by Annie Groves
‘Only the caterers when we took the cake decorations back and swapped them for these cream sponges. We’ve filled them with strawberries. Try some,’ ordered Diana, who was looking cool in the heat, and despite her organising, wearing a linen oatmeal dress with a printed silk scarf draped around her shoulders.
‘I’m stuffed to the gills,’ Lily smiled, eyeing the cheese with relish. ‘But I’ll try some of the Lancashire. Where did that come from?’
‘Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. Let’s just say a little bird owed me a favour,’ piped Enid with a giggle. ‘This is the grandest do I’ve ever been honoured to attend. I was not going to come empty-handed.’
Soon there was the drowsy murmur of gurgling bellies, belts being loosened and stockings rolled down or taken off, bodies slumped in chairs as the sun rose high. No one could eat another morsel.
They lay content on rugs, in the shade, watching Neville and Rosa making daisy chains and Dina and Joy struggling to keep up. There was space for everyone to stretch out and snooze, but Lily was suddenly awake watching a dragonfly on the lakeside, its iridescent wings shimmering like mother-of-pearl. The setting was so beautiful, so peaceful and so unreal, and soon the sun would slide down behind the copse and her big day would be over.
‘I want to make a toast,’ she declared, stirring them all from their reveries.
‘I want to thank you all, Mother, family, friends, for your kindness and the honour you’ve done me in saving the day. There are no words to describe how I’m feeling now. I think you could go a lifetime and never have a day like this one, or friends like you lot. I’m that choked up. Thank you, one and all, and to the Olive Oils for saving my day!’
They raised their glasses and sipped the warm white wine.
‘Fill them up again,’ said Diana. ‘Here’s to our dear friend, Lee, the Lily as was. May she find true happiness one day soon.’
‘To Lee Winstanley!’
‘Bottoms up!’
‘To absent friends.’
‘And here’s to the one who got away. May his piles be many. Bottoms up!’
‘One last toast.’ Lily stood up. ‘To the friendships of our Olive Oil Club, long may they continue. Our name started out as someone’s snide remark but now I’m rather proud to be an Olive Oil…the first but not the last, I hope, of the Olive Oil brides…Pouring oil on troubled waters is what we’ve been doing these past months. Something magical has happened today and each one of you has played your part.’ She lifted up the salad dressing jar, watching the oil glinting in the sun.
Ana stood up then. ‘In my country we have saying for good friends. We have eaten bread and salt together, joy and sorrow. Today we, true friends, have tasted both. Yámas’
‘And thank you, Ana, for first setting us the task of searching for liquid gold. We may not be the United Nations but every time we sit down and talk, share a meal, talk about home, we learn something new. Together you and Susan-all of you-have changed my life and broadened my horizons. Cheers! There ought to be more clubs like ours.’
‘Hear, hear!’ They clinked glasses in unison.
‘Who wants a cup of tea?’ shouted Esme, reaching for the Thermos flasks in the last basket. Everyone groaned but no one refused.
Rosa was cartwheeling in a line and the others tried to follow, collapsing in a heap. It was time to stroll around the grounds inspecting the roses and the long border, admiring the view and pretending for just another hour that they were queens of all they surveyed.
Soon Dina wanted a piggyback and their linen skirts and finery were crumpled. Time to collect the plates and pack the baskets, shoo off the wasps and fold up the napkins. The gardener hovered, eager to see them off his lawn and into their cars.
Lily put the picture hat in its box with a sigh.
‘Let me take another photograph,’ yelled Diana, but Lily shook her head.
There was no need to record this day. It would be etched into her mind to that last dying breath; the day she discovered she was loved, valued and respected.
You’re a millionaire in friendships, she thought, but it doesn’t half take it out of you. Now she was bushwhacked, drunk on emotion. She’d take no rocking to sleep tonight. Tomorrow it was off to France, all on her own.
And Afterwards…
It was pouring down next morning, typical Grimbleton summer weather. The sky was as grey as it had been blue the day before. It was time for Lily to put the final touches to her packing, put on her trews and windjammer, sturdy shoes and headscarf. No point wearing fancy clobber if she was sitting in a coach for hours on end.
‘Have you got sandwiches for the journey, something to read, liver salts in case of any tummy bother? You are going abroad. Watch out for strange men. I hear they’re a bit free with their fingers out there.’ Esme was hovering.
‘Don’t fuss, Mother. I’m all sorted, passport, money, emergency money. I’m only going for a week,’ she sighed. ‘More’s the pity.’
‘I know that, but the sea can be rough. Shall I come and see you off?’
‘No. I’ll slip out quietly. Diana said she’d run me to the bus station. It’s wet and chilly to be standing around, but thanks all the same.’ She gave Esme a hug.
‘What’s that for?’ The Winstanleys weren’t huggers as a rule.
‘You know very well. For being so understanding, and for yesterday.’
‘Wasn’t it a grand do? Who’d have thought it, us living it up like the gentry, and what a blow-out! I’ve had to loosen my stays. No one will believe it.’
‘Let them think what they like when I’ve gone. I’ll be up at Well Cottage, clearing up, after that, and out of earshot,’ Lily said, gathering all her stuff together. ‘Then I’m going to rent above Longsight Travel. I’m a townie, not a country bumpkin.’
Just for today she would sneak out of the back door into the garden and out into the back lane. Diana would be waiting for her at the lane end. No one suspected she was still in Division Street.
Right on cue, Diana was revving up the car, waiting. She looked as if she hadn’t slept for a week.
‘How can I ever thank you for yesterday? It was better than any wedding day,’ Lily said.
‘Don’t say that. One day you’ll find the right chap and it’ll be music, sweet music,’ she replied.
‘I’m not going through that charade. Next time it’ll be Gretna Green, but not for a long time. I’m finished with men.’
‘That’s a pity. I did rather hope now that Walter’s history you might look in another direction. In fact I took the liberty—’
‘Don’t say another word on the subject. My ears are closed. Just get me and this suitcase onto that bus on time and I’ll send you a postcard.’
The bus station was deserted at first light on a typical Sunday morning. Diana dropped Lily off close by, shouting, ‘Have a wonderful time and don’t forget the Olive Oil!’
They were making an early start to catch the evening boat from Dover. The maroon coach, with gold lettering, had its hatch up for the luggage. Avril was counting the customers, checking they all had the right documents and coupons. The driver was having a smoke, watching the line-up of cars delivering his charges.
Glad and Ernie Walsh were fussing over their cases, and looked up and smiled. ‘Now then, hope it’s better weather over the channel, Miss Winstanley.’
Someone in a gabardine mac was lifting a case into the bowels of the bus. He turned and Lily blushed at the sight of Pete Walsh, no doubt helping his uncle and aunt with their luggage.
‘Sorry to hear about yesterday. I gather there was a bit of a mix-up,’ he said.
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Lily murmured, wanting to bluff it out.
‘You’re seeing Uncle Ernie off then?’ she asked, trying to look composed and casual.
‘Not exactly. There was this spare seat, a last-minute cancellation, so Mrs Crumblehume said. They gave me a call so I’m here to keep the numbers up,’ he said, glancing up
to see her reaction. He had the cheek to wink. ‘All very last minute, of course. I was going camping in the Lakes but it seemed a waste of a passport not to fill the seat. I got one when I was chosen for the Reserves for the friendly International match against Belgium last March but of course everything was snowed off. Miss Unsworth said—’
‘I might have known she’d be behind the choice of replacements.’ Lily’s voice was squeaking as she looked down at her suitcase with renewed interest. Just wait till she saw her again!
Perhaps those letters knew more than she did. All was not lost, after all. If ever she might need the case for another honeymoon, well…Miss Winstanley might become Mrs Walsh-another L. W. Now that was a thought to chew on, she smiled.
Don’t be so daft! Lee was in charge again. After all she’d been through in these last twenty-four hours, how could she even think of such romantic nonsense?
But for now, the ‘Fair Stood the Wind for France Useful French Vocabulary List’ was in her bag to mug up the lingo on the coach. The big adventure was about to begin.
AN INTERVIEW WITH LEAH FLEMING
Q. How did you get the idea for The War Widows? Did it come to you as a complete story, a character, a theme?
A. I was in a swimming pool in Crete talking to a fellow guest who was half Cretan. She told me how her mother arrived alone into Manchester airport after the war and no one was there to greet her. Suddenly the idea came: what if…? I sat down and wrote the basic story line there and then. It pays always to have a notebook handy with your sunscreen. It came complete with all the main characters and the local setting I knew from childhood. The idea of The War Widows just grew out of this.
Q. What research did you do writing The War Widows?
A. Lots of reading about the Burma Campaign, the Battle of Crete and Austerity Britain. And research on food shortages and rationing and Mediterranean cooking-this of course needed tasting in Crete!
Q. What is your daily writing routine?
A. I write my journal early in the morning, noting dreams and ideas that come first thing. Nothing is lost then while I mess about doing chores until after nine and then write, research or read for most of the day. I keep office hours, being a morning person. If I work in the evening, I don’t sleep at all.
Q. Do you draw upon your own experiences with family and friends as you create characters and plots?
A. I may borrow bits of real people, steal bits of their lives but prefer to wait to see who turns up in my books and why. Once I have their name, the person seems to appear fully formed. A lot of my own life experiences are woven into my novels, transformed into something quite different by the time I’ve played about with things, e.g. I was a dancing child and the studio described is the one I attended as a toddler as was the ice-cream parlour.
Q. Which character do you feel most connected to and why?
A. I feel close to Lily because she’s someone I’ve met many times over, the woman who puts everyone’s needs before her own. I loved watching her transform from a doormat into a feisty independent woman able to make some better choices for herself. We are not related however. Anyone who knows me will soon tell you that.
Q. Who are your literary influences?
A. I suppose my literary influences are found in the wide variety of genres I read for pleasure: crime writers with a strong sense of place like Stephen Booth, Lesley Horton, Reginald Hill. I love the stories of Daphne Du Maurier, Elizabeth Goudge, Maeve Binchy, the prose of Susan Hill, Penelope Lively, Margaret Forster, Laurie Graham, Fannie Flagg, Barbara Kingsolver. I’d better stop there.
Q. What are you working on next?
A. I’m writing another Yorkshire Dales story about the lives of a bunch of evacuees who arrive in a hostel in a small market town in 1940. Two of the girls, from different backgrounds, swear eternal friendship but in later life rivalry and misunderstanding change this with tragic consequences. Also in my notepad are the stirrings of a natural sequel to The War Widows when the next generation of Winstanleys start to grow up in the 50s and 60s, unaware of their big family secret.
Acknowledgments
A chance encounter in a swimming pool in north-west Crete sparked off this story. Thank you Helena Charlton (wherever you are now) for sharing some of your history and giving me the idea. Thank you Manolis, Sofia and Marialena-the Tsompanakis family-for your wonderful hospitality and friendship.
Once again I’ve borrowed some of the landscapes from my home town, Bolton, but none of its people. I have used the premises of the Sabini ice cream parlour as I recall it as a child but my Santini family and their history is a figment of my imagination and their ice cream sodas could never have tasted as good as the ones I slurped through a straw all those years ago.
I am indebted to the following books for information:
A Detail on the Burma Front by Winifred Beaumont (BBC Books)
Wings of an Angel by Colin Barrett (Vanguard Books)
A Burmese Legacy by Su Arnold (Coronet Books 1996)
Chindhe Women (The Women’s Auxiliary Service Burma) by Sally and Lucy Jaffe
Crete: 1941 Eyewitnessed (Efstathiadis Group)
Crete: The Battle of the Resistance by Anthony Beevor (Penguin Books 1991)
Once again many thanks to Maxine Hitchcock, Sammia Rafique and the team at Avon for all their enthusiasm and help.
About the Author
Leah Fleming was born in Lancashire of Scottish parents, and is married with four grown-up children and five grandchildren. She writes full-time from a haunted farmhouse in the Yorkshire Dales and from the slopes of an olive grove in Crete.
Find out more about Leah at www.leahfleming.co.uk and visit www.AuthorTracker.co.uk for exclusive updates on Leah Fleming.
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
AVON
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
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London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Copyright © Leah Fleming 2008
Leah Fleming asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-1-84756-013-1
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © 2009 ISBN: 9780007334971
Copyright
Harper and Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © Annie Groves 2013
Copyright © Pam Weaver 2013
Copyright © Kay Brellend 2013
Copyright © Leah Fleming 2013
The authors above assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By pay
ment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: (London Belles) 9780007384563, (Pack Up Your Troubles) 9780007480449, (Coronation Day) 9780007481460, (The War Widows) 9780007334971
Ebook Edition © 2013 ISBN: 9780007565023
Version: 2013-11-20
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