Janet Woods

by I'll Get By

  Leo was lucky if he got home at all. On those rare occasions when he did, he fell into bed and slept heavily. Casualties were heavy, and Esmé lived in dread of receiving a telephone call from Biggin Hill, or a telegram.

  They used the upstairs gas for cooking while Meggie and Judith hoarded their coal ration to keep for the stove in winter, for they’d discovered that the water it heated circulated through the radiators and provided the house with warmth. They also bought bundles of wood collected from bombed houses by enterprising children.

  Lord Cowan, who’d previously had very little to say to her, and spent more time out of the office than he did in, cornered her one day. ‘How are you getting along, Margaret?’

  ‘I find the work a little . . . well, different to what I expected, I suppose. I worked in a legal office before, and it was so varied, and there was always something going on.’

  ‘I expect there was.’ He shrugged. ‘Believe it or not, what we do here is a small, but useful part of a cog.’

  ‘Yes . . . I suppose it must be, else we wouldn’t be doing it.’

  ‘Does Judith enjoy her job?’

  ‘Yes . . . I think so. We tend not to talk about work when we’re at home.’

  His expression became one of approval. ‘It’s best not to get involved in office politics. I understand you’re renting a flat with her.’

  ‘My aunt and uncle have allowed us to live in the basement flat of the home they rent. We just help pay for the utilities.’

  He picked up a pencil and gazed over her shoulder at the crossword she was working on. She was aware of him and because of it, stiff and uncomfortable. He smelled of expensive, sandalwood soap, and his nails were manicured. His breath tickled her ear as he murmured, ‘A weaver tells a story? The obvious answer is?’

  ‘Spins a yarn.’

  He filled it in, his letters backward sloping. ‘What can we make out of that, Margaret?’

  ‘That someone with the code name of spider has been telling lies.’

  ‘Or the Bayeux tapestry is embroidered from wool on linen, not woven. Did you know that?’

  ‘No, but that will give someone a headache,’ she said and laughed. ‘What about, my stockings have a ladder in and need darning?’

  ‘I’ll get you some new ones. Perhaps you’d like some French perfume, as well.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir. It’s not my birthday. Besides, the navy provides stockings.’

  ‘In fifteen denier nylon? I can lay my hands on practically anything I want, including your stockings. I know a lot of people who have many fingers in many pies.’

  He grinned when she gave him a surprised look, and said, ‘Unless you want a good slap, you’d better keep both your fingers and hands off my stockings.’

  ‘Miss Elliot, I’m surprised at you.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ She hoped he didn’t seriously want to lay hands on her, not because the thought didn’t appeal, but because she wouldn’t know how to handle it.

  Much to her relief he threw the pencil down and straightened up, laughing. ‘I wonder what it will take for me to tempt you.’

  ‘Why should you want to? You’re left-handed, aren’t you?’

  She remembered the crossword on her bed, and the burglar who’d completed the last clue. The handwriting had been that of a left-handed person. A shiver ran through her and she gazed at Nicholas Cowan’s feet. His shoes were black. How silly to imagine this perfectly decent and normal person, who was not only a peer, but also held a responsible position in the war office, was a burglar. To start with, he wouldn’t need the money, and there were many left-handed people around.

  ‘Yes, I’ve always been left-handed.’

  She laughed. ‘I imagine you have.’

  ‘I’ve got a proposition for you, Margaret, something you might like. My father is sending me half a sheep from the farm tomorrow. It will be much too much for one man and a couple of servants. I’d hate for it to go off, and I thought you and Judith might like to have the leg. My maid will be picking it up from the station Saturday morning, and she can deliver it to your door.’

  A whole leg of lamb! ‘Now that would be wonderful.’

  ‘There’s a condition. Perhaps you’d invite a lonely man to Sunday dinner. Your aunt and uncle are welcome to join us, of course.’

  ‘I don’t know about my uncle. He’s working round the clock.’

  ‘He’s a doctor, isn’t he?’

  How had he known that? ‘He’s also a pilot in the RAF for the duration.’

  ‘Well . . . I have no objection to having dinner with two lovely ladies.’

  ‘Three. Judith will be there, as well. The four of us share our food rations, and the cooking. It cuts down on fuel. We can’t really afford to entertain.’

  ‘How stupid of me not to think of that. Not to worry, my dear. I’ll make sure you don’t have cause to make inroads on your rations.’

  Meggie would rather not have dinner with him on her day off, despite the thought of a delicious joint of lamb sizzling in the oven. However, she couldn’t really turn him down without creating an atmosphere. And she couldn’t help wondering why he didn’t simply invite them to dinner at his house. ‘I’ll have to ask my aunt if she’ll mind.’

  Nicholas Cowan’s eyes glinted when he said coolly, ‘I’ve never known anyone turn their noses up at a leg of lamb before. I’ll give you my phone number. Perhaps you could let me know if it’s convenient.’

  The conversation came to an end when Gordon came in. Lord Cowan went to his office and closed the door rather loudly.

  Without looking up from what he was doing, Gordon said softly, ‘I don’t want to pry, but is Lord Cowan making a nuisance of himself?’

  ‘Not at all. His father is sending him a side of lamb and he offered me a leg, as long as I cooked it and invited him to dinner. I don’t really want to socialize with him on my day off, but I could see no way of refusing. Judith and my aunt will be there, so at least there will be safety in numbers. At a pinch, my uncle might even get home for dinner.’

  ‘Most women would fall into the lap of a man like him. What don’t you like about him?’

  ‘I don’t dislike him, Gordon. It’s just . . .’ She shrugged, knowing she liked him too much to imagine he’d be interested in her other than in a shallow way. ‘I don’t know. I just feel uneasy when I’m around him.’

  ‘I expect Cowan has opened a file on you, and is information gathering. Be careful, Margaret, he can be a slippery customer. Listen to your instinct and don’t tell him anything he could use against you – nothing concrete, but just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice, Gordon.’

  Meggie had not counted on Judith offering a verbal reference for him with her aunt. ‘Lord Cowan is so sweet and polite. I wish he was my boss.’

  Esmé raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll take your word for it. I can’t resist the thought of a leg of lamb, though I do have some scruples about profiteering on the black market.’

  ‘It’s not profiteering. It’s from his father’s estate and he’s not selling it to us, it’s a . . . well, it’s a donation towards dinner,’ Meggie said, a trifle reluctantly.

  ‘That settles it then. Phone him and tell him that both he and his leg of lamb are welcome.’

  Early on Saturday morning Meggie took delivery of a hamper of meat and vegetables delivered to the basement flat. It was a fine day and she and Judith had already done all the washing and hung it out on the line.

  Judith had gone off to market with a shopping list for the week.

  Meggie had expected the food to be delivered by a maid, but there was a pair of long, trousered legs beneath the box, and a two-seater convertible sports car at the kerb, level with her line of sight. Perhaps Lord Cowan’s valet had delivered it.

  ‘Would you be kind enough to bring it in and place it on the table.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  She knew that voice. ‘Oh . . . it’s you, Lord Cowan. I thought you s
aid a maid was going to deliver it?’

  ‘It was too heavy for her to walk all this way with it so

  I thought I’d make a personal delivery.’

  ‘Where did you get the petrol from? I thought it was banned for private use.’

  ‘It is . . . but this is pre-war petrol that I managed to siphon out of my father’s Rolls Royce.’

  He had an answer for everything, she thought.

  ‘Are you very cross with me?’

  ‘A little, but I don’t know why.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s because you’re wearing that ghastly pinny and you haven’t brushed your hair. You simply feel at a disadvantage.’

  She investigated her hair, and then she laughed. ‘I have brushed it.’

  ‘You look a little dishevelled.’

  ‘If I may be frank, we can’t all afford servants. I’ve just finished hanging the washing out, and I’m in the middle of doing the housework. You, on the other hand, probably had a valet to iron your socks before you got out of bed . . . and to fasten your buttons in case the action spoiled your manicure.’

  He began to laugh. ‘Ouch! and ouch again. I’m wounded to the very core, you sarcastic creature. See if everything you need is in the box before I leave. I’m dying for an excuse to return and continue the jousting.’

  There was asparagus, baby carrots, potatoes and spinach, and a can of baby peas. Strawberries blushed invitingly in their punnets and Scottish shortbread smelled all buttery and melt-in-the-mouth. She remembered a jelly in the pantry and instantly thought, strawberry shortcake. The leg of lamb was wrapped in greaseproof paper. She gazed at the garlic cloves. She would create a herb and garlic crust for the lamb.

  There was also a bottle of wine, a Cabernet Sauvignon. She expected it would be perfect to accompany the meat, since Lord Cowan would know about such things. Her mouth began to water as she gazed at the extra goodies – cheeses and wafers and after-dinner mints. She was sure her smile informed him he’d gone up in her estimation.

  A paper bag contained two pairs of nylon stockings. Not so good because they spoke of a relationship that wasn’t there. But she couldn’t very well accept the food and throw the stockings back at him, so she lessened the intimacy of them with, ‘Oh, that’s kind of you. I’ll give one pair to Judith.’

  ‘Oh, that’s kind of you . . . I’ll give a pair to Judith,’ he teased. ‘If it will put your mind at ease and help you relax when you’re around me, Meggie Elliot please do. What if I told you that you don’t attract me in any shape or form?’

  There was something not quite right about what he’d just said, but she didn’t have time to wonder about it before she shot back, ‘Good, because you don’t attract me either.’

  He took her by the upper arms and swung her round. ‘We both know we’re telling lies. What have I done to annoy you?’

  ‘You’re hurting my arms.’

  ‘No I’m not, I’d never physically hurt a woman unless she was about to strangle me, and you could easily move from my grasp.’ He removed his hands anyway. ‘Can we stop all this nonsense and behave in a civilized manner? It’s the Germans we’re fighting, not each other. I’ve been thinking seriously of having you posted. On the other hand you’re good at your job and there’s nothing in the rule book that says you must be friends with your superior officer.’

  Alarm filled her. She didn’t want to leave her aunt at this last stage of her pregnancy. ‘Please don’t.’

  He smiled. ‘All right, let’s start again. You could introduce me to your aunt and uncle if they’re home. You seem very attached to them. Once their approval is gained perhaps you’ll relax a little in my company’

  She hesitated for just a moment. ‘My aunt might be resting . . . I’ll see if it’s convenient.’

  A dark eyebrow rose. ‘At this time of morning?’

  To hide her blush at being at the cutting end of his irony, she washed two luscious strawberries and placed them on a plate with a shortbread finger. ‘A treat for my aunt.’

  ‘My father grows them in the conservatory.’

  She realized she hadn’t thanked him. Her mother would have been furious over her lack of manners, but what was it about this man that caused such a reaction inside her. ‘It all looks so marvellous it’s going to be a shame to eat it. Thank you so much.’

  He obviously didn’t hold on to a grudge because he smiled and said, ‘It’s my pleasure.’

  Meggie found her aunt listening to the radio in the sitting room. She was crocheting a square for a cot rug made from a variety of colours. Livia had sent her a bag of leftover wools she’d collected over the years, for she rarely threw anything away. At seven months into her pregnancy Esmé had gained a little weight and her stomach was nicely rounded.

  She held out the plate. ‘Look what I’ve got. A strawberry for you and one for the baby, and a shortbread between you.’

  ‘Oh, that’s such a treat. My mouth is watering already. Where did you get it from?’

  ‘It was in the hamper Lord Cowan brought over. He’d like to meet you and Leo so I said I’d see if it was convenient.’

  ‘He can’t meet Leo because he’s not here. But yes . . . do bring him up since I’m dying of curiosity. Just give me time to tidy myself up.’

  ‘I’ll make some tea for us. When she went down Lord Cowan was fiddling with the door to the outside steps. He gazed up at her. ‘The lock was a bit loose and the door came open.’ He slid a small screwdriver into a small leather case and placed it his pocket. ‘You can never be too careful, so I’ve just tightened it.’

  ‘Do you always carry a set of tools in your pocket?’

  ‘It’s hardly that.’ Pulling out a little crested leather case he handed it to her. His initials were tooled in gold. Apart from the screwdriver, it contained a small pair of scissors, a nail file, a magnifying glass with a fold-down handle and a pair of tweezers. ‘It’s handy to carry, since it doesn’t take up much room. You could have it for your handbag if you’d like it.’

  She handed it back to him. ‘No thanks.’

  He put it back in his pocket. ‘I’ve got a machine gun strapped inside my trouser leg. You could have that and kill me with it, if you’d like that better.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like. You’re welcome to come and meet my aunt. I’ll just make her some tea while she tidies herself up.’ She tried not to sound too reluctant when she offered, ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘At the risk of irritating you further, thank you, that would be pleasant. I’m sorry I was rough.’

  ‘You weren’t rough. I just wanted to complain. Also I wanted you to know that you might be my superior in the office, but when you’re in my home the reverse applies.’

  ‘Ah . . . I see. Are we going to be friends now? If so, out of the office you may call me Nick, and I’ll call you Margaret.’

  She set the tray, trying to match saucer pattern to cup without success. She was still reluctant, but told herself that all he’d done was give her a meal to share. She’d done nothing but pick at him since.

  The kettle lid was rattling and as she filled the teapot with boiling water she considered that it was probably a kindness on his part rather than an ulterior motive, and he hadn’t deserved her scorn. ‘Yes, of course . . .’

  He looked dashing in a charcoal suit with a matching waistcoat over a maroon shirt with silk cravat, both enhanced by a gold pin and cufflinks. She automatically glanced down at his shoes. Black! There was a vague sense of disappointment in her. It was silly looking at everyone’s shoes, when there were thousands of brown Oxford brogues walking thousands of miles on thousands of feet.

  To compensate, she retreated back into her habit of thought meandering. Her mind painted a pair of horns and a tail on Nick, and surrounded him with a cloud of sulphurous smoke. The image took on a satisfying air of truth as she slotted it into place and said, ‘Nick . . . as in devilish?’

  He chuckled. ‘As you wish. Be careful . . . I might be recruiting souls today.’ />
  ‘Are you?’

  His eyes seemed to take on a darkness to match his suit and she shivered when he said in a low voice that seemed to be full of smoke, ‘Anything is possible. Aren’t you having a shortbread, too?’

  ‘I’m going to make a strawberry shortcake with them for pudding tomorrow, so if I start eating them now I’ll never stop.’

  ‘That sounds divinely mouth-watering. He pulled a bar of Nestlé Crunch from his pocket and placed it on the tray. We’ll share this between the three of us instead. Allow me to carry the tray up for you.’

  Esmé could understand why her niece was cautious where Lord Cowan was concerned. He was too much of everything – handsome, wealthy, clever – a magnet with a great deal of attraction. And like Meggie had said before, there seemed to be something familiar about him.

  Meggie introduced him, stumbling over the title.

  He laughed when she finished, saying, ‘Now I’ve tortured your niece with my title, please call me Nick,’ something that earned the man a glare from Meggie and a smile from herself.

  He took the only armchair, a sagging creature well past middle age. It accepted his elegant aristocratic rear as if he was the king settling on his throne.

  His eyes widened a little when his glance fell on her swelling stomach. He turned to Meggie, saying almost reproachfully, ‘You didn’t tell me your aunt was expecting a baby.’

  Meggie’s instincts would be telling her to shoot from the hip now, but Esmé could see she was struggling to find a retort that would neither subjugate her, nor put her at odds with her boss. Feeling sorry for her, since Lord Cowan gave every appearance of being able to run rings around her niece, she gave her a hand. ‘It’s not something I’d expect my niece to discuss with those outside the immediate family circle.’

  He smiled, saying with practised ease and no hint of embarrassment at all, ‘Of course not, except I wouldn’t have disturbed you had I known of your delicate condition. Congratulations Mrs Thornton, and to your husband as well. If you need anything extra, please let me know.’

  Smooth – very smooth. ‘That’s kind of you. We do try to manage on our rations by pooling them and working to a menu planned in advance, the same as everyone else has too. My husband said it’s character building with a vengeance.’