Goodnight Sweetheart

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Goodnight Sweetheart Page 6

by Charlotte Bingham


  ‘Come in, come in, no one’s about.’ Robyn beckoned to her to follow her into the drawing room. ‘Father and Aunt Cicely are in London, and all the maids have taken French leave. You can’t blame them, really. They only get a half-day a month off, courtesy of Father, so the moment his back is turned, whoosh, they’re out of the door and running home as fast as Mrs Tiggy-Winkle up the hillside. Still, I’ve made us some sandwiches, but the only thing I could find to put in them though was, um, sardines.’

  ‘They look, um, very welcoming. Well done.’

  Caro stared in wonder at the pile of sandwiches being presented to her. To say they were elephantine was to say the least; and they were so charged with sardines that she realised that Robyn must have used around a dozen tins for the filling.

  ‘I made us both a gin and tonic. It’s Aunt Cicely’s gin. She keeps it in the boot cupboard. I took a bottle from the back so she won’t notice for years and years and years, and by that time there’ll be a war on, so it won’t matter.’

  ‘I love gin. Love the smell of juniper berries. I used to raid my mother’s bedroom cupboard just to smell it.’

  ‘I love gin anyway, never mind the smell of berries! Isn’t this fun, though?’

  They both watched with fascination as Robyn poured the gin into the glasses, followed by the tonic, until finally they raised their glasses.

  ‘Here’s to freedom,’ Robyn said, after a satisfied sigh, having taken a good swig of her drink.

  ‘Yes, here’s to freedom, except there won’t be much of it around to enjoy if Katherine has her wretched way, will there?’

  Robyn knew all about Katherine and David, as did most of the county, but, unlike most of the county, Robyn was sympathetic to a degree.

  ‘Anyone can have their minds twisted by the wrong person, you know, Caro, particularly if they are in love with them.’

  Caro nodded. It was true, but as the gin started to do its work, she began to see life a little differently.

  ‘Actually, if you really want to know, Robyn, if you really, really want to know, I could actually slap Katherine, and David, do you know that, Robyn?’ she confided. ‘The parents are feeling it so dreadfully about their intransigence. They don’t say a thing, but it cuts into them so, so deep, I feel like giving Katherine and David the shake of their lives for going on these rallies with all those Blackshirts, and getting into the newspapers, albeit nothing that Papa reads, thank heavens, but even so, I could bang their silly heads together – really I could.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ Robyn answered, but having no sisters or brothers, only a father and an aged aunt, she found it difficult to put herself in Caro’s shoes, so she changed the subject to something more general. ‘Do you think there’s going to be a war? Because I do, I’m certain of it now they’ve given Austria and Czechoslovakia to Herr Hitler. Well, there will be no stopping him, will there? I mean to say, talk about handing the horrid little man everything on a plate. I really don’t see why these so-called great countries should eat up all the little ones. It’s just not on. My father has been sure there will be a war for many years now. He says there will have to be conscription, even for girls, and if there is I am determined to join the FANYs—’

  As Caro giggled at the name, Robyn went on to explain, ‘No, listen silly, no stop. FANY stands for First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, and there’s no hanky-panky, I promise you, about the Yeomanry. Aunt Cicely was one, and she says their uniform is just about the best, so that did it for me. Will you join them with me? Oh, do.’

  ‘Of course,’ Caro said quickly, without giving it much thought, and then after a few seconds, she frowned and asked, a little belatedly, ‘What do they do, exactly?’

  ‘I don’t know in peacetime, but not just nursing, which was how they started, no, they do all sorts of things, I think. I know they don’t just nurse, they drive officers about, and generally make themselves useful,’ Robyn told her a little too airily, because the fact was that she herself was not too sure what being a member of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry entailed, only that Aunt Cicely had told her a few days before that this was what her aunt was expecting Robyn to be, rather than a Wren or a Waac.

  Of course it had more than surprised Robyn when Aunt Cicely had suddenly come up with this notion, it had actually astonished her; but as she got the picture that being in the Nursing Yeomanry was about a great deal more than just nursing, she became excited by the notion.

  ‘You can drive well, Robyn, you have a good figure, you will look well in the FANYs. The uniform is most flattering. You will shine in it, believe me, especially if we make sure to have it tailored for you at your father’s tailor, which frankly is de rigueur if you want to cut a dash.’

  Robyn poured both Caro and herself another gin, before continuing, ‘As a matter of fact my father’s at his tailor this week, having what he keeps calling “The Last Suit” made, before the balloon goes up.’ She paused, before continuing. ‘Father has gone from being gloomy to being suicidal about Europe and its politicians. He thinks we should be making plans for a united government now, this minute, not hanging about waiting to see what the other side get up to.’

  ‘That’s just what my lot think we should do: form a united government now, and get on with it. But probably like your father they’re underneath sad about Europe, but trying not to show it. I think that’s why, when I suggested the mural, they thought it was a good idea. I think everyone has that feeling that everything is going to change, so we must get drawn how we were, while we’re all still here, in case everything gets destroyed. Mind you, you have to feel sorry for poor Mr Painter, putting up with us lot. What a business for him. Gosh, this gin is good.’

  Robyn nodded. ‘How about a sandwich?’

  They stared at the plates filled with the sardine sandwiches.

  ‘Tell you what we might need, we might need a knife each so we can cut off the crusts, and then squish them,’ Caro suggested.

  ‘That is a good idea – I’ll fetch some.’

  Robyn was gone for such a long time that Caro, finally fed up with stroking Freddie and Danny, was just about to go and look for her, when she promptly reappeared.

  ‘Sorry Caro, no maids to ask, didn’t know where to find the knives. Kitchen knives all right?’

  They both paused before starting to prepare to wield the kitchen knives, realising that, given that they had both had two socking great gins, it was as well to exercise caution when it came to cutting sandwiches.

  Caro put a hand on Robyn’s arm. ‘No, no, Robyn, the first thing to do before you cut – I know this as a matter of fact because Cook taught me years ago – the first thing to always do with a sandwich is to squish it, and then cut.’

  They nodded at each other, a little over-solemnly. Finally the squishing and the cutting ended with both of them chewing slowly through the now crustless sandwiches while the crusts they had cut off were thrown to the floor for the terriers to enjoy.

  ‘What fun it all is,’ Caro enthused. ‘So much better than an ordinary lunch. I say, as soon as we’ve finished, let’s take the dogs and go for a walk.’

  ‘No, let’s take the dogs and go for a spin in the Bentley.’

  It was Aunt Cicely who had bought Robyn the Bentley.

  It was not her father’s habit to remember birthdays. She often thought he only really remembered Christmas because he had to go to church, but as always, Aunt Cicely was different.

  Robyn’s nineteenth birthday had fallen at the beginning of the year, and Aunt Cicely must have thought that a nineteenth birthday warranted some kind of rather special present.

  She had entered the dining room where Robyn was having a lone breakfast, wondering sadly if her father had even remembered that she had a birthday.

  ‘Happy birthday, dear.’

  ‘Thank you, Aunt Cicely.’

  ‘I will give you the card I made for you later, but just now it would be best if you go outside and look carefully, for there’s a surprise for you th
at I think you will like,’ she ended, patting her great bun of grey hair.

  Robyn had indeed gone outside as directed, expecting to find at most some kind of outdoor present, perhaps a new tennis racquet, or a bag of golf clubs – a sport in which she was becoming increasingly interested – only to see a brand-new Bentley parked neatly at the bottom of the steps, the garage man, together with Mr Pilkington, chauffeur and handyman, standing beside it, smiling broadly.

  As Aunt Cicely, who had followed her out on to the steps, looked from her niece to the Bentley and back again, she smiled, but seeing that Robyn was literally speechless, she finally giggled, a most unusual sound on the cold, quiet morning air.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to have a Bentley motor car with a hood that went up and down. And one day I was passing that new show place in Speytesbury, and I saw it in the window. I’ll never be able to learn to drive one at my age, I thought, but it’s just the thing, I thought, for young Robyn.’ She turned back. ‘You see, Robyn dear, if only I’d had a motor car when I was young, it would have made such a difference. A motor car gives you freedom – for ever. I only ever had a bicycle, and that gets you a mere twenty miles or so, and then rather slowly. So get in, get in, and start her up, dear, oh, do! I can’t wait to hear her throbbing sound once more. Pilkington here can teach you to ride it – I mean drive it, rather. He is a very good driver, as you know, tiptop at this driving lark.’

  Happily, Pilkington was not just a good driver, he was superb, and as soon as she started taking the Bentley out with him, Robyn found herself impassioned by driving. From then on she and Pilkington talked cars, and nothing but cars. And what was more and what was better, Pilkington proved to be a splendid teacher. It didn’t matter what the situation was in which they found themselves, Pilkington always remained as cool as the interior of Brookefield House.

  Once when Robyn managed to get the gears stuck at the top of the highest hill in the county, and the car plunged giddily to the bottom of the hill, thankfully finishing up unharmed, Pilkington merely turned to Robyn and said, ‘Quite right to just let her coast, Miss Robyn,’ which was, to say the least, diplomatic.

  ‘Are you ready then?’

  Lunch over, and by now feeling perhaps a little too carefree, thanks to the gins and tonics, Caro followed Robyn and the dogs into the Bentley.

  ‘Will Freddie and Danny be all right in the back?’

  Robyn laughed as she started up the engine. ‘Be all right? They would balance on the bonnet if I wanted them to. The Cairns are just as addicted to motoring as I am. They would positively tear down the house if I didn’t bring them with me. Now where shall we go?’

  ‘How about up the hill to Speytesbury, and then on to the ridge, and round via Deacon and so home?’

  They smiled at each other, neither noticing that the other’s smile was just a little lopsided.

  ‘Splendid.’

  Robyn put the great car into gear, and eventually they turned out of the Hardings’ drive into the main highway, along which a lone car was being driven at about twenty miles an hour.

  ‘Poop, poop, cried Mr Toad,’ Robyn shouted as she passed it. ‘Out of my way! I am the captain of my soul, I am the commander of my boat.’

  The fluttering sail-like sound of her silk scarf as it waved gaily in the breeze, the looks of doggy delight on the terriers’ faces, their dark fur flattened by the wind, the empty road in front of them, it was all sheer bliss. And as always when motoring, Caro found that everything suddenly made much more sense. It was the feeling of freedom, the feeling that no one knew where you were, or perhaps cared. It was how life should always be, a heavenly drive on a perfect afternoon.

  And then the feeling started that everything was going faster and faster, as Robyn failed to change gear properly, and a screeching seemed to be filling the air as the car hurtled down hill.

  ‘Not again,’ Robyn murmured.

  ‘Bad luck …’

  ‘More like bad driving.’

  The car, now out of control, hurtled towards the hedgerows to the side of the road and, perhaps because there was no Pilkington in the car, or perhaps because the road was smooth and dry, this time there was no stopping it at the bottom of the slope. It carried on as if it, like the girls, had been drinking too much gin at midday.

  Robyn put out an arm to prevent Caro from being thrown through the windscreen, while Caro put out an arm to try to prevent the dogs hurtling into the front seats.

  They both had just enough time to appreciate, rather too late, that something had gone more than a little wrong when the car headed through a gap in a fence at the side of the road and raged on over the pasture, behind a herd of fleeing sheep, only finally coming to a shuddering stop as it hit a log, at which point Caro opened her door and flung herself out rather than risk hurtling through the windscreen.

  There was a short silence, which, given the circumstances, was only to be expected.

  ‘Are you all right, Caro?’ Robyn called.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Caro sat up. ‘How are the dogs?’

  ‘They’re fine, they just shot under the seats.’

  Robyn climbed out of the car, stood over Caro and offered her a hand.

  ‘You can’t have shut your door properly. Luckily, no stinging nettles,’ she added, looking round at the flattened grass.

  Caro rubbed herself ruefully. ‘It could have been worse. More important, how’s the car?’

  ‘Hardly a scratch. Amazing, she seemed to leap through that gap in the fence as if she was born to it. I’ll have to enter her in the Grand National.’

  Caro nodded, still rubbing herself.

  ‘Hurt your backside?’

  ‘No, not really, just bruised it a bit.’ She looked up at Robyn. ‘Come on, we’re on Somerton land. If anyone sees us, we’ll be for it. You know what they’re like, they can traipse all over your acres, but drop a leaf in one of their fields and you’ll hear about it for the next century.’

  They started to climb back into the Bentley when Robyn stopped.

  ‘No, look!’ She stood up on the running board and pointed to a field beyond them. ‘There’s something going on over there.’

  There did indeed seem to be something unusual taking place in the next field.

  ‘It looks like an aeroplane has crashed, or landed, or something. We’d better go and see if we can help.’

  The two girls made their way quickly across the first field, the dogs tearing ahead of them in happy confusion, Robyn calling out to them to ‘leave’ the sheep. When the girls reached the aeroplane, the two Cairns were running around it, barking.

  Robyn, who loved aeroplanes almost as much as motor cars, at once recognised the aeroplane as being foreign. She turned to Caro.

  ‘It’s not an English aeroplane, so snips and snaps, as we used to say in the Girl Guides, and be on your mettle.’

  The pilot was so far from being English as to be ludicrous in this rural setting, and although he was at pains to smile and shake their hands, while Caro tried out some of her nursery German on him, Robyn, under the pretence of trying to control the dogs, peered into his aeroplane. What she saw lying inside was unusual, to say the least. Nevertheless, she continued to scoop up the dogs, one under each arm and, having learned from Caro that the aeroplane was undamaged, and the pilot had merely lost his bearings rather than crashed his aircraft, she watched with cool eyes as the plane took off once more from the sheep-mown stretch of English turf.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Robyn muttered, watching the aeroplane a little enviously. ‘It seems the Huns are invading us already.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think he’s a Hun, Robyn,’ Caro assured her. ‘He spoke with a very cultured accent. In fact, he was really quite like my brothers’ German tutor, who was a lovely chap.’

  ‘Oh, I know, just acting under orders,’ Robyn said sarcastically, striding ahead. ‘If you find a German who has lost his bearings these days, believe me, his bearings were about nothing to do with doing England any g
ood.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know …’

  ‘Well, I do.’

  ‘Anyway, thank God for a safe deliverance,’ Caro said, assuming a pious expression as she climbed back into the Bentley. ‘And,’ she glanced backwards, ‘just so long as the dogs are all right, that’s all that matters.’

  Robyn started to laugh helplessly.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You always say that,’ Robyn replied, when she could speak. ‘No matter what happens you always say, “Thank God the dogs are all right”.’

  On the way back to Brookefield both girls were silent, thinking over the events of the past hours.

  Later, as they were saying goodbye to each other, Caro was the first to put their feelings into words.

  ‘That was exciting, wasn’t it, Robyn, the car and the German in the aeroplane? It really put us on our mettle, wouldn’t you say?’

  Robyn nodded and, bending forward, she pecked Caro on the cheek, still determined not to mention what she had seen in the aeroplane.

  ‘I have a feeling we’re both going to need rather a lot of that, of mettle, I mean, in the not-too-distant future.’

  Caro turned away and went back to the Blue Angel, which although still as elegant as ever, seemed suddenly much smaller and more manageable, cosy even, after the Bentley.

  She sang all the way home, parking the car carefully and neatly in one of the garages and then walked back into the pantry where Smith was waiting for her. She stared at him as he stared at her, looking her up and down in silence.

  ‘I do declare, you’re still where I left you, Smith.’

  Smith continued to look her up and down, his face unmoving.

  ‘Miss Robyn telephoned ahead of you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Apparently you had an accident.’

  ‘Not in Blue Angel, just in the Bentley. Angel’s fine.’

  Smith nodded. ‘You’ve got quite a bruise coming up on your face—’

  ‘It’s nothing, Smith, really.’

  ‘Miss Robyn thought I ought to tell Mrs Grant to run you a nice hot bath with some Epsom salts, and after that she was to find you some ice on which to sit for a while, until things calm down a bit.’

 

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