‘Claire Gold. Fancy that. Well, you might be Jewish but you are English first and foremost, just like me,’ Rosie announced defiantly.
Claire met her gaze for a moment but soon had to lower her eyes. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I do seem to have upset you, haven’t I? And I’m sorry. I went to a school where everyone was Jewish so I suppose I’ve never really thought much about it.’
‘But no one needs to know that that word on your necklace is Hebrew,’ Rosie said.
‘Would if matter if they did?’ Claire replied.
Rosie stared her out. ‘Yes, Claire, I’m afraid it might if we really do end up going to war.’
Chapter 9
Roger waited until he’d finished his morning visits before taking his letters to the Post Office and he managed to slip inside before Vicky flipped over the notice that warned she was closed for her dinner hour. He was out of his usual morning routine but today he was on a special mission and he had planned his visit carefully. He glanced quickly around, pleased to see he was the only customer in the shop.
‘Not like you to be so late, Dr Buckley,’ Vicky said. ‘You’re usually first in.’
‘It’s been a busy morning. But don’t worry, I won’t keep you from your dinner. I’ve not that much to be posted today.’ He beamed at her as he handed over the correspondence he had written the previous night.
Vicky weighed and stamped the envelopes as usual and slipped them into the despatch sack, ready to be collected by the Post Office van later but she didn’t reciprocate his bonhomie. She actually looked away as she pushed the change from his ten shilling note back towards him; but he had made his mind up and was not to be deterred.
‘You’re looking tired,’ he said, his voice sympathetic. ‘I’ve not seen you since Henry left. Don’t you think you might be working too hard?’
‘Probably,’ she replied with a sigh, still not looking at him directly. ‘That, and not sleeping too well. You know how it is, what with the shop, my father, and a home to look after.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘And as you say, Henry’s gone.’
‘What you need is a rest, a break,’ Roger said trying to keep his voice bright. ‘Maybe even a night out?’ He tried to make it sound as if the idea had suddenly come to him rather than something he had been cautiously planning for a while.
‘Now where would I find one of those?’ she responded automatically with a disparaging laugh as she stared down at the counter.
‘You never know. You might be surprised,’ he said. ‘It would do you good to get out once in a while.’ He gave her a moment to consider then said, ‘There’s a new film on at the Plaza that everyone’s talking about. I think it’s called Gone with the Wind. It’s based on an American book. How would you like to go and see it? I know I would.’
She jerked her head up. ‘With me?’ She looked at him, suddenly flustered, as if unsure what to make of what he had just said.
‘Don’t you fancy it? I mean, a night out with me?’ he said. The words jumped out spontaneously before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant to crowd her like this, knowing from bitter experience that she didn’t respond well to that sort of pressure. He hoped he hadn’t offended her, but it was impossible to tell from her face. He put his fingers on his lips by way of apology. Then he smiled and tried to make eye contact but she refused to meet his gaze.
‘Do I take it you don’t think that’s a good idea?’ he asked. ‘Even though it’s a doctor who’s prescribing it?’
‘It’s a very kind thought,’ Vicky said quickly. ‘I’ve heard about that film too, but at the moment I don’t feel that I can leave my father alone for a whole evening, not when he’s spends so much time on his own most days.’
‘Then what we need to do is to find someone to keep him company for a few hours,’ Roger said. He did his best to keep his voice light and was encouraged by a moment of hope and the flicker of a smile that flashed across Vicky’s face. ‘How is he, by the way, your father?’ Roger asked, determined to press home his advantage.
‘Complaining as usual,’ Vicky said.
‘That must be a good sign at least,’ Roger said, grinning, and to his surprise she responded with a diffident smile.
‘I suppose it is. When he moans that he’s bored at least it proves his mind’s active. The problem is that he doesn’t like to go out much, complains that it’s either too cold or too hot, both of which make his breathing difficult, but that means that he’s stuck in here with no one to talk to all day. So when I come in after I’ve closed up the shop, all he wants to do is talk, but of course, I find it hard to make the time for him. So he blames me and calls me all sorts of names which, quite frankly, I’ve learned to ignore. But it’s not as if I don’t understand. I want to help him and believe me I do my best …’
Roger stood perfectly still as the words poured out without stopping. It was as if the dam had burst and she wasn’t even conscious of what she was saying.
‘He doesn’t consider that I’ve all the chores to catch up with. He thinks now that Henry’s gone life should be easier. But it isn’t.’ She shook her head.
On the surface she looked as though she was in control of her emotions but Roger could see that she was close to tears, closer than he had seen her in a long time and he understood what those tears were really about, because he was one of the few people who knew about her past. When he had first known her, her future had seemed so bright. He had known her fiancé, heard about their wedding plans. But then he’d been there when the letter had arrived with the dreadful news that Stan wouldn’t be returning from the Spanish Civil War. He had seen what the news had done to her and how she had suffered from the consequences. Sadly, he knew what it was like to have someone you loved virtually ripped out of your arms and to watch your future crumble, and all he wanted to do now was reach out to Vicky and tell her he understood. He wanted to tell her that she mustn’t let go, and that she still had the possibility of a future for there was always hope.
Roger blinked hard and forced himself back into the present. When he was sure Vicky had got a grip on herself once more he said, ‘If we’re to make it to the pictures, I think we need to get my father on the job.’ He tried to sound as casual and offhand as possible.
‘How do you mean?’ Vicky asked.
‘I was thinking that maybe the two of them could spend the evening together, your father and mine. They must have a lot in common; they were both in the Great War and I’m sure they must both have lots of stories to tell. They could look after each other! My dad would love that, I know. He gets a bit lonely sometimes for male company of his own age and it would give my mum a break too.’ He ended with a hearty laugh but that didn’t stop him scanning her face anxiously for he could see that she was wavering.
He was surprised when Vicky asked, ‘Does your dad play cards? Only, my dad likes a game of gin rummy now and then and I know he’s not played for ages.’
‘I think Dad can play most games, including a spot of blackjack when the occasion arises,’ Roger said and was gratified when Vicky gave him a full smile.
‘As you know, he was a GP too,’ Roger said, ‘though he’s retired now. He ran the practice before me, so if there are any problems with your dad’s breathing … I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before.’ He didn’t want to tell her he’d been thinking of it for some time but hadn’t worked out how to broach it. ‘So, what do you think?’ he asked.
It was not easy to read her face and for several minutes she seemed undecided, but then, to his amazement, she seemed to relax.
‘I remember seeing your dad when I was a little’un and got taken to the surgery. He was very nice to me. Gave me a boiled sweet when I had a cough.’ They both smiled at the memory, and Vicky relented. ‘I suppose it’s not such a bad idea. It would give Dad something to look forward to,’ she said, ‘though I’ll have to be careful how I put it to him; he’s quite capable of playing silly beggars if he thinks I’m trying to organise his life.’
&n
bsp; ‘I know what you mean, but I’m sure you can do that well enough; you’ve had several years of practice.’ Roger said, delighted by her response. ‘And I’ll have a chat with my father,’ he said. ‘If I play my cards right, he’ll enjoy feeling that he’s being useful.’ Roger chuckled. ‘Pun very much intended.’
Vicky thought for a moment then she said, ‘The only thing is, your father would have to come round here. I can’t have my dad going out at night when he could catch a chill, cos that would be bound to go straight to his chest. I’m sure you understand.’
‘I don’t think that should be a problem,’ Roger said, determined to meet all her objections. ‘I could bring him when I come to pick you up and pick him up on my way back.
‘Right, then,’ she said, ‘is there anything else I can get you or is that it?’ Vicky was suddenly all businesslike again as Roger pocketed his change.
‘No, that’s all, thanks. I take it you’ll come?’ Roger looked at his watch. He felt hopeful when Vicky hesitated, then without another word came round from the other side of the counter to turn the sign over to read ‘closed’.
‘So what have you heard about this film that makes you want to see it, if we can manage to arrange things?’ Vicky asked.
‘I’ve heard that Vivian Leigh is very good in it. Reason enough?’
‘Ah, but have you heard that it’s very romantic?’ she asked. ‘Clark Gable is quite the heartthrob you know, and makes all the ladies swoon. I could get overcome. Are you sure you’re ready for that?’
Roger laughed. ‘Is that so?’ he said. He was standing so close to her now that their faces were only inches apart and, to his surprise, she made no attempt to pull away.
‘There’s still time to change your mind,’ she said. Her voice took on a teasing tone. For once she was looking at him directly and that made Roger want to smile.
‘But it’s a story about war and people’s reactions to it,’ he said, ‘so it will be pretty topical if nothing else.’ He looked serious for a moment. ‘You can change your mind too,’ he offered, while crossing the fingers of both hands behind his back.
‘Hmm,’ she said, ‘maybe I should,’ and he couldn’t be certain whether or not she was serious.
‘You can always hide your face in my coat when we get to the scary bits,’ he said. He stared at her intently for a moment and was surprised when she continued to meet his gaze, though he couldn’t help noticing that her lower lip was trembling slightly. But her voice was strong as she said, ‘And where will you look when we get to the bits you don’t like?’ and that made him laugh out loud.
‘I’ll find somewhere,’ he said. He squeezed her hand and to his amazement she squeezed back.
‘OK, the Plaza it is then,’ Roger said with a smile. ‘That should work out well for everyone.’
‘You’d better clear it with your father first,’ Vicky said. ‘Make sure he’s happy to come here as I’d hate to disappoint my dad if he’d already got his hopes up.’
‘I’ll let you know in the morning,’ Roger said, ‘and if all goes well we can go at the weekend. See you tomorrow.’ He stepped outside, but as he turned to bid her farewell, he found the door had already been closed.
Vicky didn’t mention Roger’s suggestion to her father until the following night, by which time she knew that Cyril Buckley had told his son he would be delighted to challenge Arthur to a game of cards.
‘What’s brought that on, I wonder?’ Arthur said. ‘I know the old man used to look out for me when I first came back from the war,’ he gave a rather artificial cough, ‘but that was years ago. Why’s he suddenly worrying about me now?’
‘Actually, it was Roger who suggested that you might appreciate a bit of distraction now that Henry’s gone away,’ Vicky said. ‘And I suppose Cyril’s at a bit of a loose end too.’
‘So, what will you be doing while Cyril’s here?’ Arthur wanted to know.
‘I shall be going out.’ Vicky did her best not to look at him.
‘Where to?’
‘To the pictures.’ She hesitated. ‘With Roger, as a matter of fact.’
‘Oh, I see!’ Arthur slapped his thigh. ‘I knew there must be some method behind your madness. But I didn’t think you were bothered about him, so how come he’s suddenly asked you to step out with him?’
‘We’re not stepping out,’ Vicky protested. ‘He wants to see the film that’s at the Plaza and he doesn’t want to go on his own,’ she lied.
‘Oh, I see. It’s nothing to do with the fact that you’ve only just woken up to the idea of him being sweet on you after all these years?’
‘Don’t be so daft!’ Vicky chastised him. ‘What are you blethering on about now?’ She pulled him upright then pushed him more roughly out of the way while she finished dusting the arms and legs of the chair he’d been sitting in.
‘Never mind you thinking I’m blethering about that Doctor Roger, or however the young pup styles himself, you should be listening to what your father is telling you. He’s a good man, is that one. You could do far worse than hang your hat up there, you know. He’s been carrying a torch for you ever since—’
‘Will you stop being so soft,’ Vicky cut off his words before he could finish. ‘He never has been sweet on me and he never will be. He’s kind because, to my shame, he happens to know most of our family secrets, that’s all. And because he’s a kind man.’
‘Aye well, I still say you’re reading this all wrong, only you can’t see it. I’m telling you, he’s a force to be reckoned with. I believe there’s a reason he’s kept his word all these years and never spread any tales about this family to a living soul, and that’s the truth of it.’ He wagged his finger in Vicky’s face and she had to step back to avoid him poking her in the eye.
Vicky sighed. It was not the time to be raking up the past now. ‘I can leave you a tray ready so’s you can make some tea,’ she said, making no excuse for changing the subject. And to her relief her father let it rest.
‘So, what’s on at the Plaza that’s so special?’ Arthur asked.
‘It’s a film called Gone with the Wind,’ Vicky said. ‘It seems to have made quite a sensation wherever it’s been shown and it’s got a British actress in it, Vivian Leigh. Everyone’s talking about it.’
‘That’s the trouble with being in the shop all the time,’ Arthur said. ‘You’re hearing all the local gossip all day long until you begin to think it’s important. I suppose you can’t help but get caught up in it.’
Vicky shrugged. ‘I would hardly say that – and don’t worry, it won’t make me feel anything more or less about the good doctor, but it will make a nice change to get out of here.’
Vicky trawled in disgust through the deep drawer in her wardrobe where she stored her jumpers. Roger would be here soon and she still hadn’t found anything decent to wear. She so rarely thought about clothes these days that everything she pulled out as a possible looked older and shabbier than she remembered. There were one or two that looked as if the moths had been feasting and the rest mostly had large, faded patches under the arms so that almost immediately she stuffed them back into the drawer. It was time she went to the local market; she deserved some new clothes, and she’d best hurry before the rationing that was being threatened took effect. She could go one Saturday afternoon when the Post Office was shut, she decided. On the other hand, she could more easily go to Barkers’ Knit and Sew shop a few doors down in her lunch hour, for they never seemed to close. She could treat herself to some fresh wool and a modern stylish pattern and knit something new. Sylvia Barker or that new young girl, her niece or something, who was serving in the shop, might be able to make something up for her. She slammed the drawer shut. But none of that helped with her immediate problem.
Eventually, Vicky pulled her best navy skirt off the hanger in the wardrobe and decided to brush it down thoroughly so that it would at least look respectable, and she matched it up with a pale blue sweater. She stuffed a shoulder pad under each s
houlder so that somehow it didn’t look as old as it was and she glanced in the mirror before she started down the stairs. Halfway down she changed her mind and went back up again.
‘What are you faffing about for?’ Arthur sounded irritated when she appeared on the stairs for the third time in yet a different jumper where the only hole she could see was under the cuff in a place that could easily be disguised. ‘What’s the matter with you? You’re up and down like a bloomin’ kiddie’s yo-yo.’
‘I can’t decide what to wear tonight,’ Vicky moaned.
Arthur tutted. ‘It’s not as though he’s going to see it, whatever you wear.’ He sounded scornful. ‘It’ll be dark inside the cinema and it’ll be dark in the street outside by the time you come home.’
‘That’s not the point. It’s to make me feel good,’ Vicky protested.
Arthur laughed at that. ‘Since when have you cared about things like that? Besides, he’s a doctor so he doesn’t see real people; he only sees patients or potential patients who are probably all like slabs of meat to him. He’ll be more interested in your mind.’
Arthur slapped his thigh and guffawed but tears rose to Vicky’s eyes. She liked it better when he said nice things to her like he had earlier. Henry had been just as bad but maybe that was her fault, because she expected too much from them. All she wanted was to enjoy, for once, the sensation of dressing up, of feeling smart. But when her father knocked her down like that he only succeeded in knocking what little self-confidence she had. It wasn’t often these days that she had an excuse to wear something different from what she wore day in and day out behind the counter. Why couldn’t he see that? But she had to accept some of the blame: maybe she was being unreasonable in expecting them to understand. How could her father – or Henry, for that matter – know what she needed when she never bothered to tell them? She flopped down onto the couch, deflated, no longer caring that she might be crushing creases into her skirt. If nobody else cared, she might as well not bother … but maybe that wasn’t quite true. Maybe they did care but had different ways of showing it. She got up and stood for a few moments in front of the mirror over the fireplace. Then she smeared a light coating of bright red lipstick across her pale lips and rubbed a dab of bright pink rouge onto her cheeks the same instant she heard the beep of a car horn. At the same time, the doorbell rang and she let Roger’s father into the kitchen.
The Postmistress Page 10