They moved easily together to the quickstep rhythm. Barbara had a feeling of rightness and familiarity with Nat’s arms around her, although he was not holding her too closely. He sang softly along to the tune of ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’, about the bright stars and the prairie sky and the perfume of the sage in bloom, and she joined in as well. The song had become very familiar since the Yanks had come to Britain. The organist moved on easily from that melody to the rhythm of the ‘American Patrol’. This was the signal for some of the more enthusiastic couples to start their jitterbugging.
Barbara and Nat danced carefully around them, avoiding a collision. The more energetic couples would, no doubt, be asked to move off before long, or would of their own accord continue their gymnastics away from the ballroom floor. When the sequence of dances ended the four of them met up again in the spot where they had all congregated the previous week.
‘What do you say we have a little refreshment?’ suggested Howard. ‘I was thinking of tea and cakes actually, at the moment, rather than beer. That’s one of your English specialities, isn’t it?’
‘That’s true,’ replied Dorothy. ‘Usually in the afternoon, though; it’s called “afternoon tea”.’
‘I thought you Americans preferred coffee,’ remarked Barbara.
‘Sorry to say it, but your coffee is undrinkable,’ said Howard, laughing. ‘Isn’t that so, Nat?’
‘’Fraid so,’ said Nat with a rueful grin. ‘But I guess it’s not your fault; another inconvenience caused by old Adolf, eh?’
‘I don’t think we were ever really coffee drinkers,’ said Barbara. ‘We used to drink Nescafé, but we can’t get that now. We have to make do with that Camp coffee that comes in a bottle. I must admit, it’s pretty awful.’
‘Well then, we’ll have a nice cup of tea,’ smiled Nat. ‘That’s what you Brits say, isn’t it? A nice cup of tea. And I must say it’s a mighty fine beverage, the way you make it.’
‘Let’s go to that posh place upstairs,’ said Dorothy. ‘There’s a lot more to our Tower than just the ballroom, you know.’
She led the way to a refreshment room on the next floor up, where ferns and greenery, even a palm tree, added to the pleasant ambience of the place, a contrast to the rowdier downstairs bars and tea rooms. They sat at a table for four where a waitress served them with tea in a silver pot and a selection of cakes on a cake stand. The cream in the eclairs was ‘mock’ and, most probably, so was the filling in the ‘almond’ tarts, but they all agreed that they were as good as any you could get at the present time.
‘It’s rather more select up here, isn’t it?’ remarked Nat, ‘away from the noise and the crowds.’
‘I’ve told you, there’s far more to the Tower than you see at a first glance,’ said Dorothy. ‘When we’ve finished our tea we could go and look at the animals.’
‘Animals?’ queried Nat.
‘Oh, didn’t you know? There’s a zoo just over there. Or a menagerie, some people still call it. It’s been there since the Tower opened, that’s about seventy years ago, though no doubt the animals have changed.’
‘Not much of a zoo by your standards, I don’t suppose,’ said Barbara, as the four of them, a little while later, sat on the raised seating in the centre of the room watching, from a distance, the animals in their cages.
‘A quaint idea, though,’ said Nat. ‘I guess the children like to come and see the monkeys.’
A few braver folk, including children with their parents, were pushing nuts through the bars of the cages, encouraging the monkeys to perform their tricks. But Barbara and Dorothy preferred to keep their distance, away from the lion and the rather fierce-looking bear.
‘Is that the lion that the poem was written about?’ asked Nat. ‘Wallace, the one that had the “’orse’s ’ead ’andle” poked in his ear?’
Barbara laughed. ‘I’m not sure if it’s the same one that swallowed Albert.’ She felt a momentary spasm of guilt as she said the name that was also the name of her husband. ‘I didn’t think you Americans would know about that.’
‘Oh yes, we’ve heard all about Albert and the Lion and Stanley Holloway since we came to Blackpool,’ said Howard. ‘Did he write the poem?’
‘No, it was a man called Marriott Edgar,’ said Dorothy. ‘He’s the man who writes the monologues for Stanley Holloway. I know because I recite it sometimes at church concerts, don’t I, Barbara?’
‘Yes, you do indeed,’ answered her friend. ‘And it always goes down well with the audience. Are you going to recite it for us now?’
‘No, I’d rather not,’ laughed Dorothy. ‘Some other time, maybe. I say, it pongs in here, doesn’t it? Shall we move on?’
‘Yes, it is a bit niffy,’ agreed Howard. ‘And I can’t say I really approve of animals in cages, although they look contented enough.’
‘There’s an aquarium as well on the ground floor,’ said Barbara, as they left the menagerie. ‘And an aviary with exotic birds up near the top of the Tower. And in peacetime you could go up to the top of the Tower. Not now, though, of course; there’s a radar station up there and a lookout post.’
The other two were a few steps in front as they all headed towards the ballroom again. They sat on one of the red plush seats in an alcove from where they could see the ballroom floor. If they vacated their seats, though, to dance or to seek refreshment, they were almost sure to lose them. The place was always crowded on a Saturday evening and that night was no exception.
‘Have you been up to the top of the Tower?’ asked Nat.
‘Yes, once, when I was a little girl,’ replied Barbara. ‘I was with my aunt and uncle. I must admit it was a bit scary until I got used to it. Then I stopped being frightened and just enjoyed the wonderful views. You can see right across to Southport and the Welsh hills on a clear day, which it was at the time.’ She smiled. ‘We learnt at school that Blackpool Tower is five hundred and eighteen feet high. Not as tall as your Empire State Building, though!’
Nat’s eyes twinkled with amusement as they met hers. ‘No, I guess not. The Empire State is twice as high. Sorry about that, Barbara! Three hundred and eighty-one metres, so we’re told; I guess that must be well over one thousand feet.’
‘And have you been to the top?’
‘Yes, so I have, on my one and only visit to New York. We went as a family when I was in my teens. We did all the sights: the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Fifth Avenue, Broadway … It’s a mighty fine city.’
‘I’m sure it must be. I’ve only been to London once, ages ago,’ Barbara said wistfully.
‘I’m sure you will, one of these days,’ said Nat, smiling understandingly at her.
‘When the war is over …’ mused Barbara. ‘That’s what we all keep saying, don’t we?’
‘Yes. All we can do is take a day at a time,’ said Nat. ‘None of us knows what’s in the future. But we can try to make the most of every day, can’t we? Every day, every hour …?’ His voice was hushed so that no one but Barbara could hear. The other two, anyway, were engrossed in their own conversation.
Nat took hold of her hand, gazing at her intently. ‘You know what I’m saying, don’t you, Barbara?’
‘Yes, Nat … I guess I do,’ she replied as they exchanged a look of total empathy.
‘Shall we go and take a look at the aquarium?’ he suggested. ‘It’ll be nice and peaceful there, won’t it?’
‘I’m sure it will,’ said Barbara. ‘It’s ages since I was down there. It’s a strange place; at least I thought so when I was a little girl – all green and mysterious.’
Dorothy and Howard had gone onto the ballroom floor again, and Barbara could see them jigging about happily to the tune of the ‘Woodchopper’s Ball’. They seemed to be getting on very well, she pondered, but she doubted that there was the intensity of feeling that had developed between herself and Nat. Again a tiny voice at the back of her mind tried to tell her that she was playing with fire … but it was already too late.
They wandered downstairs, hand in hand, to the dimly lit, greenish gloom of the aquarium. It resembled a cave with limestone pillars, where exotic fish from all over the world swam around in glass tanks. They strolled about, taking a brief look at the fish, but Barbara knew that what Nat wanted was a place where they could be on their own for a little while. There were just a few people, like themselves, gazing at the fish, but also enjoying the solitude of the surroundings.
They stopped near to one of the stone pillars. Nat put his arms around Barbara and drew her towards him. He leant forward and, very gently, kissed her on the lips. It was no more than that the first time, a very gentle, loving kiss. ‘Barbara …’ he murmured. ‘You know what has happened, don’t you? I’ve fallen in love with you. Tell me, please … I have to know. Is it … is it the same for you?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, Nat, it is. I’ve only known you for a week, but I feel as though I’ve known you for ages. Yes, Nat … I love you.’ Her voice was the faintest whisper. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do. I’ve tried to tell myself that it’s wrong, that I mustn’t … but it’s no use. I feel as though we were meant to be together … Is that dreadful of me?’
‘No … no, it isn’t!’ he answered, quite vehemently, although he was still speaking quietly. ‘I know that some might think so, that they will certainly think so. But I knew, almost the first moment I met you. I’ve never felt like this before, about anyone. God help me, I love you, Barbara!’
‘I have a husband and a little girl,’ said Barbara, although neither of them needed reminding of that fact. ‘I told you so, last week. I knew I had to tell you … and I do love Kathy, so very much.’
‘And … your husband?’
Barbara sadly shook her head. ‘I’m fond of him. Albert was good to me, and I knew he’d take care of me. I wanted the security, but I know now that it was wrong of me. I should never have married him, not for that reason. I think I knew it at the time. Oh Nat … what are we going to do?’
He smiled at her, then he tenderly kissed her again. ‘For the moment, we’re not going to be miserable. As I said before, we have to take each day as it comes. We’d better go back now, hadn’t we, or the other two will wonder where we are.’
Dorothy and Howard were standing at the edge of the dance floor, as they had lost their seats. Barbara fancied that her friend gave her an odd look, but she, Barbara, smiled nonchalantly. ‘We’ve been to look at the fishes,’ she said brightly.
They danced again, then had a drink in the bar, and at ten-thirty they headed for home.
‘How about a change of venue next week?’ suggested Howard. ‘I’d sure like to take a look at your Winter Gardens; that is if you girls still want to see us?’
They agreed that they did, and that they would go to the Winter Gardens, rather than the Tower. Howard hung back as Nat said goodnight to Barbara.
‘Here …’ she said, stopping at a shop doorway, a little distance away from the boarding house. ‘My aunt and uncle might still be around. I’m sorry, Nat …’
He kissed her again, a little more ardently. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I love you; just remember that. It’ll all sort itself out in the end, I’m sure.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘What you’re doing is wrong,’ Dorothy told her friend. ‘You’re playing with fire; surely you must see that? For heaven’s sake, Barbara, put an end to it before it’s too late.’
The two friends were walking along the promenade near to the North Pier; Barbara was pushing little Katherine, fast asleep in her pram. Dorothy had phoned her asking if they could meet for a chat. They had decided on Wednesday afternoon, which was Dorothy’s half day off from the munitions factory where she worked. Barbara had already guessed that her friend might have some strong words to say to her. She knew now that she had not been mistaken about the odd looks – searching, knowing looks – that Dorothy had cast her way on Saturday night.
She had been surprised that Dorothy had agreed to go along with the Americans’ suggestion that they should go to the Winter Gardens the following Saturday. But to refuse, of course, would have been to put an end to the fun that Dorothy was having with Howard – light-hearted, innocent fun, Barbara was sure. She knew that Dorothy was a far more easy-going person than herself. She seemed more able to take life as it came, in a much less serious way. Barbara did not think that her friend felt too intensely about anything, not even about her engagement to her fiancé, Raymond. All the same, she had made it clear that she would not cheat on him, and that her friendship with Howard was enjoyable, but of no consequence.
Barbara listened to her, as she knew she must. ‘I understand what you are saying,’ she replied, ‘and only a few weeks ago I would have agreed with you. I would have thought it was dreadful that a married woman, such as I am, could even think of carrying on with someone else. But you must see, Dorothy, that we’re not “carrying on”. Nothing has happened between us; you must understand that. When we met, Nat and me, there was an immediate attraction, a magnetism between us; we were both aware of it. And now … well, I’m afraid it’s already too late. I love him, and he loves me.’
‘But you’ve only known him for two weeks! You’ve only met him twice. You can’t really be sure that you love him, not in such a short time. And what about your husband, and your little girl, bless her! Just look at her, Barbara, what a little treasure she is!’
‘Do you think I haven’t said the same thing to myself, time and time again? Yes, I know it’s wrong, Dorothy. Not that we’ve done anything really wrong as yet. And I wouldn’t do that anyway. You know what I mean; I would never sleep with him, have an affair, whatever you want to call it, as though it didn’t matter. It isn’t like that; I know that Nat respects me too much for that. It isn’t what either of us want … but we do love one another.’
Dorothy glanced across at her in what looked like a pitying way. She shook her head. ‘But that’s what it will lead to; you must know that, Barbara. Yes, I know he seems like a very nice bloke. They both are, Nat and Howard. But we don’t really know all that much about them, do we? If I were you I would put an end to it, now, before it goes any further. Look … why don’t I meet them on my own on Saturday night, and tell him that you’ve decided not to come? Believe me, Barbara, it’d be the best thing to do. It might hurt at first, but you’re going to get in too deep if it goes on any longer.’
Barbara shook her head. ‘You say “if you were me”. But how can you say that? You’re not me, are you? You can’t possibly know how I feel, or what you would do if it had happened to you. I know you’re concerned about me. You’re probably annoyed with me, and I suppose you have every reason to be … but there’s nothing you can say that will make any difference.’ She glanced into the pram. Katherine was just opening her eyes and Barbara leant over to touch her downy cheek.
‘Yes, I love my little daughter more than I can say. It’s the one good thing that has come out of my marriage to Albert. Because I know now, Dorothy, that I should never have married him. I did so for all the wrong reasons. I don’t love him, not the way I should, and I know now that I never did. But there’s Kathy; that’s the awful part about it, and that’s what hurts, so very much. It’s agonising when I think how much Kathy means to me. And Albert thinks the world of her too. She doesn’t really know him yet, not in the way she knows me, because he’s not here very often. But I know it would hurt him if he ever had to part with her.’
She was silent for a few moments and her friend made no comment. But she could sense Dorothy’s disapproval, waves of reproach drifting across to her.
‘I’m so happy when I’m with Nat,’ she continued. ‘Yes, I know it’s been only a short time, but when I’m with him I feel like a different person. I’ve never felt like this before about anyone; not even when I was engaged to Mike, although I was so sure that I loved him. And that’s what Nat said to me, that he’s never felt like this before. Oh, Dorothy, whatever are we going to do?’ She
looked imploringly at her friend. But Dorothy’s reply was far from sympathetic.
‘I’ve told you what to do, Barbara. It’s the only way. You’ll have to put an end to it, straight away. You’d get over it …’
Barbara could see that Dorothy was getting exasperated, and the last thing she wanted to do was to quarrel with her friend. Heaven knows, she might need a friend who understood before long.
‘Please don’t be angry,’ she said, almost crying. ‘I didn’t ask for this to happen … the way I feel about Nat. It’s been totally unexpected, and I can’t just finish it, in spite of what you say. And I wouldn’t get over it, not so easily …’
‘Thousands of girls have had to get over far worse things, when their husbands and fiancés have been killed, just as you had to get over losing Mike. It’s wartime, Barbara. You don’t know what might happen to Nat. You and Nat, Howard and me, we’re what you might call ships that pass in the night.’
Barbara didn’t answer, and Dorothy was beginning to realise that nothing she could say was going to make any difference. And she, too, did not want to lose her friend. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to quarrel with you, but I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t tell you how I feel. I’m concerned for you, Barbara, but maybe I can’t understand what you’re feeling. Maybe it hasn’t happened to me. I love Raymond, but it’s a pretty uncomplicated sort of relationship. Perhaps I’m better at compartmentalising my life than you are. Gosh! That’s a big word, isn’t it?’ She laughed. ‘Do you know what I mean, though? My time with Howard is separate from my feelings for Raymond. Howard and I will say goodbye at the end of the war or maybe sooner – whenever he’s sent elsewhere, who knows? – and we’ll have no regrets. But I can see, I suppose, that your involvement with Nat is rather different.’
Time Goes By Page 27