by Molly Green
‘The pullover will be difficult,’ she said. ‘People these days are having to knit their children jumpers and pullovers … even socks. We have some wool for sale on the ground floor, but it’s mostly grey and fawn.’ She wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘With the rationing it’s as though they’ve decided not to give us a bit of colour.’ She looked Maxine up and down as though assessing her knitting skills. ‘Are you a knitter?’
‘Not since I left school. I’m better at sewing.’
‘Well, I’m sure you can make your son a pullover with a simple pattern.’
‘She’s not my mother.’ The colour rushed to Peter’s cheeks.
‘Peter! Please don’t speak so rudely.’
‘But it’s the truth.’ Peter stared up at Maxine, a challenging light in his bright blue eyes.
‘I’m his nurse,’ Maxine explained.
‘My mistake.’ The young woman’s smile vanished as her narrowed eyes flicked over Maxine again. ‘Come this way.’ She emerged from behind the counter and gestured them to follow. Maxine noticed the woman’s shapely legs were clad in beautiful silk stockings set off by black patent high heels which clicked importantly over the linoleum floor. She was immediately conscious of the tear in her own stockings, only hers were cheap lisle. She bit back a twinge of envy.
They walked over to where a girl was polishing the glass top of a much longer counter. After a short word, the blonde woman pulled out a drawer and set it on the top of the counter and brought out a couple of shirts. She carefully unfolded them and spread them out so her customer could get the full effect.
Maxine picked up a blue shirt and held it under Peter’s chin.
‘It matches your eyes, love,’ the blonde woman said, smiling again.
Peter simply stared at her.
Feeling embarrassed at the boy’s rudeness, Maxine said, ‘Does it come in another colour?’
‘This is the only one we have in his size, I’m afraid, Madam. We can’t get all the sizes or the variety with the shortage.’
‘Of course.’ She should have known. ‘We’ll take this one anyway.’ Maxine darted a glance at Peter but he was making faces at a little girl a few feet away who had hold of her mother’s hand and had started to cry.
By the time Maxine had bought Peter the shirt, short trousers, two pairs of socks and some fawn wool the lady in that department had said would be enough for a sleeveless pullover, she’d used up nearly all the coupons and was at the end of her tether. She longed to sit down and have a cup of tea, but there were still his shoes to buy. If she had enough coupons, that is.
Why was she so tired? Was it because Peter refused to take any interest in anything at all? She sighed. It wasn’t his fault.
Hoping that buying his shoes would be easier with so little choice, Maxine guided Peter over to the children’s shoe section. It was still deathly quiet for such a large shop, although there was one customer, a man in a smart uniform, sitting on the edge of his chair, head bent low, trying on a pair of brogues a few feet from where she and Peter stood.
She glanced at him as he stood up and walked a few steps, and smiled at how odd the shoes appeared against his uniform. Then she jerked her head away and gave a sharp intake of breath. She could only see his profile, but she’d seen that profile before, she was certain of it. Months ago … before Teddy. She swallowed, wishing she was anywhere but in Morrows’ shoe department, but Peter had actually picked up a shoe and was inspecting it. Maybe she was imagining things. She’d only seen the man in the dim light of the theatre. But that wasn’t true. They’d had a conversation in the foyer afterwards and she’d seen him clearly. His image had flashed in front of her eyes more than once after that evening but she thought by now she’d forgotten him. She glanced his way again. If he looked round, she’d know for certain.
As though he felt her eyes upon him, he turned. For an instant their eyes locked. And then his face broke into a wide smile.
‘Goodness, if it isn’t Miss Taylor.’
He’d remembered her name. She felt herself flush and was thankful that Peter had picked up another shoe and a saleslady was approaching him.
‘It’s …’ For a split second she forgot his name. ‘It’s Mr Wells, isn’t it?’
‘Crofton, please,’ he said firmly as he quickly closed the space between them. ‘But only if I’m allowed to call you Maxine.’ He grinned. ‘Do you know, I so hoped I’d see you again. I ran out after you at the theatre but you’d disappeared into thin air – for the second time. How lovely to see you.’
She held out her hand and he shook it. She remembered the warmth of his hand in hers when they’d shaken hands that first time, and the memory made her ashamed all over again. She’d been carrying Edwin’s baby and had tried to pass herself off as a normal single girl having a pleasant evening. But it had all been a delusion and she’d rudely left him standing when he’d asked if he might take her for a drink. But he’d tried to find her. She hugged the thought to herself.
‘I’d like to try these shoes.’ Peter pulled on her arm and held out a pair of brown leather shoes. ‘Please,’ he added.
‘Why don’t you ask the lady if they have your size, Peter, then come and tell me if they’re comfortable. But first I want to know the price.’
Peter turned one of them over. ‘One guinea.’ He frowned. ‘What’s a guinea?’
‘One pound and one shilling,’ Maxine said.
‘Oh.’ He shot off with the shoes before she could say anything further.
‘That was very naughty of him,’ Maxine said, looking at Crofton. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No need to be. He’s just a lad. But I’m surprised he hasn’t learned at school how much a guinea is.’
Should she tell him? Explain? No, it was too complicated.
‘Is he your boy?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She swallowed.
‘But you are married.’ His eyes dropped to her left hand where her gold wedding ring steadfastly glinted.
‘Widowed,’ she answered quietly.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Crofton briefly closed his eyes as though to kick himself. Then he said, ‘Look, can I take you for a coffee or something. It’s getting on for eleven and I’m sure Peter would like a drink and a bun. Boys are always starving hungry.’
Maxine paused. There was no denying – he was an attractive man. She’d thought the same when she’d first met him … and that strange moment of recognition when they’d looked at one another through the tram window … but what was the use? No man would ever want her when he knew the truth. But he wasn’t asking her to marry him, for goodness’ sake. He was merely asking if she’d like a coffee. And she was thirsty. She couldn’t dash off for a second time, especially after she’d told Peter off for doing just that.
‘That would be most welcome,’ she said.
‘Good.’ He smiled at her and she was caught in those twinkling brown eyes. She noticed they had amber flecks in them and shook herself as Crofton said, ‘Let’s go and see how the lad is getting on with those shoes.’
When they were all settled in Morrows’ café and Peter was attacking an iced bun and a lemonade, Crofton looked across the small table at her.
‘I’m curious.’ He nodded surreptitiously towards Peter.
‘I work at the orphanage in Bingham.’ What could be the harm in telling him that? ‘It’s a Dr Barnardo’s home.’
‘I’ve heard of it.’ Crofton leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. ‘Are you a teacher there?’
‘A nurse,’ she said, ‘but strangely enough, I always wanted to be a teacher.’
Oh, why had she said that? It was much too personal and she’d told herself she would only stick to the facts. She didn’t want him to start peeling any layers.
‘So why didn’t you?’
‘Didn’t I what?’
‘Become a teacher.’ He looked at her expectantly, as if her answer was important to him.’
‘My mother wa
nted me to be a nurse. It was her dream.’
‘But not yours?’
‘No.’ She looked away. ‘Though I liked it in the end,’ she added defensively. ‘And now I have the best of both worlds – I’m surrounded by children, which is what I always wanted – even though they’re a challenge.’
‘I bet.’ He grinned, then became serious. ‘Especially when they must all have horror stories to tell, poor kids.’
She shook her head in warning and glanced at Peter who was scraping up the last crumbs of his bun.
‘I understand,’ he said in an undertone. His voice became brisk as he turned towards the child. ‘Have you had enough, Peter?’
‘Ja – yes, thank you.’
Crofton raised a dark eyebrow, but Maxine pretended she hadn’t noticed. She had to keep to the story she’d suggested to June and the others, but thankfully Crofton didn’t press further. She realised her talk with Peter was becoming urgent.
‘You haven’t mentioned your job,’ Maxine said, wanting to change the subject.
‘Crofton Wells at your service.’ He gave a mock bow with the top half of him.
Maxine smiled. ‘A pilot?’
‘Yes.’
She hesitated, longing to ask more but worried he might think she was prying and ought to know better.
As if he knew what she was thinking he said, ‘Keeping watch on the Atlantic – air sea rescues – that sort of thing.’
‘Do you fly planes as big as a Messerschmitt?’ Peter asked, his eyes sparking with sudden interest.
Maxine cringed. The fewer people who knew about Peter’s past, the better. But Crofton seemed to be taking it that the boy hoped Crofton’s plane would be more than a match for a German one – at least she hoped that’s what he thought.
‘They can be different sizes.’ Crofton winked at Maxine and grinned down at Peter. Maxine noticed Crofton’s mouth lifted more at one corner in an endearing way.
‘Can I see a picture of the one you fly?’ Peter asked, his eyes shining with excitement.
‘That’s not possible, Peter,’ Maxine cut in quickly. ‘Everything is secret in the war.’
‘Oh, please, Mr Wells—’
‘That’s enough, Peter.’ Maxine rose to her feet and turned to Crofton. ‘We must be going. They’ll be expecting us back by now, but thank you very much for the coffee and cake. It was just what I needed.’ She touched the boy lightly on the arm. ‘What do you say, Peter?’
‘Thank you, Sir,’ Peter mumbled.
‘That’s all right, young man.’ Crofton leapt up and stood in front of her. ‘So you’re running out on me again, are you?’
She’d forgotten how tall he was. Her heart began to beat too fast.
‘No, of course not, but I’m supposed to be working today.’
‘May I see you again?’ Crofton said. They were only inches apart and she wanted to breathe in the masculine smell of him. ‘And I won’t take no for an answer … unless of course you say you can’t stand the sight of me.’ He grinned and a sudden tingle up her back made her almost overbalance. He put his hand on her arm. ‘Maxine?’
She felt Peter’s eyes on her and flushed. Crofton took his hand away.
‘I-I’ve only just started working at Bingham Hall,’ she stuttered, the impression of his fingers still warm on her arm, ‘so I don’t know what days off I’ll have.’
‘If you give me your telephone number, I’ll ring you tomorrow.’
‘I doubt I’ll get any time off that soon.’ Maxine didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
‘Try.’ He took a pen from his inside pocket and a small notebook. ‘Now, Bingham Hall’s number.’
‘I don’t know it,’ Maxine said truthfully. ‘I have it written down, but it’ll be in my room. I’m sorry.’
She was glad she didn’t have the letter with Bingham Hall’s telephone number. It was easier this way. No involvement, no getting close to someone and having your heart broken … no explaining about Teddy. To her horror, she felt her eyes swim with tears.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll ask the operator.’ He looked closely at her. ‘Are you all right, Maxine?’
‘Yes. But we really must go.’ She held out her hand and allowed her fingers to briefly touch his, then grabbing her shopping and a protesting Peter, she turned before Crofton could say another word, and they ran down the stairs and out of the shop.
‘What about my shoes?’ Peter said, stopping and crossing his arms. ‘The ones I’m wearing are too small for me now, and they are my only ones.’
‘Oh, Peter, I’m sorry. Next time someone goes into town I’ll ask if they can pick them up now we know the size. But we’ve spent nearly all your clothing coupons today. I think we’ve done well, haven’t we?’
Peter was silent. It was sad how little interest he’d taken in the shopping, Maxine thought, but he’d obviously come from a family who had plenty of money so buying things must be normal for him. But he surprised her with his next remark.
‘I like Mr Wells.’
‘Do you? Even if he isn’t allowed to show you a photograph of the aeroplane he flies?’
Peter nodded. ‘Yes, because he would like to show me if he was allowed.’
Maxine drew in a surprised breath. Peter was only eight, and until now he’d seemed suspicious of everyone. So why had he got such faith in Crofton Wells?
Chapter Twenty
‘We’re pretending the siren goes off sometime this afternoon,’ June said to Maxine as she and Peter came into the Great Hall from their shopping. ‘I’ve told everyone, but I won’t say when I’ll ring the bell so it’s more of a surprise.’
‘Do the children know?’ Maxine asked, glancing at Peter.
‘Oh, yes. We don’t want to frighten them that it’s a real bomb but they do need to know what to do if we hear a siren … which thankfully has only happened once since I’ve been here. We’re lucky we’re that little bit out of the direct line to the docks. But once we had a stray bomber who flew over us after a bombing raid on the docks and dropped his last two bombs, smashing one of the greenhouses and the gardener’s cottage. That was awful. Our lovely gardener and his wife died.’ She shook her head and Maxine wondered how they’d all coped. ‘Anyway, I’ll give our class bell three long rings so it will sound different from the normal dinner bell. The children know that’s the signal for our practice.’
‘I’ll make sure we’re ready.’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t shown you where the shelters are yet, which is very remiss of me, so you and Peter will have to follow the others,’ June told her. ‘They know where to go.’
Maxine glanced at Peter. She could tell by the narrowing of his eyes that he was listening intently.
All of a sudden he burst out, ‘If our … the German pilots aren’t dropping bombs, I shan’t go to the shelter.’
‘I’m afraid that isn’t possible,’ Maxine said quickly. ‘You can’t be left on your own, and if we ever have a proper raid, you won’t know where to go or what to do and could be in danger.’ She looked at June who nodded her approval.
‘It’s time for you to wash your hands, Peter,’ June told him, signalling the conversation was over. ‘Dinner is nearly ready. As it’s Friday, it’s fish.’
Peter pulled his mouth in tightly but went off, head down, hands deep in his pockets, scuffling his feet.
‘He’s not going to be easy, is he?’ June said, watching him disappear. She turned to Maxine, eyeing the shopping bag. ‘Why don’t you come into my office a moment and show me what you’ve bought.’
‘There wasn’t much choice,’ Maxine said, following June into her office and putting her shopping bag down.
‘I know,’ June grimaced. ‘Some of the shops have completely empty windows. I don’t know how the owners manage to make a living. Where did you go?’
‘We went to Morrows,’ Maxine said. ‘I thought we might have better luck in a department store. But even they were woefully empty and there were ver
y few customers around.’
She hoped June wouldn’t notice her cheeks warming at the thought of bumping into Crofton Wells.
‘Did you manage to get the things Peter needed?’
‘Most of them, except there were no jumpers or pullovers, so I bought some wool. I’m going to attempt to knit him one. I forgot the needles though … oh, and a pattern.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I didn’t do that well after all, did I?’
‘I’m sure we’ve got needles and patterns here.’ June smiled. ‘I used to knit for my sister—’ She stopped abruptly, and chewed her lip as though to stop herself from saying more – or bursting into tears.
Something had upset the young matron. It was when June had mentioned her sister. Maxine wondered if she should say anything but thought better of it. June would tell her in her own time if she wanted to. But she didn’t like to think June was suffering. She wanted to say something – to tell June she was a good listener and it would go no further. To remember the old saying – a problem shared is a problem halved. She ignored the fact that she herself was keeping all her secrets tightly wrapped inside her chest. She could see tears gathering in June’s eyes and quickly changed the subject of knitting.
‘Oh, and he saw some shoes which he’s already tried on and likes,’ Maxine said, ‘but we didn’t have enough coupons, which was a pity because he says his are too small now and he doesn’t have another pair. And he needs vests and underpants, but there was no time after we’d had—’ Maxine flushed again at the memory of Crofton sitting with them having coffee. It wouldn’t do to let June, nice though she was, think she was about to indulge in any romance. Or waste time drinking coffee and eating buns, come to that.
‘Some refreshments, I hope,’ June finished, her expression calm again. ‘I expect Peter was ready to sit down with a drink and a cake.’
‘Yes, he was, and so was I,’ Maxine admitted.
‘I’ll have a look in the cupboard and see if there are any shoes that one of the older children have grown out of.’ She paused to make a note. ‘By the way, have you had a chance to speak to him about his family yet?’
‘No, but I plan to this afternoon after the drill.’