He began by saying, ‘Concernin’ our friend Rachel, Susie.’
And Susie began her part in the dialogue by saying, ‘Are you referrin’, Sammy Adams, to your old girlfriend, Mrs Rachel Goodman?’
‘Well, I did tell you, Susie, I was goin’ to drop in on her to give her that share certificate and the birthday presents for her girls.’
‘Oh, yes, so you did, Sammy, and I told you, you weren’t to cross her doorstep into her parlour.’
‘So you did, Susie. Well, after I’d bestowed the certificate on her—’
‘Just a moment, Sammy, you’re not lookin’ me in the eye,’ said Susie.
‘You’ve got blue eyes, Susie, did you know that?’ said Sammy. ‘I can’t remember the number of times you’ve used them to me pathetic disadvantage. Anyway, as I was sayin’—’
‘Look at me, Sammy, when you’re talkin’ about this person that’s someone else’s married wife.’
‘Believe me, Susie, Mrs Rachel Goodman’s not the kind of headache to you that Polly is to our Em’ly.’
‘If she ever was, Sammy Adams, I’d fit my heavy jam saucepan over your topknot and someone would have to cut your head off to get rid of it,’ said Susie.
‘Susie, is that Christian, is it charitable?’ said Sammy.
‘Just a little warnin’, Sammy.’
‘Now, Susie—’
‘Now, Sammy.’
‘As I was saying,’ said Sammy, and went on to let Susie know all that Rachel had told him about what was happening in Germany, that Jews were being hounded and Hitler was going to make war.
‘Well, that’s happy news, I don’t think,’ said Susie. ‘Except you know what your stepfather thinks about Hitler and his kind of Germans, and he’s probably got good reasons for his opinions seeing he works for our government. Well, he’d know things we don’t, wouldn’t he? It’s a shame there’s the rotten kind of Germans. I bet most are like everyone else, good at heart, and I just don’t know how that man Hitler got where he is.’
‘There’s a lot of people in this country that support him,’ said Sammy, ‘they reckon he’s doin’ wonders for Germany. But Boots doesn’t think much of him, or trust him, either, and Polly said once that her dad would like to shoot him.’
‘If Boots doesn’t trust him, then I don’t, either,’ said Susie.
‘Might I point out that I ain’t in favour of you and Boots gettin’ to be bosom chums?’ said Sammy.
‘What a sauce,’ said Susie. ‘You and Mrs Rachel Goodman have been bosom chums for I don’t know how long.’
‘Susie love, no worries, believe me,’ said Sammy.
Susie smiled.
‘I know, Sammy. Only teasin’. But I just can’t believe there’ll be another war when the last one was so awful.’
‘My sentiments exactly,’ said Sammy.
‘Yes, let’s be optimistic,’ said Susie, and smiled again. ‘Give us a kiss, then.’
Sammy gave her one. Halfway through, Susie uttered a muffled little yelp. Sammy was interfering with her bosom, on the principle, as he always said, that what was hers was his as well. And she did have a nice bosom. And there was a certain satisfaction in knowing Sammy still appreciated it. On those grounds, Susie suffered interference without complaint, apart from that one little yelp.
‘Ned,’ said Lizzy Somers to her husband, ‘what d’you think really about Annabelle wanting to get engaged to Nick on her birthday?’
‘I thought we agreed last night that if it was what she wanted, we should accept it,’ said Ned.
‘Yes, but I’m still havin’ thoughts about it myself,’ said Lizzy.
‘That’s because you’d still prefer her to marry someone like a dentist,’ said Ned.
‘Not a dentist, you daft thing,’ said Lizzy, ‘he’d always be bringing home someone’s teeth he’d just pulled out. Like a sort of prize for the day. I meant a doctor. A doctor would be right for Annabelle.’
‘At the moment, Annabelle thinks the only right bloke is Nick,’ said Ned.
‘Well, I like him, of course,’ said Lizzy, ‘I can’t say I don’t. Then there’s Boots findin’ out that that Frenchwoman had a daughter by him.’
‘You’ve been thinking about that as well?’ said Ned. ‘Don’t alarm yourself, Eliza, Boots’ll work things out to everyone’s satisfaction.’
‘He hopes he will,’ said Lizzy, ‘but I don’t think he’s sure.’
‘Well, I am,’ said Ned.
‘Ned, does the war sometimes make you feel sad?’
‘It sometimes makes me wonder what the hell it was all about when it cost so many lives and old soldiers couldn’t find jobs when it was over,’ said Ned.
‘Only I thought Boots looked a bit sad once or twice yesterday,’ said Lizzy.
‘Boots? Sad?’ said Ned.
‘Well, I did think so,’ said Lizzy.
‘Ghosts creep up on some of us sometimes,’ said Ned, ‘even on Boots.’
‘But he’s pleased about this girl Eloise, I know he is,’ said Lizzy.
‘Yes, but it made him remember, Eliza.’
‘Remember what?’
‘The sound of the guns,’ said Ned.
Boots received another phone call, this time from Sammy, who told him what he had heard from Rachel about the Jews of Germany, some kind of concentration camp at Dachau, and the Jewish conviction that Hitler was going to launch another war. For all his natural acumen, Sammy had a lot of respect for his eldest brother’s thought processes.
‘Sounds serious, Sammy,’ said Boots.
‘Well, if it’s true, it ain’t funny,’ said Sammy.
‘I think our stepdad would like to talk to these people from Germany,’ said Boots. ‘I’ll get him to phone Rachel so that he can arrange to meet them.’
‘Good idea,’ said Sammy. ‘What’s he been sayin’ lately about Germany?’
‘That Hitler and his fascists are the next worst thing to a dustbin of leavings.’
‘I’ve got a feelin’ he might be right,’ said Sammy.
‘Thanks for calling,’ said Boots.
‘Well,’ said Sammy, ‘you’re not just a bag of peanuts. You’ve got an educated head on you, Boots.’
‘Kind of you, Sammy.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Sammy. ‘I – Susie, leave off.’ But he lost the phone to Susie.
‘Boots lovey?’ she said.
‘I’m here,’ said Boots.
‘Sammy should get serious about Hitler, shouldn’t he?’ said Susie.
‘I’d say so, Susie.’
‘I knew you would. And, Boots?’
‘I’m still here,’ said Boots.
‘Everyone’s happy about your new daughter,’ said Susie. ‘And I’m sure that when she meets you, she’ll be happy too.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Boots.
Chapter Thirteen
The afternoon sun was a shining brightness, but the ubiquitous French plane trees, lining a straight stretch of the road between Doullens and Albert, diffused its rays, and light and shadow fell over an open car.
‘Damn, I forgot,’ said Boots at the wheel.
‘Forgot what?’ asked Rosie. They had both taken their hats off, and the wind and the slipstream tugged at her hair and frisked around her father’s.
‘I forgot to phone Polly to tell her you were coming with me. I should have done so on Saturday evening after the domestic earthquake had stopped rumbling.’
‘Never mind,’ said Rosie, ‘I’ll just walk about all night and find out what a sleeping French town feels like. The experience might come in useful for an essay. I could call it, “When Albert Slept”, except that my tutor might think he was going to read about Queen Victoria’s Albert having forty winks when he was supposed to be pruning the roses.’
‘You’d do that, walk about all night, would you?’ smiled Boots, the long straight stretch pulling him on to Albert and his new-found daughter.
‘I’m giddy enough to do the barmiest things,’ sa
id Rosie. ‘I’m in France, the sun’s shining, and we’re going to meet your daughter. Are you very emotional about it, meeting your very own daughter?’
‘Well, it’s not quite like meeting the postman,’ said Boots, ‘nor quite like a one and only. I already have a very own daughter.’
‘No, it’s different,’ said Rosie, ‘Eloise was born to you.’
‘So were you, poppet, in your own way, when you first sat on our Walworth doorstep with me.’
‘Bless you, Daddy old thing, I still like you saying things like that,’ said Rosie, as the plane trees ran by and the filtered sunrays flashed at them. She had never attempted to monopolize her adoptive father’s affections, she had always made room for Annabelle and other nieces, and for girls like Cassie Ford who had special feelings for him. And she had always encouraged Tim to become close to his father, to become his young pal. Because of her nature, Rosie was far more intrigued by the advent of Eloise than worried about whether or not it would displace her. She had never felt less than absolutely secure in the love of her adoptive parents, and in her instinctive certainty that she was very special to Boots. That was enough for her, and she suffered no jealousies. There was only the feeling that if Eloise joined the family, there would be fewer times when she could have Boots to herself. But then for much of each year she would be away at university, anyway. ‘I simply can’t wait to see exactly what Eloise is like,’ she said.
‘Well, we’ll find out,’ said Boots, ‘but first we’ll make sure you don’t have to walk around the town all night.’
Polly had arranged to reserve a room for him at the town hotel, and to meet him there sometime during the afternoon. As soon as a room had been reserved for Rosie too and they’d unpacked, the meeting with Eloise could take place.
‘There’s the town,’ said Rosie, as the plane trees fell away, the vista opened out and the rooftops of Albert appeared in the distance. ‘Heavens, how excited I am, and glad to be here safe and sound.’
They hadn’t encountered a great deal of traffic, but what they had engaged with had convinced Rosie that French drivers were madmen. It’s their French dash and devilry, Boots had said. Well, their dash and devilry won’t last some of them a lifetime, said Rosie, it’ll take them to a cemetery while they’re still trying to grow their first moustache.
It was a little after four when they reached the hotel. Polly was waiting for them in the lobby, reading a glossy French magazine to while away the time. She came to her feet as she saw Boots entering, then raised an eyebrow as she immediately noted Rosie was with him, her dress bright and colourful, her hat in her hand, her face alight with excitement and anticipation. Well, I like Rosie, I almost adore her, thought Polly, but if she’d stayed at home I could have had Boots to myself some of the time.
‘Here we are, Polly,’ said Boots.
‘Yes, here you both are,’ said Polly wryly.
‘Aunt Polly, a glad hello to you,’ said Rosie.
‘Dear girl, how enchanting you look,’ said Polly, ‘but is it fair to outdo me, and in France of all places?’
‘Flattery will get you a special place in my diary, Aunt Polly,’ said Rosie.
‘Sorry I forgot to let you know Rosie was coming,’ said Boots, ‘I’ll just get her booked in.’ He made the reservation with the clerk, and was given two keys, together with the assistance of the porter to deal with the suitcases. Polly went up with them, noting with a look of rueful resignation that they’d been given adjoining rooms. Her thoughts of exciting moments took a downward turn. Nothing ever worked in her favour where her relationship with Boots was concerned. God, she thought, I hope it won’t eventually sour my sweet nature.
‘Did you have a good journey?’ she asked with mock interest.
‘Hair-raising out of Calais,’ said Rosie, ‘but Dad fought the good fight with all kinds of fiery French roadsters, and we emerged flying the flag of victory. Now, Aunt Polly, tell us more about Eloise. What’s happening, when do we meet her and where? What is she like exactly, and how does she feel now she knows her English father’s alive?’
‘Eloise is a sweet girl, Rosie,’ said Polly, ‘and I’ve arranged everything. Now that you’ve arrived, you’ll probably want to freshen up and perhaps have some tea, while I go and talk to Eloise before taking her to the meeting-place. We agreed that her uncle’s estaminet isn’t too suitable. Then I’ll come back and pick you both up and drive you to the rendezvous. But you and I should stay in the car, Rosie, and let the first meeting be between just Eloise and Boots.’
‘What has she said?’ asked Boots.
‘That she’s very glad you’re alive and want to meet her,’ said Polly, ‘and that she has her Aunt Marie and Uncle Jacques to think about.’
‘Which means, I suppose, that she favours them,’ said Boots.
‘Are you surprised, old sport?’ asked Polly.
‘Not in the least,’ said Boots.
‘Keep hoping,’ said Polly.
‘I’ll settle for optimism,’ said Rosie, and Polly studied her. She knew how close Rosie was to her adoptive father, and she wondered how she felt about Eloise. Was she thinking Boots might give pride of place to his natural daughter? Polly didn’t think he would, she didn’t think he was that kind of man, but Rosie might have her doubts.
‘Well, I’ll leave you and Rosie to yourselves for a while, Boots, but it won’t be too long before I’ll be back to pick you up. Oh, and after you’ve met Eloise and spoken to her, you’ll have to meet Jacques and speak to him too. He wants to take stock of you and find out if you look like a decent old bloke or a bank robber.’ Polly’s brittle smile showed. ‘See you, old things,’ she said, and off she went.
She returned in forty minutes, by which time Rosie and Boots had freshened up and enjoyed a pot of tea that was served with the option of lemon slices or milk.
‘It’s now, Aunt Polly?’ asked Rosie, who had changed her dress and was looking a slender bloom of summer in golden yellow. Boots had changed too, into a light grey flannel suit that was cool enough to make the hot afternoon bearable.
‘Yes, it’s now,’ said Polly, ‘so come along and bring your optimism with you.’
When they were out of the town and on a road leading south, Boots said, ‘I’ve a feeling I know where I am.’
‘Well, all around here are the places you knew, didn’t you, all those years ago?’ said Rosie.
‘There’s a farm not far from here,’ said Boots.
‘Heavens, not the very farm itself, is it?’ asked Rosie.
‘It will be when we get there,’ said Polly, and in a little while she turned into a country lane and pulled up outside a gate that led to a farm lane. ‘She’s here, Boots, you’ll find her just a little way down the lane. You can meet her not far from where you met her mother.’
‘Did it have to be like this?’ said Boots, getting out of the car.
‘Oh, well, roses are red, and violets are blue, you know,’ said Polly, ‘and Eloise is a romantic. I know you won’t rush her, so I’ll say no more.’
‘Polly, you’re a treasure,’ said Boots, ‘and whatever happens, you’re due for a medal and a certificate.’
‘Oh, just a bunch of red roses will do,’ said Polly, her smile hiding all she felt about events that had never favoured her.
‘With a mention in despatches,’ said Boots.
‘Good luck, Daddy,’ said Rosie, and watched as he walked to the gate, opened it, went through to the lane, turned left and disappeared between hedges. ‘Aunt Polly, it’s a bit much, isn’t it, arranging for them to meet here, in this very particular spot?’
‘Well, Rosie dear girl,’ said Polly, ‘I’m on your father’s side.’
‘That makes a whole lot of us,’ said Rosie, ‘including Emily.’ Her adoptive mother’s name slipped out in easy fashion. ‘I don’t know how he does it, do you?’
‘It’s difficult for anyone to dislike your father, Rosie,’ said Polly lightly.
Boots, walking down th
e lane that led to the dairy and the farmhouse, the large barn at his back, saw the girl. She was standing quite still, but turned as she heard him. They saw each other then, at a distance of twenty yards. She wore a waisted dress of apple green, and her light brown hair, stirred by a faint breeze, was caught by the sun. The skirt of her dress fluttered. Her right hand went up to her mouth as Boots walked slowly up to her, and she saw him clearly then, a man distinctively personable. He was hatless, his hair thick and dark brown, his eyes a deep grey, and his smile whimsical, as if he was thinking what she was thinking, how strange it was that they were father and daughter meeting for the very first time.
‘Mademoiselle Eloise Lacoste, I presume?’ he said in excellent French. The gentle humour of that was lost on Eloise. The meeting of the explorer Stanley and Dr Livingstone had never been mentioned in her French history lessons.
‘Oh, m’sieur,’ she said faintly, letting her hand drop, ‘yes, I’m Eloise.’
‘During the war I was Sergeant Robert Adams,’ said Boots, ‘and I think I’m a little late.’
‘Oh, no, m’sieur, not at all.’
‘Are seventeen years not at all late?’ smiled Boots, noting her prettiness, her nervousness and her shyness.
‘Oh, I see.’ Eloise was overwhelmed. Such a tall and fine man, and not a single sign of blindness about him, except, yes, perhaps his left eye did look a little lazy. ‘M’sieur, yes, I see. Seventeen years. Oh, my knees are having a terrible time trying to hold me up. Isn’t that silly of me?’
‘I’ve had trouble with mine on past occasions,’ said Boots, who was not going to rush the girl in any way.
‘In the war, do you mean? Oh, how could you help that? Everyone says it was a terrible war. M’sieur, are you really my father?’
‘Yes, Eloise, and I’m sorry we haven’t seen each other until now, and I’m sorry too that you’ve lost your mother. I met her, as I think you know, at the end of this lane, by the dairy. Is it still there?’
‘Yes, m’sieur, but it’s best to stay here,’ said Eloise, troubled by her erratic breathing. ‘My mother’s brother has the farm now, and he likes chickens and cows more than people, yes. M’sieur, I – I am very happy to meet you.’
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