will poor Thomas and Walter go back to in Berlin?’
‘We none of us know the answer to that,’ Clarissa said. ‘All we can do is take one day at a time.’
‘And live for the moment. That is what everybody says we must do, is it not?’
‘It might seem shallow, but what is the alternative? We have to live as best we can and with a heart full of hope.’
He nodded once more and they continued on in silence. At the post office he paused to pull a letter from his jacket pocket and without a word slipped it into the post box. Clarissa wondered to whom he could be writing; not that it was any of her business.
They arrived on the dot of seven, the official start of the dance. Such was everybody’s eagerness to get the evening started there was already a sizeable and voluble crowd in the hall. The men – and a few WAAFs – from the airfield were much in evidence, their smart blue uniforms contrasting greatly with the small gathering of young men from the village whose clothing had definitely seen better days. The stark contrast also highlighted just how few young men were now left in Shillingbury; so many sons, brothers and even fathers, had joined up. In a small village like this, their absence, should they not all return, would be hard to bear.
Spotting Lily on the other side of the hall with a group of girls who all appeared to be admiring the pale green satin dress she was wearing. Clarissa smiled. Now, how to get Leon to go over and chat with L
ily, she wondered? Perhaps some Dutch courage was the answer.
‘Let’s see what there is to drink,’ she said to Leon, taking him by the arm to where George Stamford from the butcher’s was busy pouring out drinks with Vera Hubbard from the baker’s.
‘Oi’ve elderflower wine, gooseberry wine, blackcurrent cordial, rum punch, or lemonade,’ George said to Clarissa. ‘Oi should warn yew ’bout the rum punch, its kick’ll knock yew ter Ipswich and back!’
‘I think there’s nothing else for it but to see if that’s true,’ Clarissa said cheerfully. ‘What about you, Leon, will you risk it? Shall we live for the moment?’
He hesitated. ‘Why not?’ he said at length, and with the briefest of smiles.
George Stamford had just handed them their drinks when Lily came over. ‘Thanks again for the dress, oi niver felt such a proper lady ’afore. The girls bin a-larfin’ at me for me lah-di-dah finery.’
‘Ignore them, Lily, you look wonderfully elegant,’ Clarissa said, thinking how grown up Lily suddenly seemed. ‘Doesn’t she look lovely, Leon?’
He took a gulp of his drink. ‘You look beautiful, Lily,’ he said.
Lily laughed. ‘An’ yew din’t look so bad either.’
The poor man blushed and took another gulp of his rum punch.
Seizing the moment, Clarissa said, ‘Lily, why don’t you take Leon over to meet your friends?’
Lily didn’t need telling twice. ‘C’mon Leon,’ she said, grabbing his hand, ‘yew can say hello to my friends, and bless me if we then can’t find them dancin’ legs of yours.’
Minutes later, the band on the raised platform struck a chord. In response a cheer went up, and within no time the middle of the hall was filled with foxtrotting couples. To Clarissa’s delight one of those couples was Lily and a terrified-looking Leon. No guesses for who had taken the initiative to dance, she thought with a happy smile.
It was good seeing so many people enjoying themselves – Jimmy was there in his ARP uniform, looking very official, while his friends from the village looked much more relaxed in their shirtsleeves with knotted neckerchiefs at their necks. It was good, too, to see the village girls in their finery with their hair fashionably styled and their faces made up. The land girls from Shillingbury Farm looked the most altered – no headscarves, boots and working breeches for them tonight! Clarissa had just spotted Molly dancing with her husband, the vicar, when she heard a decidedly well-spoken voice at her side.
‘Now tell me why a stunning girl like you isn’t dancing?’
Clarissa turned and found herself staring up into the strikingly handsome face of a dark-haired airman.
‘I haven’t been asked,’ she replied smoothly.
‘Well, that can easily be rectified.’
Before she knew it, he had taken her glass, placed it on a nearby table and had her firmly in his arms.
‘You might have asked me properly,’ she said, feeling some kind of protest was required of her.
He grinned. ‘I couldn’t take the risk you’d say no.’
‘Is there any reason why I should have said no?’
‘Plenty!’
‘Give me one.’
‘I’m afraid they’re all classified.’
She laughed and allowed him to lead her around the dance floor. When the music came to an end, he said, ‘This will never do, I haven’t even introduced myself; just where are my manners?’
‘Where indeed?’ she said with a raised eyebrow.
He gave her a salute. ‘Flying Officer William Dallimore, at your service. And you would be?’
‘Clarissa Allerton.’
‘Well, Clarissa, I’ve just made quite possibly the single most important decision of my life.’
‘And what would that be?’
He tapped his nose. ‘Classified, I’m afraid. Will you dance with me again?’
Never once thinking of her two left feet, she danced with him all night, a night that seemed to pass in the blink of an eye as the music played by the band – ‘Moonlight Serenade’, ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’, ‘The Very Thought of You’, ‘You Made Me Love You’ – seemed to keep her within his embrace like a magnetic force.
When the band had played its last song, ‘When I Grow Too Old to Dream’, and it was time to go, he insisted on walking her home. ‘But don’t you have to return to the airfield with the rest of the men?’ she asked.
‘In theory, yes. However, seeing you home safely is far more important.’
Thinking of Leon, Clarissa hesitated, but with no sign of him in the hall, she accepted William’s offer only too readily.
The velvety dark sky was studded with stars and a bright full moon of magical silvery whiteness. ‘It’s a bomber’s moon,’ William remarked, taking her hand in his, ‘when all is laid bare. There’s no hiding on a night like this.’
Clarissa had the strongest feeling he was talking of more than just the moon and stars above their heads. She wasn’t at all surprised when some minutes later, after an owl hooted and swooped out from the trees to their left, he slowed his step, turned to face her in the moonlight and kissed her on the mouth. Without a second thought, she kissed him back, filled with a sense of elation, her heart beating fast, her head spinning with the potent desire to make this moment last forever.
How had it happened, she thought later, lying in bed unable to sleep? How could this stranger appear from nowhere and eclipse every emotion she had felt before? How was it possible she could meet somebody and in an instant, with no more than a few words exchanged between them, feel as though they were in perfect harmony and destined to be together?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
‘How soon was it before you married him?’ asked Lizzie in an awed voice when the flow of Mrs Dallimore’s words came to an abrupt stop.
‘Less than two months later. Charles gave me away, Molly was my bridesmaid, Mrs Cook made the cake and Lily helped me turn one of my favourite Belle Etoile evening gowns into a wedding dress. Our honeymoon was a night spent in a cottage by the sea in Norfolk, which Polly arranged for us. We couldn’t stay there for more than the one night because William couldn’t get leave for any longer, not when the Battle of Britain had just begun to be fought in earnest.’
‘That really was a case of being swept off your feet, wasn’t it?’ Lizzie said, yet more of her preconceived ideas about the old lady vanishing.
‘It was a coup de foudre for us both,’ Mrs Dallimore said quietly. ‘It might sound absurdly improbable to someone of your age, particularly so in these less than romantic times, but that night when we met, when William said he’d just made the single most important decision of his life, it was that he knew I was the woman he would marry. I felt the same about him by the end of the evening; I was literally dazzled by the way he made me feel and wanted to experience that emotion for the rest of my life.’
She closed her eyes briefly and let out a long, heartfelt sigh. ‘Lizzie, my dear, would you mind if we left it there for now? I suddenly feel extremely tired.’ Her voice contained a note of melancholy.
‘Of course,’ Lizzie said, worried that she’d tired the old lady out. ‘Would you like to have a nap? I could take you back to your room if you want.’
Mrs Dallimore made a placatory gesture with her hand. ‘No, that won’t be necessary, thank you. I’m quite comfortable here. Off you go now. I’ve taken up far too much of your time.’
Lizzie was reluctant to leave the old lady alone, but seeing her retreat into a meditative silence, she knew she had been politely dismissed.
Funny, she thought as she went back up to the house, how time spent with Mrs Dallimore made everything else fade into the background. Not once had she thought of Curt while she’d been listening to Mrs Dallimore. Come to think of it, the queasiness in her stomach had all but gone. The woman was a miracle worker!
When there
was nothing else to do and she’d changed out of her overall, Lizzie went to find her bike to cycle home. A part of her didn’t want to go home. The atmosphere between her parents that morning had not been good. She had never known them to snipe at one another, but there had definitely been some tetchiness between them at breakfast with each rushing to see to Freddie before the other did, as though trying to make a point.
She had just cycled to the end of Woodside’s driveway when she decided to ring her brother. With a bit of luck she’d catch him on his way home from work. Her bike propped against the gatepost, she made the call. He answered on the second ring. ‘You free to talk?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’m still in the office. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong, why would you think that?’
‘I don’t know, it’s just that lately it seems like it’s one thing after another.’
His voice sounded abnormally morose as if weighed down with all the cares of the world. ‘Come on, big bro,’ she said, ‘tell me what’s going on. What’s making you sound like Homer Simpson when he finds his last doughnut’s been pinched?’
She heard a small laugh in her ear and was glad she’d managed to cheer him up. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, ‘just a bad day at work, that’s all. What’s new with you?’
‘Oh, you know, same old same old, on the verge of world domination, if only I could get my lucky break.’
‘It’ll come. How’re you doing otherwise?’
‘You mean, Curt-wise?’
‘Yes.’
‘Better. Definitely better.’
‘That’s good. You do know he isn’t worth a single second of regret, don’t you? Because I guarantee he hasn’t lost any sleep over you. Sorry if that sounds harsh.’
‘It is harsh, but I think you’re right; he played me for a complete fool. But it still hurts.’