My Sweet Valentine

by Annie Groves

  ‘You don’t think they will, do you?’

  ‘You never know with people like that,’ Dulcie told her. ‘And just be careful with it,’ she warned.

  ‘It will be dreadfully creased up,’ Tilly protested.

  ‘That’s all right, your ma will know how to press out the creases,’ Dulcie assured her.

  They parted on the corner of the street, Dulcie to go in search of a fur jacket, and Tilly heading for Fleet Street, her heart already lifting at the thought of being with Drew. He would remonstrate with her, of course, but he wouldn’t send her away. Tilly smiled happily to herself.

  Half an hour later she pushed open the door to their favourite Fleet Street pub, Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, and breathed in the now familiar smell of beer and cigarettes, pausing for a moment to let her ears adjust to the level of noise in the busy public house. Then she headed straight for the room where she and Drew normally sat.

  A couple of the regulars at the bar, newsmen to whom Drew had introduced her, nodded in her direction. Tilly smiled back but didn’t stop, her heart lifting as she stood up on her tiptoes to look past the busy bar along which drinkers were crowded three and four deep.

  She could see Drew. He was seated at their favourite table, alone. Tilly frowned, feeling both disappointed that she was going to miss out on such an exciting interview and pleased that she would now have Drew all to herself.

  He hadn’t seen her so she sneaked up behind him, placing her hands over his eyes as she mimicked the voice Dulcie had used earlier with the stall holder to demand teasingly, ‘Guess who?’

  Immediately, Drew stiffened and reached up to remove her hands, as soon as he touched them, exclaiming, ‘Tilly, you wretch, you scared me half to death.’

  He had recognised her simply from touching her hands? Tilly felt thrilled to know this as he pulled up a chair for her.

  ‘What are you doing here anyway? You promised me …’

  ‘I know but I had my fingers crossed behind my back,’ she told him. ‘I’m obviously too late, though. What did he say, Drew? What did he tell you? Was it—’

  ‘He didn’t show up,’ Drew stopped her. ‘I guess he was either handing me a line or someone frightened him off.’

  He looked so disappointed that Tilly immediately tried to cheer him up, announcing, ‘Well, wait until I tell you what happened when I was out with Dulcie this morning …’

  After she had finished explaining about the stall holder, the showgirls and the dresses she asked, ‘Do you think it’s true that the dresses were stolen to order, Drew?’

  ‘It certainly sounds like it.’

  Tilly moved closer to him. She would far rather spend her afternoon here with him than shopping with Dulcie.

  ‘Oh, Sergeant Dawson.’ Self-consciously aware of how flustered she sounded, Olive stepped back into the hallway. What an idiot she was, behaving like this. It wasn’t Archie Dawson’s fault. It was just her being silly. She needed to start behaving like the respectable widow she was. After all, she had known Archie Dawson for going on for twenty years – twenty years during which she had looked upon him only as a kind neighbour and a good husband. Nothing had changed. Except that she herself was perhaps approaching what was often referred to as ‘a funny age’. She’d heard of gossipy tales of respectable women suddenly shocking people by going off the rails – they all had. Such tales were the meat and veg of gossip to people like Nancy, and she certainly wasn’t going to be the subject of one of them. The mere thought was enough to have her getting a firm grip on herself.

  ‘Archie,’ the sergeant reminded Olive, before following her into the house. ‘And I just thought I’d pop round and make sure that you are happy about using that stirrup pump.’

  ‘That’s really kind of you.’ Olive was determined to put her thoughts into actions as she showed him into the kitchen, adding, ‘I’ve just put the kettle on, if you’ve got time for a cup of tea?’ The sooner she got back to normal and treated Archie Dawson as she had always done, the better.

  ‘Oh, I’ve always got time for a brew,’ the sergeant assured her.

  Olive snatched a quick look at him. To her relief there was certainly nothing in his manner toward her that even hinted that she might have given him the wrong impression – about anything.

  Feeling heartened, Olive told him, ‘I’ve just been trying to work out who ought to be paired up with whom.’ She pulled a small face as she waved her hand in the direction of the piece of paper and pencil on the table.

  ‘Would you like me to give you a hand with it?’

  For a moment she hesitated, a refusal trembling on her lips, but then she reminded herself of her vow to behave normally.

  ‘That would be very kind of you,’ she told him truthfully, adding, ‘I’ve made a list of all those who’ve volunteered to take part. And Agnes, bless her, has actually asked if she could be with the Misses Barker. I was going to put Tilly with them but I dare say if I did she’d start complaining that she wants to be with Drew.’

  Olive didn’t realise how much the tone of her voice had given her away until Sergeant Dawson said gently, ‘Something’s upsetting you, Olive, I can tell. If you’d like to get it off your chest then I can promise you that it won’t go any further.’

  Olive was glad to have the excuse to turn her back on the sergeant as she felt tears stinging her eyes.

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she answered, hoping that he wouldn’t detect the small quiver in her voice that she was fighting so hard to control. ‘But I’m sure you’re far too busy to have the time to listen to my problems. Mrs Dawson—’

  ‘Mrs Dawson has taken Barney out with her to buy him some new clothes. She said it would be easier if just the two of them went.’

  Was that a note of sadness she could hear in his voice? How lucky Mrs Dawson was to have a husband who wanted to share in such a task with her. Was he perhaps feeling excluded because of the close bond Mrs Dawson had formed with Barney, just as she was feeling excluded because of the close bond Tilly had formed with Drew?

  ‘Barney’s grown a good two inches since he came to us. He’s a smashing lad,’ Archie Dawson continued proudly.

  ‘He’s a very lucky boy to have you and Mrs Dawson to take him in,’ Olive told him.

  The sergeant shook his head. ‘No, we’re the ones who are that. Best thing we ever did was take him in. Mrs Dawson—’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘I don’t need to tell you the difference it’s made to her, Olive. She was only saying the other day how kind you’ve been, always making a point of stopping and speaking with her when she’s out. Not like some. Nancy was round at our house again this morning complaining about Barney. That is one thing about the lad: he doesn’t seem to understand that he needs to keep to the rules when it comes to things like going to school. I’m having to keep a bit of an eye on him in that regard, but don’t let on to Nancy that I told you that. Now,’ he continued firmly, ‘let’s have that cup of tea and you can tell me what’s troubling you.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ Olive protested.

  ‘I can promise you that whatever you tell me will not go outside these four walls,’ the sergeant assured her.

  Weakly Olive took a deep breath. It would be such a relief to confide in the sergeant and to get a man’s point of view, and in the end it was surprisingly easy to sit companionably across the table from him as she tried to explain to him her concerns for Tilly.

  ‘She behaves as though I am her enemy instead of a mother who loves her and wants to protect her. She says that I don’t understand, and that I want to deny her the pleas— the comfort of being married to Drew,’ Olive corrected herself, flushing a little as she tried not to feel self-conscious about accidentally bringing up the pleasure that could come from a happy marriage. She didn’t want the sergeant to think that she was being too ‘forward’ or, even worse, drawing his attention to the lack of that pleasure in her life as a widow. Once such thoughts would never have occurred to her, but now, thanks to Nanc
y, she was acutely aware of them.

  ‘I’m worried that she might do something that she might later regret.’

  ‘Tilly’s not the sort to do that,’ the sergeant reassured her, ‘and that young man of hers certainly isn’t the sort to encourage anything like that.’

  ‘No, he isn’t. I like Drew but he is American and … well, I know it’s selfish of me but …’

  ‘You don’t want to think of your Tilly going off to live in America. That isn’t selfish. That’s only natural. If your Jim was still alive he’d soon have young Tilly sorted out.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been thinking that myself,’ Olive agreed. ‘Tilly is just at that age where she needs a father’s wise words. She’s such a good daughter, and we’ve always been so close, but now …’

  Olive’s voice trembled and then so did her body when, unexpectedly, the sergeant reached across the table and placed his hand over hers.

  It was just the kind gesture of a good neighbour, of course, and the sergeant would be horrified if he knew about that sudden shameful pounding of her heart. It was only because she was so worked up over Tilly, of course. Nothing more than that.

  ‘Where is Tilly now?’

  ‘She’s out shopping with Dulcie. Drew and Wilder are taking the girls to the Café de Paris this evening – Wilder’s treat to Dulcie to make up for not taking her out on Valentine’s Day.’

  ‘Wilder? Now there’s a young man I wouldn’t want to see walking out with my daughter if I had one,’ the sergeant told Olive forthrightly.

  ‘No, I must admit that I can’t really take to him myself. Oh goodness, is that time?’ Olive looked at her watch and then pushed back her chair to stand up. ‘I’ve taken up far too much of your time. What must you think of me?’

  The sergeant had stood up too and now, as she turned towards the kitchen door, to her bemusement he came up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. Then reaching for both her hands he held them in his own and told her gently, ‘What I think of you, Olive, is that Jim was a lucky man to have been married to you, and I know he felt the same way. I can remember how proud he was of you and Tilly. Said he’d got the best girls in the whole world.’

  ‘His mother certainly didn’t think that. She never really wanted him to marry me, and then when his parents had to take us in she soon let me know that she wasn’t happy about that. Jim’s parents did stand by me, though, when Jim died. Without them I don’t know what would have happened to me and Tilly. That’s what Tilly doesn’t understand.’

  ‘You can’t blame her too much for that, Olive. Tilly knows how much you love her and that you’ll always support her. Be honest, if she was to find herself in the same situation you were in, there’d be no question about you taking Tilly and your grandchild in, would there?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  The sergeant smiled. ‘Perhaps part of the reason Tilly can’t understand your fears for her is because she can’t ever imagine being in the situation you were in. She knows that she will always have you to turn to and I can’t imagine you ever wanting that to be any other way. It must have been very frightening for you: you had a very sick husband who was dying, a young baby, no parents or family of your own to turn to. You must have very felt alone.’

  ‘I did,’ Olive admitted. And she still sometimes felt very alone now, but of course she couldn’t say that.

  ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ she said instead.

  But the sergeant merely smiled again and told her firmly, ‘Let’s have a look at that list of yours, and then I’ll run through the stirrup pump again. You’ve got your sand delivered now, have you?’

  ‘Yes. It came this morning. Mr King’s happy for us to have the sand at the Longs’ old house, especially with four of his houses being empty at the moment. Every household is going to have a bucket of sand that they’ll keep filled from the stockpile at number 49. Drew, bless him, has organised the wheelbarrows to collect the empty buckets and then deliver them to all the houses. We couldn’t expect the likes of the Misses Barker to carry heavy buckets of sand around. I do like Drew, and if Tilly was older and there wasn’t a war on, and if …’

  ‘He wasn’t American,’ Archie Dawson teased her gently.

  ‘Am I being selfish and unfair?’ Olive asked him anxiously.

  ‘No,’ the sergeant told her firmly, ‘you’re being a mother, and you’re a damned fine one too, Olive.’

  TEN

  ‘Oh, Dulcie, you look ever so glamorous, just like a film star,’ Agnes gasped, awestruck as Dulcie twirled round the kitchen to show off her new dress. ‘It’s ever such a lovely frock.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Dulcie agreed. ‘It’s Norman Hartnell. And it’s not a frock, it’s a gown.’

  It was a beautiful dress, Olive acknowledged, as she watched the light catching on the thousands of tiny crystals sewn onto the midnight-blue silk, just a few sprinkled here and there on the bodice, growing in number the further down the skirt they were. It wasn’t just the fabric that made the dress so outstandingly glamorous, though. There was also the cut – on the bias – and, Olive thought privately, made for a girl who had been slightly more slender than Dulcie on the bust and the hip, so that its fit on Dulcie was such that any susceptible young male would be stopped in his tracks, Olive suspected. Not that it was in any way vulgar. That would have been impossible for such a dress. No, the overall effect was, as Agnes had so rightly announced, one of film-star glamour.

  To have found such a dress on a market stall amongst what Dulcie had described as a tangle of rubbishy stuff had indeed been wonderful. Dulcie had told her that ‘having got the good eye that I have for quality,’ she had quickly realised that the frock was exactly that, even before she had seen the label.

  Tilly, who had returned home slightly later than Dulcie, explaining that she had decided ‘on impulse’ to meet up with Drew – avoiding Olive’s gaze whilst doing so – hadn’t had much to say about their shopping trip other than that Dulcie had been very lucky to have acquired the dress.

  Buying and wearing second-hand clothes was a fact of life of the war, but Olive had to admit to herself that there were many, many times whilst she was sorting through the clothes that were brought in to them at the WVS that her heart ached for the possible fate of the original owners. One couldn’t give in to sentiment, though.

  ‘You do look lovely, Dulcie,’ she agreed. It was, after all, the truth.

  ‘Just wait until you see the little fur bolero I’ve got on loan that I’m going to wear with it,’ Dulcie boasted. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if them society photographers, that are bound to be at the Café de Paris seeing as that’s where all the rich posh folk go, don’t want to take a picture of me tonight. What’s Tilly doing?’ she demanded. ‘Wilder and Drew will be here soon. I just hope that Wilder remembers what I told him about him having to wear something smart, and not that leather flying jacket of his.’

  ‘Didn’t you say that Wilder was going to get changed at Ian’s?’ Olive reminded her. ‘If so I’m sure that Drew will make sure that he’s properly dressed, Dulcie.’

  ‘Drew will make sure who is properly dressed?’ demanded Tilly, coming into the kitchen in her own evening dress. Looking at her daughter, Olive’s heart ached with both love for her and anxiety. The silk velvet, bought on a trip to one of London’s markets just after the beginning of the war, if anything looked even better on Tilly now that she was little bit older than it had done when it had first been made. The damson colour of the fabric suited Tilly’s Celtic colouring to perfection, her slender neck rising from the boat-shaped neckline as elegantly as any swan’s. Love had brought a new confidence to her daughter, Olive recognised. Tilly held herself just that little bit taller, her skin glowed with the happiness that was revealed in the shine in her eyes and the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth.

  If Dulcie looked eye-catchingly glamorous, then Tilly looked truly beautiful.

  Sally, coming into the kitchen
on the heels of Tilly, did a small double take as she saw Dulcie.

  ‘I hope you aren’t thinking of appearing in that down at the hospital,’ she teased Dulcie. ‘You’ll cause a riot if you do.’

  Preening herself afresh, Dulcie told her, ‘Well, I suppose I might wear it if there was to be a dance – just to show David, him going to be a sir one day and knowing what quality is.’

  Sally exchanged looks with Olive. Dulcie had no awareness of irony, nor much of a sense of humour other than for her own jokes.

  ‘I’d better go,’ Sally told Olive, ‘otherwise I’ll be late on duty. You’d think by now that I’d be used to working nights, but somehow you never do get used to it.’

  Within minutes of Sally leaving, a knock on the front door heralded the arrival of Drew and Wilder, with a taxi waiting to transport them all to the West End and the Café de Paris.

  They were setting out early at Dulcie’s insistence, because despite the fact that Wilder had booked a table she wanted to make sure that she liked its position whilst there was still time to opt for another.

  ‘I don’t want to be given some table stuck away in a corner like we was when you took me to the Ritz that time,’ she informed Wilder now, as he complained that no one went to a nightclub so early in the evening.

  Despite all her reservations about Tilly’s relationship with Drew, Olive knew that no mother’s heart could fail to be secretly lifted by the fact that her own daughter’s escort looked so very comfortably at home in a dinner suit that fitted him perfectly, whilst Wilder, who always looked so determinedly raffish and bad-boyish in his beloved leather jacket, actually looked far less attractive in a dinner suit in which he was plainly not at ease.

  Naturally the men had brought corsages for the girls, but whilst Tilly’s orchid was a perfect colour for her dress, the glaringly bright yellow of Dulcie’s brought a pursed-lipped look of disapproval in Wilder’s direction and an irritated, ‘What made you choose that colour?’