A Wartime Friend

by Lizzie Lane

  What Alice knew about dogs could possibly be written on a postage stamp but Meg accepted her comment graciously. Rudy was a lovely dog and liked who he liked. She shuddered at the thought of what his behaviour might be towards somebody he despised.

  ‘And Stan won’t mind you going to the dance?’

  Alice seemed a little ruffled. ‘No. Of course not.’

  Meg sensed there was something Alice was holding on to, a little secret from her past that occasionally brought a blush to her face. She knew from village gossip that she’d had to marry Stan, but that it wasn’t that unusual. Most girls in the village had been in the family way when they’d walked up the aisle. Still, she decided she had a point.

  ‘I think you could be right about the dog. He’s very intelligent.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Alice. ‘Tell me more.’

  Meg told her about Rudy focusing on Mrs Dando’s garden gate as though he was looking at her. Alice drew in her breath. ‘Oh my! Perhaps he can see her ghost. I’ve heard animals see and hear things that we don’t see.’

  ‘He heard the bombers before we did. I’ll give him that.’

  ‘Well, there you are.’

  Meg couldn’t quite see the point of this exclamation. Alice was one of those people whose ‘informed’ opinion on most things was not necessarily correct.

  There were only about forty children in the village school, aged from five to fourteen, the older ones sometimes supervising the small fry. A teacher came out of the double doors first, holding a brass bell with both hands. On the dot of four she rang it, the noisy clanging sending the birds flying from the lower branches of a copper-leaved tree. Before the last note had fallen away, a wave of children flooded through the opening, satchels slung over their shoulders, hair awry and all chattering twenty to the dozen. Thanks to the crisp October air, the children were all rosy-cheeked. Lily looked brighter than she had for a long time thanks to her association with Rudy the dog.

  Meg said goodbye to Alice just after they passed the post office. She smiled down at Lily, pleased at the change in her. ‘I think we’ll have cheese on toast for supper. How will that be?’

  Lily nodded. ‘Yes. What’s Rudy having?’

  Giblets, thought Meg, but knowing Lily would probe as to exactly what they were, instead said, ‘Some things Mr Puller brought round.’

  Meg had been surprised at how many people had rallied round with food for the handsome Alsatian. Reg Puller kept a large flock of chickens in the orchard behind his house and, following the killing off of some old broilers, had brought round a bag full of innards.

  ‘He’ll like that. Won’t you, Rudy?’

  Rudy, liking the sound of Lily’s voice, wagged his tail. Yet again he had the love and attention of a little girl, just like the one he’d been brought up with. She’d had fair hair too.

  A figure stood just in front of the garden gate. Meg gave a start. For a moment she thought it was Ray, though he was wearing a trench coat over a suit, not a uniform. When he removed his trilby, she could see the man’s hair was fair. Suddenly a great surge of hope speeded her footsteps as a thought occurred to her. Was it about Ray? Had they found him?

  ‘Are you looking for me? I’m Meg Malin. Is it about my husband?’

  The man ran his fingers around the rim of his hat. He hadn’t expected to see such an attractive woman before him and for a moment he forgot what he’d come here to say.

  ‘Mrs Malin? Pleased to meet you. My name is James Amble.’

  She shook the hand that was offered.

  The man glanced from her to Lily and lingered on Rudy. Something in the dog’s expression changed. He didn’t wag at the stranger as he did at most people. He wasn’t showing any aggression but he did appear wary. Not that Meg was paying that much attention. If the man had news of her husband, she wanted to hear it right away.

  ‘Have you found Ray? Is he alive?’

  For a moment he looked taken aback before he shook his head sadly. ‘I’m sorry. No. That’s not why I’m here. It’s about the dog.’

  ‘The dog?’

  ‘Yes. I understand your husband took the dog under his wing on his return from France.’

  Meg frowned. ‘Yes. That’s what I understand. His colleagues adopted Rudy as a mascot.’

  ‘And he was brought to you following the loss of your husband – for which of course you have my deepest sympathy.’

  Confused as to why he was here at all, Meg shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What’s the dog got to do with this? What is it you want?’

  He took a deep breath as though what he had to say next was unpalatable. He could see that it would be. The arms of the little girl with the pale hair were wrapped around the dog’s neck. Even a fool could see she was fond of it.

  ‘I’m here to take the dog. There’s been a counterclaim of ownership. Your husband signed the dog over to the RAF and the dog lived with him there. A sergeant there confirms the fact. He’d advised that the dog should be kennelled with the rest of the military dogs, but your husband insisted it slept in his quarters.’

  ‘But my husband brought him out of France. It was his dog!’ Meg couldn’t help raising her voice.

  ‘And then he brought the dog to the base where it lived with him. In order to obtain permission, he signed the animal over for military uses.’

  ‘No!’ Meg shook her head vehemently. ‘No! You can’t take Rudy.’

  Mr Amble’s expression was a mixture of smugness and sympathy, but more the former than the latter. ‘I’m afraid I can. You can look at the form your husband signed if you wish.’

  ‘Yes! I do wish.’

  Meg was aware of her hands trembling as she perused the form. There at the bottom was her husband’s signature. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘Rudy was my husband’s dog. He brought him out of France with this little girl …’

  ‘Mrs Malin …’

  Lily was squatting next to Rudy, her arm around his neck looking panic-stricken. ‘What is it, Auntie Meg? He’s not going to take Rudy away, is he?’

  ‘No,’ snapped Meg, slamming the form back into Mr Amble’s outstretched hand. ‘No, he is not.’

  Mr Amble sighed. ‘You may be aware that a great many breeders of guard dogs have cut their kennels to a minimum, plus many people have had their pets put down. Even kennels of hunting dogs – bassets, otter hounds and fox hounds – have been reduced until we have peace. The trouble is that nobody realised it would leave us without any suitable animals for war work: guard duty, message running, sniffing out bombs and rescue situations. Dogs like this are in great demand, doubly so seeing as he was captured from the other side. He has a military identification number tattooed in his ear. He’s been trained and is used to receiving military orders. Mrs Malin, both the Royal Air Force and the Army are in dire need of intelligent dogs for various duties. Your animal here fits the bill. I can ask you politely to let me take him now, or I can leave you and your little girl to get used to the idea before he joins the fighting forces. I can give you time. Let’s say three days.’

  Meg’s jaw dropped. A few weeks ago she would have welcomed somebody taking the dog off her hands – but that was then. Things had changed.

  She felt Lily tugging at her sleeve. ‘What’s he saying, Auntie Meg? He doesn’t mean Rudy, does he? He can’t take Rudy!’ The shrillness of her voice increased with each short sentence.

  Meg gripped Lily’s hand and tried to reassure her. ‘Leave it to me, darling.’ She turned back to the man. ‘I really don’t understand. My husband said the dog was his and it was brought to me after he went missing presumed dead. Rudy means a lot to me and to Lily here. Surely you can reconsider?’

  The man shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. If you refuse to hand him over, then we will have no recourse but to refer the matter to military law.’

  ‘Over a dog?’

  Sensing that despite her mother’s reassurances, this was to do with her beloved Rudy, Lily began to cry.<
br />
  Their visitor gave the child a brief glance but held his ground. ‘If need be.’

  ‘Look, Mr Amble. You don’t understand the situation. My foster daughter was traumatised after we were bombed in London. It was the dog who helped her recover. I can’t let him go. I just can’t!’

  Mr Amble shrugged, pressed a fold into his hat and put it back on his head. ‘I’m sorry. I have been instructed.’

  ‘Are you a policeman?’

  Mr Amble looked perturbed. ‘No. As I have already told you, I am acting on behalf of the War Office, specifically for the Royal Air Force, and as such …’

  Lily burst into tears. ‘Don’t let him take Rudy! Don’t let him take Rudy!’

  Meg wrapped her arms around the girl. ‘I have no intention of doing any such thing, darling! Rudy is our dog,’ she said, glaring at their unwelcome visitor. ‘His home is with us.’

  ‘Mrs Malin …’

  ‘That’s my final word on the subject!’

  Mr Amble tipped his hat. ‘I will be in touch again. Probably with the police.’

  Lily and Rudy clamped to her side, Meg pushed roughly past him, stalked up her garden path and went into the cottage.

  Lily was still crying. ‘Auntie Meg …’

  Meg bent down to her, cupped her sweet face with both hands and looked into her eyes. ‘Now listen to me, Lily. Rudy is our dog. Nobody is going to take him from us.’

  That night, once Lily and Rudy had eaten and were settled down for the night, Meg stared out of her bedroom window. The moon was the only light outlining the scene beyond her window. The whole village seemed to be sleeping, though for an instant she did think she detected a figure melting into the bushes between her and the village green. She tensed, hoping against hope that the figure was Ray and that he’d finally come home. The bushes moved again. And just for a moment …

  No. Just the wind. Only the wind and hot tears blurring her sight.

  Lily would be devastated if the dog was taken away from her. She’d made such progress since he’d arrived, and although Meg still hated dog hairs over the furniture, she would put up with that if it meant Lily recovered and could lead a happy, full life. The sky was full of stars. Wish on a star, she thought, but her eyes were drawn to the more intense light of the moon, so she wished on that.

  ‘Let Ray come home,’ she whispered. ‘Let him come home.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Meg felt herself a bit of a fraud, bending this way and that over a dog, but she had every intention of fighting tooth and nail to keep him. She recalled vividly what the officious Mr Amble had said. ‘If you don’t hand him over now, then I’ll be back with the police.’

  Lily had looked up at Meg wide-eyed as she tucked her into bed. ‘I won’t let them take Rudy,’ she declared defiantly. ‘He’s my very best friend. I won’t let them. I’ll run away if I have to and take Rudy with me. Like before … !’

  ‘Before?’

  Lily’s eyes adopted a faraway expression. ‘We ran away from bad people.’

  ‘Do you remember who they were?’

  A faint frown creased Lily’s smooth brow. ‘Bad men. They shouted. They wore uniforms. They had dogs. One of them was going to kill Rudy.’

  Meg’s heart was in her throat. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear everything, but had to steel herself to do so. ‘But Rudy escaped?’

  Lily nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said softly.

  ‘There, there,’ Meg said soothingly, smoothing Lily’s hair back from her face. ‘Rudy lives with us and will always live with us.’

  Lily turned, regarded her over her shoulder. ‘Rudy won’t bite good people. He only bites bad ones.’

  Although she wasn’t at all sure what Lily meant, Meg agreed with her that Rudy only bit people he didn’t like.

  Now in bed, Meg tossed and turned for a while and finally slept a deep sleep only after she had reached a decision about what to do. She wouldn’t mention it to Alice, but she would mention it to PC John Carter. If Mr Amble came back with a policeman, that policeman would be John. Could she persuade John not to carry out his duty? She didn’t know for sure but she had to try.

  The following day after walking Lily to school, Meg headed for the police house. PC Carter beamed when he saw who was on his doorstep.

  ‘Come on in,’ he said, holding the door wide open. ‘Take a seat. Fancy a cup of tea? A decent cup,’ he added with a smile. ‘I’ve just collected my ration.’

  Meg responded to the invitation, sitting herself down in the same Windsor chair that old Fred had favoured when he’d come to report the desecration of his garden. As John brewed up, she took the opportunity to look around. There was nothing official-looking about the police house where he lived. The living room had been converted into an office. The kitchen where they were at present was the room John mainly used. Plump cushions sat in the window seats and there was a thick rug in front of the kitchen range.

  Taking hold of a cloth pot holder, John scooped the kettle from the hob and made the tea. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve come with any information regarding the big-booted garden trampler, have you?’ he asked, his voice laced with humour.

  Thrown off balance for the moment, Meg frowned. ‘Was the person who trampled Fred’s garden big-booted?’

  John grinned and raised his eyebrows. ‘Size tens. I found a few clear footprints. Checked it against the happening at Mrs Crow’s. Definitely a pair of size tens. So I know it wasn’t you.’

  ‘Or any of the village kids.’

  ‘No,’ he said, passing her a cup of tea. ‘Definitely an adult. Nobody’s owning up to Upper Standwick’s biggest crime for years. Nobody has a clue and that includes me.’ He sat down opposite her, his cup and saucer close at hand. She felt his eyes on her and when she smiled, he smiled too.

  The pensive manner turned forthright. ‘I’m hoping you’re going to say that you’re here to ask me to dinner again. Or the village dance. I don’t mind which.’

  Meg shook her head. ‘That isn’t why I’m here … Though I dare say we can arrange something,’ she added, on seeing disappointment register in his eyes.

  His happy countenance reappeared. ‘Glad to hear it.’ He held his head to one side like an inquisitive boy, though unlike a boy, the look in his eyes was deep and penetrating. ‘So how can I help you?’

  Meg toyed with the teaspoon sitting in her saucer, a frown puckering her brow. She told him about Mr Amble and his intention to use the law to take the dog away.

  ‘I dare say he’d make a good services dog.’

  ‘But he’s Lily’s dog! John, Lily was badly traumatised even before the bombing raid. She’s German. As I’ve already told you, my husband found her and the dog in a field, huddled together against the cold. She was barely alive …’

  John stared at her. He would have liked to take her in his arms, but that was the stuff of novels. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to do that until this business with the dog was sorted. ‘So this bloke reckons your husband signed the dog over to the RAF.’

  She nodded. ‘You have to understand how important it is that Rudy stays with Lily. The child doesn’t even have a name, not her real one anyway. We don’t know what that is. It was only the warmth of the dog that had kept her alive. That’s what Ray said. He brought both of them back in his aeroplane along with … Well …’ She paused, then looked at him directly. ‘Somebody else he’d been sent over to collect.’

  She looked down at her hands, principally at her wedding ring. It seemed a little tight nowadays. So did the waistband of her skirt. Country living, she supposed. There was more food in the country than in the city.

  ‘I appreciate you confiding in me,’ John said softly. ‘That poor little kid. I understand what you’re saying, though I’m not sure what I can do to help.’

  ‘John, if this Mr Amble does ask you to assist in taking Rudy, will you help him or will you help me?’

  He looked at her wide-eyed, aware of the challenge in her voice and wincin
g at the sight of her expressive eyes, the long lashes, the arched brows. He’d often dreamed of her eyes, her hair, and kissing that generous mouth. Faced with her and her question, he didn’t know quite what to say.

  ‘You’re putting me on the spot.’

  She was indeed. On the one hand he would move heaven and earth to please her. On the other hand he was a policeman and had a duty to perform – if he got asked to do it, that is. He expressed this to her in as gentle a way as possible.

  ‘Perhaps I should go,’ she said, the legs of the chair scraping the floor as she got to her feet.

  John also got to his feet. ‘There’s no need to take off. I didn’t say I couldn’t help, just that I have to do my duty – or at least appear to do my duty.’

  They stood either side of the kitchen table. If it hadn’t been between them, perhaps they would have thrown their arms around each other. As it was, their countenance was restrained despite the emotions raging beneath the surface.

  Meg thought about what he’d just said. ‘Are you saying you won’t help him take Rudy?’

  John shook his head and smiled a thought-provoking smile. ‘I’m suggesting that if I don’t know where he is, I can’t possibly help this man from the War Office take him.’

  The look she gave him was uncomprehending but at the same time relieved. ‘You’re saying I should hide him?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. As yet he hadn’t put on his tunic so was still in his shirtsleeves. John was a broad-shouldered man and the sleeves were tight around his biceps and across his chest. ‘How about another cup of tea,’ he said as she slumped back down into the chair.

  It seemed so simple. The dog had wandered the village in those days following Mrs Dando’s death. A few people had tried to catch him including Cliff Stenner at the Bear and Ragged Staff, all to no avail. It would come as no surprise to anyone that he’d run away again.

  ‘I can’t just turn him loose,’ she said after considering the options.

  ‘No. There’s always the chance he might be caught, but he can’t be in your house, that’s for sure.’