by Lesley Eames
Lizzie hadn’t been out to dinner with a young man before. She hadn’t been anywhere with a young man. But she’d never met one who attracted her like Harry Benedict. ‘I’d like that,’ she said, hoping she wasn’t blushing.
‘Tomorrow evening?’
‘As long as you can wait until after I’ve finished teaching?’
He smiled. ‘I’ll wait as long as necessary.’
Margaret’s tea wasn’t the best, even allowing for the fact that they were drinking it weak these days because it was expensive and not always available to buy. Harry drank it manfully, though, and thanked Margaret graciously when he got up to leave.
‘Hmm,’ Margaret said, after he’d gone. ‘That young man has manners.’
He certainly did. And Lizzie’s excitement stirred at the thought of seeing him again.
*
Harry came in the car to collect her the following evening. Unused to restaurants, Lizzie opened the door to him feeling self-conscious, though she’d done her best with her appearance, choosing what she considered to be the nicest dress from her limited collection. It was a royal blue crepe dress that had drawn compliments from members of the women’s group because the strong colour brought out the gloss of her dark hair and the healthy glow of her cheeks.
She’d made the dress herself, using fabric bought before the war had put material in short supply. The bodice was fitted while the sleeves finished at the elbows and the skirt swept almost to the floor. Gold braid around the square neckline was the only embellishment. Lizzie hoped it was enough to make the dress suitable for a dinner engagement, though it could hardly be described as a typical evening dress, most of which were delicate confections of silk chiffon, lace and beads, judging by those she’d seen in shop windows. She hoped Harry didn’t have a particularly smart restaurant in mind.
‘Thank you for collecting me.’
‘It’s my pleasure,’ Harry told her, and if he thought her unsuitably dressed, the glow in his dark eyes masked any sign of it.
Harry himself looked pristine and handsome.
Margaret came into the hall. ‘Good evening, Lieutenant.’
‘Miss Penrose. Thank you for sparing Miss Kellaway this evening. I’ll bring her back safely.’
He didn’t add, ‘If I can,’ though the possibility of another Zeppelin attack was clearly in the thoughts of all of them.
Lizzie had expected to have to wear her ordinary coat, but Margaret had surprised her by saying, ‘I have a cloak you can borrow.’ It was a black velvet cloak. ‘I had it when I was a girl. It hasn’t been worn in twenty years, but you’re welcome to borrow it.’
Lizzie was grateful. Being plain, the cloak wasn’t unduly old-fashioned, and it looked much more appropriate than an everyday coat. ‘I’ll take care of it,’ she promised, wondering if Margaret had worn it when she’d seen George Gilbert Grafton.
There was just a hint of wistfulness in Margaret’s grey eyes as she waved Lizzie off.
‘Feeling better?’ Harry asked, as they settled in the car.
‘I think so.’
Lizzie’s limbs had loosened over the day, but memories of that dreadful scene kept flashing up in her mind. Those poor people! Even as she’d walked to the car, she’d glanced up at the sky apprehensively, though it was much too dark to see if one of those cigar-shaped monsters of death was flying above them, ready to hurl down more death and destruction.
She supposed Harry must have seen many scenes of horror at the front. No wonder he wanted to make the most of his leave before he returned. Pushing her own dark memories aside, Lizzie smiled across at him.
‘I booked a table at the Savoy,’ he said. ‘I hope that’s acceptable?’
The Savoy sounded grand. ‘I’ve never been to a fashionable hotel before,’ Lizzie admitted. ‘My idea of a treat is an egg on toast in a Lyon’s Corner House.’
Much as she wanted Harry to enjoy the evening, she wouldn’t put on an act and pretend to be wealthy. She wasn’t ashamed of her modest circumstances and believed qualities such as kindness were more important anyway. Did Harry feel the same, though? Or would he spend the evening wishing he’d never invited her?
‘There are times when an egg in a Lyon’s is exactly what we need,’ he said, grinning.
It was the perfect answer, but Lizzie’s self-consciousness returned as she entered the restaurant to see other women in frothy, glittery dresses and blazingly bright diamonds. Thrusting the feeling aside, she looked at her surroundings instead. ‘This place is beautiful.’
‘It was designed by the impresario of the Savoy Theatre, so it’s certainly flamboyant.’
A waiter settled them at a table and they studied their menus. ‘I’m going to eat as much food as I can manage,’ Harry told her. ‘I want to remember this meal when I’m back at the front eating cold beef stew out of tins, with biscuits hard enough to break teeth.’
‘It sounds grim.’
‘The food is terrible, but we try to make up for it in our rest periods. Some of us go to hotels for decent food if we can get to them. Decent baths too. You can’t imagine the bliss of a hot bath and clean clothes when you’ve lived in mud day after day.’
‘Lice-free clothes?’
‘You’ve heard about the lice? Awful little blighters, and hard to get rid of, even with fumigation.’
‘They lay eggs in the seams of uniforms, I believe.’
‘Yes, and when they hatch out, they make a chap itch like crazy. They can cause sickness too. Trench fever. But there’s nothing more we can do except endure them. Unless we want to lose the war.’
‘I have it easier, being a woman. In wartime anyway.’ Not in other ways.
‘You must have suffered food shortages,’ Harry pointed out.
‘Yes, and high prices too, but we haven’t come close to starving and we can make hot food and drinks anytime we like.’
‘Talking of food and drink…’ Harry smiled as the waiter returned to take their orders: soup to be followed by fish and then cutlets. Harry also ordered wine.
‘Have you lived with your godmother for long?’ he asked when the waiter left them.
‘Six years. My mother died when I was twelve. My father remarried and… Well, I decided I’d be happier with my godmother.’
‘Second marriages can be tricky,’ Harry agreed. ‘I’m lucky in still having both of my parents. They’re jolly decent people too. I also have three elder sisters, so I was thoroughly spoilt growing up. All three sisters are married with children of their own now.’
‘Were you in the army before the war?’
Harry shook his head. ‘I worked with my father in a small merchant bank in London. But I felt someone from the family should volunteer, and as the only son… I’d been a member of the OTC – the Officers’ Training Corps – at school, so I was given a commission straight away.’
‘Perhaps women will be allowed to fight one day. Not that they’re sitting idle even now. Many women are doing work that used to be done by men. They’re mechanics, ambulance drivers, munitions workers…’
‘I admire them for it.’
‘Really?’ Lizzie was delighted.
‘Of course. They’re helping the country in a time of emergency.’
‘Your sisters are looking after their families, I suppose.’
‘Yes, but all of them – my mother too – knit for the troops and organise Christmas parcels. Have you had the chance to get involved in that sort of thing?’
‘I have. My godmother has no talent for knitting, though, so she and I give concerts to sick and injured servicemen.’
‘How splendid!’ It was Harry’s turn to look delighted. ‘I wish I could see one of your performances.’
‘Perhaps you will one day. But not because you’re injured,’ she added quickly.
She’d heard that some soldiers were actually glad of what they called a Blighty one – an injury that was severe enough to merit being brought back to Britain to recover or, better still, to pu
t a permanent end to their military service. She’d even heard that some men inflicted Blighty wounds on themselves. Not that she could imagine Harry doing such a thing. Lizzie guessed that Harry’s sense of honour and duty ran deep.
‘Please call me Lizzie,’ she said. ‘Calling me Miss Kellaway puts me in mind of my pupils.’
Harry laughed. ‘I’ll be happy to call you Lizzie if you call me Harry. Tell me about your teaching. Are your pupils talented and attentive?’
‘Some of them are talented. Some of them are attentive. Some are both, and—’
‘Some are neither?’ Harry suggested, brown eyes glinting humour.
‘Don’t tell anyone I said so.’
It was a lovely evening. Harry was kind, considerate and fun. ‘I’ve had a wonderful time,’ Lizzie told him, as he drove her back to Highbury.
‘I have too, and I’d like to repeat it. Soon.’
Lizzie’s cheeks grew warm with pleasure. ‘That would be nice, but I mustn’t keep you from your family.’
‘I shan’t neglect them. I’m actually staying with my parents down in Surrey, but they don’t begrudge me time away from them. In fact, they’re encouraging me to make the most of my leave by lending me this car. It belongs to my father.’
‘And very comfortable it is. I’m used to trains, omnibuses, and my own two feet.’
‘So… Dinner tomorrow?’
Keen as she was to see him again, Lizzie hesitated. Was it fair to let Harry pay for another meal? Tonight’s dinner must have cost him dearly. ‘The Savoy was magnificent but I don’t need luxury all of the time,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we could go somewhere more modest. Or perhaps I could treat us.’
Harry looked horrified at the thought of Lizzie paying. ‘I’m grateful for the offer but… No, Lizzie. A chap likes to do the treating.’
It was also a sad fact of life that men earned more than women. Another injustice for women to fight. ‘I should tell you that I’m a suffragette. I campaign for women to have rights, so shouldn’t they have responsibilities too?’
Harry opened his mouth to argue then narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you teasing me?’
‘I really am a suffragette, though not a window-smashing one. But perhaps I am teasing you a little.’
‘Meaning you think I’m hopelessly old-fashioned about these things, but you’ll let me have my way because you know it’s important to me?’
‘A compromise,’ Lizzie suggested. ‘Your treat, but a modest one.’
‘Agreed.’
He walked her to the door when they arrived at Margaret’s house. ‘Thank you again for your company,’ Harry said.
‘Thank you for yours. And for the delicious meal, of course.’ She kept her smile in place, but awkwardness settled over her as Harry looked down with glowing eyes.
Did he want to kiss her? The thought was exciting but unnerving. Lizzie had no idea how a young lady should behave when she said goodnight to a man. A handshake would feel too formal. Perhaps a kiss on the cheek…
She never got the chance to allow any sort of kiss. Margaret must have been listening out for Lizzie’s return because she opened the door looking embarrassed, as though she felt obliged to protect her goddaughter’s reputation but was just as unsure as Lizzie about what was and wasn’t proper.
‘Home safe and sound, Miss Penrose,’ Harry said.
‘I hope you had a pleasant evening?’
‘Thank you, I did. Miss Kellaway too, I think.’
‘Indeed,’ Lizzie said.
Margaret showed no sign of going back inside so Harry wished them both goodnight, sent Lizzie a secret wink and headed back to the car.
Lizzie and Margaret waved him off them moved inside to the music room. ‘We went to the Savoy,’ Lizzie said.
‘Goodness.’
‘He’s invited me out again tomorrow.’ It occurred to Lizzie that she was being selfish in abandoning Margaret for two evenings in a row. ‘But perhaps I shouldn’t go.’
‘Please don’t stay home on my account,’ Margaret said.
Lizzie waited, sensing that her godmother had more to say. Her fingers were plucking the back of a chair in obvious awkwardness.
‘It isn’t my way to offer advice on matters of a… romantic nature,’ Margaret finally got out. ‘As a spinster I don’t consider myself qualified to offer an opinion on romantic happiness. But I wouldn’t want you to think I’ve never known… That I’ve…’ She took a deep breath. ‘What I’m trying to suggest – rather clumsily, I’m afraid – is that you should follow the dictates of your heart and not let yourself be swayed by obligation or the expectations of others. Don’t assume that the consequences of a wrong decision now will be of short duration and soon remedied by other opportunities. Happiness may be offered to us only once in our lives, Lizzie, and I’d hate to see you throw it away.’
As Margaret had thrown away her chance of happiness with George Gilbert Grafton?
‘Now I’m going to add something that might seem to contradict everything I’ve just said. Which is that I hope you’ll take care. Follow your heart but take care not to… rush. Lieutenant Benedict will be returning to the front soon, and we live in uncertain times.’
Harry might be killed or simply forget all about the girl he’d rescued from a bomb site.
Lizzie walked over to kiss her godmother’s cheek. ‘You’re very wise, Margaret, but you’ve no need to worry. I’ve only met the man three times.’
‘Even so.’
‘I’d like to enjoy Harry’s company while I can, but I won’t let myself be swept away. There. Does that reassure you?’
Margaret smiled but it was a tight smile. Was she thinking that a person could be swept away whether she chose it or not?
18
Lizzie decided to wear an emerald-green dress for her second dinner with Harry. It had been her best outfit before she’d made the blue dress she’d worn last night and, even if it was a little shabby now, the colour suited her. Which was just as well as she had nothing better to wear.
The thought of seeing Harry again filled Lizzie with pleasant anticipation. Mostly, she was simply looking forward to spending time in his company, but it had also occurred to her that he might be able to able to help her with something. Not that she planned to ask him necessarily, as she didn’t want him to think she was taking a liberty, but the opportunity might still arise.
Collecting her later, Harry gave no sign of noticing that her dress was a little old. His smile was as warm as before.
They drove to a restaurant in Mayfair. ‘Modest?’ Lizzie chided, glancing round at plush red furnishings, crisp white tablecloths and sparkling silverware.
‘Compared to the Savoy, it is.’
‘Compared to a Lyon’s Corner House, it isn’t.’
‘You’re not cross, I hope? I’m glad to spend money having a marvellous time now because I want to store up happy memories to look back on when I’m far from home.’
When he put it like that, Lizzie hadn’t the heart to protest further.
The evening was just as entertaining as the previous one. Harry spoke about growing up in Surrey and she soon learnt that his childhood had been almost idyllic. Tennis and croquet in the garden of the family home, long walks with pet retrievers, charades at Christmas, summer holidays on the south coast…
He’d attended a boarding school and enjoyed it, winning trophies for rugby and cricket, and getting up to mischief too, playing tricks on the masters, staying up for midnight feasts, and sneaking out to the local pub to drink beer for a dare.
He also spoke more about his sisters, Eleanor, Alicia and Charlotte. Lizzie formed the impression that Eleanor led with energy while the others were a little more relaxed, Charlotte especially.
‘Are their husbands involved in the war?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Eleanor’s Frank is a staff officer, currently based in London. Alicia’s Paul was invalided out due to a foot injury, and Charlotte’s Jonathan can’t serve because he has a heart murm
ur. He isn’t sickly. Nothing like that. But the rigours of battle would be too much for him.’
‘Of course.’
‘He’s still contributing to the war effort, though. He’s taken leave of absence from his stockbroking work to join the War Office. It frustrates him that he can’t fight – it makes him feel cowardly – but I keep telling him that all war work is valuable, whether it’s ensuring the supply of weapons and uniforms, doctoring, nursing, or performing concerts for the sick and injured as you do, Lizzie. Your concerts are important for keeping up morale as well as giving comfort.’
‘We like to think so.’ Lizzie told him about the concert she and Margaret had given that afternoon. ‘The audience was on the lively side. Cheeky.’
‘Not offensively so?’ Harry was concerned.
‘Oh, no! Nothing like that. The patients just wanted a little fun. Which is understandable.’
‘Indeed. Wartime makes us more aware of the fragility of life and the importance of treasuring every moment.’
The comment reminded Lizzie that Harry’s leave would be over soon, so she set about trying to entertain him with tales of Witherton and her own childhood, though she was selective in what she told him. She spoke affectionately of her mother, but skittered away from saying much about her father, not wishing to depress the mood. She talked of her friendship with Polly and Davie instead. ‘I used to climb out of my bedroom window to meet them,’ she confided.
‘Heavens, Lizzie. That was dangerous. Were you never hurt?’
‘I twisted an ankle once.’ She’d slipped when climbing back up the tree. ‘Not seriously, though.’ It had been extremely painful but she didn’t want Harry to feel sorry for her. ‘I was a little wild at times,’ she admitted with a smile.
‘You were a child. You wouldn’t climb out of a window now.’
‘Not unless I had no other choice. Are your nieces and nephews well behaved?’
‘They can be.’ He paused then grinned. ‘They can also be quite spirited.’
‘You sound as though you like being an uncle.’
‘I do. Very much. Though my sisters say I spoil the children horribly.’