by Ellie Dean
Deciding he’d think on that for a while, he put it to the back of his mind as he came down into Cliffehaven. He made his way through the labyrinth of narrow streets behind the Crown to the High Street, and then over the humpback bridge to the station.
‘Hello, Stan,’ he said cheerfully. ‘How are you holding up on this fine day?’
Stan grinned back at him. ‘I’m as fit as a fiddle. Ethel took over here this morning so I could have a bit of a lie-in, and it’s done me the world of good.’ He eyed his friend and winked. ‘I hear you’re in a spot of bother with your lady love,’ he said. ‘Was it some of my roses you were after?’
Ron grimaced. ‘Aye, I am that. I’ve a nasty feeling I have lots of humble pie to eat today.’
‘It’ll take more than roses, Ron, if the gossip about her and the Major is true.’
‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ Ron confessed. ‘It’s not like Rosie to shut me out and avoid me like this, and I’m thinking I’m in deep trouble this time. The Major is something I hadn’t bargained for.’
Ron regarded him sympathetically. ‘Women are a mystery, Ron, and she’s probably only using him to get her own back for Gloria,’ he said. ‘Help yourself to the roses. You know where everything is. I’d come with you, but with all the troop trains in and out, I can’t leave the station.’
Ron thanked him and hurried up to the allotments. Having gathered a large bunch of beautiful, heavily scented pink roses, he tied them with string and carried them back down to the Anchor. It was almost midday, so Rosie should be getting the bar ready for opening time.
The shutters were open so he tapped on the window as he peered into the gloom and saw someone moving towards the door. Whipping off his hat, he cradled the roses and waited nervously as bolts were slid back and the key rattled in the lock.
But it wasn’t Rosie standing there with a wide smile, but Brenda, and for a moment he was lost for words.
‘Hello, Ron. Are those for me?’ teased Brenda, who was still snuffling a bit from her heavy cold.
‘To be sure I’ll bring you some next time,’ he replied quickly to cover his disappointment. ‘Is Rosie upstairs?’
Brenda left the door open and led the way into the bar as the Town Hall clock struck twelve. ‘She’s gone away for a while.’ She finished placing clean glasses on the shelf beneath the highly polished bar and took the towels off the beer pumps.
Ron felt a stab of alarm. ‘Gone away? Where, and for how long?’
Brenda shrugged. ‘I have no idea, Ron, sorry. She posted a note through my door early this morning asking me to run the place until she got back. She didn’t say how long she’d be away, or where she was going, but she’s taken Monty with her, thank goodness. I have enough to do without looking after a lively dog.’
Ron’s thoughts whirled and his pulse raced in panic. Travel restrictions were tighter than ever, and anyone wanting to leave Cliffehaven would have to have a valid, urgent reason, and go through a lot of rigmarole, before permission was granted – unless, like Doris, she had friends in high places. Could Major Radwell have such influence, and if so, had they gone together – and where to?
That idea made him feel quite ill. If she’d gone by train then Stan would have said, for with Ethel on watch, she’d have told him; especially if Rosie had been travelling with Radwell. The coaches no longer ran, and Ron could only surmise that she’d hired a car as she’d done once before when her husband had taken a turn for the worse.
‘Do you know how she went?’
Brenda shrugged. ‘I have no idea, Ron.’ She looked over his shoulder as a group of factory girls came in. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get on. Will you be coming in to lend a hand in the evenings? Flo and Beryl are on night shift this week, and I’m not really up to coping on my own with this horrid cold still lingering.’
Ron knew when he was beaten, yet he wasn’t about to give up on Rosie, that was for sure. ‘Aye, I’ll be in,’ he said, carefully laying the bunch of roses on the counter. ‘You’d better put these in water and take them home after you’ve finished here,’ he muttered.
He dug his hands into his coat pocket and plodded down to the promenade. He didn’t feel like going home, or talking to anyone; he just wanted time and space to think, for the events of the past few hours had knocked him sideways and he was beleaguered by doubt and the most awful, sickening guilt.
He had only himself to blame for Rosie’s lack of faith in him, for he’d hardly been trustworthy of late, acting like a fool, going his own sweet way without a thought for her feelings. It was no wonder she’d decamped without a word. And to add to his guilt and fears about Rosie it was his fault that Danuta had put her life in danger, for without his interference, she would never have become involved with Dolly and her spymasters.
11
Peggy had gone outside to sit in a deckchair alongside Cordelia and enjoy the last of the warm sunshine while she drank her tea after supper. Daisy was in bed at last, Sarah and Fran had gone to the pictures to see Gone With the Wind for the third time, and Rita and Ivy were washing the dishes. They were chattering away like sparrows as they discussed their day and tried to assess how Rita’s bike would get mended and brought back to her, since there were rumours flying about Cliffehaven that the Yanks had moved out very early that morning.
‘I don’t know where those girls get their energy,’ sighed Peggy to Cordelia, who was trying to unravel her usual mess of knitting.
‘The enemy’s over the Channel, dear,’ she replied with a frown. ‘Really, you do worry me at times, Peggy. Are you sure you aren’t doing too much?’
Peggy smiled and patted her hand to reassure her that she was fine. She was too tired to repeat what she’d said, and when Cordelia had her hearing aid switched off, conversations got far too complicated – especially after the worrying events of the previous day and the long hours she’d put in at the factory.
She watched Cordelia struggling to make sense of what she’d done with her knitting, and gently took it from her to see if she could unravel the tangles. It proved to be beyond her too, so she unwound it all and started again, swiftly completing several rows before handing it back.
‘Thank you, dear,’ muttered Cordelia. ‘I don’t know how I get into such a mess. This is only supposed to be a square to add to the blanket I’m making. It’s hardly complicated.’
She began to knit, promptly dropped two stitches and gave a deep sigh of frustration as she failed to pick them up properly and dropped two more. ‘I’m all fingers and thumbs,’ she said crossly, abandoning the square and stuffing it into her knitting bag. ‘This blessed arthritis makes everything difficult, and I did so want to finish the blanket before we have another winter.’
‘I wouldn’t fret on it, Cordy,’ soothed Peggy. ‘The weather will get warmer now we’re almost in June, and you’ll find the arthritis will ease.’
Cordelia glared at her. ‘Betting on whether or not I’ll ever finish it in a blue moon is hardly a very kind way of putting it,’ she said. ‘I thought better of you, Peggy Reilly.’
Peggy took a deep breath and pointed to Cordelia’s hearing aid, willing her to turn it on. But before she could repeat what she’d said, Ron came stumping out of the basement in his second-best attire.
‘That expression would sour milk,’ said Cordelia, twiddling her hearing aid and making it screech. ‘Whatever’s the matter with you today?’
‘Nothing,’ he replied moodily, jamming his pipe in his mouth and lighting a match.
‘Well, something’s up,’ said Peggy. ‘You’ve been going about all day in a terrible grump. Is Rosie still being stand-offish?’
Ron got his pipe going before explaining about Rosie’s sudden departure and her lack of any communication with him. ‘I’ll be working at the Anchor when I’m not on fire-watch or Home Guard duties,’ he said, ‘so don’t expect me back until late.’
Peggy and Cordelia watched him trudge down the path and through the gate, Harvey following
closely behind. ‘It’s odd that Rosie didn’t leave some sort of message for him,’ said Peggy. ‘It’s so unlike her to hold a grudge – and Ron’s behaviour the other night couldn’t really be classed as all that unusual. She knows what he’s like with a few beers inside him.’
‘Perhaps it was one time too many,’ said Cordelia sagely. ‘Every woman has her limits as to how much she will stand from her man. I certainly wouldn’t put up with it.’
Peggy silently agreed, and could only hope that Rosie hadn’t done something stupid to get her own back on Ron. ‘You’re lucky Bertie’s such a gentleman,’ she murmured.
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ said Cordelia stoutly. ‘But even he is inclined to go off unexpectedly at times, and can be very evasive about what he’s been up to.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘Men are strange creatures, Peggy, and despite being almost eighty, I’ve never been able to understand what goes on in their heads.’
‘Well, there’s no doubt Rosie has got Ron properly worried this time. I wonder what’s caused her sudden disappearance, and whether it’s all to do with Major Radwell. I seem to remember he was due to be released from the hospital this week – and if anyone could get a travel permit, he surely would.’
‘I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, Peggy. Rosie has a good head on her shoulders, and charming as Radwell is, her heart, rather foolishly, still belongs to Ron.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Peggy murmured, aching for the pain her beloved father-in-law must be suffering. If only Rosie had left a message of some sort – even if it was to tell him it was over – then at least he’d know where he stood. But it was the uncertainty that was weighing him down.
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the front door. ‘Who on earth can that be?’ Peggy muttered, twisting round.
‘I’ll go,’ shouted Ivy from the kitchen window.
Peggy and Cordelia shared a glance and smiled. ‘It must be Andy,’ said Peggy, settling back into her deckchair. ‘Though he usually comes in the back way. I do hope there’s nothing wrong.’
She strained to hear the voices now drifting through the open kitchen window, but couldn’t make head or tail of what was being said, which was most frustrating. And yet that didn’t sound like Andy’s voice, and it certainly wasn’t the plummy tones of Fran’s Robert. With a frown, she eased herself out of the chair and went into the scullery just as Ivy and Rita appeared in the kitchen doorway.
‘It’s all right, Aunty Peg,’ said Ivy. ‘That was someone from Cliffe bringing Rita’s bike back.’
‘That was quick,’ breathed Peggy. ‘But I thought the Yanks had left Cliffe?’
Rita gingerly made her way down the concrete steps on her crutches, her face alight with excitement. ‘It isn’t a Yank,’ she said, ‘but he says it’s as good as new. I told him to bring it round the back so I could have a proper look at it.’ She reached the bottom of the steps and grinned. ‘And here’s me thinking it was abandoned and I’d never see it again.’
‘Oh, darling, that is good news,’ said Peggy, giving her a hug. ‘Now mind that step, and don’t trip on the loose paving slab outside.’
Rita rolled her eyes and swung over the threshold with ease before hurrying down the path towards the throaty burble of a well-tuned machine.
Ivy giggled. ‘I ain’t seen her that lively for weeks, but I reckon it ain’t all to do with getting ’er bike back. You should see the bloke what brought it.’
‘I hardly think she’d have her head turned so quickly after losing Matt,’ said Peggy rather sternly, and then saw the tall, handsome young man climb off the motorbike and smile down at Rita, who was grinning delightedly back at him. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘I see what you mean.’
‘His name’s Peter Ryan,’ said Ivy rather breathlessly. ‘He’s an Aussie bomber pilot,’ she added unnecessarily, since this much was obvious from the insignia on his dark blue uniform and cap. ‘And certainly a sight for sore eyes, ain’t ’e?’
Peggy and Cordelia took in the long, rangy figure, broad shoulders and handsome face beneath the closely cropped brown hair which shone like a conker in the last of the sun, and silently agreed with Ivy.
‘What’s he doing with Rita’s bike when the Yanks were supposed to be fixing it?’ asked Peggy.
Ivy shrugged. ‘I dunno, but it sounds like he done a good job.’
Peggy and Cordelia watched with avid interest as Rita and the young man chatted happily while they inspected the motorbike. ‘They certainly seem to have taken to one another,’ said Cordelia.
‘I’m not surprised,’ replied Peggy with a chuckle. ‘The Australians we’ve met have always been able to charm the birds out of the trees. Remember how they took over the cooking that Christmas and brought us our first chickens hidden in their overcoat pockets?’
Cordelia giggled. ‘Indeed I do. A bunch of scallywags, but very likeable.’
‘Look out,’ hissed Ivy, patting her hair in place. ‘She’s bringing him over.’
Peggy stood to greet the young man as Rita made the introductions.
‘G’day, Mrs Reilly,’ he drawled, his large hand swamping her fingers. ‘How ya goin’?’
‘I’m going very well,’ she replied, looking up at a tanned face and straight into a pair of thickly lashed, startlingly blue, mesmeric eyes. Gathering her senses, she introduced Cordelia, who twittered and blushed as the Australian shook her hand and smiled at her.
‘Peter’s done a marvellous job on the bike,’ enthused Rita. ‘It’s running better than ever.’
The Australian looked rather bashful. ‘Aw, it was no bother, Rita. I’ve got bikes at home, and I enjoy tinkering with engines.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Peggy, hoping she’d find out more about this charismatic young man over a cup of tea.
He twisted his cap in his hand. ‘That’s real kind of you, missus, but I thought Rita might like a ride before I have to get back to Cliffe.’
Peggy gasped. ‘Oh, I don’t think—’
‘I’d love to,’ breathed Rita. ‘Come on,’ she said, tugging on his arm. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Peter Ryan grinned at Peggy’s concerned expression. ‘No worries, missus; reckon she’ll be right. Catch you later.’
Peggy anxiously followed them down the path with Cordelia and Ivy trailing behind her. She stood at the gate and watched Rita abandon her crutches and settle on the seat behind the Australian, her damaged leg stretched out so her foot rested on his thigh.
Peggy’s heart was beating faster than usual as the engine roared, Rita put her arms about his waist, and they went hurtling down the alley at what looked like breakneck speed before shooting out onto the main road and roaring up the hill.
‘He’ll get her killed,’ fretted Cordelia tearfully. ‘You should have stopped them, Peggy.’
‘I wish I had,’ she replied on a tremulous breath. ‘But you know Rita when she sets her mind on something. Nothing will shift her.’
‘Rita knows what she’s doing,’ soothed Ivy. ‘And so does he, ’cos he told us ’e used to do a lot of dirt-track racing back in Darwin.’
‘But not with a girl on the back with a broken leg,’ snapped Peggy. ‘I shall be having a strong word with the pair of them when they get home.’
But Peggy never did read them the riot act, for when the Australian brought Rita home a couple of hours later, the girl had been glowing and unscathed from her risky adventure, which made Peggy realise it had been just what she’d needed to lift her spirits.
However, she did still worry about this new friendship, and as she closed the door on the cheerful young man and returned to the kitchen to make the evening cocoa, she began to gently probe Rita about him.
‘What’s an Australian doing up at Cliffe aerodrome?’ she asked as they sat in the quiet kitchen. ‘I thought most of them had been sent to the Middle East or out into the Pacific.’
Rita’s laughing eyes regarded her over the rim of her mu
g. ‘He’s done more than his share of flying ops, so he’s been ordered back to train up new pilots and have a break from combat duties.’ She sipped the cocoa. ‘He was shot down twice, saw his brother and best mate killed, and although he won’t admit it, he’s exhausted and on the edge of losing his nerve.’
‘He seems quite gung-ho when it comes to tearing about on your bike,’ countered Peggy. ‘And how come he ended up with it when the Yanks promised to repair it?’
‘He’s got an American pal based at the Cliffe estate who was going to mend it. But he got new orders and had to leave, so Peter took it on.’ Rita put down the empty mug and eyed Peggy calmly. ‘He’s nice and friendly and a good mechanic. We both love bikes and enjoy dirt-track racing, but that’s as far as it goes, Aunty Peg – so don’t go getting romantic ideas into your head.’
‘It never crossed my mind,’ retorted Peggy, going a bit pink. ‘I’m just worried that all that charm and easy-going attitude will be hard to resist.’
‘He’s not Matt and never will be,’ said Rita firmly. ‘Pete and I have shared interests, and get along well – but that’s all it is.’
Peggy gave her a hug and a kiss and sent her off to bed, still not totally convinced that friendships between the sexes could remain platonic, for the initial attraction that had drawn them to one another could so easily be a precursor to something deeper – especially during wartime when the future was so uncertain. Rita was vulnerable; he was a charming, battle-weary hero far from home who shared her passion for motorbikes and was far too likeable. It was a situation Peggy was determined to keep a very close eye on in case Rita got hurt.
Ron woke early the next morning to find a slip of paper had been slotted through the cat-flap. It was from Bertie.