Wartime with the Cornish Girls

by Betty Walker

  She laughed.

  Templeton looked her up and down, using his lack of glasses as an excuse to take a step nearer. Exactly as she had planned. ‘I like the way you laugh. You laugh quite a lot, I’ve noticed.’ At her raised eyebrows, his mouth quirked in a smile. ‘That’s not a criticism, but a compliment, trust me. I spend much of my time with very serious young men. It can get wearing.’

  Eva was able to see his eyes properly for the first time, without the rather intimidating barrier of horn-rimmed glass between them. His eyes were blue as chinaware, tiny pale flecks flaring out from an intense pupil. There was an air of vulnerability about him, she decided, with his glasses off. Which was almost certainly why he wore them so constantly, despite not really needing to. He looked younger too, and his smile was disarming.

  ‘All right, Miss Ryder, you’ve been giving me a pretty thorough once-over,’ he said, studying her in his turn. ‘What’s the verdict?’

  ‘Oh, definitely guilty.’

  He grinned. ‘Damn.’

  ‘And call me Eva,’ she reminded him. ‘Miss Ryder sounds so stuffy.’

  ‘Sorry, I forgot.’

  ‘Not terribly flattering.’

  ‘Maybe not, but you are the colonel’s daughter. I want to make sure I’m according you the proper amount of respect.’

  She tried to suppress her snort of laughter, and failed. Which was very unladylike of her. ‘Well, if we’re talking about names, I can’t go on calling you Professor Templeton like we’re in a classroom. Not now you’ve been practically hand-feeding me cheese and biscuits for the past hour. It’s far too lofty and distant.’ She gave him a coaxing smile. ‘What’s your Christian name?’

  ‘Reginald,’ he said with obvious reluctance.

  ‘Talk about lofty and distant.’ She teased him with her eyes. ‘May I call you Reg? At least when we’re alone together.’

  ‘To be honest, I can’t stand Reg or, worse, Reggie. It makes me feel like I should be flogging second-hand cars for a living.’ He hesitated again, studying her smiling face. ‘My family and close friends call me Rex. Don’t ask me why. I think it started when I was young, and sort of stuck.’

  ‘Rex it is, then.’

  ‘Not too lofty? It means “King” in Latin.’

  ‘I rather like it.’ There was a sudden stillness between them. Now or never, she thought again, and lunged impulsively upward on tiptoes to kiss him – just as he stooped, presumably to do the same. Their faces collided with a bruising shock, and they fell apart, her with a gurgling shriek, him looking distinctly flushed and uncomfortable.

  ‘Oops,’ she said, rubbing her forehead.

  ‘Great minds …’

  ‘Hit each other in the nose?’

  ‘So it would, erm, seem.’ Rex – was that honestly his family nickname? – cleared his throat, and then seized her with a manful fervour, one arm encircling her waist, the other stroking down the back of her summer frock. ‘Miss Ryder … I mean, Eva.’ He gave a hoarse laugh, as though mocking his own awkwardness. ‘If you would do me a favour by standing still for a moment.’

  She raised her face to his, waiting mutely, eyes closing instinctively as his dark head lowered to hers.

  Now or never!

  Finally, his lips met hers, firm and persuasive, and at once his strong arms tightened, pulling her close against his body.

  Eva’s eyes flew open, then shut tight again. She did not know what to do, her whole being having been thrown into turmoil by his kiss. She’d been kissed quite a few times before, and not only by one person, she had to admit. She considered herself something of a connoisseur when it came to kisses. But this was something new. Something beyond simple kissing. And though she was not altogether comfortable with it, it was certainly exciting.

  After several minutes, Rex pulled back to gaze down at her flushed, upturned face. ‘Eva?’

  ‘Hush, please don’t speak.’ She kept her eyes closed, safe in the circle of his arms. ‘I don’t want this moment to end.’

  ‘Everything has to end sometime.’

  ‘Not this.’

  ‘Open your eyes,’ Rex insisted, ‘and look at me.’

  Eva squinted up at him. ‘Must I?’

  ‘Absolute necessity, I’m afraid. Come on, time’s up.’

  ‘One more kiss?’

  He gave a laugh. ‘Temptress!’

  But he didn’t refuse her request, one arm curling about her waist as he bent to kiss her again. This time, his kiss was deeper, more intimate. It left Eva decidedly hot and tingling, and in need of a cool flannel. Definitely not a sensation she had ever experienced before. Indeed, by the time he released her, she felt quite pink-cheeked and as though she were floating on air. Which wasn’t a particularly clever thing to be doing at the edge of a cliff!

  ‘I say.’ He straightened, breathing rather heavily. ‘You’re one hell of a kisser, Eva Ryder.’

  ‘You’re not exactly a dullard in that department yourself, Professor Templeton.’

  ‘Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment. I think we’d better get back though. Before we lose our heads and do something we might both regret.’

  She blushed at the amorous look in his eyes. Though if Britain lost the war, God forbid, or Eastern House was bombed to smithereens, she might die without ever having known love. And she was damned if she’d let that happen.

  ‘Who says I’d regret it?’

  Rex’s eyebrows rose steeply, but he didn’t pursue that dangerous question, smoothing back his hair with a quick hand. ‘Look, you’re a marvellous girl, Eva, and I’ve enjoyed this evening tremendously, don’t get me wrong. But your father’s a colonel, and I may not be one of his men but I still have to answer to him.’

  ‘You’re not afraid of my father, are you?’

  To her surprise, he didn’t take offence, merely grinning. ‘If your father misses you tonight, he’ll have me strung up for this little jaunt, and no mistake.’ He straightened her crumpled dress, his touch suddenly respectful. ‘Best I whisk you back to your quarters before the moon rises and we make an easy target for Jerry.’

  The sun had set while they were kissing and night was already falling, Eva realised, peering about herself in the soft twilight.

  ‘I suppose that’s sensible.’ Eva gave him a quick smile, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. ‘Maybe you could come in for a cup of tea when we get back?’ When he said nothing, she felt awkward, adding with a laugh, ‘Polly put the kettle on, and all that. Did you ever get that sorted out?’

  Rex remained silent, his face unreadable in the poor light.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, flustered by her lack of discretion. Though it was only the two of them there, so what did it matter? ‘Top secret, I suppose.’

  He took a sudden step towards her, looming large in the dusk, and she reversed in trepidation, only to find herself stumbling over loose stones on the cliff’s edge, her arms flailing as she began to topple backwards.

  ‘Watch out!’

  Rex caught her by the hand. She didn’t dare look down, but heard the relentless rush and drag of the tide below, unseen in the thickening air, and was suddenly afraid.

  For what felt like an eternity, though was probably only a few seconds, they stared at each other through the twilight, unmoving. Then they both heard the approaching drone of an aircraft engine, coming low and fast along the coast.

  With a swift glance at the sky, Rex dragged her away from the cliff edge. ‘That was a close shave,’ he said, steering her back onto the rough grass where they had eaten their picnic.

  She did not know what to say.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s one of ours,’ he continued, misinterpreting her confused expression. He nodded after the camouflaged biplane that had already soared past them, probably heading for the nearest airfield. ‘Been doing a quick recce of the Cornish coastline, I should imagine. Making sure our sea defences are up to scratch and no enemy planes are about. They fly the coast quite frequently these da
ys.’

  Eva stared at him, wondering if she’d imagined his hesitation a moment before, when her life hung in the balance.

  ‘Well, that was a very enjoyable picnic.’ Rex picked up the hamper and gave her a reassuring smile, as though nothing untoward had happened. ‘Ready to go?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Violet knew a moment’s apprehension as the old ambulance rounded the corner, the girls in the back shrieking with laughter, and she saw the vicarage for the first time. It was a handsome building, bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sun, with ivy on the red-brick walls and smooth green lawns to the front. Behind the house, she could see the church itself, squat and grey, but with a spire reaching above the trees, past rooks’ nests cradled between spindly branches, into a still-blue sky.

  ‘This is the vicarage,’ Hazel said, not looking much happier than her, and slowed to a halt beside the other cars parked on the gravelled drive. ‘And the hall we want to use is just beyond the churchyard, though you can’t see it from here.’ She parked next to a dark green army truck. ‘Looks like Eva’s here already. She must have got a lift from Eastern House.’

  Violet got out, retying her headscarf under her chin. ‘Good,’ she said shortly. ‘Maybe she’s already done the asking, and we’ll be able to leave double-quick. I’ve never been one for religious types.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Hazel agreed, checking her reflection in her pocket compact. ‘Bible-bashers leave me cold. But Eva’s right. We can’t do this without the vicar’s say-so.’

  ‘Don’t see why Eva couldn’t have come on her own,’ Violet grumbled.

  ‘Would you want to have tea with the vicar’s wife on your own?’

  There was a soldier leaning against the truck’s bonnet, idly smoking a cigarette. He grinned at the girls as they tumbled out of the back doors.

  ‘Hello,’ he told Alice with a wink, and then straightened at the sight of Lily, who was rapidly growing up. ‘Here to see the vicar too, eh?’

  Lily smoothed down her fair hair, a little flushed. The two girls had been messing about in the back, but suddenly she was all cool dignity, ignoring the soldier’s interested look as she stalked past him.

  ‘We’re having tea with Mrs Clewson,’ Alice told him frankly. ‘Maybe cake too, Aunty Vi says. I hope she’s right. I like cake.’

  ‘So do I,’ the soldier replied, amused.

  ‘Come along, girls,’ Violet said, hurriedly leading them to the front door of the vicarage, not sure she liked the way he was studying Lily. ‘Alice, for Gawd’s sake, stop chatting to strangers like that. You never know who you’re talking to.’

  ‘He was just a soldier,’ Lily pointed out on her younger sister’s behalf, glancing back at him furtively. ‘And he spoke to us first. Where’s the harm in being polite?’

  ‘Corporal,’ Alice stated.

  ‘Sorry?’ Lily frowned at her.

  ‘He’s a corporal.’ Alice tutted. ‘You should look at their arm badges and give them the correct rank. I’ve been reading all about army ranks in that magazine Eva lent us.’

  ‘That’s Miss Ryder to you,’ Violet told her.

  ‘There she is!’ Her face animated, Alice pointed through the front bay window of the vicarage. Inside, they could see Eva in a striking hat, sitting down to tea with a middle-aged lady. ‘And they do have cake. Look, Eva’s eating some.’ The girl was breathless with excitement. ‘I hope there’s enough to go round.’

  ‘Alice, for goodness’ sake!’ Lily nudged her. ‘Behave, would you? You’re not a little kid anymore.’

  ‘But cake, Lily …’ Alice groaned, staring through the window.

  Violet exchanged a wry glance with Hazel. ‘Anyone would think she was a starvin’ orphan. But she ain’t had cake in a good long while, that’s all. Not since we left London, I don’t think. Only the odd biscuit. And she is very partial to cake.’

  ‘She’s not the only one,’ Hazel said.

  Alice was already on the doorstep. ‘Can I ring the bell, Aunty Vi?’ she asked cheerfully, reaching up for the iron bell-pull.

  But the door opened before the girl was able to pull on the bell, and Violet found herself facing a severe-looking man in black clerical dress with a white dog collar. Oh blimey, she thought, suddenly filled with trepidation and wishing herself anywhere but there.

  ‘Good afternoon, Vicar,’ Hazel said politely, ‘I believe we’re expected.’

  ‘Of course.’ The vicar smiled too, looking a little less severe. ‘How do you do, Mrs Baxter? And how is your son?’

  ‘We’re both very well, thank you.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. And these other ladies are friends of yours, I presume.’ The vicar turned to study Violet, who put her chin up and stared back at him, determined not to be intimidated by a man of the cloth. ‘I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.’

  ‘This is Miss Hopkins, Vicar. And her two nieces, Lily and Alice.’

  ‘How do you do,’ the vicar said gravely to each of them in turn, in a voice so posh that Violet fought an urge to curtsey. ‘I am Reverend Clewson.’ He stood aside. ‘Well, you’d better come in. My wife has arranged for tea in the sitting room.’

  He watched carefully as all four of them trooped past him into the vicarage, Violet avoiding his gaze as she followed Hazel into the large, tastefully decorated sitting room. She had never liked church and all its trappings. Not since a bad day at Sunday School, when one of the old blokes helping out had put his hand up her skirt. She’d been too scared to say anything. And anyway, nobody would have believed her. But ever since then, she’d steered clear of anything to do with God, apart from her nightly prayers.

  They were all introduced to the vicar’s wife, Mrs Clewson, who was the wrong side of fifty and looked smart in a knee-length floral dress. Her face was powdered, with lipstick too brightly red for her age, but she had a kind smile.

  ‘How do you do?’ Mrs Clewson said, standing to shake everyone’s hand, even Alice’s, who gripped her hand far too tight, making the poor woman wince. ‘Please, sit. I hope there are seats enough for everyone.’ She turned to a young woman in a pinny who had entered the room after them. ‘Kitty, bring more hot water for the tea. And four more cups. And another two chairs.’ She gave Eva a thin smile, obviously a bit put out. ‘Well, when you said others were coming, I didn’t realise you meant so many.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Clewson, what an idiot I am. I’d completely forgotten the girls were coming too.’ Eva smiled at them all from under the wide brim of her dark blue hat. ‘But I’m so glad you could make it. We’ve been having a terrific chinwag here. Nearly sorted the whole business between us.’

  ‘Though we will need to finalise the details with my husband first,’ Mrs Clewson added hurriedly, glancing at her husband, who was standing in front of the unlit fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘The church hall is his province, after all.’

  ‘Of course,’ Eva said, and transferred her broad smile to the vicar, who said nothing but raised his eyebrows.

  ‘This is very kind of you,’ Hazel said awkwardly.

  ‘Not at all, Mrs Baxter.’ But the vicar’s wife sat down without looking at Hazel, and for the first time Violet heard a frosty note in her voice. ‘You’re all very welcome here. In times of war, we need to pull together.’

  The words sounded pleasant enough. All the same, Violet saw Hazel flinch, and felt quite annoyed on her friend’s behalf; it wasn’t Hazel’s fault her old man couldn’t keep his hands off the bottle. But that was posh folk for you, she thought grimly, always pointing the finger of blame at somebody else, never themselves.

  ‘And a community dance is an excellent idea,’ Mrs Clewson added with careful emphasis, ‘if organised correctly.’

  Eva said nothing, but shot Hazel and Violet a wary look before taking charge of the fresh hot water that had arrived. ‘Jolly good,’ she said with forced cheeriness. ‘Shall I be Mother?’

  Mrs Clewson nodded, as though conferring a gre
at favour, and Eva busied herself with topping up the large teapot and then pouring weak tea through a strainer, with a splash of milk, into dainty china cups for them all. Violet sat next to her, and Hazel sat on Eva’s other side, leaving the girls to grab the remaining seats that the vicar had helped arrange around the table.

  Eva handed her a cup that rattled in its thin saucer. ‘There you go, Violet.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Violet breathed, and set it down as carefully as possible. The tea smelt fragrant and unlike the coarse, bitty stuff she was used to drinking, barely a fleck of tea to be seen on the surface of the milk.

  The sitting room was very posh. There was a thick woollen rug underfoot and a grandfather clock in the corner was tick-tocking away in a loud, impressive manner. All the furniture was antique and well polished, not a mark in sight. Thank goodness the table was covered in an expensive white linen tablecloth, Violet thought, resting her hands lightly on it. If it had been bare wood she would have been terrified of scratching it accidentally. As it was, she dreaded spilling a drop of tea on the immaculate white linen.

  Violet looked longingly at the jam-and-cream sponge cake in the centre of the table, from which two healthy slices had already been removed. But she did not dare touch anything until permission had been given. She could see Alice eyeing it too, and shot her a warning look.

  Meanwhile, Mrs Clewson had been admiring Lily. ‘Do pull your chair closer,’ she told the girl. ‘What a lovely face you have. How old are you, my dear?’

  ‘I’ll be eighteen this August,’ Lily said, looking pleased.

  ‘So soon? We have a daughter of nearly twenty. She’s gone to work in Surrey. For the war effort, you know.’ Mrs Clewson was smiling, but her anxiety was evident.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Violet said impulsively.

  ‘Thank you.’ Mrs Clewson sounded surprised, and her smile grew warmer. ‘I … I expect she will, yes.’ Then her attention was caught by Alice, whose hand had been creeping towards the silver cake knife. ‘Would you like a slice of cake, my dear?’ Alice, wide-eyed, nodded enthusiastically. ‘Then you must allow me to cut it for you.’ She cut a meagre sliver of cake, and Alice’s smile faltered. ‘Maybe a little more?’