The Penny Bangle

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The Penny Bangle Page 17

by Margaret James


  ‘But what is it?’ Cassie asked, perplexed.

  ‘Oh, come on, my darling, I’ve a matinee at two o’clock!’

  Daisy yanked the lid off, rummaged through the layers of tissue paper, and finally took out something which was made of pale blue cloth. ‘It’s a two-piece costume, tailor-made for you,’ she said to Cassie ‘Stand up straight. Let’s see if it will fit.’

  ‘But where, but how – ’

  ‘I got it from the States.’ Now Daisy was unbuttoning Cassie’s jacket. ‘My natural mother lives there, and her husband Nathan works in wholesale. I sent them all your measurements, and this is the result.’

  ‘How did you know my measurements?’

  ‘I pinned you into that blue dress, remember? I just measured it. So – if you haven’t been stuffing yourself with stodgy army food, and putting on a lot of weight, it ought to be exactly right.’

  Daisy held out the skirt to Cassie. ‘Go into my bedroom, there’s a love, and put the whole thing on. You’ll find some new silk stockings on the bed, and a pair of high-heeled, dark blue shoes beside the wardrobe.’

  So Cassie did as she was told.

  The two-piece costume fitted like a dream. It was cut to flatter, and so it added artful curves to Cassie’s narrow hips and schoolgirl bosom, and showed off her trim waist.

  The cloth was soft and finely woven wool. The quality was excellent, and the colour suited Cassie perfectly, flattering her skin tone and bringing out the dark blue periwinkle of her eyes.

  When she looked in Daisy’s full-length mirror, Cassie saw a lady, all dressed up to go and meet her friends.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Daisy, when Cassie went to show them.

  ‘Yes, it really suits you,’ added Stephen.

  ‘Thank you,’ Cassie said.

  But she knew she wasn’t half as grateful as she should be. This lovely two-piece costume must have cost a fortune. But she would have given a thousand pretty costumes to see Robert for a minute, for just one split second of being in his arms.

  She went and changed again, laying the jacket and skirt on Daisy’s bed, and wondering when she’d ever have a chance to wear such things? If she’d ever mix in social circles full of people who went out to do their shopping dressed in clothes like these?

  ‘Steve,’ said Cassie, as she rejoined them in the sitting room, ‘have you seen Frances recently?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t, because she’s been so busy.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Cassie, now wanting to tease somebody, and wanting to pay Stephen back because he wasn’t Robert. ‘What’s she been doing, then?’

  ‘You won’t believe it, but she’s having an affair.’ Stephen suddenly looked like an offended maiden aunt, his mouth pursed up in disapproval. ‘She wrote and told me.’

  ‘She wrote and told me, too.’ Cassie grinned at Stephen. ‘Oh, Steve, your face!’ she said. ‘You can’t be jealous?’

  ‘Of course I’m not, don’t be absurd,’ retorted Stephen huffily. ‘But you must admit it, getting involved with someone like this Simon Helston fellow, or whatever he’s called, it’s not like Frances.’

  ‘You mean, because he’s married?’ Cassie shrugged. ‘She says he and his wife have lived apart for seven years. Mrs Helston doesn’t understand him.’

  But it was soon obvious to Cassie that Stephen didn’t want to talk about Frances and her lover, and now he changed the subject. ‘Daze,’ he said, ‘have you told Cass about your scheme?’

  ‘What scheme is this?’ asked Cassie, wondering what else she might get sprung on her that afternoon.

  ‘Cassie, darling, pop into the kitchen and ask Mrs Jimp to make us all a cup of coffee, then I’ll tell you.’ Daisy smiled mysteriously. ‘In fact, my love, I’d welcome your opinion. I’m hoping to get you and Rob involved, as well as Stephen here – that’s if he’s interested, of course, and if he isn’t buried alive in Shropshire, busy being a country squire.’

  ‘How will you find the money?’ Cassie asked, when Daisy had explained.

  ‘I’ll ask all my rich theatre friends, of course,’ said Daisy airily. ‘I’ve also got some funds put by already, and those will be enough to start us off.’

  ‘But you’ll need a regular flow of cash to run this place, to pay the staff to look after the children, to take them out, and all that kind of thing?’ Cassie looked at Daisy. ‘You’ll need cooks and gardeners and cleaners?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Daisy. ‘I have thought of that, and this is what I’m going to do. I’ll organise it as a charity, set up some kind of trust, get people to remember it when they make their wills.’

  She reached across a table for a large brown envelope. ‘I’ve found this house near Southwold,’ she continued. ‘It’s huge, well-built, Victorian – it’s ideal. It has eleven bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a lovely kitchen garden, a paddock for some ponies, great long lawns. There’s a cottage for a housekeeper, some stables and some barns. It’s close enough to London, but it’s still in the countryside. It’s near a gorgeous beach.’

  ‘But Daisy, didn’t you want to buy the Minster?’ Cassie asked, remembering the conversation in the London taxi all those months ago. ‘I’d have thought the Minster would be ideal for this?’

  ‘I tried to buy the Minster, but the owner wouldn’t sell. Anyway, my sparrow, Southwold might be better.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Cassie.

  ‘As I said, it’s close to London, and that’s quite important, actually.’ Daisy looked at Cassie, blue eyes bright. ‘These past few months, I’ve been doing voluntary work in the East End. I’ve been horrified by the conditions in which some children live. They’ve got no chance, poor things. Their homes are filthy slums, they never wash, their diet’s dreadful, and their parents – the less we say about some of them, the better. I was talking to Ewan about it, and he said, why don’t we buy a place?’

  ‘You’re going to give up acting, are you?’ Cassie asked.

  ‘Probably not,’ said Daisy, and she smiled candidly. ‘Of course, we won’t be able to do anything about it until the war is over. But it’s worth doing, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, it’s well worth doing.’ Cassie glanced up at the clock. ‘Look at the time,’ she said. ‘I must be going. I have to pick some colonel up at one.’

  ‘You’ll come again, and stay?’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Cassie kissed Daisy on her powdered cheek. ‘I need to go and see my granny some time, but I’ll come and see you and Ewan, too.’

  ‘You like the costume, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do – it’s lovely.’ Cassie smiled. ‘You’re so kind to me, and I’m so grateful, honestly.’

  Stephen said he’d walk with Cassie to the army garage where she’d pick up the staff car, so although she really wanted to walk there by herself, she had to let him tag along.

  He was still somewhat grumpy. Daisy’s gentle teasing about the girl from Shropshire must have touched a nerve, decided Cassie, and this must be why he was so cross.

  ‘Daze and Fraser should have children of their own, and that would keep them occupied,’ he muttered, as he and Cassie turned into some mews off Oxford Street.

  ‘Why don’t they?’ Cassie wondered, not realising she’d said the words out loud.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Stephen. ‘Perhaps they do want children, but they haven’t come along. Or maybe Daisy doesn’t want a baby. Maybe she’s afraid she’d spoil her figure. She’s so ambitious, after all, and so is Fraser. If they had any children of their own, they’d probably be a nuisance. They would get in the way. As Daisy said, she’s busy, busy, busy, and she loves to boss us all about. So maybe this is just her latest stunt, organising seaside holidays for kids from slums.’

  ‘I think she’s lovely, and what she’s doing is marvellous,’ retorted Cassie sharply. ‘When I was growing up in Smethwick, living in what you’d no doubt call a slum, I’d have liked a holiday at the seaside.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry, Cassie.’ Stephe
n reddened. ‘That was mean of me. It’s just – I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Obviously not.’ Cassie shrugged, and quickened her pace along the broken pavement, skirting piles of sandbags as she went. ‘You were born a nob,’ she snapped. ‘Okay, you didn’t have a lot of money. But you grew up in comfort, in a lovely part of England, with a mother and a father who both loved you, and not every kid’s as lucky.’

  ‘Cass, I have apologised.’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ said Cassie. ‘But it’s a pity you said it in the first place.’

  ‘I’ve told you I’m sorry!’ Stephen cried, making people turn to stare at them. ‘What more do you want – my blood?’

  Cassie stopped, looked up at him. She saw his face was flushed, she saw his eyes were glittering, she heard him breathing hard. ‘Stephen, are you going to have a turn?’ she asked him, putting out a hand to steady him. ‘If you need to go and lie down, or sit down somewhere for a moment, we could find – ’

  ‘Jesus Christ, you sound just like my mother!’ He shook her off and strode off down the pavement, shoving other people aside, and leaving Cassie staring after him.

  Cassie saw Frances Ashford three weeks later, when Frances had some leave, and brought her new man down to meet her friend.

  Frances and the man were staying at a small hotel in Windsor, within walking distance of the castle – yes, in separate rooms, Frances had insisted in her latest letter – and Cassie managed to get a lift there, meeting them in the hushed and shuttered bar one afternoon.

  ‘Oh, Fran, it’s great to see you!’ Cassie cried, delighted.

  ‘Hello, Cassie,’ Frances whispered blushing, then turning to the man. ‘This – this is Simon Helston.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Captain Helston,’ Cassie said.

  ‘Simon will be fine, while we’re off duty.’ Simon Helston smiled, and then he shook Cassie by the hand. ‘As you can see, the bar is closed. So would you join us for some tea and scones at the White Lion along the road?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Cassie said.

  Captain Helston was a tall, fair, pleasant-looking man, of about thirty-five or so, guessed Cassie. He was a little lame, she noticed, the result of injuries he’d suffered in North Africa. These meant he wasn’t fit for active service any more, and so – as Frances had explained – he did a desk job now, at the barracks where Frances was a driver.

  They walked to the White Lion. In the dusty lounge there was a trio of old men who were playing sentimental tunes on squeaky violins and an untuned piano. Elderly, arthritic waitresses were serving tea and solid-looking scones, and on the tables were little pots of watery, artificial cream and runny, blood-red jam.

  When Captain Helston gave his order, their waitress beamed at him and blushed – quite obviously, he’d made her day.

  Cassie looked around the hotel lounge, and shook her head.

  A mere two years ago, she would have thought all this the very height of elegance, of impossible sophistication. But now it just looked down-at-heel and tawdry – dusty, grubby, faded, tired of life.

  When Captain Helston said he hoped the ladies would excuse him, but he was in need of nicotine, and it didn’t do to smoke where other people were eating, Frances leaned towards Cassie, blushed, and asked her what she thought.

  ‘He’s very nice,’ said Cassie. ‘He’s polite – he pulls out chairs for ladies, he doesn’t smoke where other people are eating, he doesn’t boss the waitresses around. I’d say you’ve caught yourself a gentleman.’

  ‘But he’s old,’ said Frances, and she frowned.

  ‘He’s not that old,’ said Cassie. ‘I mean, he’s not too old to – well, you know.’

  ‘I don’t know, actually,’ said Frances primly, as she coloured up again. ‘I’m not a tart, whatever it might look like.’

  ‘Fran, I never said you were, don’t be so touchy.’ Cassie smiled encouragingly at Frances. ‘Does he make you happy?’

  ‘Yes, he does.’

  ‘So go on being happy – be happy while you can, that’s my advice to you, because we might all die tomorrow. Frances, does he want to marry you?’

  ‘We’ve sort of talked about it,’ Frances said. ‘Of course, he hasn’t actually proposed, but that’s because he can’t propose to me, at least not yet. If he wants to marry me, he’ll need to be divorced.’ Frances sighed unhappily. ‘Mummy will be furious if I marry someone who’s divorced.’

  ‘Oh, Frances, you don’t have to please your horrible old mother all your life!’ Cassie looked at Frances, shook her arm. ‘Go on, live a little, have some fun.’

  ‘It’s odd you should say that, Cass, with your mother – ’

  ‘My mother was tricked and lied to by a bigamist,’ said Cassie. ‘It sounds like Captain Helston is playing fair with you.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  January 1944

  When Cassie had a message to say that her commanding officer wanted to see her now, this very minute, she immediately feared the worst.

  Robert or Lily Taylor – which, she thought, buttoning up her jacket with shaking hands. Grabbing her hat, she jammed it on her head, and then somehow got herself across the frost-rimed barrack square.

  As she walked into her CO’s office, she braced herself, determined not to cry. Robert or Lily wouldn’t have wanted that.

  But Captain Lancing didn’t look as if she had bad news. ‘At ease, Corporal Taylor,’ she began, as Cassie stood there to attention. ‘I have a job for you. It’s taking a colonel from the Hampshire Regiment back to London. He needs to go right now. We’re going to move you, too.’

  ‘Move me, ma’am?’ said Cassie frowning, thinking, what – again?

  ‘Yes, so we’ll save a lot of time and petrol if you drive this officer in a vehicle that needs to be in London anyway.’

  Captain Lancing glanced down at some papers on her desk. ‘You’ll be based in London from now on. Please don’t look so gloomy, Corporal Taylor, it’s a damned good posting. You’ll drive top brass and various junior officers around, do a little motor maintenance, and general garage duties as and when. You’ll be billeted in a house in Chelsea with other ATS. Do you have any questions?’

  ‘I – I don’t think so, ma’am,’ said Cassie, doing rapid mental calculations – did she have anything at the laundry, had she borrowed anything from any of the girls, did anyone owe her money?

  ‘Good girl,’ said Captain Lancing, then she grinned. ‘Your friends here in the sticks will be quite jealous. Now there aren’t many air raids, and Jerry is too preoccupied in Europe to bother about us, London is the place to be. Lots of Yanks to take you out and spend their money on you, if you’re that way inclined.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Cassie. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘You’d better get your kit together, then,’ said Captain Lancing. ‘Colonel Floyd is waiting.’

  Yanks, indeed – who wanted Yanks, thought Cassie, as she hurried back to her own quarters. But then she thought, now I’ll see Daisy often. I’ll see Stephen, too. If there’s any news of Rob, I’ll hear it straight away.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was driving a big black Humber staff car, on her way to London.

  Cassie wrote to Robert almost every day, but knew he couldn’t be getting all her letters, that some must go astray. So she didn’t panic when she didn’t hear from him for weeks.

  Or she tried not to panic, anyway.

  ‘More success in Italy!’ cried a newsboy one March morning, as Cassie walked down the road to the army garage where she was due to spend the day on general motor maintenance.

  More success, she thought – about time, too. Robert never grumbled, but she understood from other girls, whose husbands, brothers and boyfriends were in Italy, that the whole campaign was one hard slog, as inch by inch the British and American armies pushed the Germans north.

  Whenever they gained any ground, they entered towns and villages to find the houses empty, the people dead or run away, no food, no power, and boob
y-traps which caused a lot of casualties, however careful everyone tried to be.

  The terrain they had to cross was dreadful. They climbed high in the mountains that made the spine of Italy, and they crossed streams and rivers that in winter swelled to raging torrents, their bridges all blown up or swept away.

  ‘The Germans force the Italians to lay mines. They dig and wire whole districts,’ Robert wrote, when on one blessed day she heard from him. ‘Whenever our boys push the Germans out of any villages, you can be sure we Dorsets watch our step!

  ‘But it shouldn’t be long now, darling Cass. We’re all making slow but steady progress and, apart from a few Fascist die-hards, the Italian people are on our side. We’re on our way to Rome and, when we get there, the Germans will have to put their hands up, talk or run away. I reckon they’ll surrender.

  ‘They won’t have much choice. They must know they’re beaten. If we’re lucky, we’ll soon see the end of it, and we British chaps can all come home.’

  It was hard to know if Robert meant it about Germany surrendering. Or if he knew this was most unlikely, but was trying to cheer her up. Or get his letters through uncensored – when they got through at all.

  Robert meant it, and he was doing his best to make it happen. As the Allied armies slogged their determined way along the spine of Italy, there were plenty of chances to help Jerry make his mind up.

  Over the past few months, he and his dependable Sergeant Gregory, together with some of the bravest, brightest lads in his platoon, had volunteered for more than a dozen missions behind the German lines. They’d ambushed enemy convoys as these came round the narrow mountain roads, and sabotaged German transport vehicles taking up supplies.

  So far, they hadn’t taken any serious casualties, they’d managed to get their wounded back to base, and Robert dared to hope their luck would last.

  ‘You two don’t always have to volunteer,’ he said to Blain and Thornton, two best friends who took the most alarming risks with daring and bravado, egging each other on with hoots of glee. ‘Sergeant Gregory and I, we could take some other chaps when we go walkies in the hills tomorrow.’

 

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