Polly's War

by Freda Lightfoot

  IF THE INVADOR COMES, screamed the headline. WHAT TO DO – AND HOW TO DO IT. STAY PUT was the chief message, instructing civilians not to block the narrow Cornish lanes which would need to be kept clear for military movement, for OUR OWN BOYS TO COME TO YOUR AID.

  But it was the American marines who had come with their amphibious craft, rolling into their small town as if they owned the place. They were now the occupying force and the people of Fowey couldn’t believe their luck.

  As the last of the trucks disappeared along Fore Street, teachers began the difficult task of shepherding reluctant children back to their desks, shops opened their doors for business again and normal life resumed, at least momentarily.

  Bette returned to the salon and a frustrated Nora Snell, her small round head still tethered to the permanent waving machine which was in turn fixed to the ceiling.

  ‘Did you miss them?’ Bette mischievously enquired, recognising the expression of frustration in the woman’s inquisitive little eyes. ‘What a pity.’

  ‘Not so’s you’d notice,’ said Nora, as ever determined to have the last word. ‘I could see everything through your window here, though a good clean would do it no harm at all. If you can find the time midst all your gallivanting.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Nora, to be a model citizen, as you and the town council expect, though I can’t promise. My talents lie in other directions, rather than on the domestic front. Isn’t that right, Mam?’ Bette added, as her mother breezed in and reached for her pink, floral overall from its hook behind the door, before getting back to work.

  Sadie gazed upon her daughter with a jaundiced eye. ‘I’d say the day you willingly lift a finger to do a bit of cooking or cleaning, or any sort of hard work for that matter, will be the day pigs start to fly and it rains pink elephants.’

  ‘There you are, what did I tell you?’ said Bette, apparently well satisfied with this damning opinion upon her character.

  Sara too was hurrying back to work. It was as she ran across Trafalgar Square that she slipped. A final vehicle, an army jeep had unexpectedly rounded the corner just as she approached the front door of the pub. Sara took a step back, attempting to avoid it but her foot skidded on a piece of orange peel left carelessly about, and she went flying, falling with an uncomfortable and embarrassing bump onto her backside.

  She lay winded for a second, half aware that the vehicle had stopped and the driver was rushing across to her. She put up a hand and managed a smile. ‘I’m all right. Nothing broken. Don’t panic.’

  ‘Here, let me help you. I didn’t see you there. Jeez, I nearly ran you down. You’d have been Spam, for sure.’

  Sara couldn’t help but laugh and then winced as a pain shot through her behind. ‘Oh dear, perhaps I spoke too soon. I do feel a bit sore. Bruised on fragile portions of my anatomy, I should think.’

  ‘And it’s all my fault.’

  ‘Well, you were driving rather fast for these narrow streets,’ she gently scolded him.

  ‘Right. You’re absolutely right, ma’am.’

  With his assistance, Sara managed to get to her feet, saying she could manage very well now, thank you, but he insisted on taking her right to the door, taking her keys to unlock it for her and helping her inside.

  He seemed pleasant enough, for all he was a reckless driver, an officer too, judging by the two stripes and star on his uniform, and earnestly anxious to put things right. He brought her a glass of water, even started to dust down the skirt of her dress but then stopped himself, flushing slightly with embarrassment.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he kept saying, over and over. ‘Hey, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘If you were late before for the parade, you must be even more so now. Hadn’t you better report to your unit?’

  ‘I guess so, but I hate to leave you like this.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I’ll be fine. Really!’ when still he showed no sign of moving.

  He had the kind of physique one would expect of a soldier, rather broad and robust, not at all in keeping with the fuss he was making. His hair was dark brown with a slight tendency to curl, dampened slightly from beads of anxious moisture forming on a high brow.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Positive.’ She desperately wanted him to go before Hugh arrived. It simply wouldn’t do for her husband to find her here, with this man, yet she kept on sitting there, just gazing into his face. It was a very nice face, strong and square, and he had the gentlest brown eyes she’d ever seen.

  ‘You’re ok then?’ Still he made no move to go.

  ‘I’m fine, truly I am.’

  ‘I can’t imagine what I was thinking of to be driving so fast. I didn’t even see you.’

  ‘You can see me now, and that I’m perfectly all right.’

  His wide mouth lifted into a slow smile, as if to say she was more than all right. ‘I’d best go then.’

  ‘Yes, you had.’

  With great reluctance he took his leave, his parting words warning her to take things easy for a while. Sara smiled and nodded and waved him away but then the minute he’d gone, and despite her aches and pains, she ignored his advice completely and flew about, desperately trying to catch up on tasks that should have been done hours ago.

  For once, The Ship was late in opening and an impatient queue had formed outside, a sternly frowning Hugh turning up just as she unlocked the door to let them all in. He cast a furious glance in Sara’s direction then gave his full attention to offering humble apologies to his regulars. Her silver fair hair was still untidy and windblown, her normally pale cheeks flushed with a betraying pink but she smoothed down her skirt, pinned a smile of welcome on her face and calmly prepared herself for the expected lecture.

  About Freda Lightfoot

  How did you first get published?

  Writing started as a hobby while I was bringing up my two daughters. My first sales were of children’s stories and articles. After that I wrote over fifty short stories and articles for women’s magazines. I followed these with five historical romances for Mills & Boon before breaking into mainstream fiction with Lakeland regional sagas. I’ve now written over forty books, many of them bestselling historical sagas.

  Where do you get your ideas?

  From life is the simple answer, but really I don’t quite know. From people, from things that have happened to me or my family. Details change of course, get turned upside down, and I constantly use a writer’s favourite two words ‘what if’. For instance, in ‘Polly Pride’ Polly sells all the family furniture in order to finance a second hand carpet business when her husband can’t find work during the depression. My great aunt Hannah did exactly the same thing, although the outcome was entirely different. So I asked - what if her husband objected?

  Do you use real places for your settings?

  My characters sometimes live in a fictitious village or street, which allows some scope for my imagination, but it is placed in as accurate a setting as I possible. I enjoy research and spend a great deal of time seeking out those little details to create a true sense of place. This might include which hills my heroine might walk over, the birds or flowers she might see at any given time of year as well as national and global events. I take a great many photographs, draw maps and talk to people who have been involved in the type of industry or lifestyle that I am trying to recreate. A strong sense of place is essential for the kind of sagas I write, as it is a form of social history.

  How long does it take you to write a novel?

  When I first started it usually took about nine or ten months. Now I can write one in six as I like to bring out two books a year. This naturally demands long hours at the computer, plus many extra hours on research. But I don’t mind as I love writing and am never happier than when I am weaving stories in my head or on screen.

  How do you relax?

  By reading, of course. I also enjoy pottering in my Spanish garden and walking in the countryside, or campo as it is called here. In England I love going to
the theatre as I’ve been greatly involved in amateur dramatics over the years.

  What do you enjoy reading?

  I love historical fiction. As a young girl I read everything published by Anya Seton, Jean Plaidy and Norah Loft. Now that historical fiction is back in fashion I indulge myself when not writing by reading my favourite authors: Elizabeth Chadwick, Philippa Gregory, Susanna Kearsley, Kate Morton, Rachel Hore, Anne O´Brien and many more.

  Where were born, and where have you lived since?

  I was born in Lancashire, and brought up behind my parent’s shoe shop. I still remember my first pair of clogs, made by my father. Writing was always a dream, but considered rather exotic so I qualified and worked as a teacher until moving to the Lake District in the early years of my marriage. While my children were young I opened a book shop and became far too busy reading catalogues and being a mum to find time to write. After nine years of this I moved out onto the Lakeland fells for a ‘rest’ and became thoroughly involved in rural life, keeping sheep and hens, various orphaned cats and dogs, built drystone walls, planted a small wood and even learned how to make jam. The Good Life was on TV at the time. Fortunately the weather was so bad I was forced to stay indoors a good deal, which gave me ample time to write. We then moved to Fowey in Cornwall where we lived for a number of years, and loved it, using it for the setting of some of my books. Now I’ve abandoned my thermals, built a house in an olive grove and spend the winters in Spain, although I still like to spend the rainy summers in the north-west of England.

  What are your plans for the future?

  To keep on writing.

  Thank you for all your kind messages telling me how much you love my books. Your comments are very important to me, and your reviews. I listen and take note. Many of you have been with me since my career took off back in the late eighties with my historical romances with Mills & Boon, followed by my historical sagas with Hodder, and I do appreciate your loyalty. And please do join me on my Freda Lightfoot Books page where I love to chat.

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  http://www.fredalightfoot.co.uk/

  http://www.fredalightfoot.blogspot.com/

  ISBN: 978-1-474-03414-2

  POLLY’S WAR

  © 2014 Freda Lightfoot

  Published in Great Britain 2015

  by Harlequin MIRA, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,

  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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