Giving the corporal a cool look, Archie moved on and the next man straightened up.
‘Well done, Goodman,’ he said, nodding approvingly at the squaddie.
Casting his eye over another couple of the team and finding them correct, Archie started down the other side.
‘Tie, Mogg,’ said Archie, stopping in front of him.
The private adjusted his knot then sniffed the air. ‘Is that Old Spice you’re wearing, Sergeant?’
There were a couple of sniggers.
Stony-faced, Archie flicked his gaze over Ron then stopped in front of Arthur at the end of the line.
Reaching out he straightened the soldier’s collar.
‘Ah, well,’ said Archie, stepping back and giving an exaggerated sigh, ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing for it but to let you bunch of jessies spend the afternoon eating cake and drinking tea with the nice ladies at St Breda and St Brendan’s Rest Centre.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Mogg, placing his hand on his chest and trying to look offended. ‘And after us being up all night darning our socks.’
The men laughed.
‘But, Sarge, is it “ladies” or is it one particular lady?’ Arthur asked.
‘With light brown hair?’ added Mogg.
‘And a figure like—’
‘All right, lads,’ interrupted Archie. ‘You’ve had your fun, now get some dinner in the canteen because, reluctant though I am to inflict you bunch of savages on the genteel ladies of the WVS, we’ll be leaving here at two, sharp. Dismissed!’
They saluted and half a dozen men stood to attention then peeled off right and trooped out.
‘Don’t worry, Archie,’ said Chalky, seeing his apprehensive look, ‘I’ll make sure they’re on the truck in good time.’
‘Thanks, I’ll—’
‘McIntosh.’ Archie looked around to see Monkman, wearing his regimental jacket with a pip on each shoulder, sauntering into the barrack room, his swagger stick in his hand.
Archie and his corporal snapped to attention and saluted as the lieutenant stopped in front of them.
‘The old man asked me to be the officer at this afternoon’s little pantomime,’ he said, brandy fumes wafting up as he spoke. ‘Remind me, will you, where it is again?’
‘St Breda and St Brendan’s church hall,’ Archie replied. ‘In Sutton Street, E1. Just past the Blackwall Tunnel as you head west down Commercial Street. It starts at three.’
The lieutenant’s thin face lifted in a condescending smile. ‘I’m sure I’ll find it eventually. I can’t say spending the afternoon with a bunch of whiskery old biddies is my idea of soldiering, but we must follow our superior officer’s orders, mustn’t we, Sergeant?’
Archie eyed the man in front of him coolly. ‘Sir.’
Monkman turned as if to go but then he swung back again.
‘Oh, by the way, McIntosh,’ swinging his stick up, he rested it on Archie’s chest, ‘a little bird tells me that your landlady is a bit of a cracker.’
Archie didn’t reply.
A leer spread across Monkman’s face as Archie fought hard not to react.
‘I can see she is.’ He tapped Archie with his swagger stick. ‘You dark horse, Sergeant. I look forward to making her acquaintance.’
Running his deep-set eyes over Archie a final time, he turned and strutted out of the barrack room.
‘Corporal,’ said Archie as he watched the lieutenant go, ‘I don’t want him causing any trouble for the lads, so can you remind them to watch themselves at the rest centre.’
‘I will,’ replied Chalky. ‘But by the look on your face, Archie, I’d say you’re the one who needs to keep a hold on your temper this afternoon.’
‘What time are they coming?’ asked Maureen as Cathy checked the row of cups lined up ready for the afternoon’s proceedings.
‘Any time now,’ she replied, resisting the urge to look at the clock at the far end of the hall.
It was now ten past three and Archie and his men should have arrived ten minutes ago. There was still plenty of time for them to get in place for the ceremony but Cathy wished they would hurry up.
‘I hope so, for everyone’s sake, because Mrs Paget’s temper’s set to boil over any minute,’ said Dora, nodding towards the kitchen’s serving hatch where Mrs Paget was standing.
She, like Cathy, was wearing her WVS uniform but had three-inch-high court shoes on her feet instead of the stout lace-ups Cathy and her friends favoured.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Maureen. ‘She’s already got a face like a slapped arse and if the lads from the D Squad are late’ – she sucked her teeth – ‘all hell’s likely to break out.’
‘Like it hasn’t already,’ Dora remarked. ‘She’s been in a right mood since we voted down her suggestion of 61 Squadron.’
‘Well, she’ll have to lump it,’ said Cathy. ‘And I sometimes think she needs to be reminded that we’re all supposed to be equals in the—’
The door swung open again and Cathy’s heart went off at a thunder when Archie strode in with his squad a step behind him.
As far as Cathy was concerned, Archie always looked good, even when he was plastered with mud and grey with tiredness, but today, smartly dressed in his parade jacket, he looked utterly wonderful.
He glanced around the room until he spotted her and then, with his blue eyes focused on her, he strode over.
‘Hello,’ she said, feeling a little light-headed as he advanced towards her.
‘Hello, yourself, Mrs Wheeler,’ he replied, stopping in front of her.
They smiled at each other for a long moment then Maureen coughed.
‘Sorry,’ said Cathy, dragging her eyes from him. ‘This is Maureen and Dora. Girls, this is Sergeant McIntosh.’
‘Nice to meet you, Sergeant,’ said Maureen, batting her lashes at him behind her spectacles.
‘Likewise, I’m sure,’ Dora added, giving him a lavish look.
He smiled and inclined his head. ‘Ladies.’
He looked around. ‘Is Lieutenant Monkman here?’
Cathy shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
Archie frowned and glanced at his wristwatch.
‘Oh, oh,’ said Maureen. ‘Get your tin hats on.’
Cathy looked past Archie to see Mrs Paget, with a face like a fury from Hades, bearing down on them.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Mrs Wheeler?’ she asked, barging past Archie.
‘Welcoming our brave soldiers of the Bomb Disposal Unit,’ Cathy replied.
‘Well, as I’m in charge of this afternoon’s proceedings you should have brought them straight over to me,’ Mrs Paget snapped. She looked up at Archie. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Me and my men are here to have a cuppa and a morsel of cake with the lovely lasses of the WVS,’ Archie replied. ‘And to thank them formally for adopting our section, Mrs . . . ?’
‘Paget. And I’m the one in charge.’ She looked pointedly at Cathy before she turned back to Archie. ‘I thought your headquarters were sending an officer.’
‘Aye, Lieutenant Monkman,’ Archie said. ‘And he should have been here well before now.’
Panic flashed across Mrs Paget’s face.
‘But don’t fret,’ he continued, regarding her coolly, ‘if he doesn’t arrive in time, I’ll stand in for him.’
Like a goldfish with lipstick, Mrs Paget’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times but before she could reply, the hall’s door swung open again and Monkman, wearing his trench coat draped over his uniform, swept in.
‘Thank God,’ muttered Mrs Paget.
Raising his head, the lieutenant looked around, then, spotting them, he sauntered over.
‘Mrs Paget, I presume,’ he said, an urbane smile lifting his pencil moustache as he addressed her.
‘Yes, indeed,’ she replied.
He bowed.
‘Lieutenant Monkman, at your service.’ He gave her a considered look. ‘You’re not one of the Lincolnshire Paget
s from Chesley Hall, are you?’
‘Lord Paget is my husband Reverend Eustace Paget’s uncle, and he spent many happy hours at the hall as a boy,’ she simpered at him.
‘Capital.’
The lieutenant’s attention shifted from the vicar’s wife to Cathy.
‘And you are?’ he asked.
‘Mrs Wheeler,’ she replied, remembering the two men injured – one fatally – and Archie’s distress at the hands of the arrogant officer.
His glance flitted on to Archie then back to her.
‘And this is Mrs Morgan and Mrs Black,’ Cathy added, indicating the two women either side of her to draw his attention away.
‘Charming,’ he said, his eyes running lazily over her.
‘If you’re ready, Lieutenant,’ said Mrs Paget, extending her arm towards the stage.
Monkman studied Cathy for a little longer then turned away.
‘Get your men in order so they don’t disgrace us all, McIntosh,’ he called over his shoulder as he followed Mrs Paget to the stage.
Archie’s expression hardened for a moment then he turned away.
‘Excuse me, ladies, but duty calls.’ His eyes locked on Cathy’s for a split second then he strode over to the refreshments area, where his squad were eyeing the cakes.
As Archie pulled his men into order on the stage and took up his position at the end of the line, the people in the hall, sensing the afternoon’s proceedings were about to begin, stopped what they were doing and gathered in front of the stage.
With D Squad standing at ease behind their senior officer, Mrs Paget clapped her hands.
Other than the odd baby grizzling and a couple of people coughing and sneezing, the hall fell silent.
Mrs Paget stepped forward.
‘Good afternoon, and welcome, all of you, to St Breda and St Brendan’s Rest Centre,’ she said, raising her voice so her strident, well-rounded tones could be heard by those at the back. ‘But more particularly, I would like to extend a warm welcome to Lieutenant Monkman and the brave men of . . .’
Of their own volition, Cathy’s eyes moved from the woman talking to Archie and found him looking back at her.
Everything around Cathy faded until only Archie, with his dazzlingly blue eyes, filled her heart and mind.
‘I think that went off well enough, don’t you, girls?’ asked Peggy, handing a mug of tea to an old man with a stick.
‘Went like a dream,’ said Cathy, as she splashed milk into another half a dozen cups.
‘Yes,’ added Maureen. ‘Considering old face-ache over there was dead against it.’
The presentation had just finished and, after loud applause from everyone as Mrs Paget gave Lieutenant Monkman a framed letter formally adopting the Bomb Disposal Unit in exchange for a picture of their inverted bomb badge, Cathy and her two friends were now manning the refreshments table in the canteen area at the opposite end from the stage.
Because it was such a special occasion, the hall was jam-packed with not just the rest centre regulars but also local ARP personnel and WVS representatives from HQ and other nearby rest centres. Father Mahon was also in attendance, sitting in a seat Cathy had found for him, talking to Denis Topping, the councillor for the Wapping and Shadwell ward.
Despite the crowd of people around her, Cathy knew exactly where Archie was. Making a show of collecting up a handful of used cups and placing them on to the tray at the end of the table, she glanced across at him.
He had been cornered by a bevy of young women over by the shoe exchange benches on the other side of the hall. Although they were gazing adoringly up at him, Archie’s gaze left his admirers and found Cathy.
He said something to the girls clustering around him and then, with his cup in his hand, walked across to Cathy.
‘Can I get you another?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t say no,’ he replied, placing his mug on the table.
Cathy refilled it and handed it back.
‘Your Mrs Paget looks happy enough now,’ said Archie, indicating the centre’s controller, who was still on the stage chatting to Lieutenant Monkman.
‘It was him mentioning her husband’s snobby family that jollied her up no end,’ said Cathy.
He laughed.
‘I can’t look at him without thinking of your poor men, Archie,’ Cathy said. ‘Is there any news on the complaint you lodged?’
‘It’s been “sent to HQ for consideration”,’ Archie replied. ‘My eye! That’s officer-speak for buried in a file somewhere.’
Studying the officer over the rim of his mug, Archie took a mouthful of tea.
‘I don’t suppose you putting in a complaint about him has endeared you to the lieutenant,’ she said.
Archie shrugged. ‘He and I weren’t pals in the first place.’
As if he knew he was the subject of their conversation, Archie’s senior officer turned and, from his vantage point above the crowd, let his gaze run slowly over them.
Something caught Archie’s eye to the side of Cathy and exasperation flashed across his face.
Looking around, Cathy saw two of his men trying to smooch a couple of giggly young women behind the rows of second-hand clothes.
‘You know, sometimes,’ he said, swallowing a last mouthful of tea, ‘I think I’m more the men’s nursemaid than their blooming NCO.’
Archie put the empty cup alongside the dirty ones she’d collected.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said with a sigh, ‘I’d better go and make sure that D Squad’s not banned from the rest centre they’ve just been adopted by.’
Cathy laughed. ‘I’ll see you later.’
He gave her that lopsided smile of his. ‘Aye, you most certainly will.’
He marched off.
Cathy watched him for a second or two then she lifted the tray of used crockery and walked the couple of steps to the serving hatch.
On the other side of the opening, Sadie Lipman and half a dozen other women, red-faced and with their sleeves rolled up, were dashing from pillar to post boiling kettles, washing plates and drying cups.
Sadie, who was presiding over the organised chaos of the rest centre’s kitchen, spotted Cathy. Wiping her hands on her apron, she hurried over.
‘Ta, luv,’ she said, as Cathy slid the tray through. ‘You wouldn’t do us a favour, would you? There’s a box of spare cups on the table in the small committee room. Could you fetch them in for us as we’re down to our last half-dozen?’
‘Course,’ said Cathy.
Wending her way around a group of well-dressed matrons tucking into their afternoon tea, Cathy made for the main door. Leaving the crowded hall, she stepped out into the cool corridor and hurried towards the last door on the right.
Turning the brass handle, she walked in. The box of spare cream-coloured cups were, as Sadie had said, sitting in the middle of the table. However, just as Cathy was about to lift them off the polished mahogany surface, the door creaked as someone opened it.
She turned. Seeing who it was, unease rippled through her but Cathy forced a sociable smile.
‘If you’re looking for the Gents, Lieutenant Monkman, they’re down the corridor,’ she said.
‘Indeed they are,’ the officer replied.
Closing the door, he ambled over.
‘It’s Cathy, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘Well, I think Mrs Wheeler is a little more—’
‘Sergeant McIntosh’s landlady.’ Stepping closer, his hooded eyes ran slowly over her face. ‘His very pretty’ – his gaze shifted down further – ‘and full-bodied landlady.’
He grabbed her right breast.
Cathy went to slap him, but he caught her hand as it shot towards him.
Twisting it behind her back, he shoved her against the wall.
‘Get off,’ she shouted, struggling to free herself.
Pinning her against the oak panels lining the room, he forced her arm higher.
Pain shot across Cathy’s shoulder and she
gasped.
‘Now, now. Don’t be a prick teaser,’ he whispered, as his fingers closed around her breast.
‘Help—’
Monkman’s hand clamped over her mouth.
Panic flared in Cathy’s chest as the memory of Stan’s hand doing the same, and more, surged into her mind.
‘You know you want it,’ he murmured, his breath hot on her skin. ‘Your type always do. And if you let that half-caste Jock bastard into your knickers then you can let me have a poke too.’
Pressing on to her, Monkman ground his hardness against her.
Using the wall as leverage, Cathy tried to push him away but he just spread his legs wider and jammed into her harder.
With his hand still covering her mouth, his other hand reached between them and he grabbed the serge fabric of her skirt and hauled it up.
The lieutenant’s fingers ran up and over her suspenders and on to her bare thigh.
Forcing aside the brutal memories of Stan that threatened to overwhelm her, Cathy compelled herself to take action.
As Monkman explored beneath the edge of her cotton drawers, Cathy let out a low moan and relaxed in his arms.
The lieutenant chuckled and, retracting his hand, reached down for his fly buttons.
As he arched back, Cathy forced a wanton look on to her face.
‘Lieutenant,’ she said huskily.
He looked up as Cathy jammed her knee into his crotch.
Gasping, Monkman staggered back, cradling his injured genitals.
‘You cow,’ he spluttered. ‘You bloody—’
Cathy’s balled fist smacked him across the face.
‘No, you bloody bastard,’ she replied.
Coughing, he staggered towards her. ‘I’ll show you, you—’
The door opened and Archie strode in.
Taking in the scene at a glance, and with fury flaring from his face, he started towards his senior officer.
Cathy met him halfway.
‘Don’t, Archie,’ she said, blocking his path and placing a hand on his chest. ‘He’s not worth it.’
Archie’s body tensed as his white-hot glare blazed across at Monkman.
Cathy held her breath but, after what seemed like an eternity, she felt him relax.
Picking up the box from the table, she handed it to Archie.
A Ration Book Daughter Page 23