by Pam Weaver
‘I’m sure Eva is a lovely girl,’ Mr Mitchell began, ‘but Mother and I think this is all a bit quick.’
‘Eva and I have been seeing each other for over a year now, Dad,’ said Steven stoutly. ‘We just didn’t tell anyone, that’s all.’
‘Crafty devils,’ muttered Roger.
‘We hear that you’ve been married before,’ said Mrs Mitchell. Her tone was a tad accusatory.
‘Her husband was killed after only six weeks,’ said Cissy.
‘Oh,’ said Mrs Mitchell, the wind clearly taken from her sails. ‘How sad.’
‘Yes, it was actually,’ said Roger.
Eva talked briefly about Dermid adding, ‘His family knows about us and have given us their blessing.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Mrs Mitchell absently.
‘Queenie is a big-hearted woman,’ said Vi.
‘Very generous,’ Roger agreed.
The tension was rising so Eva kicked him under the table. Roger looked surprised and mouthed, ‘What?’
‘You’re a lot older than my son,’ said Mr Mitchell.
‘She’s only three years older than me,’ said Steven. ‘That’s all.’
Mr Mitchell was unrepentant. ‘One has to think of these things, especially where having children is concerned.’
‘I hardly think the late twenties is too old, Dad,’ said Steven crossly.
His father turned his attention back to Eva. ‘And what did you do during the war?’
‘I was in the WAAFs,’ said Eva sweetly.
‘You travelled around?’ asked Mrs Mitchell.
‘Yes,’ said Eva. ‘I was stationed in Poling but I had a couple of brief sorties to Blackpool and London.’
‘Blackpool,’ said Mrs Mitchell wrinkling her nose.
‘It’s where I trained,’ said Eva.
‘But you were brought up in Worthing?’
‘Dad,’ said Steven again. ‘This is beginning to sound like the Spanish Inquisition.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said his father. ‘I don’t mean it to. I just want to get to know Eva.’
‘Is this going to be a long engagement, dear?’ asked his mother.
‘We have to wait until Eva finishes her training,’ said Steven.
‘So it’ll be at least a year,’ said Vi Maxwell wiping her jammy fingers on the snowy white napkin. ‘Plenty of time for you to get to know my lovely daughter.’
Eva’s heart sank. They’d only been together a few minutes and already the parents were in competition with each other. She glanced helplessly at her grandmother.
‘Pardon me for saying so, Mrs Mitchell,’ said Cissy, ‘but I can’t help admiring your splendid hat.’
‘‘You know I was thinking exactly the same thing,’ said Roger. ‘It’s quite the best thing I’ve seen in ages. Such a beautiful colour.’
‘More tea anyone?’ said Vi. Mrs Mitchell, her face glowing a delicate pink of pleasure, passed her cup across.
‘Perhaps you might all like to come and have Sunday lunch with us,’ said Mrs Mitchell. ‘When Eva and Steven can get off duty, of course.’
‘Thank you,’ said Eva, much relieved. ‘I’d like that.’
‘Sounds like a great idea,’ said Roger. ‘You’re right on the doorstep for me. My unit is in Horsham.’
At the door as they said their goodbyes, Eva hugged her brother gratefully.
‘I think that went very well,’ he grinned.
‘Thanks to you and the hat,’ whispered Eva.
‘Looks like a dead ferret, doesn’t it?’ Roger whispered in her ear.
‘What about you and Connie?’ said Eva laughing.
‘Stop matchmaking, sis,’ Roger grinned. ‘I’m still thinking about it.’
‘Don’t take too long,’ said Eva. ‘She’s an attractive woman. It won’t be too long before somebody snaps her up.’
Twenty-Five
By the time she was halfway down the lane, it had started to spot with rain. She had put Mandy to bed but Mum wasn’t back home yet so she couldn’t ask about Kenneth and she had to go back to be on duty the next day. Connie toyed with the idea of going straight to the bus stop and back to the hospital but she was really worried about the Frenchie. She wondered if he had gone with Isaac to Slinden to see Kez the previous week and the minute Clifford mentioned that he was back in his caravan next to the workshop, Connie was anxious to see him. There was no doubt that Eugène had been dealt a bitter blow but she didn’t like the thought of him being on his own. The past few weeks had been awful for her too. What with Reuben’s death, meeting Emmett and his new wife, and then her mother announcing that she was leaving the country, even though her friends had helped her get a more rational approach to life, Connie still felt as if everything was changing too quickly. Her mother had returned from East Grinstead so everyone knew about Kenneth. As a result, Ga wasn’t speaking to her, which was no hardship but if that wasn’t enough to contend with, there was the problem of Roger. Roger who seemed to like her so much but stayed away days and weeks at a time, with hardly any contact at all. She quickened her step. The cloud burst long before she reached the door and knocked. A second later it opened and the Frenchie stood in front of her.
‘Connie,’ he cried as he pulled her inside. ‘You’re soaked.’
She stood inside his caravan for the first time. They stared at each other for a second and then he sprang into life. Pulling open a drawer, he handed her a clean towel. ‘You must dry yourself,’ he said, the words dying on his lips as he spoke. He touched the side of her face with the towel, his large dark eyes fixed upon her. He wasn’t drunk but Connie could smell whisky on his breath. Her heart was pounding as a tendril of her wet hair fell across her cheek and he moved to brush it away.
‘I was worried about you,’ she said lamely.
She should go. She shouldn’t be here. He was still getting over Mavis and she was feeling bruised and vulnerable, but then he touched her hair with the towel and Connie shivered.
‘You must take off your things,’ he said. ‘You will get a cold.’ He went back to the drawer and pulled out a crisp white shirt. Connie gave him a quizzical look and he shrugged. ‘Mavis kept me well supplied with clean shirts. She insisted I was clean when she came.’ His voice was full of regret and sadness.
‘She gave you a bit of a hard time,’ Connie observed.
‘I like strong women,’ he said unashamedly. ‘I liked it when she was difficult. It was exciting.’
He handed her the shirt but they both knew she wouldn’t be putting it on.
Connie unbuttoned her wet blouse slowly and as she slid it from her shoulders, he was waiting with the towel to pat her dry. She could feel his warm whisky breath close to her cheeks and she was the one who was drunk. Drunk with pleasure and desire and love. She began to pull her wet hair down and as it cascaded onto her shoulders, he rubbed it gently between his fingers and then put it to his lips. His slightly stubbly cheek brushed next to hers and she heard the sound of his breath against her ear. She trembled again and he put the towel right around her shoulders, drawing her closer.
‘I shouldn’t be here,’ she said and their eyes locked. Connie could hardly breathe.
‘But I am glad you are,’ he said huskily.
He let go of the towel and pulled a chair towards the oil stove and put her wet blouse over the back of it to dry. ‘I should go,’ she said feebly.
The rain on the caravan roof was gathering pace as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. The first kiss was as gentle as if he’d brushed her lips with a feather, but when she didn’t resist him, he looked at her again and then kissed her with passion. Connie moaned with delight. This was what she’d always dreamed of. Every cell in her body was electrified. She leaned into him, willing him on. She was conscious of only two things, the sound of the rain pounding on the roof, and her awakening desire. As the one grew louder, the other grew stronger. All at once he caught her by the tops of her arms and held her gently away from him. Conni
e opened her eyes.
‘What?’ she said. ‘What is it?’ Her voice sounded shrill, almost panicky and she hated the sound of it.
‘Are you sure?’
This was the moment to say no. This was the time to come to her senses. To stay would be madness. Connie drew a breath and for a nanosecond took in her surroundings. She was in a battered old caravan with a broken man and yet as she looked at Eugène’s face she saw a hunger in his eyes. Mavis Hampton, the most beautiful girl in Worthing, had ditched him and she’d been so wrong about Emmett and confused about Roger. They were both broken … kindred spirits.
‘Connie?’ The sound of his gentle whisper brought everything into focus. All at once, Connie didn’t care if this was the one and only time he was with her. She wanted him, like she’d never wanted anyone before, not even Emmett and certainly not Roger.
‘I am sure.’
He moved quickly hurling a whole lot of things away from the cramped little sofa and Connie chuckled as he led her to it and presented it to her as if it were a beautiful marriage bed. They undressed slowly and by the time every garment had fallen to the floor, Connie was awash with desire. As a last act before they lay together, he reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a rubber johnny. Connie wasn’t aware of it, but her face must have registered surprise.
‘I was engaged,’ he shrugged. ‘I want to protect you.’
She wished he hadn’t brought up the fact of his engagement. It dampened her resolve but when he was ready and he’d taken her into his arms, he melted every other thought away.
He was so gentle, so controlled. She knew he was holding back, every move calculated to give her maximum pleasure. When he entered her, every fibre of her being was yielded to him. ‘I am the first,’ he said in mild surprise.
When it was all over and he lay on her, Connie smiled. He rolled onto his side and looked at her, tenderly playing with her hair as she drifted towards sleep.
‘The first time I ever saw you, you were singing,’ he said.
Connie frowned. ‘I was?’
‘You came into my workshop with your little sister and I heard you.’
‘Oh yes,’ she smiled. ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine …’
He kissed her again. ‘Connie …’
She woke in the early morning with the sun streaming in the caravan. Eugène was gone and her heart sank. He had covered her nakedness and she threw the blankets aside to look for her clothes.
The caravan was small but it was clean and reasonably tidy. Her blouse was still by the stove although that was no longer lit. A stack of pictures leaned against the wall. They were facing the wrong way. Connie glanced around and then began to look through them. She recognised a couple of them from when she’d seen them on the workshop wall, the two fishermen and a seascape. Even with her untrained eye, Connie could see that he was good. She pulled the next one towards her and Mavis Hampton smiled up at her. The shock was so great, Connie almost dropped the pictures leaning against her legs. The picture was amazing. He had caught the woman’s expression perfectly and yet it was greatly romanticised. Anyone else would have interpreted Mavis as the self-centred girl she was, but there was something about this picture that told another story. As she scrutinised it more fully, Connie suddenly realised what she was seeing. He was still in love with her, wasn’t he? It was his love for her that shone through the canvas. Dear Lord, what had she done? If he loved her this much, there was every chance that they would get back together again.
She already had her bra and suspender belt on and she was pulling on her stockings when the door opened. Connie grabbed her blouse and held it against her. Eugène came in with a loaf of bread, a bottle of milk and some cheese.
‘I have to go,’ she said and he nodded. ‘I have to be on duty at one,’ she said desperate to justify herself.
He nodded again and taking her hands in his he gave her that same grave look he’d given her the night before. ‘Connie,’ he said, his voice trailing.
‘I know,’ she said quickly. ‘This was a mistake. A terrible mistake.’
‘A mistake,’ he repeated.
‘I’m sorry, Eugène,’ she blurted out. ‘I didn’t mean to … I’m sorry.’
He nodded grimly. ‘It was my fault, Connie. I was drunk and I was angry. I took advantage of you.’
She put her finger on his lips and turned her head to hide her own embarrassment. What an idiot she’d been. How could she have let herself get carried away like that? He was being kind and she was the one who had taken advantage. She could only hope she hadn’t ruined their friendship.
‘Have some breakfast before you go,’ he said and she nodded but they were awkward with each other now. The bread stuck in her throat and she couldn’t look him in the eye.
‘What will you do now?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Start again I suppose. Isaac will stay in Slinden. He’ll be all right.’
‘I took the liberty of looking at your paintings,’ said Connie. ‘You should sell them.’
‘Sell them?’ he said modestly. ‘Do you think they are good enough?’
‘Good enough!’ she cried. ‘They’re brilliant. You have a real talent.’
Eugène shook his head. ‘I am not trained,’ he said.
‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘And I’m no expert on art but you have the gift of capturing the real essence of a person onto canvas. You paint with feeling.’
‘Why, thank you, Miss Connie Dixon,’ he smiled. ‘That’s very encouraging.’
As she left he squeezed her hand. ‘You’re a good person, Connie. I hope I shall always be your friend.’
On the bus on her way back to the hospital, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. That silly Mavis had a gem of a man and she’d let him go but he still loved her. As soon as he made good with his paintings, she’d want him back.
*
A Sunday school outing. What luck! The notice on the church noticeboard said they needed helpers. Even better. It was a bit late in the day, but why not volunteer? Stan smiled to himself as he approached the door. Rev Jackson was there, shaking hands with everybody who had come to the early morning service. There was no time like the present.
*
Mandy had used up all the paper in her book. She wanted to make her mother a birthday card. She knew exactly which picture she would draw, a house with red curtains and a green door. She would put Haqqy over the top but she wasn’t sure how to spell birthday. Susan Revel’s mummy was coming to take her to Susan’s house to play, so it would be the ideal time to make the card without anyone knowing what she was doing. Mrs Revel would help her with the spelling too. Mandy knew birthday had a ‘b’ but she wasn’t sure how to write the rest. Until she’d had the idea, it had been a real problem because of course, she couldn’t ask Mummy. Daddy was out for the day and Connie wasn’t here. This way, it would be a real surprise. She went to look for Ga because she had some paper in her big bureau, but she was working in the shop and didn’t like it if you interrupted. Mandy sighed in frustration. Grown-ups were never there when you needed them.
She stared at Ga’s writing desk. Mandy knew she wasn’t supposed to touch it and that Ga would be very cross if she got caught but she also knew there was plenty of paper inside. Sometimes other people took some. Mummy took a bit when she wanted to write to Connie and she’d seen Auntie Aggie take a couple of sheets once while Ga was getting her a cup of tea in the kitchen. Surely Ga wouldn’t mind when she told her it was for Mummy’s birthday. She wouldn’t touch anything else. She wouldn’t look in the drawers where Ga kept her stamps, but she’d go to the narrow slots which looked a bit like a toast rack and take a sheet of the pretty paper. She knew it was there because one wet afternoon when she had little to do, Ga had shown them all to her. The lid was up and locked but Mandy knew exactly where Ga kept the key. It was in the kitchen on the big hook. She had to stand on a chair to reach it. She did it easily but it was a bit scary when the chair wobbled a bit as
she stretched up. Mandy unlocked the bureau and remembered to put the long rests down before she put the lid down. It was very heavy and it fell with a loud bump. Mandy stood on Ga’s chair and leaned over. She was just reaching for the paper when Ga’s booming voice made her jump.
‘And what do you think you are doing, young lady?’
Mandy lost her balance and knocked several things out of the bureau onto the floor. At the same time, Ga’s broad hand struck her bottom and the tops of her legs with a stinging force. ‘How dare you?’ she cried. ‘This is private. It has nothing to do with you so you shouldn’t be snooping into my affairs, you naughty little girl.’
By now Mandy was in floods of tears. Ga dragged her unceremoniously from the chair.
‘I wanted some paper for Mummy,’ Mandy wailed.
Ga picked up the letters Mandy had accidentally pushed onto the floor, put them all into one of the slots and slammed the lid of the bureau with great force. Then she rounded on the child once again.
‘Go to your room this minute,’ she bellowed.
‘I only wanted to make a card for Mummy’s birthday,’ Mandy said again, but Ga wasn’t listening.
‘God punishes people who steal,’ Ga said as she pushed Mandy towards the stairs. ‘You wait until I tell your mummy what you did.’
‘Please don’t,’ Mandy begged. ‘It was a surprise.’
They had reached her bedroom door and Ga pushed her inside. ‘Mrs Revel is here and I’m going to tell her that you can’t come to her house to play with Susan,’ said Ga, slamming the door. A second later, the door opened once again. ‘And I shall also tell your mummy that I don’t think you should go on the outing the day after tomorrow. I’m sure Miss Jackson wouldn’t want to take a thief to High Salvington.’
As soon as she’d gone, Mandy threw herself across the bed and sobbed.
It was the day of the Sunday school outing and Connie was assigned to look after the patient behind the curtains. It was Mrs Meyer. The end was very close but she seemed peaceful. Connie cleaned her eyes and swabbed her mouth. The old woman smiled as Connie offered a sip of water and laid her head back on the pillow. Connie reached into her locker and pulled out her hairbrush.