Caro had not really picked up on the significance of what Robyn was saying until she faced a committee full of officers an hour later.
‘Drive, don’t you?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Own your own car, do you?’
‘Yes, ma’am, a Fraser Nash.’
The officer taking down the details looked up at that. ‘Fraser Nash BMW?’
‘Six cylinder.’
‘How long have you been driving?’
‘Do you want a fib or the truth?’
Caro glanced around at each member of the committee with a look of such solemn innocence that they all laughed.
‘The truth will suit fine, I think, Miss Garland,’ one of the lady officers finally volunteered, when the laughter had died away.
‘I have driven since I was quite small, driven the fields around our house in the summer, when the ground is hard, but never on roads, until six months ago.’
‘Chauffeur taught?’
Caro looked surprised. ‘Well, yes—’
‘Good, good. Well, you’ll be off to Dorset tomorrow. Still have to pass a few tests, you know, before we can let you loose on unsuspecting personnel. So have a good evening, you and Miss Harding.’ This was said with a wry look. ‘Enjoy yourselves while you can.’
Caro left the room, only to meet up with Robyn outside.
‘Bit of a narrow squeak that was,’ Robyn confided, once they were clear of headquarters. ‘But I managed to swing it for us to train together.’
‘How did you do that?’
‘Masses of charm needed, of course, especially since their senior officer is Aunt Cicely’s best friend.’
They both laughed.
‘Well, now, who are we meeting tonight?’
‘Bill Forewood, and Eddie Napier. You’ll like them.’
‘How did you find them?’
‘Easy as pie, my deah. Aunt Cicely donated me her little black book, which was so kind of her. The only trouble is that it dates from 1920 so everyone in it is well over fifty! These two, as it happens, are the sons of two of her old beaux. When I rang their mothers and fathers it turned out to be most fortuitous, because they’ve got what is known as twenty-four-hour “passionate” leave from the RAF. Goodness knows what they’re really like, though.’
Caro shook her head admiringly. Between them, Aunt Cicely and Robyn seemed to know just about everyone or everything, whereas without Katherine and her brothers, with her parents always so preoccupied, Caro was feeling just a little helpless, as if she’d been thrown in the pool before she could swim, although she would never admit as much to Robyn.
They clattered up the steps to Aunt Cicely’s flat, greeted the Cairn terriers, and at once started to prepare for the evening, running a bath, putting out fresh underwear, choosing dresses.
‘Goodness, where did you get that?’
Robyn stared in admiration at the long brown evening dress, with its matching sequinned jacket, which Caro was now holding up against herself.
‘It’s Katherine’s, actually. She left it behind.’
‘Top marks to Katherine for good taste. I have put on so much weight from that ice-cream soda, I shall probably only be able to fit into one of Aunt Cicely’s cast-offs,’ Robyn joked. ‘So let’s hope and pray there’ll be other people there wearing fancy dress.’
In the event Robyn reappeared looking breathtaking in a white piqué bolero dress with daisies embroidered liberally around the hem and bodice.
‘One of Aunt Cicely’s cast-offs, my foot,’ Caro murmured, and they both laughed before Robyn caught up her stole, and Caro followed her out of the door.
‘Who are we meeting, did you say?’
‘I told you earlier, the two chaps who were in Aunt Cicely’s little black book.’
As Caro stopped and stared at her, Robyn started to laugh.
‘But I thought—’
‘I told you they are the sons of chaps who were in Aunt Cicely’s little black book: Forewood and Napier were their fathers. Let’s hope they’re dishes, because Aunt Cicely, would you believe, has quite an eye – and not just for a motor car. I have told them to look out for a bright scarlet bag – and I don’t mean me. I will stand waving it outside the Dorchester.’ Robyn dangled a bag of immense bad taste, and laughed. ‘They can’t miss us with this!’
‘What happens if we don’t like them?’
‘We kick them in the shins, and then come home. Stay,’ Robyn commanded her Cairn terriers. ‘And don’t move until I get back, do you hear?’ Both the dogs stared up at their mistress as if to say, ‘Must we?’ as Robyn firmly closed the front door.
Outside the flats they climbed into a taxi and a few minutes later, out again, as the cab stopped outside the Dorchester.
‘Ah, here they are!’ a young man called from in front of the hotel. ‘On time too, that is quite something.’
To confirm that it was indeed them, Robyn waved her flashy evening bag at the young man, who rushed forward, closely followed by a taller, more handsome companion.
‘You are spiffing to come at such short notice. I’m Bill Forewood, and this is Edward Napier.’
Robyn turned to Caro and widened her eyes as if to say, ‘How about these then?’
They all shook hands, and Caro could see that one look at them and the young men too thought they had fallen on their feet.
‘We thought we could have a cocktail here, and then on to the Berkeley for dinner, after which perhaps the Grafton Galleries? What do you think?’ Bill looked round at the other three.
‘Splendid, we both love the Grafton Galleries.’
For a second Caro stared at Robyn. They had neither of them been to London before, let alone dancing at the famously chic nightclub, the Grafton Galleries.
‘It’s more fun than Ciro’s, and the music’s livelier.’ This from the one called Edward Napier.
‘Oh, rather,’ Robyn gushed. ‘Actually, we didn’t want to say, but the Grafton Galleries, well, we agree, they are much more the thing, don’t we, Caro?’
‘So that’s settled,’ Edward said.
Caro turned to Robyn. ‘I think we should disappear for a moment, don’t you?’
In the elegant pink mirrored powder room, already filled with soignée ladies refreshing their red lips with even redder lipsticks, Caro murmured to Robyn, ‘I’ve never been to a nightclub before, and nor have you, have you?’
Robyn rolled her eyes in the mirror.
‘No, but we don’t want them to know that, do we?’
‘But, but – but what about – well, what about, what happens if they follow us home and ask themselves in, and so on? What happens if they start to be frisky? With no chaperone?’
‘Oh, don’t worry. If they get above themselves we’ll set the dogs on them, or do what Aunt Cicely always recommends.’
‘Which is?’
‘Ask them in for a cup of Ovaltine. Apparently it gives quite the wrong impression!’
Betty was feeling awful, and the fact that Mrs Garland was being so nice to her was not making her feel less so.
‘Look, Betty, I know it’s difficult for you to leave us, but it has to be faced that, from what I have heard on the grapevine, and on the wireless, you would be leaving us some time soon, anyway. We all know there is a war coming. Of course, as farmers we are probably going to be made a special case because the country is going to need what we grow, and we are going to need to grow twice as much. But you would not be right for farm work, Betty, any more than I would be.’ Mrs Garland smiled. ‘We are indoor workers, you and I, Betty, not outdoor workers, so take this opportunity you have been offered. Really, it would be best.’
Betty put out a hand to shake Mrs Garland’s hand. Mrs Garland looked at it. It was a nice hand, well made, with a sensitive look to it, but she didn’t take it.
‘No need to shake hands, Betty. You’re not leaving us today, are you? I’m just so sorry that Mr Garland hasn’t been able to find you a position as a stenog
rapher. As he told you, I think, there is such a crush for jobs in London now, among the young and single, of course, while all the mothers and children it seems are all coming down our way. Still, I dare say they’ll be a lot of help with the harvest and so on.’
Betty returned her outstretched hand to the side of her apron in one oddly touching formal movement, where she finally clasped it with the other one.
‘It is so kind of you not to mind us all leaving you in the lurch like this, Mrs Garland. I have had such a happy time of it at Chevrons, really I have.’
Betty turned to leave the room. The truth was that for weeks she had been excited about the prospect of London and a new life, and could think of nothing else, but now she had to face saying goodbye to everyone at Chevrons, she felt miserable.
‘Very special place, this,’ Mr Smith confided to her later when she was helping him clear out the boot cupboard under the kitchen stairs. ‘Yes, Chevrons is very special,’ he went on with some satisfaction. ‘People often remark on its magical properties, as if all the people who have been here before us determined that they would leave behind them something that would keep it what we might like to call different.’
‘And what you could call special, would you say?’
‘You could call it that, Betty. My father and my grandfather, they all believed that it was something to do with its past, something of the happiness of the first Mr and Mrs Anthony Garland that has been left as a sort of, let’s say, “buried treasure” hereabouts, and that is probably why none of us has ever left the place.’ He held up what looked like a hastily rolled-up bundle. ‘Now what do you think we might have here?’
‘It looks like some sort of flag—’
Betty looked mortified as she recognised what the flag represented, and Mr Smith’s face darkened.
‘I wish you to know, Betty, that I personally will take great joy in putting –’ he breathed out audibly – ‘in putting that thing on the bonfire this afternoon.’
Betty bundled the flag quickly into a piece of newspaper because, although they were alone, she felt mortified at the thought that someone else might see the wretched swastika.
‘That Miss Katherine, she’s been brought up here all her life, and this is the result?’ Mr Smith nodded towards the newspaper bundle. ‘It makes me feel sick to think of her supporting something evil like that. Beautiful child she was, beautiful young woman she grew into, and now look. We all had such hopes of her, and now look. Run off with that Astley man and broken her parents’ hearts. I don’t know – children.’
Betty looked at him, her head on one side. ‘But you’re proud of your Trixie, aren’t you, Mr Smith?’
‘I certainly am, Betty.’
‘She’s going to go far, isn’t she, Mr Smith, your Trixie?’
Mr Smith smiled for the first time. ‘Let’s put it this way: if Trixie’s got anything to do with it, she certainly is, Betty, she certainly is.’
At first Trixie had missed Caro’s reading with her – or, more accurately, her elocution classes with her – as much as she missed gossiping with her, but just as her plans for leaving Chevrons started to become a reality, a letter arrived for Trixie from Caro.
Dear Trixie,
Well, here I am in London and having a wonderful time, as they say on all the best seaside resort posters, and thinking that you will love it here too. We went to a nightclub called the Grafton Galleries, and it was great fun to see all the fashionable ladies (some of them quite OLD!). I miss Chevrons and the dogs and everyone. But today we leave for training. I will write to you from there, snips and snaps, as we used to say when we were in the Speytesbury Girl Guides together (remember Miss Hodgson?!!?).
Take care of yourself.
Love from your old friend Caro
Trixie put the letter away in her apron pocket. She liked to think of Miss Caro in the Yeomanry. She was always such a below-stairs bolshie, was Miss Caro, but with her fighting for Britain there really wouldn’t be too much to worry about. Miss Caro could take on Hitler and give him a bloody nose, and all the rest of them. What she couldn’t do was to help her old companion in mischief Trixie Smith.
But first things first. She had to give in her notice to Mrs Garland, which her father had already warned would not be an easy matter.
Meriel rang the little bell on her desk.
‘Yes, Trixie, do come in.’
Trixie had been brought up at Chevrons, it was her home, and she thought of it as such quite as much as if she was one of the children of the house. So it was even more awkward for her to take her leave of Mrs Garland than it had been for Betty less than half an hour earlier.
‘I am so sorry to bother you, Mrs Garland, but I have been offered a situation in London.’
Meriel stared at Trixie. What was there about this afternoon? It seemed suddenly that everyone had decided to leave Chevrons.
‘Oh dear, Trixie, have you really to leave us? How sad.’ Meriel could not keep the distress from her voice. First Betty leaving, and now Trixie.
‘Yes, ma’am, I am hoping to join up, as a matter of fact. But don’t tell Father, will you, Mrs Garland? What I have in mind is to join the ATS. I just felt that with everything the way it’s going, and wanting to help keep our country the way it is now, I need to do what a boy would do, Father having had no boy, you see. I feel I could do my bit, as a boy would do his bit, as your boys are doing their bit, ma’am – and Miss Caro too.’
Meriel stared at Trixie. She knew her so well she sometimes felt when she was talking to her that she had been present at her birth, which, most happily she had not been, since Trixie’s poor mother had died before the doctor could come from the village. All terribly distressing at the time, but everyone at Chevrons had done their best to ensure that Trixie had grown up surrounded by affection; and the truth was that she had enjoyed quite as good a time as any of their own children, running about their little estate, swimming in the river in the summer, fishing in the top pond, helping to feed the orphan lambs in the kitchens.
‘Well, Trixie, if you have to leave us, and I perfectly understand that you do, there is no more to be said, of course. I also understand that you feel the need to join up – everyone is feeling the same at this time – and I only hope that the ATS can find some suitable work for you. I do know there is a great shortage of actual posts at the moment, due to so many people wanting to do something for their country, but if Mr Garland and I can influence anyone on your behalf, you must let us know.’ She paused. ‘I would very much like to think that you will always consider Chevrons your home as much as it is ours, and that whenever you are on leave you will not hesitate to come here; and wherever you are you will know that there will always be a place here for you.’
Trixie nodded. She knew that too much emotion at this moment would not be acceptable, so she put out her right hand and shook Mrs Garland’s ringed one.
‘You and Mr Garland –’ She hesitated, and began again after clearing her throat. ‘Mr Garland and yourself, Mrs Garland, have always been so kind to me. I am really most grateful to you, and I will always bear in mind –’ she hesitated wondering whether ‘that’ or ‘what’ would be more correct – ‘I will always bear in mind – what you have said to me this afternoon. Thank you very much, Mrs Garland.’
‘I will tell Mrs Grant that you are to be let go whenever you wish, Trixie. That is the least I can do. After all, everyone is needed, and both my husband and Mr Smith are certain that the war will come sooner rather than later.’
Meriel watched Trixie slip out of the door. It was sad, but it was inevitable, the cygnet was determined to grow into a swan and, knowing Trixie as she did, Meriel was convinced that the young woman would make sure to grow into a really beautiful swan. She was a determined little thing and she had it in her to be whatever she wanted.
Meriel turned away from her desk and walked over to the French windows that looked out on to the view of first lawns, then meadows and then finally the river.
‘Mrs Grant’s becoming a nurse, you say? Good God, she’ll kill more people than the enemy!’
As it happened, Anthony had heard on the grapevine that the government was already making preparations to evacuate the cities, and yet here they were again, against all advice, still hoping that they would somehow be able to make peace with Hitler. Meriel glanced at the date on the permanent calendar on her desk – nearly the end of August. In times gone by at this time of year, she would have been preparing for the boys’ return to school, organising them to go to London for their uniforms. Now they were in uniform once again, but this time preparing to fight not in some rugby or cricket team, but in a regiment, for their country.
Goodnight Sweetheart Page 11