by June Francis
Rene stared at her, thoughtfully. ‘You’re nicer than I thought.’
Edith raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t you believe it! Things are going my way at the moment. It only needs for something to go wrong and … ’ She shrugged.
The two women parted. Edith to the Grafton, Rene to knock at next door. She and the girls were going to the pictures to see Bob Hope and Bing Crosby in a film called The Road to some place or other. She felt on a high, thinking that tomorrow she would write to Harry but exactly how she was to word what she wanted to say she was uncertain.
Dearest Harry, No! She could be presuming too much as she only had Edith’s word for it that Harry loved her. Rene tore off the sheet from her writing pad, then realised there was no other way of letting him know how she felt without laying bare her feelings. She just had to take the chance. She picked up the sheet of paper again.
Dearest Harry,
Just thought you might like to know that Edith has told me that you love me and as I love you, too, and Jeff never meant anything to me, I thought I’d best let you know. After all, there is a war on and who knows what tomorrow might bring? I await a swift answer as I’ll be in a right state until you reply to this.
Lots of love, Rene
She hesitated before putting xxxxxx on the bottom. Then she swiftly placed the letter in an envelope, addressed and stamped it and left the house to post it. She pressed a kiss on it before popping it into the pillar box. Then she went home and could not sleep that night for wondering what his answer would be.
Rene did not expect to receive an answer the next day, but was hopeful that maybe the day after that she might. She was to be disappointed. And continued to be so each day for a week. When ten days passed, Rene had lost all hope and was utterly depressed. She must have looked so miserable that morning because Greta asked her what was wrong.
‘Nothing!’ sighed Rene. And she turned Greta’s attention away from herself by asking if there was any news on the Edith/Lawrence front.
‘There’s talk that his battalion might be going abroad, according to Joyce.’
Rene glanced sidelong at Greta. ‘She’s been up here again? It doesn’t seem that long since the last time.’
Greta glowered. ‘Winnie reckons Joyce comes on the cadge and she might even be at the house more often in the future. The Yanks are at Burtonwood airbase, out Warrington way, and who knows … maybe she’ll put in for a transfer.’
Rene said softly, ‘Poor Winnie. It must be difficult living under the shadow of an elder, beautiful sister.’
Greta nodded, digging her hands deep into her pockets. ‘I’m praying that she won’t go back to the way she used to be … although, maybe she’s moved on too far for that.’ Greta smiled suddenly. ‘I’m sure she has because she often gets asked up to dance at the Grafton and even at the dance at the church hall, she’s popular. They love her carrot cake she takes along.’
Rene said, ‘Thank God, there’s a lot of men who like a woman with a bit of meat on them. Any news from Alex?’
Greta sighed. ‘Poor luv! He’s been suffering from a heat rash.’
‘So we can guess where he is,’ said Rene, echoing her sigh.
Another day passed with no letter from Harry. The following day, Rene arrived home from work, hoping against hope, yet wondering if her original note had been lost in the post and whether she should write another. Her emotions had veered from hopelessness to anger in the last fortnight, thinking at least he could have had the decency to put her out of her misery if his feelings did not go as deep as hers. She sighed and decided to have a good wash down, do her hair and pamper herself.
It was nine o’clock that evening when someone knocked on the front door. She was reluctant to answer it, thinking if it was Wilf, who had gone to the pub with one of his cronies, then he should use the key. But the knocking continued and so she had no option but to answer the door in her curlers and with blobs of Pond’s vanishing cream on her face. ‘Alright, alright, I’m coming,’ she called and wrenched open the door.
A pulse began to beat at her throat when she saw Harry standing on the doorstep but before she could even open her mouth, he said, ‘I had to come! Couldn’t write! Had the ‘flu! Showed the C.O. your letter and he agreed that I had to come. Only got a forty eight hour pass, though!’
‘Oh Harry,’ she whispered, her legs turning to jelly.
He stepped into the lobby and closed the door behind him and immediately seemed to fill the space. They were so close together that she couldn’t make out his features in the darkened lobby. He reached for her and brought her against him. ‘Harry, I’ve … ’ His mouth came down over hers, stifling what she had been about to say
The kiss seemed to go on forever and when he lifted his head all she could do was to lean weakly against him to get her breath back. He kissed her ear. ‘I love you, Rene. I want you to marry me!’
She reached up with a shaking hand to touch his face where cream had been transferred from her nose to his cheek. She smoothed it into his skin. ‘You believed what I said about Jeff?’ She was trembling from head to toe, scarcely able to believe that he’d finally said the words that she had longed to hear.
‘Why should I doubt you? I just wish I’d known earlier.’
‘What about your feelings for Sally?’
‘I’ll never forget Sally … but what I felt for her was different to what I feel for you. I can say in all sincerity that I love you deeply. You’re kind, you’re unselfish, you’re honest, you’re a worker, you’re beautiful, loving and giving!’ He kissed her then again and again. She returned his kisses with a passion she had never known herself capable of, wrapping her arms round him and pressing herself against him. ‘So will you marry me? You haven’t said yes yet!’ he said, when at last they drew apart a little.
‘You haven’t given me a chance. But yes, yes and yes!’ she said, feeling as if she was floating.
‘Good!’ He buried his head against her neck and nuzzled her skin. She felt herself melting inside and wished they were already married.
‘I can’t arrange it in forty eight hours, Harry,’ she said, with a tiny laugh. ‘Although, I wish I could.’
‘Less than that, luv. It took me nearly a day to get here. I’ve only tonight and then I’ll have to leave in the morning. I don’t know when I’ll get home again.’
She seized his hand. ‘You must stay here. I don’t care what the neighbours say anymore,’ she said firmly.
‘No, luv! I wouldn’t ruin your reputation by staying the night,’ he said huskily.
Her face fell. ‘But you will come in?’
‘Of course, I’ll come in.’ He caressed her cheek with a gentle hand. ‘Is Wilf around?’
Mutely, she shook her head.
‘Good,’ he murmured, reaching for the key on the string and removing it. ‘We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’
Rene’s spirits soared, thinking of what she’d read about married love, hoping that Harry would be willing to jump the gun and have a practice. She did not need to worry. He laughed with joy when she tentatively voiced her thoughts and lifted her off her feet. He gazed up into her flushed face and repeated those magical words, ‘Oh, I do love you, Rene!’ Then he kissed her and carried her upstairs to bed.
Afterwards, as they lay in each other’s arms, Rene whispered shyly that she hoped she had done things right. ‘It was marvellous!’ His voice was unsteady. ‘I’d hate you to think that what me and Sally had was perfect and what we have is second-best. It isn’t! It’s the best.’
She was deeply touched and buried herself in him. ‘I’ll arrange the wedding for when you can get some real leave. We can have a proper wedding and a honeymoon!’ she said in a muffled voice.
‘It mightn’t be for a while, luv.’ He took her face between his hands with infinite tenderness and gazed into her eyes.
‘I’ve longed for years to be Mrs Harry Peters,’ whispered Rene. ‘As long as you come back to me I can wait a little lo
nger.’
19
‘Right, madam, stir yourself!’ The bedcovers were whipped off Greta and flung over the board at the bottom of the bed.
How many times had she heard those words before and done this same thing, thought Greta, crawling down the bed and dragging the covers back over her. She had been dreaming of Alex again. Having written and told him the date, she had prayed that he would manage to get home for Rene and Harry’s wedding in a week’s time. He had missed her seventeenth birthday. It was twenty-two months since she had last seen him; a year and a half since they had been to Wales. Greta had visited there in the summer and her gran had told her that she’d give Megan and Fred a few more months and then she’d be home. Rene and Harry’s getting married had come as a shock; as did the news that Jeff’s wife was still alive. So she had promised to be at the wedding and to bring Fred along. Greta was impatient to see them both.
‘Are you deaf?’ said Edith, gripping the covers and attempting to wrench them out of Greta’s hold. ‘There’s the ironing and the step needs washing, too.’
‘I’ll do both! Just let me have a few minutes more in bed.’
Edith thumped the humped figure. ‘I’ll expect you up in ten minutes. I’m hoping Joyce is coming but I have to go out.’ Her voice trembled. ‘She’s got her transfer and I told her I must see her as soon as possible. Change the sheets in case she decides to stay … and don’t forget to put the rabbit on for dinner. Winnie’s gone to deliver a message for me.’
So what else is new? thought Greta, but she popped her head out of the bedclothes and looked up at Edith, who was wearing her black suit and black and white hat. ‘Where are you going? Am I allowed to know?’
Her persecutor’s eyes looked bleak as if she’d had a shock and she cleared her throat before saying, ‘Winnie’ll explain! I’ll see you later.’
Greta lay back in bed, wondering if something had happened to Mr Lawrence. His battalion had left England months ago and if he had been killed then she felt really sorry for Edith. Greta decided she might as well get up as she was wide awake and had all the chores to do. She was going to the first house at the pictures with Winnie and Rene later. The front door slammed as she was getting dressed. It seemed that for once she had the house to herself. She had breakfast, then did the ironing and changed the sheets on the spare bed. After that she put the rabbit and vegetables on to stew and then half filled a bucket with hot water and went outside to wash the front step. When she had finished she crossed the street to empty the dirty water down the grid.
She was in the act of straightening up when she happened to glance up the street. What she saw caused her heart to beat erratically. A young man wearing a peaked cap, navy blue jacket and trousers was coming down the street. He had the rolling gait of a seaman and carried a kitbag on his shoulder. She had waited so long to see Alex that she had trouble believing it was really him.
Hastily she crossed the road and placed the empty bucket at the foot of the step. The man came closer and closer. Was it Alex? Yes it was! She could wait no longer but ran to meet him. ‘Alex! Alex!’ she called. His face lit up and the kitbag slid from his shoulder. He caught Greta up in his arms and swung her off her feet. She gazed down into his tanned face and straight into his shining grey eyes, seeing herself reflected there. ‘Alex!’ she whispered.
‘Greta!’ There was a wondering note in his voice.
‘Alex! I’ve been hoping and hoping you’d make it.’ She caressed his cheek with the back of her hand.
‘We shipped some Italian prisoners-of-war over here. It seems forever since I’ve seen you!’ His voice had deepened with emotion. ‘You’ve grown up.’
‘I’m seventeen!’ She rubbed her cheek against his rough one.
‘Is that a fact,’ he teased, and turned his head so his lips met hers. It was an awkward, experimental kiss and Greta thought they could probably do better. She was in the process of proving so when they were interrupted.
‘Should you be kissing on the street?’ The girl’s voice caused Greta’s heart to sink. Slowly and reluctantly she turned her head and stared at the blonde, wearing the blue uniform of the WAAF. On her shoulder Joyce carried a bag but otherwise she was empty-handed.
‘Is it any of your business?’ said Greta, her tone definitely chilly as she felt Alex’s hold slacken and her feet touching earth again as he lowered her to the ground.
Joyce raised her eyebrows. ‘No need to be touchy. Is Mum in?’
‘She’s gone out, didn’t say where. I think Winnie knows but she’s been sent on a message,’ said Greta, keeping an arm firmly round Alex’s waist, not daring to stare him in the face in case he looked besotted.
‘Damn!’ cried Joyce, frowning. ‘She told me to get here straightaway. I came as soon as I could. Besides I need money from her. I went and parcelled all my spare kit and sent it on by rail. I just couldn’t be bothered carrying it because it weighs a ton. Now it’s gone missing! I’ve had a strip torn off me and been told I’ve got to pay for replacements. Orders are orders they said and I should never have let it out of my sight.’ She raised her shoulders. ‘How was I to know that someone would go and pinch it?’
Alex said kindly, ‘There’s a war on, luv. All kinds of things go missing. They won’t go demanding the whole lot at once but take the money a bit at a time out of your pay.’
Joyce looked him up and down. ‘I know that! But Mum’s been saying for ages that one day we’ll have plenty of loot.’
‘How does she make that out? She’s always crying poverty to Winnie and me,’ said Greta.
A tinkling laugh issued from between Joyce’s rouged mouth. ‘Didn’t she tell you? She married Mr Lawrence before he went overseas and his sister, Mrs Chisholm, is a wealthy, childless widow. That’s why Mum wanted me to put in for a transfer up here.’
Greta felt really annoyed. The secretive cow! Why couldn’t Edith have told her and Winnie. She was about to say as much when Joyce smiled at Alex. ‘Who are you?’
‘Alex Armstrong. We met once.’
Her smile faded. ‘You’re the one who was put in the orphanage. Mum told me about it. Your family used to have money.’
‘Once upon a time,’ he murmured, taking Greta’s hand and squeezing it.
‘You won’t be of much help to me then.’ She sighed and tapped her fingernails against her shoulder bag. ‘Mum being out is a damn nuisance. I haven’t got all day to hang around here waiting for her.’
‘Don’t then!’ said Greta, who couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
There was a silence and for a minute Greta thought Joyce was going to leave them in peace but then she made a move towards the house. ‘Got anything to eat, Greta? I’m starving!’
Greta remembered the rabbit stewing in the pot on the fire. She cried, ‘Excuse me!’ and dashed inside the house. It was at that moment Winnie turned up.
*
Edith was nervous but trying not to show it. She toyed with her wedding ring as she paused half way up the drive and gazed up at the leaden-paned bedroom window in the roof. It was here that Joyce had been conceived and, if everything went according to plan, where they might live together. The next few hours would decide.
She took a deep breath, walked up to the entrance and knocked on the door. It was opened by a fresh-faced young maid with a tear-stained face. ‘Sorry! But the-the mistress isn’t seeing anyone today.’ She made to close the door but Edith wedged it open with her foot.
‘I’m Mrs Macauley. I must see Mrs Chisholm.’
The maid stared at her as if she had seen a ghost. ‘M-Mrs Macauley! Oh, my goodness!’ And she left Edith standing on the doorstep and vanished inside the house.
Edith pushed the door wide and stepped inside. The maid was nowhere in sight but she could hear voices coming from one of the rooms. She decided not to disturb them immediately and glanced about the well-appointed hall. For a moment she forgot her panic and sadness and looked at her surroundings appreciatively. Although the parquet flo
or didn’t appear as well polished as it had in her day and the Axminster rug was definitely worse for wear, this was still an attractive place. The grandfather clock, whose chimes she remembered so well, stood against the stretch of wall between the dining room and drawing room and there was a telephone on a dark oak table attached to a padded seat; this was new.
She sat on the seat, glad to rest her feet and grateful for the sun slanting through the stained glass window on the half landing. How she loved this house.
‘You are Mrs Macauley?’ The voice was harsh and sounded unfriendly in her ears.
Edith looked up at its owner. His nose was hooked and he had a toothbrush moustache and eyes that reminded her of acid drops. His hair was brown with wings of grey at the temples and he was wearing a plain dark suit. ‘Yes. Who are you?’ she said coolly.
‘I’m George Armstrong. Mrs Chisholm’s solicitor and friend. She sent for me when she received the news about Lawrence. I presume that is why you are here.’
‘Yes!’
‘He never told her that he was married.’
‘He was working up to it. Despite his age, she still treated him very much like a younger brother and he knew that she wouldn’t be pleased.’
His mouth thinned. ‘She is devastated by his death.’
‘Naturally.’ Edith’s mouth quivered but, she told herself, she must not think about how Lawrence met his death. The telegram had come when Greta was out and Edith had blurted out its contents to her younger daughter, who had been surprisingly understanding when asked to go and inform Teddy that Edith would not be able to meet him that Sunday afternoon for the tea dance.
‘When were you married? Do you have your marriage lines with you?’ asked the solicitor.
Edith pulled herself together. ‘I do. We were married before he went overseas.’
‘I see.’ The breath hissed between his teeth. ‘This is most irregular. Marrying so suddenly like that.’
Edith said incredulously, ‘Where have you been living, Mr Armstrong? There’s a war on. People are rushing into marriage all the time. Although, Lawrence and I have known each other a long time and had a long wait.’