"Father left me two biggish shops when I was only twenty. I'd been working with him since I was eighteen, and in the holidays long before that, and I really enjoyed it. Mother hates anything to do with the business, though she is holding the fort at the moment. Fortunately, I've got excellent management—older women who were with Father for years."
"How did you come by the other six shops?"
Looked for well-placed little shops that were out of fashion or going out of business, and put a smart woman in charge of each. Nearly drove Mother mad by saving every cent I could and reinvesting it. Most of the shops I got for a song— times were so bad."
"How exciting," I exclaimed.
He smiled shyly. "It's a kind of game," he said. "I'm doing a roaring trade now —can never get enough stock. The hat departments are dead, of course. But dresses and suits go like hot cakes, because we alter and fit the garments properly— not many department stores do a good job of that." He turned back again to me. "You won't tell anybody, will you?"
"Silly boy. Of course, I won't."
I began to think a great deal more about this extraordinarily handsome young man, as we discussed the history of fashion, its craziness, the present government interference in the trade, and its future. Occasionally, he talked about his bombers, the eccentricities of his crew or the pranks and wild games of the mess.
He would also talk sometimes about his friend and fellow pilot who had gone to Egypt. He heard from him quite regularly,and it was as if he pined for his company. As he grew more sure of my friendship, it became obvious that he loved the man. And then I understood why Derek presented no physical temptation to me and why he never touched me—it was not that he was being forebearing because, not too long before, I had lost a fiance. It was that he was not sexually interested in women. He was truly and faithfully in love with a man he had known since boyhood.
Anybody who has lived in a port, at least in my day and earlier, tended to accept tacitly that sailors away from home on long voyages often turned to their own sex for consolation, and the women left alone certainly frequently had good women friends, whom they referred to as "me mate". Publicly such goings on were condemned; they were illegal and punishment could be heavy. But I was not so shocked as I might have been. Derek was a charming, comfortable person to know and I enjoyed his company. It was pleasant to dance with a well-educated and cultivated man, who offered no threat to me whatever.
A trust rose up between us, as he got toknow me better. Finally, he realised that I knew why I did not get so much as a goodnight kiss from him.
He was frightened.
We were, as usual, walking to exercise his leg, and I cannot remember how it dawned on him that I knew. But he stopped and turned to look at me. He was so tense that I thought he might take flight like a hare from a furrow.
"It's all right, Derek. I can keep my mouth shut. I've kept secrets before and kept them well."
I heard him swallow in the gloom of the blackout.
"Yes," he replied slowly. "Yes, I believe you."
Later, I found that his greatest fear was of blackmail, if he were ever betrayed.
"Don't be daft, Derek," I said roundly. "I wouldn't harm a friend like you. I think we're true friends, aren't we?"
And he said, with feeUng, "Yes, I think you are the best friend I've ever had."
On my way home, I thought about this beautiful person with considerable pity. With what mental agility he would have to face the close life he led amongst the aircrews. Or did they know, and not care? I wondered what Eddie would think of him if he knew what he was; and decided that his language on the subject would not be fit to print.
29
THE fact that I never asked personal questions did not stop Derek slowly worming out of me the history of my family and myself, and he became very curious about my parents.
When he was feeling stronger and it was apparent that his stay at the Convalescent Home was coming to an end, he offered to call for me at our bungalow, one Sunday afternoon, and take me for a walk.
Though I was ashamed of our intolerably shabby home, I agreed. I was also very nervous about the kind of reception he might get, so I began to prepare Mother for his arrival.
I was ironing Father's handkerchiefs when I announced to Mother, sitting reading by the fire, "If it's fine, a friend of mine is calling for me about three o'clock." I licked my dry lips, as she looked up from her book. "I've been dancing with him quite a lot."Mother put down her novel on her knee, and asked mildly, "Who is he?"
"He's an RAF officer—a bomber pilot."
"Humph."
"He's a public school man," I told her, seizing on one point which might give him standing in her eyes.
"Really?" I had captured Mother's interest. "What does he do as a civilian?"
"He owns eight dress shops. He's interested in dress design—he hopes to expand this part of his business when the war's over." I felt it would not hurt Derek if Mother knew this; a solid financial background might endear him to her.
"He must be too young to own such a large business."
"He's about twenty-eight or twenty-nine. The first two shops were left him by his father when he was twenty. He still helps to run them—he's always writing to his manageresses and to his mother—she's helping out at present. When he's on leave he rushes round checking stocks and books." I folded a handkerchief neatly, and then continued, "It's surprising, actually, how many men I've met, who are in the Forces and who are still trying to keepa hold on businesses they have had to leave to others. There's an old chap I see on the train. I'm told he is past ninety, and yet he's managing a law practice for his two sons, who were called up from the Naval Reserve. I bet his sons worry at times that he won't last the war out!"
Mother smiled, and, encouraged, I said, "The other morning he was trotting steadily up the steps of Central Station, singing Tut another penny in, in the nickelodeon. All I want is loving you and music, music, music.'"
This made mother really laugh, an unusual thing for her, and she asked, quite good-naturedly, "Would you like to ask this young man of yours to tea?" She closed her book.
"If we could manage it. Mum." "All right. I'll make some scones." Hooray for a public school education, I thought a little cynically, as I swept the iron round the corners of Father's hankies. Old school ties, and all that.
As soon as I had put away the ironing, I went into our wild, unkempt back garden, where flowers continued to spring unexpectedly from amid the brambles and theknee-high grass, a reminder of another time when there was no war. I returned to the house with a huge bunch of creamy roses, and some long spurs of blue lupins.
Later, in one of his letters, Derek told me that one of the happiest memories of his life was that of sitting in our sitting-room, with the sun pouring in, and seeing vase after vase of flowers, and bright, interested faces. Perhaps, as a homosexual he had avoided contact with families. Immersed in his business, he would, anyway, not have time for much social life.
He understood how to please older women, probably from dealing with his customers, and Mother fell in love with him immediately, as he bowed and shook her hand, and then waited for her to be seated before taking the chair indicated to him. My still convalescent father was delighted to talk about the exploits of the Air Force, and the boys were visibly impressed by his uniform and his limp, which made him something of a hero to them. In bed that night, Fiona and Avril both said, with a sigh, "He's gorgeous!"
Derek was quite smart enough to know the impression he was making. His twink-ling eyes, for a second, met mine across the tea table, and I ached to laugh.
This was the first social event I could remember in our family, in which everything seemed to go well, and in which I was not tied up with fear that Mother would be rude or Father would be patronising.
I could just imagine Derek, as he pinned and tucked and fitted in his fitting rooms, soothing, flattering valued customers, customers like my mother might have been in her heyda
y. While he concentrated on getting the best effect for slightly bulging figures, his handsome face would pucker up earnestly, just as it was doing as he explained to Father the tactics of night bombing. They would love him. No wonder he had been so successful so fast.
We were launched on our walk by the waving hands of the family. Though it was a beautiful day, we did not get very far because Derek's leg was aching savagely. To rest him, we sat on top of the sea wall which protected Moreton from the inroads of the tide.
We ignored the barbed wire which was supposed to protect us from invasion, andtalked longingly about what would happen to us after the war was over.
Derek did most of the talking, as he lazily picked loose pebbles out of the concrete of the wall and threw them into the waves gnawing restlessly at the foot of the dike. I said simply that I had no idea what I would do when the war ended.
After a while, Derek fell silent. He smoked steadily, taking the cigarettes from a beautifully chased gold cigarette case, which I knew his lover in Egypt had given him. That man must have money, too, I had thought, when first I had learned of its origins.
With his cigarette held between his fingers, he rubbed the case gently with his thumb, as he looked down at it.
"What does your friend do for a living —in Civvie Street?" I inquired.
"He's in the Foreign Office."
"In London?"
"Yes." He put the case back into his inside pocket. "I was planning to open a shop in London and he was going to put up some of the capital, when the war came. We thought we might share a houseor a flat—have a real home. But it's difficult. People gossip."
He did not need to tell me that. The neighbours would be biting about them, even in a good district.
He turned to me. "I wondered, Helen . . ."
"Yes?"
"Helen, you've never given any indication of wanting to marry, now your fiance is dead." He paused awkwardly, then he said, "And we get along very well together. What I'm trying to say is that, well, what about marrying me? My friend is as pleasant a person as you're likely to meet," he rushed on, "and, you know, we'd make a good family together. And, Helen, it would offer some protection to my friend and me—having a woman in the house."
"Derek!" I was more surprised than shocked.
He put his hand on my arm. "Now, wait a minute, and listen to what I have in mind. I would take you into the business with me, as an equal partner. Mother has a third share, so we would be about equal in that respect. She'll be thankful not tohave to do anything in regard to the business. And you're good with clothes, and it's an interesting thing for a woman to be in . . . I'll show you the books and you could have an accountant check everything." The wide blue eyes looked at me hopefully.
I was lost for words. I gaped at him. This was where drifting along without thought had landed me.
He shook my arm. "Helen, think about it. You'll have a good house, I promise you, and a lifetime career in the rag trade —between us we could make it flourish like the old green bay tree." He was as red as a Mcintosh apple by this time, as he struggled to express his need. "It could suit you very well, Helen. And we'd never question your comings and goings—I mean, if you found, well—a lover."
After a moment, I found my voice. If the suggestion had come from anyone else, he would have had his face sharply slapped for the impertinence. But Derek was good, as honest a man as a critical world allowed him to be. And he was trying to make an honest deal which would benefit both of us, while getting some cover for aproclivity which, though it harmed no one, was illegal and heavily punishable.
"I couldn't, Derek. I just could not do it. I am a normal woman with a normal set of desires and hopes. I am just very, very tired at present; yet, sometime, I hope to marry." His face had fallen, the stubby golden eyelashes covered the eyes, and I felt very sorry for him. I put one arm round his shoulder. "Thanks for being so frank with me, Derek, and for such a generous offer in its way. Believe me, I understand your predicament. But I could not live such a lie. I just couldn't."
The huge, waxed moustache quivered, as he grinned slyly at me. "I was afraid you'd say that—no harm in asking, though." He stopped, picked up another stone and shot it straight out over the sea. "Are we still friends?"
"Of course, you idiot."
Just before he returned to his unit, he asked me if I would like to reconsider his offer. Again, I refused.
He bent, and kissed me goodbye.
30
WITH her usual lack of preparation, Mother announced a few days later that we would be moving to another bungalow, the following week. The rent was double that which we were at present paying.
I was filled with alarm. "Where is it?" I asked.
"Just down the road."
"Phew, I thought we were going to be faced with more travelling costs."
"I shall expect half the increase in rent from you. It's useless trying to get any more out of your father or Fiona. We shall have to share the extra rent between us." Thus Mother, laying down the law of the Medes and Persians, which cannot be altered.
I argued that we were better off to keep our overheads low and spend any extra money on food.
It was a waste of time.
With the aid of a handcart, we movedinto a decent three bedroom brick bungalow. Appearances were, however, deceptive. The back garden, we soon discovered, had never been cuhivated because it was so frequently under water. The Arrowe Brook, a tributary of the River Birket from which Birkenhead got its name, formed the boundary of the back of the lot. Every time there was a high tide, the little river backed up and spilled over its banks. The house was, consequently, just as damp as the one we had left and was certainly the coldest house I have ever lived in. As far as chill was concerned, I was back in the attic rooms of our first home in Liverpool. When we could get coal, we burned only one tiny fire and this never dispelled the damp. As in our previous bungalow, shoes and clothes left in a cupboard for more than a few days gathered mildew. Bones ached, as I shivered with my sisters under inadequate bedcovers. It seemed as if we always had colds or influenza.
There was an air raid warning during the first night we spent in our new abode. A lone enemy plane, chased by the Air Force from its dockside target, jettisonedits bombs over the countryside around us. One demolished a nearby farm and one shot aslant our roof, taking slates and beams with it, and exploded in the marshy garden, shattering the back windows.
We tumbled out of bed, and huddled together in the centre hall, there being no stairs or cellar in which to shelter. We were petrified at the unexpected attack.
After a few moments of frightened uncertainty. Father tried the electric Hght.
It worked, and we surveyed cracked ceilings and walls. Not much plaster had fallen. We assumed, quite wrongly, that the roof had just lost a few tiles, and, when silence reigned, we went back to bed.
Early the next morning, a Saturday, we all tiptoed through the back door to look at the rough piece of field which constituted the garden.
Looming through the mist we could see a large hump of earth, and as we approached it, we found our feet crunching on a litter of broken slates. I tripped and nearly fell over a big chunk of clay thrown up by the explosion.
"Be careful," warned Father, suddenly uneasy. "It could be an unexploded
mine." He gestured to us to keep back, while he slowly clambered up the heap of muddy earth. Steadying himself with his hands, he stretched himself near the top and peered over the top.
He shouted quite cheerfully. "That hole's from an explosion all right."
We were covered with mud, by the time we had all scrambled up to have a look, and exclaimed over our lucky escape. We were less cheerful when we turned back towards the bungalow and saw that a large piece of the back roof was missing.
After breakfast. Mother went to see our landlady who lived next door. She, too, of course, had been shaken by the blast and had already been into our garden to assess the damage. She asked us to send some
one up into the attic to make sure that the water tank and its attendant pipes had not been cracked, while she found someone in the village to bring a tarpaulin to cover the gaping roof.
One of the advantages of living all one's life in a small village is that one knows everybody. Our landlady was no exception. That same day a withered, old man with a large white moustache arrived, withhis ladder on a handcart. By night, he had replaced a couple of beams and covered the hole with tarpaulin. The next day he rehung the slates. When I asked him how he managed to get new slates, his face wrinkled up in a knowing smile. "Never you mind, young lady," he said. "Be thankful."
While the boys had a great time scrambling round the attic and exclaiming over piles of old sheet music scattered in it, Fiona and I went to have another look at our bomb crater.
"Look, Helen," Fiona held up what looked like a ball of mud. "It's china. How extraordinary."
She ran her hands round the object and cleared the mud, to reveal a Crown Derby egg cup without a single chip.
Eagerly we prodded around with sticks and came up with another one. A further search unearthed a metal plate, but nothing else, except dead worms.
Very intrigued with our finds, we took them indoors and washed them under the kitchen tap.
Since it was the weekend. Mother had decided to paint the sitting-room of thehouse, and she was levering the Hd off a tin of paint, while we examined the plate we had found.
"This isn't tin," I said. "I think it's silver."
Mother glanced at it. "Rubbish."
"But look. Mum. It has such pretty fretwork, and I'm sure this is a silver mark on the bottom." I held out the blackened dish for her to see. "I'd like to keep it, if you don't want it."
"I do want it. I can put it under the paint tin to catch the drips."
"But it would be so pretty if it were polished," I protested. In a world where anything dainty or charming had long since vanished, I really wanted to keep my find.
Lime Street at Two Page 20