by Anna Jacobs
‘They get up early in the country. Someone would see you going back. You get off to Swindon now, while it’s dark. Here. Have a nip of this first. It’ll warm you up.’
There was the sound of glasses clinking.
Joe decided he’d better hide again. As he was leaving, he saw something poking out from behind the house and tiptoed along to check it. It was the stranger’s bicycle. He was tempted to use his penknife to puncture one of the tyres, but realised that would give away the fact that someone had been watching them. Regretfully he moved across the road and hid in the other garden once again.
He waited to be sure the stranger really had left, then walked slowly back to check on the big house and see if his sandwich was still in the stable. He could brush the dirt off it as long as nothing had been nibbling it.
He was enjoying this little job. It was a nice way to earn some extra money during the slow season on his dad’s farm and he was getting practice at doing military stuff.
He had a think about what he’d overhead and decided Hatterson was wrong. Them lot at the big house weren’t enemies. They were nice old men and women, who were polite as anything when they went into the shop. He was sure they didn’t want to fight anyone.
Major Latimer would be pleased with what he’d found out tonight.
He’d write his daily letter to the major about it first thing in the morning, as instructed. Who’d have thought those boring lessons with Miss Bowers, writing his alphabet and then the same words over and over on his slate, would come in useful? Even his mum said he wrote a clear hand. You wouldn’t dare be sloppy with Miss Bowers.
The schoolmistress had always said you had to learn to think clearly too, because your brain was the main thing you had to deal with the world. He hadn’t cared about that at school, but now he was nearly a man, he could see that she was right.
By next year, if the war was still on, he’d be in the army, then he’d really be dealing with the world. Just try to keep him out! He’d be fighting the bad Huns then, not little old men who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Unlike Hatterson. Nasty sod, that one was.
Babs’s New Year’s Eve party started just before eight o’clock in the evening, when four young officers strolled down the street and knocked on the door.
The maid let them in and took their khaki greatcoats and caps away.
Babs was talking to the three-man band – well, two men and a woman because of the war – so Olivia was left to entertain the young men. She felt a little nervous but realised they were nervous too and began to relax a little, concentrating on getting them to chat by asking them about themselves.
By the time the sitting room was full of people, young and old, men and women, she had no need to intervene because people had had a drink or two to oil the social wheels and were all chatting away.
The younger men had taken their leave of her very politely after sipping one cocktail, and after acquiring another drink had gravitated towards two younger women. She had no doubt they considered her in the same light as their mothers … old. She didn’t feel old, though.
All the men here tonight were immaculately turned out, she noticed, with their hair slicked sideways or backwards with brilliantine, and with perfect partings. The younger women had bright-red lips and skirts a few inches above their ankles, something that would have been considered shocking when she was their age. Their beads and jewellery sparkled and their eyes sparkled too.
She began to feel a little weary of struggling through the same sort of conversation with one stranger after another, however polite they were. She wished she had Babs’s skill at drawing someone out or making them laugh.
When she saw Alex hesitating in the doorway, looking distinctly nervous, she excused herself and went across to join him. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come. I’m too old to chat to these youngsters. I haven’t a clue what they’re talking about half the time.’
His face brightened and he gave her such a beautiful, kind smile, it made her feel instantly more relaxed.
‘Then chat to me instead, Olivia, because I’m no good at small talk to strangers, either. But you and I aren’t strangers now, are we?’
She caught Babs’s eye across the room and her friend winked, so she looked away hastily. ‘Come and get a cocktail, Alex.’
‘I really can’t take alcohol. I’d better not risk it.’
‘I’m having a drink the barman swears contains no alcohol.’ She held her glass of bright-red liquid out to him. ‘Try a sip.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘I wouldn’t have offered if I did.’
He took a sip, holding the liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it. ‘He’s telling the truth. There is no alcohol in it. I can always tell. Let’s get a glass for me and a refill for you, and find somewhere quieter to chat.’
‘The bar is in the breakfast parlour and I think they’re going to start dancing in the entrance hall soon. That’s why Babs had all the furniture moved out of it.’
‘I enjoy dancing. Will you dance with me? I’m far better at that than talking to strangers.’
‘I’d love to. I’ve missed dancing.’ The memory of dancing with Charles brought tears to her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.
Alex gave her an understanding pat on the arm and allowed her a moment to recover before speaking again.
When the dancing began, he took her to the back of the hall, where the older couples were moving about more sedately.
‘You’re a good dancer,’ she said after a moment of two.
‘One of my few physical skills. I miss the ball more often than I hit it in tennis, I’m usually bowled out with the first ball in cricket and I detest hunting. It sickens me when good horses have to be put down because they’ve been set to a hedge or wall that’s too high for them.’
She moved closer and whispered, ‘Don’t tell anyone but I find hunting dreadful too. I manage to hit the ball back in tennis, though.’
To her disappointment, Babs clapped her hands just then and ordered them all to change partners every time she rang a bell, starting then.
A young man in uniform took over from Alex as Olivia’s partner and she plastered a smile to her face. This man was easy because he talked non-stop and hardly listened to her replies. There was something feverish about the way he was going on. Poor lad! She could guess why. What dreadful things must he have seen in the trenches? And he’d have to face it all again when he went back.
An hour later, Olivia’s feet were throbbing and she knew her face was flushed. To keep the dancing simple, they were doing mainly the one-step, which anyone could cope with, Babs said, but which could get quite tiring after a while.
Olivia wasn’t so sure about it being easy to do, either. Some of these young men were rather tiddly by now and couldn’t speak at all coherently, let alone dance well. Several had trodden heavily on her toes.
When the change partners bell rang again, she nerved herself to turn to a new man, but found herself looking at Alex instead. He put one finger to his lips and pulled her to the side of the room, then led her behind a group arguing cheerfully about something and up the stairs.
‘You were looking a bit frazzled.’
‘I was feeling it and I’m not sure my feet will ever recover.’
‘We’ll sit on the stairs near the top, where we’re hidden by the bend, and your poor feet can have a nice long rest.’
There was another couple on a small couch on the landing but they had their heads together, whispering and smiling, with eyes only for one another. Alex and Olivia were alone on the stairs.
Music from the little band blared out and she took off one shoe at a time to rub her aching feet.
They didn’t chat, just sat quietly, which felt good.
But it didn’t last. A man with a very loud voice yelled, ‘Five minutes to go to 1916. Charge your glasses, everyone.’
Before people could start speaking Babs shouted, ‘Come down and
join us all who are hiding up there.’
Two other couples appeared from around corners, looking sheepish, and the couple on the landing excused themselves as they made their way down.
Alex sighed and pulled Olivia to her feet. ‘We’d better join them. But look. If you take my arm and gaze at me and only me, we might be thought a couple and left alone from now on.’
‘Good idea. I’ve enjoyed your company.’
‘And I yours.’
When they both had full glasses of the sickly red drink, he didn’t join the mass of people in the centre of the room, but gestured to a quieter area in the bow window. He seemed to have a knack for finding peaceful oases.
‘If you could make a wish for the coming year, what would it be?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Apart from peace, that is, which I’m sure we all wish for.’
‘To build a new life and learn to stand on my own feet.’
He looked at her gravely, then nodded. ‘I can understand that. Will you and I be able to stay friends while you’re on this important quest?’
‘I hope so.’ She was impelled to be honest with him. ‘But you should know that … Well, I’m not done with grieving yet, Alex.’
‘I’ve come to understand that from the way you talk of Charles. If your quest makes you vanish for the whole year, will you meet me here at the same time next year? Babs always gives a party and she’s sure to invite us both.’
‘Yes. I’d like that very much. But I’m sure we’ll meet several times before then. I’m not going to hie myself to a nunnery.’
‘And as you’re coming to tea tomorrow, you’ll know where to find me if you need me before the year ends. You wouldn’t hesitate to ask if you needed help with something, would you?’
‘I wouldn’t hesitate at all.’
He didn’t say anything else, but she knew there had been some sort of promise given between them. Nothing binding, nothing definite, but she’d allowed him to set up a possibility for the future.
When she was ready.
The following day, breakfast was brought to Olivia in bed by a maid. Shortly afterwards there was a knock on the door. ‘May I come in?’ Babs called.
‘Yes, of course.’
She perched at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped round a delicate china cup of what smelt like Earl Grey tea. ‘There are some cousins staying overnight, but they never get up till noon, so you and I can have a little chat, if that’s all right. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of them before it’s time for us to visit Alex.’ She took another sip and sighed with pleasure. ‘I love my first cup of tea in the morning.’
She took another sip and added, ‘You and he seemed to be getting on very well last night.’
‘We were.’
‘Is he courting you?’
Trust Babs to ask such a direct question. ‘No. I told him I’m still grieving. And I am. But we’ve agreed to meet again at your next party, or before if we choose to.’
‘If you choose to, you mean.’
‘Yes.’
Babs surprised her by saying, ‘Good. I was worried you might rush into something.’
‘As I said, I’m not ready for that sort of thing yet.’
Babs patted her hand and changed the subject. ‘Shall we set off on Monday and start our investigations into setting up Women’s Institutes?’
‘Yes. That’d be interesting, I should think.’
‘And at the same time, you can start learning to drive.’
Olivia took a deep breath. ‘I’m a little scared of that, I must admit, but I’ll give it a try.’
‘You’ll do well, I’m sure. I watched you dancing. You have good coordination.’
She wasn’t sure about anything, except that she was going to try new things, even ones which frightened her.
She heard the echo of a beloved voice in her head. ‘Go for it, old girl.’
No, she definitely wasn’t ready for another man yet. Charles was still with her.
At two o’clock the next day Babs and Olivia arrived at Alex’s shop, which had double plate glass windows with an elegant cream and gold signboard above them. It had ‘Seaton’ painted in large gold letters and ‘Antiques’ painted in much smaller letters beneath it and slightly to the right.
It said ‘Closed’ but the door was slightly open. When they entered, Olivia stopped to stare in surprise. ‘You were right. It’s more like an elegant drawing room than a shop. Oh, look at those carved figures!’
‘Japanese, I should think. Ah, Alex.’
‘Welcome to my shop.’ He locked the door again, then picked up one of the tiny figures and held it out to Olivia. ‘They’re called netsuke. This one is made of ivory. Hold it. It won’t break. It’s already lasted at least two hundred years.’
After she’d admired it, he set it back carefully in place and led them to some stairs halfway to the rear of the building. En route he stopped to switch on the electric lights and show his visitors a particularly fine watercolour of the Lake District and a little bronze horse from China.
Babs gestured to the lights. ‘You’re very modern for someone dealing in antiquities.’
‘I love electric light. It’s the way of the future, believe me. One day all homes will have it as a matter of course.’
The small sitting room upstairs was just as beautiful as the public rooms. Alex had set out a display of special pieces on a side table. He rang for tea and as they waited, he showed them the pieces one by one, holding them reverently, his love for them betrayed by every caress of his fingertips.
For once Babs stayed in the background, and although Alex addressed a few remarks to her, his main attention was on Olivia.
The tea was served in an exquisite china tea service, which was, he said, only fifty years old, but was a masterpiece of French porcelain.
In the end, Babs said they had to leave. ‘We’re setting off for Singleton on Monday, Alex, and then we’ll drive across to Dorset. We’ll be away for a week or so, I should think.’
‘Are you visiting friends?’
‘No. As I told you, I mean to get Olivia involved in the Women’s Institute movement, so we’re going to visit the women who have set up what are probably the first two groups in England, then we’re visiting a friend of mine.’
She chuckled. ‘Singleton WI was set up by the landlady of the local pub. How daring is that? Women meeting in a pub! The Dorset WI was set up by a titled lady and they meet at her house … or was it the church hall? I’ve forgotten.’
‘Drive carefully.’
‘I shall. But you should say that to Olivia as well, because I’m going to start teaching her how to drive during our little trip.’
His expression turned anxious and he opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again.
Olivia was touched by his obvious concern for her. ‘I’m always careful, whatever I do.’
‘Let me know how you get on. Please. If only an occasional postcard.’
She nodded.
He went out with them and hailed a taxi. As the vehicle set off, Olivia turned to look back at the shop. Alex was still standing in the doorway, watching them. He raised one hand and she waved back.
Babs nudged her. ‘He’s got it bad.’
Olivia didn’t know what to say to that, so kept quiet. Anyway the motor taxi’s engine was rather noisy so it wasn’t easy to chat.
She had wanted new things to happen, but so much was happening at once, she felt almost breathless. She glanced sideways at Babs, but her friend was staring out of the window at the crowded pavements and looked lost in thought.
Was she letting herself be pushed into something by Babs? Olivia wondered. Maybe. But she could always say she’d changed her mind if she didn’t like what she found.
The idea of Women’s Institutes pleased her, though.
And the idea of learning to drive, too.
Chapter Eleven
Corin read the letter from Joe for about the tenth time, wishing he could be there to protect
his wife.
Would Phoebe use the gun if she had to? He thought she would. She was courageous in many ways, large and small. But she was carrying his child and that made her so much more vulnerable.
Oh, damn this war! Damn the separations.
He hoped the fighting would end before the bright-eyed lad who’d written to him had to join the army. And if not, he prayed that Joe would survive. The mass killing which all-out war brought utterly sickened Corin. So many young men’s lives cut off before they’d done more than sip the cup of life.
He hoped he would survive the war, too. He wanted to raise a fine family with Phoebe: sons who wouldn’t have to go to war, because surely this would be ‘The war that will end war’, a phrase first used by the writer HG Wells, and now in common use. Corin heartily endorsed that hope. He also wanted daughters who wouldn’t have to wait anxiously to see if their sons, husbands or brothers survived the fighting.
There was a knock on the door and a grey-haired woman came in, saying crisply, ‘They’re gathering in the east room now, sir.’
‘Thank you, Miss Tucker. Look. I wonder if you’d have time to make a copy of this letter and send it immediately to Captain Turner at this address?’
‘Certainly, sir. I’m here to help you in any way I can.’
‘Thank you.’
He watched her leave. Her clothing was severe, a brown tailored suit styled rather like a uniform, and her bearing was quasi-military. She was old enough to be his mother and worked as a general secretary to the officers in this special unit. They’d have made much slower progress without her efficiency and brilliant organisational skills.
There might have been questions asked if an attractive young woman had been appointed, but although there were some disapproving glances cast in Miss Tucker’s direction, no one actually suggested replacing her with a male secretary.
He smiled. They’d better not. His commanding officer would have their guts for garters if they tried, as the age-old saying went.
He knew there was agitation in various groups in society to allow women into the armed forces, but it was proving hard to convince politicians and the old guard military that this should happen.