‘These men have come to fight a war, not dance or go to parties.’
Hugh did not believe that Sara took the war seriously. How could she, being merely a woman? Yet ever since the start, Fowey had played an important role in operations. The river was deep enough to allow passage of ships up to 15,000 tons to berth, and the town already possessed working docks and a railway, all safely cloaked by hills and woods.
The navy had come first with their minesweepers and Z boats, armed trawlers and motor gunboats, swiftly followed by the RAF, the Royal Army Ordnance Corps, plus many units doing jobs nobody quite understood or dared question. Situated as the town was, relatively close to the Channel Islands and to France, the movement of the French fishing fleet within these waters was common place, and who knew what they were up to half the time?
Hush-hush boats, they called them. Hugh was highly curious about their activities but had more sense than to ask. Should he ever chance to see strangers being disembarked, slipping away into the narrow streets of the town, he averted his gaze and forgot about it instantly.
‘Be like Dad and keep Mum’, was advice to be taken seriously in these parts. Not volunteering, was another of his maxims.
But the prospect of profit always appealed and Hugh was sorely tempted to agree to Sara’s request, wondering if perhaps he’d been a touch hasty. Of course, it would mean that his own wife wouldn’t be available to help so he’d have to hire it for the evening, which galled him somewhat. He hated to fork out money unnecessarily.
‘You should be here in the bar with me, as my wife.’
‘It’s only for one night. Iris Logan would come and help, I’m sure. I’ve heard she’s courting a sailor and saving up to get married. She’ll be glad of the money.’
This gave Hugh further pause for thought, since she was quite a tasty number was Iris, not that he allowed Sara to see his interest. ‘Anyway, why would they ask you? What do you know about running a dance?’
‘It can’t be all that difficult. Nora and Isobel are organising the food, so all I have to do is to ask Hamil to play his fiddle, and perhaps find a gramophone and borrow a few dance records.’
‘Don’t be stupid. There’s much more to organising an event than that. You’d need to advertise, make and sell tickets, keep proper accounts of money paid. And what would you do with the profits?’
‘Give it to the war effort, of course, what else? Nora already has that all organised, and word will soon spread, like wild fire I should think. And we don’t intend to charge much.’
‘I still can’t see you managing all of that on your own. You’d make a complete hash of it, for sure. Then we’d all be wasting our time.’
Sara swallowed and was suddenly filled with uncertainty, as so often happened when he doubted her ability. Perhaps he was right. Had she been a touch hasty in agreeing to take on the task? It had seemed perfectly straightforward when Nora first suggested the idea, now she viewed it as a mountain to climb. There probably was much more to organising a dance than she’d imagined, and, as Hugh said, she’d get in a muddle and make a hash of it.
Look how furious he’d been with her when he’d discovered how badly she’d flushed out the beer pipes the other day. Incandescent with rage, calling her useless and a liability because she’d ruined perfectly good beer. Ruined or not, he’d continued to serve it. Even so, Sara clung tenaciously to her rapidly evaporating self esteem.
‘At least I’d know that the drinks were well organised, by you dear, and you could offer me advice, couldn’t you, from behind the scenes, as it were?’
Hugh was mollified somewhat by her apparent need of him, and, in spite of his disapproval of what he deemed to be trivialities, thought again about the likely profits he’d make, which at least would come his way rather than to the war effort. He needn’t pay Iris too much, she’d be glad of the work if she really was courting.
‘If I do agree for you to be involved with this event, and to host the bar myself, I shall want an assurance that your role will be purely administrative.’
Sara frowned her puzzlement. ‘I’m not quite sure what you mean.’
‘I mean, I don’t want you hob-nobbing with those Yanks, Sara. You must keep well in the background.’
‘I might be asked to help pour the tea, Hugh,’ she said, keeping her face very straight.
He glared at her, not sure whether to take her comment seriously or not, although surely Sara didn’t have the wit to be sarcastic. ‘I believe there are many women in this town far more capable of this task than you. However, as you say, at least I can keep an eye on things, if you do it. But I will not allow you to slave away over a hot stove, frying fish all night long. And you absolutely will not fraternise with those marines. So long as that is quite clear, I will grant my permission.’
Sara mentally counted to ten before kissing him quickly on the cheek and saying how very much she appreciated his generosity. ‘I’m sure I shall manage perfectly well and not have to bother you at all.’
Chapter Five
It was to be a night to remember. Tea and biscuits were laid out on long tables, and, in honour of the occasion, coffee had somehow been acquired to please the Americans, though nobody quite liked to ask how this miracle had come about. Plates, knives and forks had been borrowed and were laid out ready and waiting. Nora and her happy band of helpers were cooking the fish in a big skillet in Isobel Wynne’s kitchen. Hamil was tuning up his fiddle and even before the church clock sounded the hour of seven, the place was humming with locals and marines alike, with naval officers, sailors, ARP wardens and various members of the auxiliary forces, not forgetting any number of bright-eyed girls.
A lively, if not particularly sparkling rendition of What Shall We Do With the Drunken Sailor, got the evening off to a good start, with Hamil sawing away for all he was worth on his fiddle and Sid Penhale battering the life out of an old drum.
At what seemed an appropriate juncture, Sara relieved them and offered to put on some records. The pair went happily off for refreshments at The Ship while the notes of We’ll Meet Again brought couples to their feet once more.
Sara could hear one of the marines telling a girl that he was this size because he’d been brought up on a cattle ranch and ate beef all the time. Another claimed that he owned a huge apartment block in New York. She couldn’t help smiling, wondering how much truth there was in any of this, and then glanced across at Bette, held tightly in Chad’s arms, where she’d been for much of the evening. What had he told her, and would it be true? Who could judge? These boys were out to impress the local girls in a foreign country.
The song ended and Bette came over to request another slow number.
Sara protested. ‘I thought we’d have Woodchopper’s Ball.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, can’t you see everyone wants to hold each other close? Where is your sense of romance, sister dear? Here, let’s find Moonlight Serenade. It must be here somewhere,’ and she began rifling through the records.
Sara took the opportunity to whisper a quick word of caution to her younger sister. ‘Take care, Bette. You know nothing about him, he could be married, spinning you a yarn, anything. I don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘You sound as bad as Mam. I’m a big girl and can look after myself, thanks very much.’
‘I’m sure you can in lots of ways, but I just want you to take care, to be aware that you’ve no means of checking him out. All this about him owning land could be nothing more than a tale, one big fairy story. He can say what he likes and you wouldn’t know any different. You wouldn’t believe the bragging I’ve heard this evening alone.’
‘Are you implying Chad is a liar? Charming, you don’t even know the man and already you’re condemning him.’
‘No, I’m not, but . . .’
‘Yes, you are. You just said that he was spinning me a yarn.’
‘I said that he might be.’
While they were arguing, Sara’s job as record changer was taken
over by one of the marines, probably because everyone was tired of waiting for the next record. He put on a bee-bop and within seconds, the men had grabbed a partner and the room was jumping, pulsating with energy. Chad came and whisked Bette away and the conversation abruptly ended.
Sara stood watching and laughing, despite her reservations about her sister’s behaviour, dazzled by the display of energy, as well as the show of stocking tops, as girls were lifted and whirled and spun with crazy abandon. Never had she seen the like in all of her life.
‘Care to try it for yourself?’ A voice at her elbow politely enquired, and Sara laughingly shook her head without even looking who it was who spoke.
‘No thanks. I’d make a complete fool of myself.’
‘I very much doubt that could be possible.’
Something in the tone made her look up and there he was: the tall, rather earnest Lieutenant with short, curly dark hair and the so familiar face smiling down at her. ‘Oh, it’s you. Hello again!’
He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I left the jeep back at base this time. Are you ok?’
‘Quite recovered, thank you. Still a little bruised on the – er- um . . .’
‘On your butt,’ and they both laughed.
‘I expect I’ll live.’ She felt a rush of embarrassment and begged to be excused, mumbling something about having to check whether the fish supper was ready, and scurried away. Even as she ran, Sara kicked herself for a fool. Why had she fled? Not because he’d used that word, surely. Was it because of Hugh? Because she didn’t want it to get back to her husband that she’d been talking with a GI who’d asked her to dance the jitterbug with him? How very silly.
‘What was the chat about? Looked like you two were having a real spat.’ Chad shouted over the din as he spun Bette around.
‘Oh, take no notice. She’s just my sister, being bossy as usual.’
When the dance was ended, he took her over to meet Barney. ‘He’s my best buddy, so I expect you two to be pals.’
Barney was every bit as big and cheerful as Chad, and even better looking. Bette was instantly fascinated by him. Where Chad’s hair was an indeterminate brown, Barney’s was so dark it was almost black, what you could see of it since it was cut so close to the head. In contrast to the pale, insipid complexion of a regular British Tommy, his olive skin glowed with a honey tan, as if he’d spent the summer lying on a beach somewhere in the sun, or out at sea perhaps. His eyes were his most striking feature, a pale grey with a darker rim around the iris, and the eyelashes so lush and long they seemed to curl up at the tip. He looked almost Italian but as soon as he spoke, it was in very much the same southern drawl as Chad. He stuck out a hand for her to shake.
‘Good to meet ya, Bette. Chad tells me you and he are getting on real fine, and I can see why. You sure are a looker. Pity I didn’t get to you first.’ And he flashed her a grin, showing perfect white teeth.
Chad slapped him on the back. ‘Well, I beat you to it this time, you old rascal, and won me the best girl in town.’
‘You sure did, though now she’s met me, she might change her mind.’ Barney’s gaze upon her was steady and Bette felt her cheeks grow warm beneath its scrutiny, understanding why Chad liked him so much. He seemed easy-going and relaxed, if a bit full of himself.
When the next slow number came on, Barney asked her for a dance. ‘You don’t mind?’ he asked of his buddy, already leading her out onto the floor, and Chad shrugged his shoulders.
‘Hey, I know we share most things, but not girls, right? One dance, that’s all.’
‘Okay!’
They grinned at each other, with much slapping of shoulders and then Barney swung her away, holding her so close that Bette judged it wise to strike up a little conversation, so that things didn’t get too smoochy between them. He was a nice guy but she already had her date for this evening. However, who knew what might happen tomorrow, or any other night? Bette was all in favour of a little variety in life.
‘Chad has been trying to explain the size of things in America. It sounds such a big country.’
‘Sure is. You got such small towns here. Small houses, small cars, narrow roads. Back home we got space, and lots of it.’
‘He tells me that you and he have been friends for years.’
‘Aw, Chad and me go way back. Went to the same school, church, everything. Our folks are neighbours, both in the same line of business, friendly rivals as you might say.’
‘What sort of business? Doesn’t Chad’s family own an estate in North Carolina?’
Barney tripped over his own feet and bumped into another couple sashaying by. It was a moment before he caught his balance and they were back on course. ‘Sorry, no Fred Astaire, me. Hey, old Chad been telling you his life story then?’
‘Only that his family owns land.’
Barney half glanced across at Chad anxiously watching them, then spun Bette expertly around, steering her well away from his friend. She was such a pretty little thing, no wonder Chad had stretched the truth somewhat, left out a few details like the fact that the landlord owned the land and the Jackson family only rented it. Well, he was much better at this game than his old buddy would ever be. ‘Sure thing. Got himself a fine stretch. My family too, matter of fact. You could ride all day and not reach the end of it. That’s America for you.’
‘Goodness!’ Bette couldn’t begin to imagine quite how much land that might mean, but it sounded a great deal. ‘So what’s all this about business?’
He chuckled softly against her ear, nestling her close so that she couldn’t see his face while he worked on his answer, with the added benefit that he could enjoy the softness of her breasts pressed against his chest while he did so. Telling her that both families were little more than dirt poor farmers producing poultry and vegetables wouldn’t help either Chad’s, or his own suit, one little bit. ‘Ya might say we’re in the food industry.’
‘Oh, you own restaurants?’
Barney half choked on his laughter, but managed to stifle it just in time. ‘We Americans call them diners.’
‘And how many do you have?’
He just couldn’t resist those eyes, so big and trusting. ‘A couple. Hey, no, a whole string.’
‘Goodness, where?’
Barney snatched at the first town that came to mind. ‘Savannah. That’s in Georgia. Got pretty-bitty squares, fountains and fretwork you’d never believe, and great Gothic villas and fine Georgian mansions set in tree-lined avenues. It’s some fine town is Savannah, built on the back of cotton.’
‘Oh,’ Bette gasped, wide-eyed with wonder. ‘But I thought Chad said you lived in North Carolina?’
Barney didn’t flinch over his mistake. ‘Ain’t so far away, jest over the border. Chad and me got together, left home to seek our fortune, as ya might say.’
Smiling happily, Bette relaxed, slid her hand up around his neck and pressed herself ever closer. Barney had shoulders worth hanging to. ‘I just knew my sister was wrong and that Chad was telling the truth. He’s told me all about his house too, built after the American civil war, ante something or other.’
He had one hand on her pert little butt and Barney’s mouth had suddenly gone very dry. God, he wanted this woman. She was some chick. He wanted to take her outside and give her one right this minute, but she was still patiently waiting for an answer. He cleared his throat. ‘The houses in the South are called ante-bellum. They’re the big plantation houses that used to keep slaves to do all the work in the house and on the land. Now they have servants and fancy butlers, land managers and the like. Course, Chad and me, we don’t live in one of those.’
‘You don’t?’
‘Naw.’ She looked so cast-down and disappointed that Barney swiftly revised what he’d been about to say. What was he thinking of? He’d never told the truth in his life, and this wasn’t the moment to start. Where did truth every get you where women were concerned? Not even past first base. He sure did hope that th
is one would soon grow tired of his dumb pal and move on. And he’d be waiting. ‘S’matter of fact, we built us each a fancy new place on the edge of town.’
‘In Savannah?’
‘Right.’ He’d stopped caring what lies he told her. One place was as good as another in Barney’s view. He’d slid the hand beneath the edge of her little jumper and she didn’t seem to mind. Her skin was soft as silk. ‘Hey, you and Barney, you’re not stuck on each other, right? I mean, you’re open to other invitations?’
‘Oh, I don’t know!’ Bette gazed up at him, mesmerised. The rim around the iris in his eyes was violet, and they were sparkling most seductively at her. As for the hand, she didn’t care to think what that was doing, but it was making her feel all weak and funny inside. If she moved her head just one more inch, his mouth would be within kissing distance.
‘Jeez, what we doing talking about houses and history? That’s some heady perfume you’re wearing. What’s it called, sugar?’
Bette flushed, giving a little pointed wriggle of the hips to shake herself free of the wandering hand. ‘Only Lily-of-the-Valley. Now don’t you dare flirt with me, or I’ll tell Chad.’
Breathing rather rapidly she pursed her lips and attempted to look cross, sternly reminding herself she should be sensible and check out details properly. But America being such a big country it surely must be rich, as must the men who lived and worked there, so what he’d said made perfect sense. ‘Tell me more about this diner of yours.’
Barney was no longer listening. ‘You wouldn’t sneak on me, would you, sugar? You wouldn’t tell my old buddy how I think you’re the sweetest gal I ever did see? Jest gazing into those golden-green eyes of yours turns my insides to mush.’
He was smiling seductively down at her, a crooked, wicked smile that spoke of danger, and his hands were off on their wandering yet again, smoothing her hips, circling her waist so that Bette began to feel quite weak at the knees. He was so gorgeous, she almost wished that she’d met Barney first. Still, there was always another day. Bette sent him a tantalising glance up through her lashes, just to let him know that she wasn’t really cross, and was rewarded by a tightening of his arm about her that sent a little bolt of excitement shooting somewhere it shouldn’t.
For All Our Tomorrows Page 4