by Anne Douglas
‘Well, you know what I mean, dear. You’ve been so . . . well, what shall I say? Jumpy, eh? Looking around a lot, not settling.’
‘Jumpy? I wouldn’t say that. I’m fine. Why would I be jumpy?’
‘You tell me. No’ something to do with your sister, is it?’
‘Marguerite? No. I don’t really see much of her, seeing as she works in the cafe. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong. I don’t know what you’re on about.’
‘She seems to be doing very well in her new job,’ Sally said cheerfully. ‘A great attraction, I’d say. Puts the others in the shade, eh?’
‘The others are pretty enough themselves.’
‘Oh, sure they are. No’ the ones the men are after, though.’
‘What men?’
‘The ones that come in the cafe, of course. And then there’s our dear Ben.’
Jess sat very still, concentrating every part of her being on not showing the effect of Sally’s words.
‘Ben?’ she repeated casually. ‘What’s he been up to?
‘Didn’t waste much time, apparently, making a play for your sister. Pam says he walks her to the station every night, soon as they close. Has done from the start.’ Sally’s gaze was bright on Jess’s averted face. ‘Did Marguerite never say?’
‘Don’t suppose she thought it was important.’
‘I’m no’ so sure. Pam thinks she likes him. Seemingly, she’s quick enough to give fellows the message, if she doesn’t.’
‘That’s true,’ Jess agreed. ‘But fancy her – liking Ben.’
‘Fancy,’ Sally murmured. She gave a little sigh. ‘Well, if you’re OK, Jess, that’s good. That’s a relief. I did wonder if you might be maybe worrying about the war.’
‘The war? I thought there wasn’t going to be one.’
‘Some folk are beginning to think that bit of paper Mr Chamberlain had doesn’t mean a thing.’
‘How can they know that?’
‘Arnold says nobody should trust Herr Hitler. He’s planning world domination. Everybody under the jackboot, Arnold says.’
‘We’ll just have to hope he’s wrong, then.’
‘He’s never wrong,’ Sally declared.
Late that night, when Jess and Marguerite were preparing for bed, Jess resolved to speak. She had watched closely when her sister had arrived home from work. Had seen a delicate flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes, for which something more than the January cold might have been responsible. Had known the time had come to face the truth, whatever it was, for until it was known, she, Jess, couldn’t learn to live with it. Live with it? Oh, God, how easy that was to say!
‘Marguerite, know what Sally told me today?’ she asked, after she’d seen her sister climb into bed, clinging with shudders to her hot water bottle.
‘All I know is that it’s freezing in here,’ Marguerite returned. ‘Oh, these sheets are icy!’
‘It is January, eh? We’ll probably have snow by morning.’ Jess was trying to hug her own hot water bottle that was stone and kept slipping from her grasp. ‘Well, listen – Sally said Pam had told her that Ben Daniel was taking you to the station every time you worked late. I never knew that.’
‘What of it?’ Marguerite had now pulled the bed clothes to her chin.
‘I’m just interested, that’s all. Seemingly, he’s keen.’
‘Just says it’s on his way.’
‘He’s going out of his way. He lives in Canonmills.’
‘All right, so he wants to take me to the station. Can we go to sleep now? I’m tired, Jess. I’ve had a long day.’
‘I just want to say, if you start going out with him, I hope you don’t . . . hurt him. It’d be a shame. He’s nice, we all like him.’
‘Hurt him?’ Marguerite sat up, staring at Jess through the darkness. ‘Who says I’m going to hurt him? I like him, too. As a matter of fact, he’s asked me to go out on Sunday and I’ve said I will.’ She lay down again with a thump. ‘And I’ve no plans to break his heart, if that’s what you’re on about. Goodnight, Jess.’
‘Goodnight, Marguerite.’
While her sister soon began to breathe regularly in sleep, Jess lay wide awake, feeling as chilled inside as the air around her bed. It seemed to her that she would never be warm again. Never have the hope again for a future that had been her comfort. Ben had been a dream, she saw that now; no more real than his shadow on the silver screen. He would never be hers, never come alive for her. Only for Marguerite.
How was she to accept that? As the long hours crawled by, it didn’t seem possible. Only slowly did it come to her that whatever she’d lost, she still had work. She still had the Princes. All right, she worked in the box office, but she wouldn’t always work there. There was a ladder, wasn’t there? And she would climb it. Maybe then, she could forget Ben.
Having seen this small light at the end of her tunnel, she felt better. Even slept for a little while. But when she rose the next morning, there were tears in her eyes. Tears she must never let anyone see. Least of all, Marguerite.
Seventeen
It didn’t take long for those at the Princes to spot that Ben Daniel and Marguerite Raeburn, the new waitress, were in love. Wasn’t difficult, was it? Seeing as they weren’t trying to keep it a secret. Seeing as they were always meeting up, in spite of having separate jobs. Always looking at each other, smiling fond smiles, touching hands. Always walking off, arm in arm, into the night – well, to the station – at the end of work, and no doubt kissing on the platform. Would it all end in tears? Or wedding bells? Some looked at Jess for an answer, but how would she know? Anyway, she never said anything.
‘Ah, they’re so sweet,’ Sally would sigh. ‘So lovely to see folk so happy!’
Though the girls at the cafe sighed over losing the fancy-free Ben, most at the Princes agreed with her, just as long as it all worked out, which as the weeks went by, seemed likely.
From only walking to the station together, the happy pair began to go out whenever they could arrange the same evening off, sometimes going for a meal, sometimes to the theatre, sometimes even to other cinemas, where they could sit entwined on the back row and be sure no one they knew was watching. Then came the time when Ben took Marguerite to meet his widowed father, followed by Marguerite’s taking Ben to meet Addie. And heavens, everyone said, this was looking serious! Looked like there would be wedding bells after all!
‘Think it’s serious?’ Addie asked Jess.
‘Seems like it.’ Jess was clearing the table, concentrating on stacking dishes ready for carrying to the scullery.
‘I must say, I’m surprised, then.’
‘Surprised? Why?’
Addie laughed. ‘Didn’t Marguerite always say she was looking for a rich Edinburgh man?’
‘Ben’s wages aren’t bad.’
‘He’s no’ rich, though.’
‘He’s handsome.’
‘A bit on the serious side, I thought.’
‘Nothing wrong with that.’ Jess, wishing her mother wouldn’t study her face with such interest, carried away her dishes. ‘Anyway, Marguerite has to settle down sometime.’
‘Aye, I’d like to see her settled. And how about you and that nice Rusty, Jess?’
‘We’re still good friends.’
‘What a shame,’ sighed Addie.
Still just good friends was what they were, though, even if they had taken lately to walking together before the cinema opened for the matinee. Usually, the April weather wasn’t warm enough for them to eat sandwiches in Princes Street Gardens or the kirkyard of Greyfriars Church – favourite haunts of the city workers. They’d therefore take shelter from the wind in a little cafe they knew, order something on toast and share the bill. No more arguments over going Dutch, and everything so pleasant and restful, Jess was beginning to find her spirits quite soothed by such sorties as these with Rusty.
Which was why her heart sank when, over one of their little lunches, he too began to talk of Ben and Marguerite.
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nbsp; ‘Think it’s serious?’ he asked, echoing her mother. ‘Between those two?’
‘Why is everyone so interested?’ Jess cried, as soon as the waitress had served her poached eggs and departed. ‘And why ask me?’
Rusty stared. ‘Come on, you know why people are interested. All the world loves a lover, they say, don’t they? And the world’s pretty nosey about how things are going to turn out.’
‘Yes, but why should I be expected to know?’
‘Well, Marguerite is your sister. She might have said.’
‘She’s never said. Even Ma doesn’t know what her plans are.’
‘I’m sure she and Ben could make a go of it,’ Rusty remarked, beginning to eat his sausage and mash. ‘I mean, I’ve never seen anyone so in love as Ben. He’s a changed man.’
A changed man. Changed by her sister. At the shadow that crossed Jess’s face, Rusty hastily put down his knife and fork and touched her hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘There I go, being as insensitive as usual.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ she cried. ‘Why should I mind what you say about Ben?’
Rusty was silent for a moment, his eyes on her face so sympathetic, she couldn’t bear to look at them.
‘If I’ve spoken out of turn, I’ll say sorry again,’ he said at last. ‘You know the last thing I want is to upset you.’
Another silence fell, with Rusty still gazing at Jess, and Jess sitting with head bent. Suddenly, she pushed away her plate and looked up.
‘Rusty, I don’t know what to say. I’ve been a fool, eh? Might as well admit it. Never had any hope, anyway.’ She took out a hankie and wiped her eyes, though she hadn’t actually cried. ‘Does . . . does everybody know, d’you think?’
‘No, Jess, they don’t, I promise you. I only know because . . . well, I care for you.’ Rusty smiled and held her hand again. ‘Means my antennae are pretty sensitive, I suppose. Look, let’s not say any more.’
‘All right, but it’s been good – to talk about it, I mean.’
‘Any time, you can come to me.’
‘I know, but I’m trying to put it all aside, you see. I’d say, forget it ever happened, except it never did.’ She gave a tentative smile. ‘Ben and me – it was all in my head. A dream. It never existed.’
‘Dreams can be real enough. They keep a lot of people going.’
‘Well, I want to manage without,’ Jess declared. ‘I mean it. Look, we’d better get the bill. Time’s going by.’
‘You will weather this, you know,’ Rusty told her seriously. ‘Maybe you’ve already begun.’
But Jess made no reply.
Walking back to Princes Street, not arm in arm, but close, they were pleasantly at ease. In fact, when Jess glanced up at Rusty’s handsome face, it seemed to her that he had become again that carefree fellow she’d met in the cafe on their interview day. For the first time, she felt a pang of guilt as she realized how far he’d moved from his old self since then, and that she was probably to blame. Still, if he had for a time changed from those early days, he appeared to be changing back again, and that must be due to her, too.
As they strolled along beside the west gardens of Princes Street, she glanced again at the tall, rangy figure at her side and decided she wouldn’t say anything to spoil things. If Rusty seemed relaxed and happy, it must be because the two of them had suddenly become so much closer, so much more like true friends. Maybe it would be enough for him? At least, for now? It was what she wanted, anyway. Yes, very much indeed.
‘Hang on,’ Rusty said, suddenly drawing to a halt. ‘What are those fellows up to, then?’
‘What fellows?’
‘The ones by the Mound there, looking at the gardens.’
Her gaze followed his, to where a group of men were standing at the entrance to the gardens, studying the ground.
‘I expect they’re just gardeners. Might be time to plant out the floral clock, or something.’
For a moment, Rusty thought about the famous Edinburgh showpiece, a round flowerbed laid out like a clock at the corner of the Mound. Then he shook his head.
‘Those men don’t look like gardeners, they’re wearing suits. My guess is they’re not thinking about any clock.’
‘What, then?’
‘Air-raid shelters.’
‘Air-raid shelters? In Princes Street Gardens? Rusty, what ever are you talking about? Who’s going to need air-raid shelters? There isn’t going to be a war. Mr Chamberlain promised.’
Rusty took her arm again. ‘Come on, let’s cross over. We’re going to be late.’
‘No, I want to know what you meant. Who said there’d be air-raid shelters here?’
‘I saw it in the paper. Said it was on the cards. Just a precaution.’
As lunchtime crowds jostled past them, Jess kept her eyes fixed on Rusty’s slightly averted face.
‘A precaution? They wouldn’t go to so much trouble.’
‘Jess, nobody knows exactly what’s going to happen. But Hitler’s occupied Czechoslovakia, and he’s already in Austria. If he takes Poland, that’ll be it. We’re committed to giving our support. We’d have to declare war.’
‘I know that, but they said Hitler had no plans for invading Poland, so, we’d be all right. That’s what they said, Rusty.’
‘It was Hitler who said he’d no plans to invade anywhere. Next thing we hear, he’s threatening to bomb Prague if they don’t capitulate.’
Her face suddenly pale, Jess turned to cross the street.
‘Well, let’s go back, let’s go to work.’ She shrugged. ‘What else can we do?’
‘It may never happen,’ Rusty said quietly, when they’d entered the foyer of the cinema. ‘There’s all kind of talk going on – you don’t know what to believe.’
‘Yes, we’ll just have to wait and see.’ Jess put her hand on his arm. ‘Listen, it was nice, being with you today, you know. I . . . felt the better for it.’
‘Did you?’ He was stooping to look into her face, thin shoulders bent, his hands on hers. ‘Could we meet again, then?’
‘Yes, I’d like to.’
‘You wouldn’t consider . . . another Sunday afternoon? No strings, I promise.’
She hesitated, her eyes on the foyer clock.
Why not? Why not go back to what they’d had? No strings, he’d said. So, why not?
‘A Sunday afternoon . . . would be very nice. Thanks, Rusty.’
‘Oh, Jess,’ he murmured, his grey eyes alight. ‘Thank YOU.’
Eighteen
Air-raid shelters in Princes Street Gardens? It had seemed a joke, until, suddenly, on a perfect summer’s day, men were digging and there they were. Shelters for the bombs that everyone now was expecting to fall on the city. One minute, it seemed, folk had been happy to think there’d be peace in their time; the next, they’d accepted – there must be preparations for war.
‘Aye, they say there are millions of gas masks coming our way,’ Sally told Jess, her voice hushed with concern, but her face flushed with excitement. ‘Is it no’ terrible, to think we might need ’em?’
‘It is,’ Jess muttered, thinking of her father. She looked around the cafe, where she and Sally had decided to treat themselves to a light lunch. At the counter, she could see Marguerite serving someone with coffee, looking so beautifully serene, it was hard to believe she must be as worried as everyone else. ‘In fact, I can hardly believe it.’
‘Oh, there’s more. We’re all supposed to be practising doing blackouts of our houses. I ask you, when it never even gets dark at this time of year! And then did you no’ hear about the plans to evacuate all the kiddies away from the cities? And for calling up the young men – and women, too?’ Sally shook her head in mock despair. ‘All this because they say that awful Hitler will invade Poland.’
‘He hasn’t done it yet,’ Jess remarked, finishing her egg salad and trying to sound hopeful.
‘Oh, he will, though. And then the b
alloon will go up. We’ll be at war.’ Sally’s eyes were sparkling. ‘You know what I’m going to do?’
‘Get married?’
‘No! I’m going to join up. My Arnold as well. Marriage can go on the back burner.’ Sally gave a little smile. ‘We’re no’ needing a honeymoon, if you take my meaning.’
‘Why, Sally – I’d no idea!’ Jess, blushing, looked away from Sally’s cheerful blue eyes. ‘I mean, I never thought . . .’
‘Why should you, then? I’ll admit, it’s unusual, but no’ so risky as it used to be. I mean, women don’t necessarily have to land in the family way these days, you ken.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ Jess said, still blushing.
‘Aye, well you remember it, dear, when the time comes. But for us, no’ getting married was all because of Arnold’s mother, really. She’s a widow, and so difficult, you wouldn’t believe! Always said she couldn’t face him leaving her, and up to now, he’s just given in. But if war’s declared, she’ll have to accept he’s got to go and that’ll make it easier for us, you see, when we do eventually get married.’
‘I still don’t see why you want to join up.’
‘Excitement, dear! Have a bit of a change. You might feel the same. After all, we’ll probably be called up, anyway.’
‘Leave the Princes? Folk will still want the cinemas, Sally.’
‘Aye, but they’ll have to find older people to run ’em.’ Sally waved to Pam who was passing. ‘Bring us a couple of coffees, sweetheart! We need cheering up, we’re talking about the war.’
‘Fatal,’ cried Pam. ‘I’m just putting it out of my mind.’
Turning back to Jess, Sally looked at her slyly.
‘Talking of marriage, how about you and Rusty, then? You seem so happy together these days. I know you say you’re just good friends . . .’
‘So we are. We go out walking, have tea or a meal, enjoy each other’s company – that’s it.’
‘For him as well, dear? Are you sure?’
‘Here comes our coffee,’ was Jess’s measured reply.
Sally, stirring sugar into her coffee, let her eyes wander towards Marguerite, now carrying a tray of lunches towards a table in the window.