by Ellie Dean
And yet, as she sat there in the spring sunlight with the salty breeze ruffling her hair, she was overwhelmed by a yearning for home and Philip and her parents. She’d kept a brave face for Jane, had borne the terrors of their flight to Singapore, the anxiety for her loved ones and the uncertainties of their arrival here with a fierce determination that had taken every ounce of her strength. Alone now, she could at last be free to let those emotions through, and as the great wave of loneliness and pain engulfed her, she curled into it and wept bitter tears for all that she’d left behind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cordelia had been anxiously watching the clock ever since Sarah had left the house. She had only a vague idea of how far the girl would have to walk – she’d never been one to go tramping hills – and Peggy had told her it would be highly unlikely for her to get back much before three. But it was now past four and there was still no sign of her.
‘I do hope she hasn’t got lost up there,’ she fretted as Peggy walked into the kitchen.
‘I expect the interview took longer than expected,’ she replied. ‘And it’s a lovely day, so she might simply be enjoying a leisurely walk home.’ She took off her headscarf and overcoat, and fluffed up her curly dark hair. ‘Where’s Jane?’
‘She’s gone down to the seafront to have a look around.’ Cordelia took up her knitting again, and tried to figure out where she’d dropped that stitch. ‘How did you get on at the clinic?’
‘Daisy didn’t like the injection. She cried and cried, but I don’t blame her. I hate needles too.’
Cordelia eyed her over her half-moon glasses. ‘And what about you? Did the doctor give you a clean bill of health?’
Peggy smiled. ‘All tickety-boo, Cordelia. But the clinic was packed as usual, and I seem to have been talking all afternoon. Now I’m desperate for a cuppa.’
Cordelia watched as she put hot water over the used tea leaves and gave them a stir before pouring the pale brown liquid into their cups. There was the fresh packet of tea in the larder, but it wouldn’t be dipped into until the old leaves had been wrung completely free of taste. They’d run out of sugar yesterday and now the tea was so weak it seemed pointless to add milk.
Cordelia set the knitting aside, for she couldn’t concentrate on anything much until she knew that Sarah was back safely. ‘Perhaps she bumped into Ron up there,’ she said hopefully. ‘That could explain why it’s taking so long.’
Peggy shook her head. ‘I saw Ron lurking about outside the Anchor. The police had been called in again following some fight that had broken out at lunchtime, and Ron was all for confronting Findlay.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘I think I managed to dissuade him, but you know Ron, he’d defend Rosie and her pub to his last breath.’ She lit a cigarette. ‘If she doesn’t get back soon, then Ron could get himself into real trouble. I just wish she’d at least write to him and explain what’s going on.’
‘It’s certainly out of character,’ agreed Cordelia. ‘One does wonder if she left a letter for Ron, and Findlay hasn’t passed it on.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him,’ muttered Peggy, ‘but Rosie knows what her brother’s like, and she wouldn’t have trusted him to deliver anything.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s a mystery, Cordelia, and one that won’t be solved until she comes back.’
Cordelia drank the weak, almost tasteless tea, glancing up at the clock repeatedly as the time ticked away. Her spirits rose when she heard someone coming through the front door, but it was Jane, all rosy from her walk along the seafront.
‘It’s lovely down there,’ she said as she took off her beret and scarf and shrugged off her coat. ‘But it’s such a shame they had to put all that horrid barbed wire along the esplanade.’ She looked around the kitchen. ‘Where’s Sarah? I thought she’d be back by now.’
‘I’m here.’ Sarah came up the cellar steps, dropped her handbag and gas-mask box on the floor, and sank gratefully into a chair. ‘I can see that I’ll have to toughen up if I have to do that every day,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ve walked that far in years.’
Cordelia looked at her sharply. The girl’s eyelids were puffy, and despite the powder and lipstick, she looked rather pale and forlorn. Something – or someone – had made her cry, but it was clear she wasn’t prepared to let it show, so Cordelia resisted the temptation to probe too deeply. ‘We were worried that you’d got lost,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, but it was such a lovely day and the view from the top is quite magnificent.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I didn’t mean to worry you, Cordelia. I simply lost track of the time.’
‘I’m just relieved you made it back in one piece,’ she replied, mollified. ‘How did the interview go?’
Sarah told them all about it, making light of her run-in with the gamekeeper, and the small terrors she’d had about getting lost, and giving sharply observant descriptions of the interviewing panel which made the others smile.
‘I have no idea how well I did,’ she finished, ‘but I just hope the casting vote isn’t made by that awful woman. Honestly, if looks could kill, I’d be stone dead by now.’
‘What was her name?’ asked Peggy, who’d taken up her own knitting.
‘Mrs Cornish. And she had an expression that would sour milk.’
‘Ah,’ said Peggy. ‘I know Gladys Cornish – or at least I know of her. She was married to a particularly nasty little man who’d been a sergeant major in the Army before he retired. He was a bully, by all accounts, and rumour has it that it was a bit of a relief to Gladys when he had a massive heart attack and dropped down dead in the middle of one of his rants.’
‘One can’t really blame her for being sour, then, I suppose,’ murmured Cordelia. ‘But it’s unfair to take it out on young girls like Sarah.’
‘I agree,’ said Peggy, ‘but I suspect she gave as good as she got with that husband of hers, for she’s aggressive and rude on all the committees she runs, and everyone is so terrified of her they daren’t tell her to sling her hook.’
‘It’s a great pity she hasn’t crossed paths with your sister Doris,’ said Cordelia dryly. ‘She wouldn’t be able to bully her.’
Peggy giggled. ‘They’ve had their spats, believe me, and Gladys is now very careful not to be on the same committees as Doris. But I’m surprised she’s joined the WLA. Perhaps she thinks the uniform will give her added clout.’
‘The green doesn’t suit her,’ said Sarah, ‘and that hat looks like a pudding basin.’
Jane’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You’re not usually so sharp about people,’ she spluttered. ‘She must have really got to you.’
Sarah shrugged. ‘I didn’t like the way she tried to intimidate me by glaring all the way through the interview. But she didn’t put me off,’ she added and grinned. ‘I’ve run the gauntlet of Brigadiers’ and Commodores’ wives back in Malaya, and they could certainly give Gladys Cornish a run for her money in the glaring stakes.’
‘Good for you,’ murmured Peggy. ‘Did you see any of the other candidates so you could gauge who you were up against?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘I was the last one, and at the end of the interviews we had to leave by another door which led straight back outside.’ She eased off her sandals and regarded her filthy feet and the angry blister. ‘I’ll just have to keep my fingers crossed and wait to hear if I’ve got it,’ she said, ‘but whatever the outcome, I will have to get new shoes.’
Cordelia knew how little money Sarah had, and although the clothing coupons would go some way towards buying new shoes, the girl was still going to struggle to pay for them. She bundled her knitting into the large carpet bag that always sat by her chair, and tried to remember how much she had in her purse after her shopping expedition the previous day. Sarah would probably refuse to take it, but there were ways and means of getting a pound note into a purse without being seen.
Feeling rather pleased at how devious she could be, Cordelia went to fetch the first-aid box so Sarah could attend to that v
ery painful-looking heel.
Sarah thanked her, and glanced up at her sister as she bent to clean and bandage the blister. ‘So, come on then. Tell me all about your first day.’
‘It was jolly hard work,’ Jane said cheerfully, ‘but I loved every minute of it. Mabel was perfectly well behaved and we delivered all the milk on time.’ She shrugged happily. ‘We had to stand about a bit while people gave her a carrot or a cooking apple, but she seemed to expect it, so I didn’t mind. Everyone was pleased to see me and asked me lots of questions, and I could have been kept talking all morning – but I knew Mr Jenkins was waiting for me back at the dairy, so I didn’t dare stay out too long.’
‘What’s he like as a boss?’
‘He’s very kind, but he has strict rules about things and likes them done in a certain way.’ Jane grinned. ‘The three boys who drive the other drays were a bit put out to have a girl working with them, and they moaned a bit. But Mr Jenkins stood up for me and I proved I could do all the same jobs, so they were quiet after that, and even offered to share their sandwiches with me.’
Sarah smiled. ‘Well done, Jane,’ she said softly.
Jane grinned back. ‘Well, I couldn’t let a bunch of spotty boys get the better of me, could I?’ she said.
‘So, what did you do when you got back from your round?’ asked Cordelia. ‘It was almost lunchtime before you came home.’
‘I had to help unload the crates and carry them into the shed where Mrs Jenkins was in charge of washing and sterilising them in the big baking oven. She has her niece to help her, and her name’s Stella.’
‘That’s good – there’s another girl for you to pal up with,’ said Cordelia.
‘She’s very shy,’ said Jane, ‘and Mrs Jenkins told me on the quiet that she’s a bit slow, and not to worry if she doesn’t take to me straight away. But I think she just needs a bit of time to get used to me – like Lucy did back in Malaya.’ She quickly explained about Lucy, who’d been slow of mind and inclined to sit in corners away from everyone.
Jane rushed on enthusiastically. ‘After unloading the crates, I had to see to Mabel. I groomed her and then let her into the paddock with the others while I mucked out her stable and put down fresh straw and topped up her feed manger.’ She gave a happy sigh. ‘Mabel and her friends loved galloping about the field; it’s surprising how fast such big horses can go.’
She paused to take a breath. ‘I was given hot cocoa when I’d finished mucking out, and Mrs Jenkins gave me a huge cheese sandwich for my breakfast. They make their own cheese and cream and butter there, you know, and Mr Jenkins said he’d show me how he does it when he’s got time to spare.’
‘It all sounds great fun,’ said Cordelia. ‘I love to see those beautiful animals coming down the street during the summer parade. I do so hope they still have it this year. Mr Jenkins grooms them to a gleam and ties bright ribbons in their manes and tails, and fluffs up their snow-white feathered feet. He dresses their harnesses with brasses and has the four of them pull his really big wagon which he’s painted red and gold, and he sits up at the reins, all dressed in scarlet, with Mrs Jenkins in her Sunday best sitting beside him. They’re quite a sight.’
‘How lovely,’ sighed Jane. ‘I do hope we get to see it.’
Cordelia saw the happiness in Jane and knew she’d found her niche, and could only hope that Sarah was as successful in getting the job with the WTC. But there was sadness behind Sarah’s smile, and Cordelia suspected that she was homesick and desperately worried about her parents and her fiancé.
The situation in the Far East was worsening by the day and it seemed that only a miracle could save those still trapped on those thousands of tiny islands in the Pacific. And yet miracles had been known to happen, and she had to remain positive – for without hope they would all be lost.
Ron had listened to all of Peggy’s arguments and had decided he would make his own mind up about things. He’d waited until Peggy was out of sight and had then returned to his watching post deep in the shadows of the alleyway opposite the Anchor. The police had been inside for some time, and Ron fervently hoped they were going to arrest Findlay and get rid of him once and for all. He was ruining the reputation of Rosie’s pub with his out-of-hours drinking sessions and the number of women he entertained upstairs at night.
His patience was finally rewarded as the front door opened and the two policemen stepped outside. But it seemed Findlay wasn’t going to be carted off, for they were shaking his hand and thanking him for his co-operation. ‘It looks like he’s managed to weasel his way out of trouble again,’ Ron muttered furiously to Harvey, who was lying quietly at his feet.
He watched as the police car drove away and Findlay closed the front door. Peggy had been right in one respect, he conceded. Confrontation was not the answer, but there were other ways to skin a cat, and he had a plan. The only problem was that Findlay rarely left the pub, and there always seemed to be some woman in there. It was a waiting game, and Ron had to call upon his many years of covert experience to remain patient and watchful.
Harvey got to his feet, yawned and stretched and then cocked his leg against the wall. He was obviously getting bored by the whole thing, and Ron was about to take him home when he heard a door slam.
Findlay was coming out of the Anchor’s side door. Dressed in tailored twill trousers and tweed jacket, he had a bright yellow cravat tucked into his open shirt collar, and a brown fedora angled rakishly over one eye. He stood in a shaft of sunlight taking the air and looking very pleased with himself, and then cupped his hand round a match and lit a cigar. With the cigar wedged into the corner of his mouth, he put his hands into his trouser pockets and strolled off towards the hospital end of Camden Road.
Ron waited until he was out of sight and then hitched up his gas-mask box and patted the pockets of his poaching coat to check he had his torch. A swift glance up and down the road showed no one was about. ‘Come on, Harvey,’ he whispered. ‘Now’s our chance.’
With the dog trotting at his heels, he swiftly crossed the road and melted into the shadows by the side door to the pub. He had a key, for Rosie had given it to him over a year ago so he could get in to change the barrels if she happened to be out. The key turned and he pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked on its dry hinges, and slid inside, the dog hard on his heels. The outside noises were muffled once the door was closed behind them, and Ron stood there for a moment, alert to any sound coming from upstairs. Then he moved into the bar.
The tables were cluttered with dirty glasses, the ash in the hearth hadn’t been cleared for days, there was a layer of dust on everything and the flagstones were sticky with spilled beer and squashed fag ends. He looked at the long oak bar which had been Rosie’s pride and joy, and almost wept at the sight of the deep scars and gouges that now marred it. The brass beer pumps hadn’t been polished in an age, the tankards were missing from the hooks, and the mirrors behind the optics and bottles were fly-spotted and smeared. Now both middle-aged barmaids had been replaced by a couple of tarts from London, it seemed the place was going to wrack and ruin.
He couldn’t bear to look and turned away. ‘Stay here,’ he ordered Harvey as he reached the top of the cellar steps. ‘Growl if you hear someone coming.’
Harvey sat alert in the doorway as Ron quickly went down the cellar steps. He knew where the false wall was, for he and Jim had been in partnership with the previous landlord, and had stored their contraband here from time to time when it got too dangerous to keep it at home. Rosie had provided the same favour on one rare occasion, but he’d never asked her again, for he couldn’t bear the thought of her getting into trouble.
He switched on the single light and made his way around the barrels and crates to the very back of the cellar, where the low-watt bulb barely cast any light. The sturdy wooden shelves fixed to the far wall were lined with cardboard boxes, dusty bottles, abandoned, rusting tools and tins, and piles of old newspapers. This general clutter of several decades
was covered in spiders’ webs and mouse droppings and looked undisturbed, but Ron knew that was all part of the camouflage, for everything on this particular part of the shelving had been nailed or stuck into place.
He reached between two empty oil cans and fumbled for the lever. Pulling it down, he heard a click and stepped back as the door opened silently on well-oiled hinges. It was pitch-black in that secret hideaway, and smelled strongly of mice and damp. Ron turned on his powerful torch.
‘I thought so,’ he breathed in relief and satisfaction as he swung the torch-beam across the stacked cases of rum and whisky and the airtight drums which probably held thousands of packets of stolen cigarettes. Findlay had somehow discovered this hidey-hole and had put it to good use – but it would be his downfall.
He reached for a case of rum which was clearly marked ‘Property of Her Majesty’s Royal Naval Reserve’ and carried it quickly up the steps.
Harvey whined and wagged his tail, and Ron praised him and told him to keep watch as he hurried up the stairs to Rosie’s rooms. His rage with Findlay was stoked by the stink of cheap perfume that pervaded every corner, the stains on her carpet and the litter of overflowing ashtrays and empty bottles which was strewn over every flat surface. Rosie had taken such care to make this a homely, pretty place to relax in, and Findlay had turned it into a pigsty. It would break Rosie’s heart if she saw it.
However, this neglect and lack of cleaning served his purpose very well. He carried the case of rum over to the couch which stood beneath the diamond-paned window and pulled it forward enough so he could ram the box behind it. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the unwashed smell of the cushions, the grubby upholstery, and the tobacco stink in the curtains. How anyone could live like this, he couldn’t fathom.