by Lesley Eames
‘I’ll just…’ Margaret murmured, gliding past them and heading down to the kitchen to give them time alone.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t warn you I was coming,’ Harry said. ‘By the time I could organise a telegram I was already in London. I booked into my father’s club for a wash and brush-up, and here I am. But what’s this? Tears?’
Overwhelmed, Lizzie was sobbing against his chest. ‘Sorry!’ she croaked.
‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’
‘Of course I am!’
The sobs subsided and Lizzie was able to lift her head. Harry passed her a handkerchief so she could wipe her eyes and blow her nose. ‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘How’s your shoulder?’
‘Better, thanks.’
They moved into the music room and sat on the sofa. Harry kissed her – very thoroughly – then Lizzie drew back so she could drink in every detail of his appearance. He was as handsome as ever but thinner and more lined. She reached out to stroke his cheek, overwhelmed by a rush of tenderness. ‘Will this war ever end?’
‘We feared the worst when we were so heavily outnumbered back in March, but we’re fighting back. Don’t get your hopes up for an early peace, but don’t despair either. Enough of war talk, though. I only have a few days of leave and I want to enjoy them with you. Is that going to be possible?’
‘I have to teach but not all of the time, and we’ve no concerts until Saturday.’
‘Good food and company is just what I need. Is it too much to hope you’re free for dinner tonight?’
‘I’d love to have dinner with you tonight. But it’s only just lunchtime. Have you eaten?’
‘Not since breakfast.’
‘You’re welcome to join us for some soup.’
‘I don’t want to take your food.’
‘We have plenty.’ It was an exaggeration, but Lizzie would gladly accept a small portion and she was sure Margaret would feel the same. ‘You won’t mind eating in the kitchen?’
‘It’ll be a luxury after eating in a dug-out.’
They found Margaret skulking down there, clearly wondering how long she should leave the young couple together. ‘Of course Harry must stay to lunch,’ she said.
The soup was nothing special by Lizzie’s reckoning – just vegetables bought cheaply and flavoured with herbs – but Harry ate it like a starving man. ‘Delicious,’ he declared.
‘Better than army food?’ Lizzie teased.
‘Much better than army food, although that can be surprising sometimes. I don’t mean surprisingly nice. Just surprising when the label has come off the tin and it turns out to contain corned beef instead of peaches.’ Harry smiled as he spoke but Lizzie could see the fatigue in his eyes.
After they’d eaten, Margaret went upstairs to teach a lesson. Lizzie made tea and insisted that Harry should sit while she washed the dishes. She was deliberately quiet and when she turned back round she had her reward as Harry was sleeping, just as she’d intended.
She covered him with a blanket then left him in the kitchen and went up to teach her own pupils. When she returned more than two hours later Harry was awake and apologetic. ‘I beg your pardon! Falling asleep was—’
‘Perfectly understandable.’
‘You’re very kind.’
But she wasn’t. Not always. It hadn’t been kind to feel that moment of attraction to Matt. Yet looking at Harry now Lizzie was in no doubt that she loved him.
‘I didn’t like to go upstairs in case I disturbed the lessons,’ he said, ‘but now I must leave you in peace. I don’t have my father’s car, but I’ll call for you in a taxi. What time suits you?’
‘I’m teaching until seven-thirty. Will eight o’clock be too late?’
‘It’ll be perfect. I’ll say goodbye here.’
Lizzie guessed he didn’t want Margaret to catch them kissing on the doorstep.
It was an enthusiastic kiss and Lizzie felt flushed when Harry released her. He smiled. ‘Until later.’
They ate in a lovely restaurant near Trafalgar Square. ‘You’ll see your family while on leave?’ Lizzie asked him.
‘Of course. They’ve invited you to stay as well.’
‘I won’t be intruding?’
‘They want to get to know you better. After all, you’ll be joining the family soon. Are you able to come?’
‘I’ll look at my teaching diary when I get home.’
‘I’m sorry you have to work for a living,’ Harry said. ‘I can’t wait to give you the sort of life you deserve.’
Lizzie laughed. ‘I like working. Most of the time.’
She managed to spend one night at Ashlyn and more time with Harry in London. But all too soon his leave was over.
‘Stay safe,’ she urged, when she saw him off at the station.
He held her to his chest, his ragged breathing leaving her in no doubt of how much he hated leaving her. ‘I love you, Lizzie,’ he said.
‘I love you, Harry.’
Now what Lizzie needed was to see Matt and know he was back in his proper role in her life – a dear friend. Just not a romantic friend. But when Matt was granted leave, he didn’t see her.
37
Lizzie heard that Matt was home in a letter from Edith.
Don’t be alarmed but Peter has had an accident. He slipped in the yard and twisted his knee. He’s going to be fine but can barely walk just now let alone work. Luckily Matt was given leave just after I’d written to tell him about Peter so came straight home to help out.
It’s typical of Matt to be generous with his time, but I’m afraid it means he’s unlikely to be able to be to see you, Lizzie. I’m sure he’ll write, though…
Edith was telling the truth about the accident, Lizzie was sure, but had Matt seized on it as a chance to stay away?
Lizzie read the letter again and focused on the words, unlikely to be able to meet you.
Unlikely wasn’t a definite no. But Matt had already returned to the front when he next wrote to Lizzie. I’m sorry I couldn’t see you but I know you’ll understand I couldn’t leave the family in the lurch…
He described Peter’s difficulties and how the farm had suffered as a result. I hope I helped to get it back on target before I left.
He went on to describe evening mists gathered in the hollows of the fields, the first hints of autumn colours on leaves, and a hedgehog he’d rescued after seeing it caught up in wire carelessly tossed aside by a neighbouring farmer or passer-by. I worried I was too late to save it so my heart lifted when I saw its little face stir…
He also wrote about music.
I was too busy to spend much time at the piano, but I found new melodies and lyrics entering my head as I worked. I hope I’ll be able to find a piano to play on my next rest period so I can polish them into actual songs and send them to you.
Not that I expect you to include them in your concerts. I always appreciate what you do to promote my music, but I’d hate you to feel obliged…
Obligation didn’t enter into it because Matt’s songs were good. Lizzie would have included them in the concerts even if she hadn’t known they were his.
I’ll finish by saying again that I was sorry to miss you. I hope a year won’t pass before I see you again.
With love,
Matt x
It couldn’t have been a nicer letter. Yet Lizzie’s uncertainties continued.
By October another wave of influenza – this one very grave indeed – was wreaking havoc. When the deaths from it climbed into the thousands Jack wrote to say that the Merriment was closing temporarily to avoid fostering the spread of disease. Sadly, this meant that the Christmas fundraiser was postponed. It was disappointing but sensible news.
Lizzie had heard children chanting a rhyme about the influenza.
I had a little bird,
It’s name was Enza,
I opened the window,
And in-flu-enza
Fearful of catching the illness from her pupils, Lizzie had
slightly different words in mind when she kept the window open during her lessons.
I had a little bird,
It’s name was Enza,
I opened the window,
And out flu-enza.
Whether it was due to opening windows or simple good luck, Lizzie didn’t know, but she stayed well and so did Margaret, Polly, Jack and all of the members of the women’s group.
Across the English Channel the war continued, of course. Ever since it had begun Lizzie had heard rumours about its progress. Some had turned out to be true and others false, but as autumn advanced there really did seem to be electric expectation in the air.
Could it be that this time the war really was about to end? Lizzie hardly dared to hope so, but the buzz of anticipation intensified. People talked about peace in shops and out on the street. Pupils reported that their families were growing excited. Cordelia said her fingers were crossed.
Finally, Germany acknowledged defeat, and on 11 November an armistice was signed, bringing an end to hostilities.
‘It’s happened,’ Lizzie told Margaret, rushing in from the shops after hearing the news and finding her godmother in the music room. ‘It’s finally happened.’
Margaret nodded. Her nose turned pink and she got to her feet. ‘I must…’ she began, only to hasten from the room, doubtless to give relief to her feelings in tears.
Lizzie felt tears forming in her own eyes. She sat down abruptly and gave into them, holding her face in her hands as sobs shook her shoulders. In time, she blew her nose and let thankfulness surge through her body like a tonic. The war was over. Harry and Matt had survived. Davie too. Lizzie refused even to consider that they might have been lost in the war’s final days. Soon they’d be home again.
She went down to the kitchen to unpack the shopping. Margaret joined her, still pink about the nose but more in command of herself.
‘I imagine our concerts will still be needed for a while,’ she said. ‘Some men will be in hospital or convalescing for months to come.’
The war had brought hardship and anxiety into their lives but it had also brought comradeship and opportunity. Lizzie realised that Margaret was going to miss the concerts when they finally stopped. They’d given her purpose and helped her to feel useful. Lizzie too.
But that was the thing with a changing world. It came with a mixed bag of emotions – relief, regret and also trepidation, for who knew what the future might hold? Certainly, no one would be quite the same as before, and alterations to people couldn’t be put away like toys into boxes.
Sounds reached them from the street. Whoops, laughter and singing. ‘People are out celebrating,’ Margaret said. ‘Do go and join them if you wish, Lizzie.’
‘I don’t wish. But I do think we should celebrate.’
She poured them each a glass of sherry then raised her glass in a toast. ‘To peace and a better world.’
‘Peace and a better world,’ Margaret echoed.
Someone knocked on the door. Polly. She looked pale and emotional. ‘You’ve heard?’ she asked.
‘We’re celebrating with sherry. Come and join us.’
Down in the kitchen Polly accepted a glass from Margaret. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? I don’t know how long it’ll be before the men are home, though.’
‘It would be sensible to expect some delay,’ Margaret suggested. ‘There’s plenty to keep us occupied in the meantime. Today, for example, we could run through our songs for Saturday’s concert…’
Lizzie guessed that Margaret needed an outlet for her feelings. Perhaps they all did. ‘Good idea.’
The next day Lizzie received a note from Jack, saying he was delighted that Harry would be returning home and also her friend, Matt. Polly received a note from him too, saying much the same about Davie. ‘He hopes I’ll have time for one last fundraising concert,’ Polly said, and from the look on her face she knew that Jack was still hurting.
Davie was the first to return, travelling to Dover by ship then taking the train straight to London to see Polly.
‘Oh, Lizzie, he’s so thin!’ Polly reported. ‘And his poor hair looks like it’s been cut with blunt gardening shears. He didn’t want to upset me by telling me about the conditions in the camp but I insisted. They were awful! Two hundred and fifty men to a hut, bunks with only straw for mattresses, not enough blankets… The food was mostly soup made with oats or prunes or whatever else came to hand. The bread was made of bran and potatoes and was even worse than ours.’
‘But he’s home now and he’s still your Davie?’
‘Still the Davie of old,’ Polly confirmed.
‘More appreciative of you than when he went off to war, though?’
‘He must have told me fifty times in an hour how much he regretted breaking off our engagement.’
‘Then your marriage should be stronger as a result. How long is he staying in London?’
‘He’ll stay in a hostel tonight and tomorrow night, then travel up to Witherton to see his family.’
‘They must be desperate to have him home.’
‘Yes, he doesn’t want to keep them waiting. But he’ll return after a week or so, to spend more time with me.’
‘Will I get to see him before he leaves?’
‘Tomorrow, if that suits?’
‘Bring him to dinner. By the sound of things, he needs feeding up.’
Polly duly brought Davie the following evening. ‘I’m a walking skeleton but you’re a beauty,’ he said, walking up to Lizzie and kissing her cheek. ‘It’s good to see you again after so many years.’
Lizzie stood back to inspect him. ‘You’re not quite a skeleton, but you’re certainly in need of a good meal.’
‘Don’t give me too much or it’ll go to waste. My stomach has shrunk, though I’m sure it’ll fill out again soon.’
He paused then added, ‘Thank you for being such a good friend to Polly. I caused her a lot of heartache and I’m glad she could turn to you for comfort.’
‘Polly’s been a good friend to me too.’
‘Always generous, my Poll.’ He reached out and took Polly’s hand, smiling at her fondly across the table before turning back to Lizzie. ‘You had so much more than we did when we were kids. Big house, smart clothes, good food… But my Poll still knew you were suffering. Do you remember how we used to sit in the den?’
‘I do.’
‘What were those songs you used to teach each other?’
The conversation slipped pleasantly along Memory Lane until Lizzie realised that Margaret could play no part in it and brought it to an end by getting up to clear the plates.
‘What are your plans for the future?’ Margaret asked Davie.
‘Marriage to my darling Poll, of course.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘I’ll work on the farm again. We’ll live with my family at first, but hope to have a little house of our own before too long. There’s a row of tumbledown cottages on the farm and I might be able to persuade the farmer to let me rent one if I knock it into shape myself. I’m not afraid of hard work.’ He thought about it for a moment then grimaced. ‘I can’t believe I once turned my nose up at that sort of life. There’s nothing I want more, now I’m seeing sense again.’
Lizzie hugged Polly close when they parted on the doorstep. ‘I’m so happy for you.’
She hugged Davie too. ‘I’ll see you again when you’re back from Witherton.’
‘That’ll be soon, I hope.’
Watching them walk down the street, Lizzie was pleased when Davie took Polly’s arm as though he couldn’t bear her to be even an inch away from her. They turned the corner out of sight but Lizzie didn’t go straight back into the house. Instead she paused to look around her. The streetlights were clear again instead of half-smothered in dark paint. More lights spilt from windows now there was no fear of air raids or fines. Life was returning to normal. Or adjusting to a different sort of normal.
She was closing the door when her eye was ca
ught by something. Or was it someone? A tall man standing in the passage between two terraces on the opposite side of the road? Standing and watching?
Matt’s name leapt into Lizzie’s mind and she stepped forward eagerly. But the shadows had swallowed him up. If he’d been there at all. It was more likely that her imagination had played tricks because she was anxious to see him again. Matt wasn’t the sort of man to skulk in shadows.
Jack called the following day. Margaret was out so Lizzie saw him alone. ‘All well?’ he asked, but seemed eager to move onto other business.
‘Charlie is opening up the Merriment now this awful influenza seems to be easing off again. He’s offered January 13th. I thought we could bill it as a new year, new beginnings sort of show. It’s horribly short notice – again – but can I count on you to take part? You and Miss Penrose? I’ll understand if Polly has other priorities, though I’d love her to be involved if she can spare the time.’
‘You can certainly count on Margaret and I. As for Polly, I’ll mention the show to her, though I don’t know when she’ll return to Witherton.’
‘Thank you.’ He hesitated then said, ‘Do you remember me telling you that Charlie and I had thoughts of opening a nightclub?’
‘I do.’
‘We’ve found premises. A basement off Piccadilly. It needs work, but we think it’s going to be perfect. We’re calling it the Velvet Slipper Club. Charlie is putting in most of the money so he’ll be the senior partner, but he wants me to be the manager. Will you think seriously about singing for us, Lizzie? You’ll be wonderful. I must dash now, I’m afraid.’
As Lizzie had expected, Margaret was keen to take part in the show. ‘Now the war is over people may want to move on with their lives and forget all about the fallen and injured. We must raise funds for them while we can.’
Polly looked thoughtful when she heard about it. ‘I’d like to take part, but perhaps it would be easier on Jack if I don’t.’
‘I won’t pretend he’s over you, Poll, but he doesn’t hold a grudge and you could help to make the show successful for him. Besides, he has new plans to help him to move forward.’ Lizzie told Polly about the Velvet Slipper Club and Jack’s invitation to become a club singer.