by I'll Get By
Sirs,
Since when has The Times indulged in such sensationalist journalism as to present a totally fictitious account of the supposed burglar? The sketch of said villain, which was presented as an eyewitness description, is so poor a likeness it is laughable to the extreme. It can only be compared to a caricature devised by the devious brain of the current editor of Punch, the excellent Edmund Knox.
Sirs, you are liars! Far from being the low, ape-like type of lout depicted on page two, observation in the bathroom mirror allows the felon to give you a more accurate and objective description. Handsome? Most definitely. His eyes are blue, his teeth straight and he stands at just over six feet – a prime specimen of British manhood in fact. As for the nose, it has never collided with the fist of a would-be pugilist, and its roman ancestors would abhor the very notion of insult being afforded to such a noble work of genetic nostrology.
Your faithful servant,
The right honourable. Anonymous.
Of course, he wouldn’t write a letter, or even send it, he thought, sinking into his chair and folding the paper into precise crossword-and-clues working mode. But the publicity did make it difficult to get rid of the accumulated loot.
The thought came again. He could hand it back to the owners. That would present a greater challenge than stealing it in the first place, since they would all have changed their locks. His almost photographic memory gave him an instant recall of what had been gathered from whom.
He could always use the post office for delivery. In fact he could be his own post office. He smiled to himself as the idea took hold . . . after all it was almost April Fools’ Day.
A maid came into the room and began to busy herself with the dishes on the buffet. She was square and solid, a middle-aged spinster with nobody to care for except her employer’s family.
Where did she go for her annual fortnight’s holiday? he wondered. Did she take the train down to Bournemouth to spend her time in a genteel, but dull hotel? There, she’d sit at a table for one in a conservatory that impersonated a dining room. It would have potted palms instead of curtains to give it a tropical look, and beach sand gritting the threadbare carpet. Would she hire a striped deckchair for tuppence, and breathe in enough sea air to last her another fifty weeks while she dreamed of retirement and read an Agatha Christie novel from behind a pair of sinister-looking smoked glasses?
The scrape of his knife against his plate brought the maid whirling round and she nearly dropped the dish she was holding. ‘Oh . . . I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t see you when I came in. I’ll return later.’
He felt a sudden surge of pity for her. He had no intention of putting the routine of the household out so he could indulge in a few more flights of fantasy. ‘There’s no need, Anna. I’ll have another cup of coffee to drink while I’m doing the crossword. If I move to the fireside you can get on with whatever you want to do. Pass my compliments to the cook, if you would. My bacon and eggs were exactly as I like them.’
Her face turned pink with pleasure. ‘It’s the cook’s day off, so I did the breakfast today, sir.’
He’d learned that a servant travelled a long way on a word of praise for fuel. ‘Well, good for you, Anna.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll try not to disturb you. Will you be in for lunch?’
‘Not today. I’m going to mess around on my boat; the brass needs polishing. I dare say you’ll be glad when I’m out from underfoot.’
Anna tittered. ‘Oh no, sir. You’re such a pleasant gentleman, and no trouble at all.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Taking a pencil from his waistcoat pocket he slid into a leather wing-backed chair, there to be fully absorbed for the fifteen minutes he’d allowed himself to ponder on the harder of the clues. The time limit proved quite a challenge, but he beat his own record with seconds to spare.
When the long clock in the hall chimed nine he swallowed his lukewarm coffee and rose. Time to get on, he supposed, and wondered what James Bethuen had in mind for him.
One thing he was sure of, although the man wasn’t the fool his father had made him out to be, he wasn’t far off.
Five
They had forgotten to set the alarm clock.
Not that it mattered to Meggie, but her aunt and uncle were scrambling around in panic, snatching gulps of tea and tearing bites from the bread she’d toasted under the grill and spread with butter and marmalade. An apple was placed in each hand as they headed for the door. It was more nutritious than what they’d eaten so far.
‘Eat them in the car,’ she said.
‘I’ll drop you off at the station,’ Leo told Es, because from there they’d be travelling in different directions. He kissed Meggie on the cheek as he went past and grinned. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
Her aunt grabbed up the handbag Meggie held out for her and did likewise.
‘Don’t forget to comb your hair, Aunt Es,’ Meggie called after her, and make sure you both eat a good lunch.
‘No . . . we won’t forget. What are you going to do today?’
‘I’ll do the immediate chores first then go to the markets to do some food shopping. This afternoon I’ll do the ironing.’
‘I feel guilty leaving all this work.’
‘Don’t feel guilty, since I’m responsible for some of it. Off you go now else you’ll be late.’
The pair gazed at each other and laughed.
The Morris engine was a bit reluctant to wake up, too. After it offered him a couple of sluggish dry coughs Leo stuck his head out of the window and called out, ‘Wake up you cantank-erous old cow else I’ll heave your rusting arse into the scrap yard.’ The engine spluttered with indignation then fired.
‘Leo’s got a wonderful way with engines,’ Es told her from the passenger seat, and they both giggled when he snorted.
Giving a last wave when the car reached the corner she went back indoors.
Silence descended when she closed the door. She could smell smoke. ‘Holy Moses . . . my toast!’
She made a dash for the kitchen, pulled it out from under the grill and threw the charred, smoking mess out of the back door, flapping as much smoke as she could out after it with the tea towel. Mostly though, it had risen to the high ceiling, where it hovered like a drifting grey cloud of bad breath. From experience she knew the smell would linger for several days.
It had been the last of the bread, and the carter hadn’t been yet. Neither had the milkman. She sighed and ate a cracker spread with marmite, washing it down with the lukewarm remainder of her aunt’s leftover tea, to which some hot water was added to weaken the strong brown brew.
After dressing, she went into a flurry of housework. There came the hum of the milk float and the chink of milk bottles on the doorstep. She got there before the blue-tits pecked through the top to help themselves to the cream, placing the two bottles on the larder shelf.
Not long afterwards a horse plodded down the road, and she bought a couple of loaves from the cart to place in the bread bin, and a bun with a sprinkling of shredded cheese melted on top to supplement her meagre breakfast.
‘Nice weather for March innit, missus?’ the carter called out. ‘Not much wind and rain abat lately.’
She nodded, though she thought the sky to be dull and overcast, and the temperature fairly cold.
She smiled at him before she closed the door, not bothering to correct him about her single status, because in her apron and with a scarf tied turban style around her hair to keep it tidy, she felt like a mother who’d just got her children off to school and was rushing through her chores so she could go out for morning coffee with her girlfriends.
An important-looking envelope came through the letterbox, hit the floor with a thud and skidded across the hall. It was in reply to her request for information after reading an article about the Women’s Royal Naval Service. Quickly she read through it. They were taking the names of women who were offering their services should they be needed.
She filled in the for
m, listing name, age, educational qualifications and skills, including all the hobbies she could think of . . . driving, typing, flying, cryptic crosswords, dancing, writing fiction. Before she could change her mind she signed the form, placed it in an envelope, and dashing to the post box at the end of the street she watched it disappear into the square red mouth, just before the collection van came around the corner.
Back home, she turned the radio up loud and waltzed around the room in practice for the weekend dance date, until a sudden thought brought her to a halt. She didn’t have any girlfriends. She just didn’t seem to attract females. Susan, once her best friend at school, had started work as a junior shop assistant in the children’s book department at a Bournemouth bookshop. There, she earned a wage of twelve shillings a week, and had started going out with a ‘crowd’.
Being by herself didn’t bother Meggie, since she was content with her own company most of the time, and her own thoughts. All the same, it would be nice to have a friend she could talk to – one who understood the odd flights of fancy she indulged in. Susan hadn’t been able to do that. She had turned into a prim little miss who thought it was weird that Meggie even thought silly things. Her aim was to meet a nice boy, then get engaged to be married.
The telephone rang.
She pinched her nose and assumed a nasal whine. ‘Good morning. Margaret Elliot speaking.’
‘Ah, you’re home, Margaret . . . good. It’s Rennie Stone. I wondered if you’d be free for lunch today. By the way, what’s wrong with your voice; do you have a cold?’
‘No. I just talk like this on Mondays. It was nice of you to enquire, though.’ She grinned when he made an impatient hissing noise through his teeth. ‘We’re seeing you at the weekend for the dance, aren’t we? Are you ringing to cancel it?’
‘Certainly not! That’s got nothing to do with it. Don’t you eat lunch?’
‘Of course I eat lunch.’
‘Good, then let me ask you again. Are you free for lunch today?’
‘Well yes . . . but I’ve got to go to the market first, else we won’t have anything for dinner, and it’s already eleven thirty.’
‘Is there any reason why you can’t go to the market after lunch?’
‘Well no, but—’
‘I’ll pick you up at noon then . . . that is, unless you need an adult’s permission.’
‘You’re being rude and sarcastic.’
‘So I am.’
‘Well . . . you can apologize if you want to take me out to lunch.’
‘Ah . . . an ultimatum. I hadn’t expected one.’ There was a moment of silence that indeed felt like a stand off, then he said, and quite gently, ‘I’ll see you at noon then, Mags.’
‘Don’t bother,’ she flung at him, and hung up half-a-second after he did.
Just in case he hadn’t heard what she’d said, she began to get ready. It took all of twenty-five minutes to wash, roll on her stockings, don her checked dress and arrange her hair. She followed up a light dusting of face powder with lipstick, then dabbed cologne behind her ears.
Meggie felt self-conscious and on edge waiting for a man she hardly knew to take her out. She thought she heard a car, but her bedroom didn’t look out over the road and she wasn’t going to appear eager, even to her own eyes, by rushing to have a look.
Not that she expected Rennie to turn up, she thought, gazing at the clock’s large hand, which quivered on two minutes to the hour. When it took a sudden leap forward her heart jumped with it.
She would give herself a couple minutes to make sure, in case the clock was fast, she told herself. But anyway, she couldn’t go shopping looking scruffy.
‘When the doorbell rang exactly one minute later she had her coat on and her shopping basket on her arm. The hall clock gave its usual whirring sound and began to chime the twelve strokes of noon. Resisting the urge to run, she sauntered down the stairs and feigned surprise when she opened the door on the last stroke. ‘Oh . . . it’s you. I told you not to come. I didn’t expect . . . actually, I was getting ready to go to the market.’
His eyes impaled her, the reddish brown autumn of them guarded by sooty spikes of lashes. ‘Liar, you were doing no such thing. You were waiting for me to turn up on the doorstep. Stop playing games.’
She choked out a laugh. ‘I hope you’re not going to be grumpy all day.’
He smiled and brought a posy of sweet smelling violets out from behind his back. ‘I apologize.’
She was captivated. It was the best apology she’d ever had. ‘They’re beautiful . . . thank you so much.’
‘You’re beautiful.’ Much to her annoyance she blushed, and it was his turn to laugh. ‘You’re also very sweet, you know. It’s not often I get to take out somebody as young as you.’ He took the basket from her. ‘We can leave this in the car.’
‘Will you wait a moment until I put these in water? I don’t want them to wilt.’
Meggie had expected to be taken somewhere local, but they motored to Southend, which was about forty miles away. They sat in a café overlooking the long stretch of beach and eating fish and chips washed down with mugs of hot tea.
‘This was a long way to come for lunch,’ she said.
‘After working in a dusty office I needed some clean, fresh air in my lungs, and I hadn’t seen the sea for a while. That’s one of the penalties of being part of the legal profession.’
There was a blustery breeze coming off the water and grey clouds scudded across the sky. The air smelled of salt and the seagulls wheeled above, giving raucous squawks.
‘I’ve never seen such a long pier.’
‘It’s the longest in England. Would you like a walk to help blow the cobwebs away? In half an hour we must set off back home again.’
It was obvious he needed to walk. Outside, he took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. She could have pulled her hand away, but instead she enjoyed the moment for what it was. He was ahead of her. ‘We can go to the market up the road, the one we passed on the way in here. The one you usually shop at will be closed by the time we get back to London.’
The shopping was done quickly, but they got the late bargains. As they drove home the clouds built up and the sky darkened. Now and again handfuls of rain splattered the windscreen. By the time they arrived at the house the sky was thunderous and the air charged. The house looked gloomy, and she didn’t want to go inside by herself.
‘Thank you for a wonderful day, Rennie,’ she said, not wanting to leave the safety of the car.
He smiled. ‘I enjoyed it.’
There was a flash of lightning and she jumped. ‘Will you come in for a cup of tea?’
He glanced at his watch.
‘Please,’ she said when there was a rumble of thunder.
His glance measured her. ‘You didn’t strike me as a person who’d be scared of thunder and lightning.’
‘I’m not usually. I just don’t want to go into a dark empty house by myself. Not after the burglar. Silly, isn’t it? I’ll be quite all right once I’ve turned the lights on, and Aunt Es and Leo will be home in a couple of hours. If you can’t stay will you just wait until I’ve turned the lights on before you drive away?’
‘Actually, I’d love a cup of tea.’
She felt an enormous sense of relief when he followed her inside, and placed her basket on the kitchen table. The kitchen smelled deliciously of violets from the posy he’d given her. She held them to her nose for a moment. Afterwards she put both the kettle and the radio on.
They were just in time to hear the newsreader say, ‘News has just come in that German troops have occupied Czechoslovakia.’
She gazed at him. ‘Do you think there will be a war?’
He nodded. ‘I think it’s inevitable, don’t you?’
‘I keep hoping it will all go away. Will you have to . . . well, you know . . . fight?’
‘I imagine I’ll be called up eventually.’
‘And would you go?’
‘
It would be compulsory. But anyway, I’d probably enlist if war happens to be declared. Even if given a choice it wouldn’t be fair to leave the fighting to all the other chaps. In fact it would be rather cowardly.’
‘You know Rennie, if there’s a war I think I’ll forget about going to university and join one of the women’s services instead. I can type and do shorthand, so I could make myself useful. My studies could probably be deferred until a later date.’
‘Yes, you could. You know, Mags, becoming a lawyer isn’t all fun, especially for a woman. Promise me you’ll think carefully about it, because once you’ve committed to it you’ll discover it hard work for the most part, and without much time left over to enjoy what life has to offer.’
‘Like war, you mean?’ She touched his cheek, feeling a bit weepy at the thought of him being placed in danger. ‘If you’re called up you’ll take care, won’t you? Don’t do anything dangerous or heroic.’
‘I’m not naturally brave, so I’ll try not to.’
‘My father was a war hero. He died before I was born. Everyone who knew him said he was a wonderful man. I wish I’d known him too.’
They gazed at each other for a moment, and then he drew her into his arms. When she gazed up at him in surprise he kissed her. It was unexpectedly tender and undemanding. ‘Thank you for caring about me.’
‘That’s the first time I’ve been kissed . . . properly, I mean. It was nice.’
He avoided her eyes. ‘Don’t read anything into it. I shouldn’t have encouraged you. You’re much too young for me.’
She wouldn’t have objected to an encore, but he’d probably kissed hundreds of girls, and she didn’t want him to think she was one of those fast types.
‘I’ll grow older.’
A laugh choked from him. ‘I’m sure I’ll keep up with the age gap.’
They drank their tea in the kitchen while the storm threw bolts of lightning about the sky. Thunder rumbled up through the soles of their feet as though they were part of it. Eventually the noise lost its intensity, but it left in its wake a howling gale and a heavy downpour of rain.